Christopher Crust was pale, furious. He gripped the steering wheel with all the strength he had as the corner that had been impossible for him for the past thirty-four laps threatened to send him flying. He tried to keep as much calm as his aching back would allow.
"There's a malfunction somewhere. I feel like the car is going to lift off the ground at any moment. For seconds at a time, it feels like it's floating," he said over the radio, his voice barely audible.
The team was completely speechless.
"I know. We see it from here. The steward is about to wave a yellow flag. We just need you to confirm the failure."
"No!" the boy shouted. "Let the car crash and bring out a red flag if it has to—but I'm not pulling out of this race."
The manager dropped the microphone, lowered it, and slammed his fist against the table almost on purpose, so Crust would hear it. He knew perfectly well there wasn't even the slightest chance Christopher would give up. There were still at least twenty laps to go, and he wasn't going to quit under any circumstances.
"I've got the halo," Christopher said.
He could feel the static against his neck as the downforce shook him violently.
"If you're trusting only that damn halo..." Sue said. She was the maintenance team manager and the only one who still seemed composed. But once she realized it would be impossible to persuade him, she tensed up as well—the team's anxiety was contagious.
The Nesspet Chicago team wasn't known for being particularly united. It was the kind of team that drew attention more for its infractions than its victories, even though they did win from time to time. Their racing style was famous for being one of the most aggressive in the entire SS20.
The team had two drivers.
Tyler Reese, champion of the SS20 Challenge Cup Madrid 2018. Yes—that one. Nesspet were the current winners of the SS20 League, the twenty-team single-seater championship. He was the reigning champion, and yet Nesspet was sitting near the bottom of the standings this season. At eighteen, his speed was impressive, but he was far too reckless and volatile, even for someone so young. He could have had a real chance to push Nesspet Chicago into the SS10 the following year, but his constant remarks about the intimate parts of driver Stephanie Vazzal led to his disqualification in the decisive race. And the Crust TeamSports victory at the GOT kept him from advancing to the Prime Ligue.
And recently signed: Christopher Crust, seventeen years old. At that moment, he was more famous for his last name—owners of the luxury car and heavy engine brand since 1896—than for any of his previous victories. Still, in 2018 he had finished fourth in the NS–North America League and second to last in the NS–USA race as an independent, at just sixteen years old. This season, Nesspet had signed him.
It was 2019. Both were competing in the Shanghai Grand Prix. Tyler Reese was running twelfth; Christopher Crust, thirty-fourth. They had accumulated only fourteen points, all of them from Tyler. Even if they finished first and second, they still wouldn't break into the top ten of the 2019 World Cup. It was unfortunate—but no one could say they weren't giving everything they had.
"Get out of the car," Christopher heard through his radio.
There was no doubt about it. It was his father—Franco Crust.
The boy began to slow down and entered the Nesspet pit lane. He was nervous, shaking as he clutched the steering wheel with all his strength. His back and shoulders were so tense that Franco could barely contain himself—he was moments away from going in and pulling him out personally. But he couldn't. No one knew he was there, and dozens of cameras surrounded the box.
Christopher looked at him through tears, his eyes and cheeks red from the sheer force he had used on the wheel to avoid spinning out or slamming into a wall.
"Hurry," he whispered.
Franco signaled to the crew, and they removed the damaged car before rolling out a completely new one. Christopher didn't understand what was happening. His nerves were shot; he didn't know where to stand as the maintenance crew pushed him along.
"If you don't make the top ten, you're dead," Sue said with a mischievous smile.
"Wait... what...?" the boy asked.
She didn't explain. She just shoved him forward and adjusted his helmet. Christopher watched as his father walked away, disappearing into the blind corner of the pit.
Christopher Crust started the engine, and instantly felt the difference compared to the previous car.
"Christopher Crust of Nesspet rejoins immediately," the commentator said. Even the radio feed sounded clearer. "The yellow flag is withdrawn and the race continues for Christopher Crust. He's in position forty, but in a matter of seconds—literally—he climbs dozens of places, recovers ground, and moves like lightning across the track."
Crust began to recover. Laughter and shocked reactions echoed across the public radio channels; no one really understood what was happening.
"Did Yummie finally kick in or what?" Tyler Reese shouted.
"Looks like it," Finn Aldon from the UK team whined—sponsors of Yummie, the energy drink that was everywhere. "He just overtook me." He was running seventeenth.
Crust understood instantly. He had driven hundreds of Crust-brand cars in his life. He knew, without a doubt, that he was now driving one of them—and not a Nesspet.
The boy simply looked up at the sky when he joined the drivers who had already finished the race. He greeted everyone with a handshake, and when it was his turn to greet Alan Marti, Alan left him hanging. He looked angry, though he hid it well—as long as he didn't meet Christopher's eyes.
They had known each other for a few months now. There were forty participants, but from the very first time he saw him, Alan seemed to despise him. Literally. Alan Marti—the driver with a real total of zero haters, maybe one if you counted Crust—who hated someone.
"Nepo baby," Alan said to him at the afterparty.
It seemed like he had only come over to say that before leaving. His jacket was draped over one arm as he headed toward the door.
"Tienes envidia..." |You jealous...| Christopher said in the worst Spanish imaginable.
"¿Envidia?" |jealous...| Alan replied with an irritated smile. "I have more than 250 points and you barely have fifteen."
"Sixteen," Christopher corrected with a smile. He looked friendly—he tried, at least.
"Right... the fastest lap. With a Nesspet designed by Crust Company." Alan raised his eyebrows and made exaggerated gestures that Christopher found amusing, though his tone was far more aggressive than usual. He didn't know him that well, but Alan was constantly in the press, had countless fans—not just in Spain or Europe—and was one of the best competitors in the SS20. On top of that, he was attractive. He had more followers than any other driver in his subcategory, and at seventeen, he was the youngest after Crust—older than him by only a few weeks.
"Dude, I beat you. You don't have to be mad."
"I saw it. I passed by your box when they were replacing your car, and your tycoon father was there—and suddenly you're third? You've got some nerve."
Christopher didn't even mind being called a cheater to his face. He just smiled and turned away. Before leaving, he winked and walked over to Tyler.
Alan Marti was furious. Instead of taking the elevator to leave, he turned around and went back.