The two weeks between my first victory and the Spanish Grand Prix felt like a whirlwind of preparation, pressure, and an endless string of sarcastic remarks from the system. It didn't care that I'd just pulled off one of the most dramatic wins of the season. If anything, it was more relentless than ever.
System: "Congratulations, Calder. You've won two races. You're practically a legend. Oh wait, you're not. Back to work."
I rolled my eyes as I strapped into the simulator for yet another virtual session. It was Task 1 on the system's endless to-do list: mastering tire management. The Barcelona-Catalunya circuit was notorious for its abrasive asphalt and high tire degradation. The system wasn't going to let me forget it.
System: "Today's focus: keeping your tires alive while you attempt not to drive like a maniac. Let's see how long you last before you turn them into rubber confetti."
The first simulation was brutal. Long stints on the soft compound tires, degradation levels ramped up to mimic race conditions.
Lap after lap, I watched the tire data on the HUD. Wear levels spiked as I pushed too hard through Turn 3, a sweeping uphill corner that demanded precise throttle control.
System: "Nice job, Calder. Only 47% of your rear tires left after two laps. At this rate, you'll be crawling across the finish line on rims."
I gritted my teeth. "Can you just give me advice without the commentary?"
System: "Where's the fun in that?"
After several frustrating attempts, I finally found a rhythm, backing off slightly in the high-speed sections, braking earlier to preserve the fronts, and coasting more through technical corners. The system's analysis was annoyingly helpful.
System: "Better. But remember, this is virtual. Real-life heat and wear will be even worse. Try not to melt them entirely next time."
Barcelona was also famous, or infamous, for its technical corners, particularly in the final sector. The system had a new challenge waiting: time trials focused solely on nailing Sector 3 with surgical precision.
System: "Target time: 1 minute, 10 seconds. No excuses. Failure results in public humiliation and mandatory remedial lessons."
"Public humiliation?" I scoffed, shaking my head.
System: "I've already written the tweet. Don't tempt me."
The first few attempts were disasters. I oversteered through the tight chicane, lost time on the exit of Turn 10, and missed the apex on Turn 13.
System: "Do you even know where the apex is? Should I get you a map?"
By the fifth attempt, I was shaving milliseconds off each run, adjusting my braking points and throttle application. Finally, on my eighth try, I hit the target time.
System: "Acceptable. Barely. Don't let it go to your head."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered.
Marcus, my personal trainer, wasn't any less demanding. He had me on a brutal regimen: hours of core strength workouts, intense cardio sessions, and endurance drills to prepare for the G-forces and heat of the Barcelona race.
"Come on, Calder!" Marcus barked as I struggled through the last set of planks, sweat dripping onto the mat. "You think Luca's slacking off right now? No chance. You want to beat him again, you've got to work for it!"
I collapsed onto the mat, gasping for air. "Luca's probably eating gelato and watching Netflix."
Marcus laughed, pulling me to my feet. "And yet he'll still be on your tail. Let's go, ten more laps on the rowing machine."
The workouts were grueling, but I could feel the difference on the simulator and in my focus. Marcus's relentless push was paying off.
Laurent and I spent countless hours in the team's analysis room, pouring over race footage and telemetry data.
"This section here," he pointed to the fast Turn 9. "It's all about positioning. You need to set up the overtake through the kink, but if you're too aggressive, you'll lose momentum on the straight."
I nodded, absorbing every detail. Laurent's insight was invaluable, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to the system's sarcasm.
"Do you think we'll go for the undercut in the Feature Race?" I asked.
Laurent smiled. "Depends on the situation. Be ready for anything. The race is won in the moment, Henry, but preparation is everything."
Between the intense training sessions, Olivia kept my schedule from spiraling out of control.
"You've got a press briefing on Monday, simulator runs Tuesday, and a sponsor event on Wednesday," she said, scrolling through her tablet. "Oh, and don't forget to pack. We're flying out Thursday."
"Anything else?" I asked, half-joking.
"Yes," she said with a deadpan expression. "Sleep. Preferably more than four hours."
Her no-nonsense attitude was a godsend, even if it came with relentless reminders.
At her insistence, I took a rare afternoon off to clear my head. A hike through the countryside and a quiet dinner at a local café worked wonders, giving me a brief reprieve from the chaos.
That evening, I called Taryn.
"Barcelona, huh?" she said, her voice warm. "I wish I could be there already."
"You'll love it," I promised. "I'll make sure you get the best seat in the house."
She laughed. "I'll hold you to that. Don't forget, you're representing both ART and me out there."
"No pressure, then," I teased.
Luca and I spent hours running team simulations, practicing overtaking maneuvers and defensive strategies.
"You're too predictable on Turn 5," Luca said after one run. "I could read that from a mile away."
"Maybe you're just that good," I shot back.
"Obviously," he said with a grin.
Despite the banter, we worked well together, refining our approach to the narrow passing zones on the Barcelona circuit. By the end of the session, we were laughing and throwing jabs like old friends.
Late one evening, I returned to the simulator to tackle Task 3: mental endurance. The system had set up a grueling challenge, a full virtual race with strategic puzzles thrown in mid-session.
By the final lap, I was exhausted but determined. I crossed the line, beating the system's target time by half a second.
System: "Impressive, Calder. But let's see if you can do it when it really counts."
I leaned back, catching my breath. The system's words echoed in my mind as I packed up, ready to head to Spain.
One down, I thought. Many more to go.