Formula 1: Infinite Simulation Mode

The cold morning air at Silverstone on March 4th, 2025, felt like a slap to the face. The cold stung in a way that was vicious and unpleasant at the same time.

Leo Kaito stood in the Arcadia Racing garage, staring at the car that would either save his life or end it.

It wasn’t the sleek, futuristic F1 machine he had mastered in the Simex simulation. This was a Dallara F2 2024 chassis. It was bulkier, with a simpler aerodynamic package and a turbocharged V6 engine that lacked the hybrid complexity of its bigger brother.

The base of the chassis is a deep, onyx black, polished to a mirror-finish that catches the floor’s reflection, giving the impression that the car is hovering over a dark void. Cutting through that darkness is a striking trio of colors; Electric Purple, Molten Orange, and Gold Accents that tell a story of speed and energy.

Standing beside the beast, Leo is its perfect mirror. His race suit is a standard matte black canvas, designed to disappear into the cockpit so only the team’s identity remains visible.

​The same vivid orange and purple racing stripes run vertically down his torso and arms, acting as a visual tether between the man and machine. Together, they look like a single entity, unified by a palette of twilight and fire.

To anyone else, it was a pinnacle of engineering. To Leo, who had spent a hundred laps in the "Infinite Simulation" driving a machine that felt like a living extension of his nerves, it looked like a heavy, primitive beast.

The garage was filled with the smell of unburnt fuel and the metallic tang of heaters trying to fight off the English spring chill. Mechanics moved around him like busy ants, but Leo remained still. He was looking at the suspension geometry, the way the carbon fiber wishbones connected to the hub.

In the sim, every part was a perfect mathematical constant. Here, he could see the microscopic imperfections, the slight wear on a bolt, the way the paint on the wing was chipped.

"You’re staring at blank spaces again," Anya Petrova said, stepping up beside him.

She was holding a tablet, her thumb scrolling through the entry list for the FIA Young Driver Test. Her face was tense, her eyes darting toward the other garages where the big teams, Prema, ART, and Virtuosi, were setting up.

"Nervous?" she asked.

Leo looked at his hands. They were perfectly still. The "SS" rank reaction speed wasn’t just a stat; it was a physical reality that made the rest of the world feel like it was moving through thick mud. His pulse was a steady sixty beats per minute.

"No. Just taking in the moment," Leo replied.

"Good. Because the paddock is already talking," Anya said, nodding toward the pit lane.

Leo turned his head slowly. Fifteen young drivers were gathered for the test. Most were nineteen or twenty, fresh out of Formula 3 with millions in sponsorship backing and years of karting trophies.

They wore custom-tailored racing suits that sparkled with the logos of watch brands and oil companies. They were surrounded by entourages of trainers, nutritionists, and PR agents who whispered bullshit into their ears.

Then there was Leo. Twenty-three years old. He was the "ghost" of the paddock, a technician who had spent his career carrying toolboxes and cleaning oil spills for men who were younger and richer than him.

"Is that him?" a voice sneered from the neighboring garage.

Leo didn’t turn, but his hearing, sharpened by the simulation’s sensory overload, caught every word. It was Julian Vane. Vane was the golden boy of the Prema team, a driver with a jawline as sharp as his lap times and a father who owned half of a major bank.

"The grease monkey?" another driver laughed. Leo recognized him as a mid-field regular. "Anya must be more desperate than we thought. Putting a twenty-three-year-old mechanic in the seat? He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t stall on the grid."

Leo ignored them. He had ten Freedom Units left. Ten days to live before the Simex pod demanded his return to the "Iron Cell." He didn’t have room in his brain for Julian Vane’s or anyone’s ego. Every second he spent worrying about an insult was a second he wasn’t using to map the track.

Suddenly, a blue light flickered in his vision. It was the familiar, cold interface of the system.

---

『SIDE QUEST INITIALIZED: Pass the Drivers Test.』

『Objective: Secure a top 5 finish to earn an FIA F2 License.』

『Rewards: 5 Freedom Units.』

『Bonus: +2 Freedom Units for Pole Position.』

---

Leo’s eyes narrowed. Seven potential days of life. He could double his clock in a single afternoon. If he failed, he would have to return to the pod in nine days, likely never to be seen again. If he won, he bought himself a week of sunlight.

"Leo? Helmet on," Anya commanded. "Practice starts in five minutes."

He pulled the carbon fiber helmet over his head. The padding was tight against his cheeks, and the world narrowed to the letterbox view of the visor. He climbed into the cockpit, and the familiar claustrophobia of the survival cell wrapped around him. But as he buckled the six-point harness, he realized the difference immediately.

The electric kart he had driven days ago had been a toy. This car was a weapon. It smelled of high-octane fuel and hot carbon. It felt vibrating and alive even before the engine started.

"Radio check," Anya’s voice crackled in his ear.

"Loud and clear," Leo replied. His voice was calm, contrasting with the frantic energy of the garage.

"Format is simple," Anya explained. "Thirty minutes of practice. A twenty-minute qualifying shoot-out. Then a fifteen-lap race simulation. Top five overall get the license. Don’t bin it in the first turn, Leo. We don’t have the spare parts to fix a wreck."

"Copy."

The mechanic behind him engaged the external starter. The engine roared to life with a violent, chest-thumping explosion of sound. The vibration was massive, shaking Leo’s teeth and making his vision vibrate. It wasn’t the smooth, digital hum of the pod. This was raw, mechanical anger.

Leo engaged the clutch, clicked the right paddle into first gear, and rolled out into the pit lane.