Formula 1: Infinite Simulation Mode

The Silverstone track felt different under the weight of a real race car. In the simulation, the tarmac was a mathematical grid, a series of coordinates that offered predictable levels of grip.

Out here, in the cold air of the 2025 Young Driver Test, the track was a living, breathing thing. It had moods. It had patches of oil from the morning’s support races. It had stones kicked up by cars that had gone wide in the practice session.

Leo Kaito adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as he approached Stowe. This was one of the heaviest braking zones on the circuit, a place where a driver’s courage was measured in milliseconds. He could feel the vibration of the Dallara F2 chassis through his spine.

It was a violent, physical shudder that the "Iron Cell" pod could never quite replicate. In the pod, pain was a neural signal. Here, it was the raw pressure of G-forces trying to pull his internal organs out of place.

He watched the distance markers flash past. 150 meters.

100 meters.

50 meters.

Any normal driver would have hit the brakes at the eighty-meter mark. Julian Vane, currently holding the fastest time of the session, had braked at seventy-five. Leo waited.

He watched the white line of the track edge, his "SS" reaction speed making the world crawl. He waited until the absolute last millisecond, a point where his brain shouted that he was already too late.

*Brake. Shift. Shift. Shift.*

He slammed his left foot onto the pedal with a force that would have snapped a lesser man’s leg. The carbon-fiber discs bit hard. The car decelerated so hard he felt his eyeballs press against the front of his skull, his vision blurring as the blood rushed forward. His neck strained against the HANS device, the muscles corded like steel cables.

He didn’t lock up. His "Perfect Braking" skill allowed him to find the exact threshold where the tires were on the verge of sliding but still held their grip.

He turned the wheel, feeling the front-end bite. He hit the apex perfectly, the front-left tire kissing the red-and-white kerb exactly where it needed to be to maximize the exit.

He floored the throttle on exit. The turbo-lag was a brief, agonizing silence before the power arrived like a tidal wave. The rear wheels screamed, trying to spin out and send him into the gravel.

Leo caught the slide before it even started, a micro-adjustment of his wrists that corrected the trajectory in a fraction of a second.

He crossed the start-finish line, the engine screaming at the redline.

[FIA BROADCAST: "Wait... look at the timing screen! Leo Kaito, the Arcadia technician, has just gone fastest! A 1:38.2! That’s half a second clear of Julian Vane! Where did that come from?"]

The radio crackled in his ear, drowning out the roar of the wind.

"P1, Leo! You’re on pole!" Anya’s voice was a mixture of a scream and a sob. "Get in here! We need to save the tires for the race! Don’t do another lap, you’ve already killed the timing beam!"

Leo rolled into the pit lane, his breathing heavy and ragged. As he guided the car toward the Arcadia garage, he saw the faces of his team. The mechanics, men he had worked alongside for years, were standing with their mouths open. They weren’t looking at him as a colleague anymore. They were looking at him as a complete stranger.

He saw Julian Vane standing near the Prema garage. The golden boy was staring at the giant digital leaderboard, his face pale and his mouth wide open in disbelief.

The arrogance that had defined Vane’s posture all morning had vanished, replaced by a stunned, uneasy silence. Beside him, other young drivers were whispering, their earlier mocking laughter gone. They looked at Leo’s car as if it were a haunted object.

A blue flicker appeared in Leo’s peripheral vision.

『BONUS ACHIEVED: Pole Position.』

『+2 Freedom Units added to pending rewards.』

He didn’t smile, because he couldn’t. His body was already beginning to pay the price for that lap. The "SS" reaction speed allowed his mind to process the world at a superior rate, but his muscles were still human. His arms felt like they had been dipped in acid, and his lower back was throbbing from the vibration of the seat.

"Great job, Leo," Sarah, the lead engineer, said as she leaned over the cockpit to help him with his harness. "The telemetry is... it’s insane. You’re braking ten meters later than anyone else. I don’t know how the tires are staying on the rims."

"The tires are fine," Leo said, his voice flat. "But the race will be different."

The race was the real test. The pole position was a statement, but the fifteen-lap sprint was the obstacle between him and his F2 license. Between him and his life.

---

The fifteen drivers lined up on the grid an hour later. The sun was struggling to break through the grey English clouds, casting a dull, metallic light over the Silverstone circuit.

Leo sat in P1, the Onyx black; mixed with Electric Purple, Molten Orange, and Gold Accents Arcadia car looking like a venomous splinter among the bright, sponsored machines of the big teams.

He could feel the heat rising from the engine of Vane’s car directly behind him. The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and the high-pitched whine of tire warmers being removed. His "Danger Sense" was pulsing, a steady, rhythmic warning at the base of his brain. It was a feeling of impending chaos.

"Fifteen laps, Leo," Anya said over the radio. Her voice was calmer now, but he could hear the underlying tension. "Just hold the line. You don’t need to win to get the license. Just stay in the top five and keep the car in one piece."

’I need the Freedom Units,’ Leo thought. He looked at the countdown on his visor. He had nine days left. If he won this race, he would have seventeen total. That was another week of not being trapped in the dark. ’I have to win.’

The five red lights above the track illuminated one by one.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

They went out.

Leo’s start was perfect. His "SS" reaction speed allowed him to dump the clutch at the exact millisecond the green flash hit his retinas.

The Arcadia car hooked up, the rear tires digging into the tarmac with a violent chirp. He surged forward, covering the inside line into Abbey before Vane could even react.

But Julian Vane was desperate. He had been humiliated in qualifying, and he knew his career depended on beating the "grease monkey." He didn’t back off. He lunged into the tiny gap Leo had left on the right, his front wing inches from Leo’s rear tire.

"He’s aggressive, Leo! Watch the inside!" Sarah warned.