My Formula 1 System

Chapter 188 Can You Drive A Beast?

Luca followed the butler into the inner sanctum of the yacht, leaving behind the open-air deck with its glittering view of the sea. The air strangely grew cooler as they stepped through polished glass doors, revealing an interior designed to dazzle even the most regal guests.

The floors were a perfect combination of polished dark mahogany that reflected the glow of chandeliers ahead and lining the corridors were rugs with patterns of royal blue and gold.

They passed rooms with laughter and conversation, and Luca realized there were more people in the rooms of the yacht than just on the deck.

The butler guy was quick with his steps and Luca had to adapt, following closely as he was led into what seemed to be the most opulent of the spaces in the yacht.

Finally, the butler paused before a set of double doors carved with swirling patterns of waves. He pushed them open, and Luca stepped into a room that could only be described as indulgent.

The strong stench of alcohol hit him first, clashing with the refined ambiance and fragrance of the yacht's decor. Luca's gaze traveled upward, taking in the vaulted ceiling with gold trim, the walls paneled in deep walnut, and the lush cream-colored carpet that muffled his steps.

Every corner was designed to scream wealth, but it was the scene in the center of the room that seized his attention.

There, a man, probably no older than thirty-five, was seated...no, slouched on a chaise lounge furniture. He was bare-chested, his chest rising and falling lazily as if he was entirely unaware of the world around him.

The most interesting part of the scene were the six women, dressed in delicate lingerie and bikini, draped themselves over him like they were his accessories, giggling and cooing as they poured him another drink.

The young man tilted his head back and drained his glass recklessly. He had definitely had too much to drink.

The butler bowed slightly and announced Luca's presence to Mr. Kingston, before retreating without another word.

Mr. Kingston? Really?

Luca had expected Mr. Kingston to be much older, not a young tycoon. For someone to own this yacht and have this influx of the mix of elderly and young attending, an older man seemed a better fit for Mr. Kingston.

"Ugh, now who do we have here?" Daniel Kingston muttered, sitting up slightly from the tangle of women around him. His bleary eyes squinted at Luca, and then they widened with faint recognition. He let out a low chuckle. "Well, I'll be damned. Who the fuck invited F2's Rennick?"

Luca shrugged lightly, keeping his composure. "I got an anonymous invite. It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Kingston."

Dan waved him off lazily, already leaning back into the sofa. "No, no. Call me Daniel—or Dan. Everyone knew my pops as 'Mr. Kingston.' Me? I'm carving out my own legend."

Wealth-inheritor, Luca thought. Of course. Why didn't I guess that earlier?

"So," Luca continued, keeping his tone light, "now that you've seen me, am I valid to stay on this beautiful yacht of yours?"

Dan smirked, the corners of his mouth curling with a drunken kind of admiration. He tilted his head back slightly, giving Luca a once-over. "Of course, of course," he replied casually. But as Luca turned to leave and head back to the paddock, Dan suddenly called out, his voice carrying an edge of excitement. "Hold on! You're so valid, in fact, that I want you to lounge with me right here!" He gestured toward an unoccupied sofa nearby. "Take a seat, Luca."

Luca hesitated briefly but finally sat down, adjusting his posture as he settled into the soft leather. Dan grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and lifted his glass.

"Don't ruin that suit the way you're sitting," Dan muttered, giving him a quick glance. "I can tell it's worth something. What is it? La Paome? Casa Reyes? Oldcorth?"

"Casa Reyes," Luca answered, lifting his wrist to reveal the cufflinks that completed the ensemble.

Dan's grin widened, and his chuckle quickly turned into an uninhibited, wild laugh. "FORMULA 2'S LUCA RENNICK! RENNICK THE RECKLESS FUCKING MAVERICK! HAHA! You're really out here, dressed like royalty, fitting in well above your rank. I like it!"

"Thank you," Luca replied, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Dan gestured grandly toward the six women still draped around him. "Would you like one of my girls?" he asked, as if offering Luca a prized trophy. "You look like you could use some company. After all, the invite did say to bring a companion—maybe a spouse?"

Luca chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "It also didn't say it was mandatory, Dan. They are beautiful, but no, thank you."

Dan, noticing that Luca was starting to settle in and had even poured himself a drink, decided to test him again.

"You know, Luca," Dan began, his drunken speech slurring slightly, "I wasn't much of a fan of this so-called great sport when I was younger. My dad used to force me to sit through an hour and thirty minutes of you fuckers driving in circles over and over again."

Luca took a long sip of his drink, watching as Dan leaned forward, pointing a lazy finger at him.

"But that doesn't mean I don't give a shit about Velocità," Dan continued. "I own some very good stakes in it, and—well—my old man did succeed in making me feel our wins… and our losses. And you, Rennick… you've made me feel losses in our junior team countless times this season. And I do not like it one bit."

Luca set his glass down, suppressing a smirk. The words were meant to be sharp, but coming from someone sprawled across a couch, half-drunk with women fawning over him, their impact was entirely dulled.

Dan barely noticed. The women around him murmured soft reassurances, stroking his arm as if trying to calm him down.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dan," Luca said smoothly. "I can tell that plenty of people on this yacht affiliated with Velocità probably feel the same way. But that's the nature of the sport. I'm just doing my best to be exceptional in Formula 2." He took another sip before adding, "That way, I can leave your junior team alone and start giving your senior team hell instead."

For some reason, Dan found that hilarious. He suddenly burst into laughter, sitting up properly for the first time and jabbing a finger at Luca.

"YOU? HAHAHA! YOU THINK YOU'LL MAKE IT TO F1?" He kept laughing, shaking his head as if Luca had just told the biggest joke of the century. "What the hell gives you that confidence?! Who do you even have backing you? That old British hag?"

Luca remained silent, staring at him.

Dan snorted, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Look, Hawthorne is rich—hell, probably richer than I am—but she has no clue what's really going on here. And she's about to get steamrolled. Your chances, my friend? Next to none."

Luca shrugged, leaning back into the couch, his gaze wandering around the lavish yacht interior. Then, with a smile, he said, "Let's say you were on my side. Would I still have no chance of making it to F1 next season?"

Dan exhaled a slow, exaggerated sigh. "Luca, Luca, Luca," he muttered, shaking his head. "Luca Rennick, the reckless fucking maverick. Do you really think you'd excel in F1?" He scoffed. "We don't drive Dallaras here, mate."

"I've driven a Renault before. It seemed fine," Luca replied nonchalantly.

Dan's smirk widened. "Oh yeah? Did you drive it on a REAL competitive stage? On a real FIA-approved circuit?"

"..."

"With the new overhaul coming next season, you'll find it even harder to drive an F1 machine," Dan muttered, swirling his drink. "That's if we can even call them machines anymore."

Luca's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Dan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. His glazed-over eyes and slurred speech betrayed just how deep he was into his liquor. "Y'know… as influential as I am, the Federation actually gave me a little preview of what's gonna change next season… and beyond."

Luca's toes twitched in his shoes. A ripple of unease mixed with curiosity ran through him. He straightened in his seat, glancing around briefly before leaning closer.

If he could get anything useful out of this drunk tycoon, it might give him an edge—an idea of what awaited him in Formula 1.

"You can drive a machine, right, Luca?" Dan murmured, staring at him. "But can you drive a beast?"

Luca's frown deepened. "What?"

Dan blinked sluggishly, his drunken state making it difficult for him to string his words together properly. Luca could tell he was on the verge of spilling something significant, so he pushed.

"Come on, Dan. What's changing?"

Dan wavered. For a second, he actually seemed ready to talk—until his sluggish brain caught up with his mouth. His expression twisted as realization hit. His eyes went wide.

"Oh! You fucking brat!" he snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Luca. "You're trying to squeeze intel outta me, huh?! You sneaky little shit!"

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Luca exhaled sharply, relaxing back on the sofa. What a disappointment, he thought, raising his hands in surrender.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SNEAKY?! HEY! EVERYONE!" He waved his arms dramatically. "LUCA RENNICK HERE WANTED TO EXTRACT TOP INTEL FROM MY DRUNKEN ASS!"

Luca barely flinched. He expected a flood of people rushing in to drag him away, but instead, the room remained still. Guess Dan is known for yelling dumb shit, Luca thought.

However, a single figure did step into the room.

An older man, fairly tall and broad-shouldered, heavy but not fat, with a rough gray beard. His suit was crisp and black, tailored to perfection. There was an air of authority about him—Italian, Luca guessed. His presence alone commanded attention.

"Did you say Luca Rennick?" The man's voice was deep, steady, and heavy with experience.

Dan, still grinning drunkenly, bobbed his head and pointed lazily to the side, straight at innocent Luca.