After dismissing the reporters, Takuya Nakayama led his team from the bustling amusement park back to the solemn Pit Lane.
The atmosphere in the Pit Lane was even more tense than the day before.
Engineers, each with a laptop, huddled around the race car, whispering about data. Mechanics, like surgeons, methodically performed final inspections and adjustments on every component of the car.
"Good heavens, this atmosphere—" Kevin lowered his voice, his tone filled with a pilgrim's reverence. "I can feel it—the very screws are entering combat mode."
Mark Cerny patted him on the shoulder, signaling him to lower his voice, but his own eyes remained fixed on the silent, crouching beast—the red-and-white MP4/7A.
Takuya Nakayama strode directly to the rear of the team, where Ron Dennis stood with arms crossed, like a stern general inspecting his troops.
"Ron, it seems everything is going smoothly," Takuya Nakayama remarked.
Ron Dennis turned at the sound of his voice, his stern expression softening slightly when he saw who it was. "There's never such a thing as 'everything going smoothly,'" he replied in his signature detached tone. "All we can do is strive to infinitely approach perfection."
The words were quintessential Ron Dennis, causing Mark Cerny beside him to inwardly nod in agreement.
"What about the drivers?" Takuya Nakayama scanned the area but didn't see the two most prominent figures. "They haven't arrived yet?"
"Ayrton and Gerhard are on the track," Ron Dennis said, nodding in the direction of the circuit. "They're scouting on foot, personally measuring every inch of asphalt and every shoulder with their own feet before committing it all to memory."
"Walking the track!" Kevin nearly jumped up in excitement upon hearing this, then quickly lowered his voice, mindful of the busy engineers around them.
"Good heavens! Now that's what real professional drivers are made of! They're imprinting the track into their muscle memory, not just their eyes!"
"No wonder Senna is so godlike in wet races. He must know the track's every puddle and patch of grip like the back of his hand!"
Ron Dennis shot Kevin a rare look of approval. "They'll be back before lunch," he added, glancing at his watch. "About time."
With that, Takuya Nakayama and his team settled into quiet anticipation in the Pit Lane.
The Americans stopped whispering among themselves and began observing the McLaren technicians at work. They watched a mechanic tighten the wheel nuts with a torque wrench, each tug precise in both force and angle. Another technician used a small mirror and flashlight to inspect an obscure corner of the suspension system. This extreme professionalism and focus left the gaming industry elites deeply impressed.
They finally understood why this team could create legend after legend.
Just then, voices drifted down the maintenance lane from afar. Two figures in McLaren Racing uniforms soon appeared, striding purposefully toward them.
The man walking ahead wasn't particularly tall, but his stride carried an indescribable focus and sharpness. His deep-set eyes seemed capable of piercing through air itself—this was Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian racing legend. Beside him strode Gerhard Berger, the taller Austrian driver with an easy smile.
Noticing the unfamiliar faces gathered around Ron Dennis, particularly Takuya Nakayama, who stood at the forefront, they immediately surmised their identities.
Ron Dennis had already informed them that Sega representatives would be visiting, including the young Managing Director who had proposed two key safety improvements for drivers.
However, professional discipline kept them from immediately approaching for introductions.
Instead, they headed straight for the engineers clustered around the data screens, succinctly sharing their insights from the track inspection and preliminary thoughts on car adjustments.
Only after completing this exchange did Ron Dennis introduce them to Takuya Nakayama and his team.
"Ayrton, Gerhard," Ron Dennis said, pointing to Takuya Nakayama, "this is Executive Director Nakayama from Sega."
"Mr. Nakayama, hello," Senna said, extending his hand with a sincere and direct gaze. "Ron told us about your suggestions. Thank you so much for considering our safety in such detail."
As the powerful grip closed around his hand, Takuya Nakayama's heart skipped a beat.
The warmth radiating from Senna's palm felt so real it almost made him dizzy.
An involuntary image flashed through his mind: a blue-and-white Williams race car shattered against the wall, its yellow-and-green helmet tilted lifelessly to one side—
It was a tragedy frozen in time at the Imola Circuit in 1994.
During the seventh lap of the San Marino Grand Prix, Senna's Williams FW16 lost steering control and crashed into the concrete barrier at over 190 miles per hour. The fractured right front suspension pierced through his helmet.
Senna was rushed to Maggiore Hospital in Bologna by helicopter, but the injuries proved fatal.
Now, the legendary "Rain God" stood before him, his eyes bright and his words sincere.
An indescribable mix of emotions welled up in Takuya Nakayama. He gripped Ayrton Senna's hand, unconsciously tightening his grip.
"I just offered some preliminary ideas," Takuya quickly composed himself, a gentle smile appearing on his face. "I'm just glad they're helpful."
"Helpful?!" Gerhard Berger, more outgoing, chimed in with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Your ideas are nothing short of genius! I don't want to test the crashworthiness of racing cars with my own neck!"
His joke instantly lightened the previously tense atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Kevin, standing behind them, felt like he was about to levitate from sheer excitement.
He stared at his two idols, his lips trembling and eyes shining, looking as if he were witnessing a divine miracle.
Mark Cerny nudged him discreetly, signaling him to calm down and avoid embarrassing himself in front of his heroes.
Kevin took a deep breath and finally managed to squeeze out a coherent sentence: "Mr. Senna... I... I'm a huge fan of yours! A die-hard one, you know... um... the qualifying race in Monaco in 1988. After you drove what's considered the greatest lap in history, you said you felt like you were driving in another dimension. What exactly does that feel like?"
Even Senna was taken aback by this question, clearly surprised that this American who looked like he worked in IT remembered such a specific detail from an old interview.
He pondered for a moment before answering: "It's an extraordinary state. You can't feel the limits. The car becomes an extension of your body, and the track before you transforms into a glowing ribbon. You just... follow it forward."
This mystical description left Kevin entranced, and the others in the group stared in awe.
The atmosphere grew warm and lively. Senna and Berger patiently signed autographs for the excited Americans. Mark Cerny even pulled out a crisp, new dollar bill and asked Senna to sign it, eliciting a burst of laughter from the crowd.
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