Monday morning felt like waking up in limbo. Evaluation day was over, but nothing had changed yet. The cohort went through their regular training routine—morning run, physical conditioning, technical classes—but everyone was distracted, checking phones between every session.
"Stop looking at it," Amélie said at lunch, watching Marco check his phone for the dozenth time. "They said three to five days. It's been less than forty-eight hours."
"I know. I can't help it."
"None of us can." She gestured around the dining hall where every student was similarly glued to their devices. "We're all losing our minds together. Very bonding."
Yuki set down his phone with deliberate calm. "In Japan, we have saying: 'A watched pot never boils.' You understand?"
"Yeah, but what else am I supposed to do? Just pretend I'm not waiting to hear if my entire future is about to change?"
"Yes. Exactly that." Yuki picked up his fork. "Worrying does not speed up process. Only makes you crazy."
He was right, objectively. But objectivity wasn't helping Marco's anxiety.
That afternoon's simulator session was a disaster for everyone. Lap times were off, mistakes were common, focus was nonexistent. Even Dominic—usually machine-like in his consistency—spun out twice.
Marcus Webb finally shut down the session early. "You're all useless today. Go rest, go study, go do something that isn't pretending to drive while your minds are elsewhere."
Marco went back to his room and tried to read technical materials about tire compounds. He made it through two pages before realizing he hadn't absorbed a single word.
His phone rang. Unknown number.
Marco's heart jumped into his throat. He answered on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Marco Venturi? This is Katherine Walsh, Velocity Motorsport."
Marco sat up straight, his pulse racing. "Yes, hello Ms. Walsh."
"I'll be direct. We were impressed with your performance Friday. Your qualifying pace was exceptional, and your racecraft in the simulation showed maturity beyond your experience level." She paused. "We'd like to offer you a development seat with Velocity for the upcoming F3 season."
The world seemed to stop. Marco opened his mouth but no words came out.
"Are you still there?" Katherine asked.
"Yes, sorry, I'm here. I—thank you. This is—" Marco tried to organize his thoughts. "What does a development seat mean exactly?"
"You'd be our third driver. Primary role is simulator work, development testing, reserve driver duties. You'd get limited race opportunities—probably three to five races depending on budget and performance. It's not a full race seat, but it's a foot in the door with a reputable F3 team."
"And the contract terms?"
"Standard development deal. Minimal salary—around thirty thousand pounds for the season. We'd cover your racing expenses for the events you participate in. Two-year option on your services if you perform well." Katherine's tone was businesslike but not unkind. "I know it's not a glamorous offer, Marco. But for someone with your limited experience, it's a solid starting point."
"Can I think about it?"
"Of course. I'd like an answer by Friday. We're extending offers to several drivers, so timing matters." She paused. "For what it's worth, I think you have real potential. The development seat is our way of investing in that potential without the risk of throwing you into full-time racing before you're ready."
After the call, Marco sat staring at his phone in disbelief. He had an offer. An actual professional racing contract. Development seat or not, it was real.
He called Elena immediately.
"Velocity Motorsport," he said without preamble. "Development seat. Thirty thousand pounds, three to five races."
"That's good!" Elena said. "That's really good for a first offer."
"Is it? It sounds like... not very much. And only a few races."
"Marco, most drivers would kill for that opportunity. Velocity is a solid midfield F3 team. Getting your foot in the door with them is valuable." She paused. "But don't accept immediately. You'll probably get other offers. Wait to see what else comes through."
"What if nothing else comes?"
"Then you have a hard decision to make. But you were fastest in qualifying, won the race simulation. Other teams noticed. Be patient."
Easier said than done. Marco told Yuki about the offer, and his roommate's response was characteristically measured.
"Is good offer. Not great, but good. Development seat means they like you but want to see more before they commit fully." Yuki thought for a moment. "In two years at development seat, you could earn full race seat. Or you could waste two years and be back where you started. Depends on team, depends on you."
That evening, word had spread that offers were starting to come through. Carlos announced at dinner that he'd received a full race seat offer from Phoenix F3—twenty races, competitive salary, full team support. He was ecstatic, already talking about which circuits he was most excited to race at.
"What about you?" Carlos asked Marco. "Hear anything?"
"Development seat offer from Velocity."
Carlos's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Oh. Well, that's still good. Not as good as a race seat, but... it's something."
Dominic, who'd been quiet through dinner, set down his fork carefully. "I had three teams reach out today. All offering full race seats. Apex Racing, Titan Racing, and Phoenix F3." He smiled, but there was an edge to it. "Funny how that works. The son of a billionaire gets offered exactly what he wants. Almost like the system is designed that way."
"Or maybe you earned it," Amélie said pointedly. "You're fast, Dominic. You can be an asshole about it, but that doesn't make you slow."
"Thank you for that ringing endorsement." Dominic stood, his food barely touched. "Enjoy your development seat, Venturi. I'm sure it'll be character-building."
After he left, the table was quiet. Finally Henrik spoke up. "He's scared of you. That's why he's being worse than usual. You threaten him."
"Doesn't feel like I'm threatening him," Marco said. "Feels like he's winning."
"Three full seat offers versus one development offer?" Amélie shook her head. "That's his father's money talking. Richard Ashford probably made calls to every team guaranteeing funding if they sign Dominic. You don't have that kind of backing."
"So what do I do?"
"You wait. See what else comes. And you remember that getting into F3 at all is an achievement most drivers never reach."
Tuesday brought another call. Simon Price from Apex Racing.
"Mr. Venturi, I'll cut to the chase. We want you for our second race seat. Full season, twenty races, salary of forty-five thousand pounds plus performance bonuses."
Marco nearly dropped his phone. "A full race seat?"
"Your performance Friday convinced me you're ready. You're raw, you'll make mistakes, but that's what development is for. I'd rather have a hungry driver with talent than a polished driver without fire." Price paused. "Fair warning—Apex Racing is a smaller operation. We don't have factory backing like some teams. Our cars won't be the fastest. But you'll get genuine race experience, and if you perform well, bigger teams notice."
"I—thank you. This is incredible."
"Don't thank me yet. It's going to be hard work. Twenty race weekends, constant travel, learning on the job. And Marco? We're a small team with limited resources. We can't afford mistakes or politics. I need drivers who show up, work hard, and race clean. Can you do that?"
"Yes sir. Absolutely."
"Good. I need an answer by Thursday. Think it over, talk to people you trust, then let me know."
Two offers now. One development seat with a better team, one full race seat with a smaller team. Marco's head was spinning.
He called his father.
"Papa, I have offers. Two different teams want me."
Giuseppe was quiet for a moment. "Tell me about them."
Marco explained both offers—the pros and cons, the money, the opportunities, the risks. Giuseppe listened without interrupting.
"Which one do you want?" Giuseppe asked finally.
"I don't know. The development seat is safer but I'd barely race. The full seat is riskier but I'd actually compete."
"Marco, I spent twenty years choosing safety. I walked away from racing because it seemed like the smart decision, the responsible decision. And maybe it was—I'm alive, I raised you, I built a business." Giuseppe's voice was heavy with something Marco couldn't quite identify. "But I've spent every day since then wondering what if. What if I'd been brave instead of smart?"
"You're saying I should take the race seat."
"I'm saying you didn't come all this way to be safe. You came to race." Giuseppe paused. "The money doesn't matter, the team reputation doesn't matter. What matters is getting in the car and proving what you can do. You can't do that sitting in a simulator as someone's third driver."
After the call, Marco knew what his answer would be. But Elena, when he called her, was more cautious.
"Apex Racing is a gamble," she warned. "They finished seventh in team standings last year. Their cars are old, their budget is tight. You could spend a whole season at the back of the grid learning nothing except how to be frustrated."
"But I'd be racing. Actually racing, not watching from the pit wall."
"That's true. And there's value in that experience." Elena sighed. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But I can tell you what I see—you're the underdog story everyone's rooting for. Taking the development seat is sensible but boring. Taking the race seat with a backmarker team? That's the kind of decision that makes people pay attention."
"You're thinking about the story angle."
"I'm always thinking about the story angle. But that doesn't make it wrong."
Wednesday brought chaos. Maya received an offer—development seat with Titan Racing. She accepted immediately, crying with relief. Michael got nothing yet and was clearly spiraling. Henrik and Petra both received offers from different teams, splitting up their twin dynamic for the first time.
And Dominic announced he'd signed with Apex Racing as their lead driver—full season, premium salary, team built around him.
Wait.
Marco's brain caught up to what that meant. Dominic signed with Apex Racing. The same team that had offered Marco their second seat.
They'd be teammates.
"You look like you just swallowed glass," Amélie observed.
"Dominic signed with Apex Racing."
"So?"
"So they offered me their second seat. Which means—"
"Oh." Amélie's eyes widened. "Oh that's... complicated."
"Complicated" was an understatement. Marco would be teammates with someone who hated him, whose father had threatened him, who'd possibly sabotaged his equipment. They'd be in the same team meetings, sharing the same garage, their performances directly compared.
That evening, Marco called Simon Price back.
"I heard Dominic Ashford signed with you."
"He did. He'll be our lead driver. You'd be in the second car." Price's tone was matter-of-fact. "Is that a problem?"
"I just want to understand the dynamic. How does that work when—" Marco struggled for diplomatic phrasing. "When there's history between drivers?"
"You're asking if I know about the tension between you two. I do. Richard Ashford made it very clear that signing you would be... uncomfortable for his son." Price chuckled darkly. "That's actually part of why I want you. Dominic's been handed everything his whole life. Having to compete against a talented teammate who isn't intimidated by daddy's money? That'll show me what he's really made of."
"And if we can't work together?"
"Then you'll learn to work together or you'll both be looking for new teams. I don't coddle drivers, Marco. I don't care about your feelings or his feelings. I care about lap times and championship points. If you can deliver those while sitting next to someone you hate, great. If you can't, that's a you problem."
It was harsh but honest. Marco appreciated the directness.
"I need to think about it."
"You have until Thursday. But Marco? Let me give you some advice. Opportunities like this don't come around often for drivers without money. You can take the safe development seat and spend two years hoping for a chance. Or you can take the race seat now, prove what you can do in actual competition, and deal with whatever complications come with it. Your choice."
Thursday morning, Marco still hadn't decided. He'd made lists of pros and cons, talked to everyone he trusted, examined the problem from every angle.
The safe choice was Velocity Motorsport. Better team, less pressure, time to develop.
The risky choice was Apex Racing. Full season racing, but with Dominic as a teammate and a backmarker car that might make him look bad.
At breakfast, Valentina pulled him aside.
"I've heard you have offers from both Velocity and Apex Racing."
"Word travels fast."
"It's my job to know what's happening with my students." She studied him. "What are you leaning toward?"
"I don't know. Everyone keeps giving me different advice."
"Then let me give you mine. You didn't come here to take the safe path. You came here because you believed talent should matter more than background, and you wanted to prove it." Valentina's expression was serious. "The development seat is what your background suggests you should accept—be grateful for the opportunity, work your way up slowly, don't reach too high. The race seat is what your talent says you've earned. Only you can decide which voice to listen to."
Marco walked to the track and stood at the fence, looking at the circuit where he'd proven himself just days ago. The place where he'd been fastest in qualifying, where he'd won the race simulation, where he'd shown he could compete with anyone.
His phone buzzed. A message from Giuseppe: Whatever you choose, I support you. But choose the thing you'll regret least if it doesn't work out.
Marco thought about regrets. Thought about his uncle Stefano dying after a life chasing racing. Thought about his father spending twenty years wondering "what if." Thought about Elena's article and Maya's gratitude and all the people who saw him as proof that dreams could still matter.
He called Simon Price.
"Mr. Price? This is Marco Venturi. I've made my decision."
"I'm listening."
Marco took a breath, feeling like he was jumping off a cliff and hoping wings would appear before he hit the ground.
"I accept your offer. I want the race seat with Apex Racing."
There was satisfaction in Price's voice when he replied. "Good. That's the answer I was hoping for. Welcome to the team, Marco. Season starts in six weeks. Better get ready—it's going to be a hell of a ride."
After the call, Marco stood alone at the track fence, feeling equal parts terror and exhilaration.
He'd done it. He had a professional racing contract. Full season, twenty races, actual competition.
With Dominic Ashford as his teammate, Richard Ashford as his enemy, and a backmarker car that might not give him a chance to shine.
But he'd be racing. Actually racing, not waiting in the shadows hoping for his moment.
His phone rang. Elena.
"I heard through the grapevine," she said. "You took the Apex Racing seat."
"How did you—never mind. Yes. I did."
"That's either the bravest or stupidest decision you've made. Possibly both." She paused. "I'm proud of you. This is going to make an incredible story."
"It better be a good story. Because I just bet everything I have on it."
"The best stories always come from the biggest risks," Elena said. "Now you just have to live up to the hype."
Marco hung up and looked at the track one more time. The academy had been preparation, had been training, had been the first impossible dream.
Now came the second impossible dream: proving he belonged in professional racing.
Against a teammate who hated him, in a car that wasn't competitive, with nothing but his talent and stubbornness to carry him through.
Six weeks until the season started.
Six weeks to prepare for the fight of his life.
The real racing was about to begin.