Friday morning arrived like a fresh gust of wind through Sukhman Singh's veins. The sky over Nottingham was painted in gentle grey, typical of English weather, but the energy in the air was electric. Today marked the beginning of the race weekend.
He rolled out of his luxurious hotel bed, eyes sharp and focused. The events of the previous day—the airport arrival, meeting other racers, and watching the broadcast—were still fresh in his mind, but today was different. Today, he would drive.
He got ready, following his regular routine like a sacred ritual—stretching, meditation, a light breakfast. Even in this foreign land, with nerves dancing in his stomach, he remained grounded.
Downstairs, the Vaayu GP team had gathered in the hotel lobby, dressed in team jackets. Nandini was already checking the itinerary while Yudhvir greeted Sukhman with a friendly nod.
They boarded the bus headed to the Nottingham Circuit, the streets still sleepy and damp with morning dew. The team talked strategy in hushed tones, but Sukhman looked out the window, heart pacing with excitement.
---
The Nottingham Racing Circuit was a living organism today—pulsing with life. Trucks, tents, crews, cars, and colors made the place look like a mechanical carnival. As the Vaayu GP bus entered the circuit's paddock, Sukhman craned his neck, mesmerized by the bustling energy.
Everywhere he looked, racers were walking in and out of garages, engineers were poring over data screens, and photographers clicked away like machine guns. It was a whole world. A dream turned real.
Sukhman's eyes caught a familiar face—Callum Graves, the two-time World GP Champion. Dressed in his Red Devil Cars team gear, Callum strutted past with an unmistakable air of superiority.
"Hey, look who it is—the wildcard," Callum muttered loud enough for others to hear. "Try not to spin out before the first corner."
Sukhman flinched slightly, but he didn't react much.
---
Inside their assigned garage, the Vaayu GP crew had already begun assembling equipment. The air buzzed with tension and excitement—mechanics moved with purpose, the hum of laptops and power tools filled the space, and sleek tires were stacked neatly along the sidewalls.
In the middle of it all stood Siddharth Mahato, the team's Chief Engineer. A wiry man with permanently ruffled hair and thick, round glasses that kept sliding down his nose, Siddharth looked more like a sleep-deprived scientist than a race strategist. Grease smudged his fingers, and his navy-blue jumpsuit bore the marks of a man deep in the trenches of engineering war.
Sukhman approached, still adjusting the collar of his racing suit.
Siddharth looked up from his screen, his eyes scanning the young driver with analytical sharpness. "Ah, good timing," he said, tucking the laptop under his arm and motioning for Sukhman to come closer. "Listen carefully. We're going to use today's session for strategic setup testing. Nothing flashy—just clean laps and feedback."
Sukhman leaned in, fully focused.
"We'll start with the soft compounds—the red-marked ones," Siddharth explained, pointing toward a set of tires resting beside the car. "They'll give you the best grip, especially in the opening laps. Run about twenty-five laps with them. Then we'll switch to the intermediates—the yellows. That'll help us gauge how the car reacts with less grip but more endurance."
Sukhman nodded, already visualizing the feel of the tires through the turns.
Siddharth continued, tapping a small schematic on his laptop. "And fuel-wise, we're going a bit unorthodox. Nottingham circuit has a short pit lane, so we don't lose too much time during stops. We'll run slightly under half a tank for this session—keep the car light, test how much lap time we can shave with weight reduction."
"Understood," Sukhman said. "Push the car while keeping it clean."
"Exactly," Siddharth said, adjusting his glasses. "And keep an eye on sector 2—it's tighter than you think. That's where your grip shift will become noticeable between the two tire sets. Also... don't chase lap times. Not today. Consistency and data—that's what I want."
Sukhman smirked slightly. "Guess I'll save my heroics for Sunday, then."
"Save them for when we have the numbers to back them up," Siddharth replied dryly, but with the faintest trace of a smile.
Nearby, Yudhvir stood beside the wall of monitors, giving Sukhman a nod of encouragement. Mechanics tightened bolts, checked air pressure, and ran diagnostics. The car gleamed under the garage lights—sleek, matte blue with white streaks and the Vaayu GP logo painted across the nose.
Sukhman placed his helmet on the car, then looked back at Siddharth. "Let's get some clean data."
"That's what I like to hear," Siddharth said. "Let's roll."
---
Race Weekend Format (for the readers):
Friday: Free Practice 1 (11am) & Free Practice 2 (3pm). Optional sessions to test setups.
Saturday: Free Practice 3 (11am) & Qualifying Laps (3pm). Top 10 racers from qualifying go to Sunday GP.
Sunday: Main Event, the Grand Prix (12pm).
---
Broadcast Segment
"Welcome back to GP Central!" The familiar anchor beamed into the camera. "It's Free Practice Friday here at Nottingham and the buzz is real! Let's go to our trackside reporter, Whitney Moore, for an update!"
The screen shifted to Whitney Moore, standing near pit lane with racers in the background.
"Thanks, Jack. So far, 11 teams have joined the first Free Practice session."
She listed them:
1. Jakab Lewandowski (Euro Cars, Poland)
2. Ayanda Nkosi (Mercer Corporation, South Africa)
3. Thiago Martins (Porto Motors, Portugal)
4. Amelia Foster aka Amy (Pilot Power, England)
5. Wei Zhang (Elite Corporation, China)
6. Sukhman Singh (Vaayu GP, India)
7. Yuki Sasakai (Quantum Racing, Japan)
8. Luciana Fernandez (Barrancinha, Argentina)
9. Luke Meier (Titan Electronics, Switzerland)
10. Charlotte Reid (SBA, Australia)
11. Aiko Fujimura (Tripple S, Japan)
"The rest are skipping FP1 to preserve their cars. But let's see what this group can do!"
---
Free Practice 1: Begin
Helmet on. Gloves tight. Sukhman eased into the cockpit of his Vaayu GP car, the snug fit of the seat wrapping around him like armor. The car's interior felt like a cockpit of pure potential—carbon fiber panels, a digital steering wheel aglow with data, and a barely contained beast of an engine behind him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, tuning out the ambient noise of the garage.
"Telemetry rolling. You're good to go," Siddharth's voice came in through the radio.
Sukhman flipped the ignition switch. The car roared to life, a deep, aggressive growl reverberating through his chest. A smile touched his lips beneath the helmet.
"Let's see what this baby can do," he muttered to himself, voice barely audible over the engine.
His car rolled out of the garage and into the pit lane, blending into the blur of motion that was already sweeping around Nottingham Circuit. The track was buzzing—some racers were already clocking hot laps, others warming their tires. The morning sun cast long shadows across the grid, highlighting every twist and curve.
The circuit itself was deceptive. At first glance, it looked wide and inviting, but the sharp chicanes, tight hairpins, and abrupt elevation changes made it a technical nightmare for the unprepared. Sukhman felt the weight of each corner in his wrists and legs.
Lap after lap, he pushed the car harder—testing the limits of braking, inching later into each corner, balancing on the edge of grip and chaos. On lap 7, he locked the front tires at Turn 5 but recovered skillfully, learning. By lap 12, he was dancing with the car, flowing through the corners with calculated aggression.
After twenty-five laps, the call came through: "Box now. Time for tire change."
Back in the pit lane, the crew moved like a well-oiled machine. In a blur of activity, the red-marked soft tires came off, and the yellow-marked intermediates were locked in.
As he returned to the track, the difference was immediately noticeable.
Less bite in the corners. The car floated more on entry, but stayed rock steady through the straights. He adjusted, recalibrated his driving style, braking a tad earlier, easing into the throttle mid-turn. The data poured into Siddharth's system, and the engineer grinned behind his screen.
"Good control," Siddharth radioed. "You're adapting well."
But not everything was smooth sailing.
Charlotte Reid.
The Australian driver for SBA had joined the session like a hurricane in heels—fast, unapologetic, and loud. She wasn't there to cooperate, and she made that known immediately.
On lap 32, Sukhman lined up for an overtake on the back straight—DRS active, closing fast. Charlotte swerved slightly, blocking the inside line. He adjusted, tried the outside. At the last moment, she moved again, not quite illegally, but just enough to force him off the racing line.
He had to slam the brakes, the tires squealing in protest.
"What the hell is she doing?" he growled into the mic.
"She does that to everyone," Siddharth replied, not even surprised. "Ignore her. Focus on your own run."
"Copy," Sukhman replied, jaw clenched.
He backed off slightly, gave himself space, and continued his laps. The frustration simmered, but he didn't let it boil over. That wasn't the Jaat way. You don't show your rage—you channel it.
---
Free Practice 2: Afternoon Session
The sun hung higher now, casting a golden hue over the tarmac. The garages buzzed with renewed energy as mechanics swapped parts, updated setups, and ran diagnostics. A stronger breeze had picked up—temperatures dropped slightly, altering track conditions.
Sukhman suited up again, feeling more dialed in now. The morning session had helped him understand the car's language—its tendencies, its moods. Now, it was about pushing limits.
Two new names appeared on the timing board:
Finn Carter, the calm and composed ace from Kilbourne. Known for his consistency and level-headed approach, he was a fan favorite back in New Zealand.
Isabella Romano, Milan Automotive's star attraction. Stunningly fast and charismatic, Isabella was as comfortable in a photoshoot as she was behind the wheel. But she wasn't just a PR face—she had raw talent.
The moment the pit light turned green, Sukhman was out again—this time, opting for the intermediate tires right from the start.
He tested different brake points, experimented with mid-corner throttle application, and simulated qualifying-style laps with minimal traffic. His confidence soared. The car felt like an extension of his body now—each turn more precise, each gearshift smoother.
But then came her again.
Charlotte Reid.
Like a mosquito that refused to be swatted, she appeared ahead of him once more.
Sukhman had just come out of Turn 6 and was gaining on her rapidly through the sweeping right-hander into sector 3. He flashed his lights—standard protocol to signal faster pace.
Instead of yielding, Charlotte cut across the apex, nearly clipping Sukhman's front wing.
"Unbelievable," he hissed.
Next lap, he tried again. He was faster through the opening chicane, clearly within DRS range. He committed to an overtake on the inside of Turn 4—but at the last moment, she shut the door.
Not only did it nearly result in contact, but it also forced him wide into the runoff, ruining his lap.
Then, her voice came through the shared channel, dripping sarcasm:
"Back off, rookie."
There was a mocking laugh in the background before the comms went silent again.
Sukhman didn't reply immediately. His hands tightened around the wheel. Rage bubbled, but he kept his voice steady.
"Copy that."
He didn't need to retaliate. Not here. Not now.
Instead, he made a mental note.
---
Back in the garage after FP2, Siddharth reviewed the data. "Lap 38 through 41—those were clean. Your throttle control is improving, especially through sector 1."
"She kept blocking me. I could've done more," Sukhman said, peeling off his gloves.
"I know," Siddharth said. "Let her play her games. Sunday is what matters."
Still, that fire in Sukhman's eyes didn't die out.
He had no problem with competition.
But disrespect? That would be answered.
---
Evening Press Conference
After the sessions, the media gathered for a press meet. Racers sat at a long table, microphones lined up before them.
Charlotte leaned into hers and smirked. "I don't know why they let wildcard entries in. It's not a charity event."
A few journalists chuckled. Cameras clicked.
Sukhman's jaw tensed. He reached for his mic.
"I may be a wildcard," he said, voice steady, "but I'm not here for charity. I earned this spot. And I'm not going anywhere."
The room quieted.
Charlotte scoffed. "Sure. Let's see how long that confidence lasts on race day."
Sukhman locked eyes with her. "Long enough to give you something to remember."
A few reporters whispered. Others grinned.
Yudhvir, standing at the back, smiled with pride.
The battle had begun.