The vehicle slowed to a smooth halt in front of the garage bay, hissed open, and Izan stepped out like nothing happened.
Not a bead of sweat.
Just a grin half-curled with mischief.
The assistant staggered out behind him, tablet now clutched like a crucifix.
His hair was ruffled, his face pale, and he didn't say a word.
He just stared at Izan like he had been wronged by the latter.
Vittorio was already walking toward them, clapping slowly.
"How do you drive like that when you're this young? Have you ever considered switching careers, Izan?" he said with a glint of amusement.
"F1 might have something to say."
Izan wiped his hand across the back of his neck, chuckling.
"Only if they let me wear number 10 on the car."
The assistant turned the tablet toward Vittorio.
Lap time: 1:27.432
Vittorio's eyebrow lifted.
"That's… two seconds faster than our in-house pro," he said, blinking once.
Izan just shrugged.
"Guess I had a good co-pilot," he said softly.
