Everything about the Spanish Grand Prix was impatiently awaited, ranging from the release of the Driver List, which included the ever-tenacious Miles Bellingham, to the buzz of the press conference.
As usual, press conferences before a decisive Grand Prix were always treated with fervor. More than the average TV viewership tuned in to watch these pre-race conferences, and a crowd would often go out of their way to swarm the venue where the conference was being held live, desperate to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers, get autographs and physical engagements with them.
Luca's arrival in Spain felt like any other. This modest, almost routine-type landing filled him with gladness, as he believed things would gradually return to normal from this juncture onwards.
A day of rest followed before the press conference took place. It was hosted in the Palau de Congressos de Catalunya, a spacious, modern complex with glass panels that glowed in the Mediterranean sun and an auditorium that could seat a sea of reporters and staff, all waiting for stories...or emotions to break.
Just as anticipated, the viewership—both in-person and across screens—was unusually high, with the premises of the Palau progressively filling up with fans and supporters of different teams and drivers.
The security presence was on high alert because the FIA had promptly titled this season "the season of severe measures," a pointed label reflecting just how turbulent and toxic the year had already become. The security personnel were stationed with vigilance and caution, prepared to intercede at the slightest act of vehemence that might flare up in such an atmosphere.
Not every driver was called up for this press conference though—only those with an actual good story that had been building up to this point of the season, and those who were in clear title contention.
At the end of the day, a total of ten drivers alone attended this press conference. And when their cars rolled in one by one, minute after minute, it was a flash of wealth and class, each car more extravagant and gleaming than the last. The roar of the standard, commercial engines as they arrived outside the venue was like a tease, a taste of what was yet to come in Mandalora.
Professionalism and orthodoxiality had to be maintained between the drivers as they went all around shaking each other's hands and greeting one another. It wasn't the first time this ritual was done this season, but the energy was still potent. The crowd's reaction—deafening cheers and bursts of applause—was a testament to how invested everyone was in these rivalries and alliances.
The handshakes themselves were a performance in their own right: some drivers extended a firm grip with a smile that barely touched their eyes, while others leaned in closer, whispering half-friendly, half-mocking remarks that only they could hear.
The drivers weren't alone though, because the Team Principals came rolling in as well, clad in luxury suits and accompanied by an air of importance. They carried out the same greeting activity, extending their hands to shake and exchanging polite words.
Luca shook hands with Luigi, giving him a soft tap on the shoulder. Luigi reciprocated with the same motion, both of them smiling as if there wasn't an undercurrent of tension quietly going on between them. The standings leader and the runner-up.
After Luigi, Luca moved on to the next driver he spotted, dressed in an all-black suit attire that looked more like he was heading for a romantic date than a race weekend. Luca thought Miles had become shorter, or maybe it was just that Luca himself had gained a last, late-blooming inch of height.
Miles, on the other hand, stared at Luca with a mix of curiosity and calculation. He couldn't quite fathom that it was truly Luca who was approaching him, hand outstretched for a handshake. How much the kid he once badgered had grown, grown to crests that Miles himself could only dream of reaching.
From Formula 2 Champion to winning five races in his first season in F1, Luca was truly a spectacle in Miles's eyes. But Miles could never forget what Luca had done to reach this level—especially what he had done to win the Italian Mega Prix and the F2 Championship as a whole.
The way Luca had struck Miles' car into ruin in Italy last November had been pure malevolence, a calculated attack that Miles had never had the chance to retaliate against.
But now… Miles believed there was a chance. A one-time opening for him to leave a mark on Luca's life and etch his own name into the Italian's memory for years to come.
This was going to be Miles's only race in F1 this season, a huge honor in itself. He wasn't sure if he would be promoted next season, so he knew he had to make the most of this opportunity.
When a driver had no real championship points to chase and was only left to replace an injured driver, he would definitely seek out a purpose for himself. And for Miles, Luca was that purpose since he was his only known rival on this unfamiliar grid.
Clasp! Both hands gripped each other's palm in a firm handshake.
"Good to see you in F1, Miles."
"Likewise." "Feels good to be here. There's more... attention."
"True. It can be overwhelming sometimes."
Both nodded. Miles saw that chaos in Germany, witnessed the exultation and he never focused on his race because of it.
"You look ready," he remarked Luca after a brief moment.
"Always. It's going to be a good one."
"Don't forget when I said I'd have my revenge," Miles said, his voice calm but cutting as he broke the handshake and tucked his hands into his pockets, leaving Luca slightly puzzled and more intrigued than before.
The words settled with Luca for some time, until he realised this was just typical Miles Bellingham he had known since high school. So, he saw it for what it was; a statement meant to throw him off balance.
By chuckling at it, he took it as a teasing threat, understanding that this was simply part of Miles's nature. With that recognition, Luca moved on through the rest of the pleasantries, heading into what would be a long, two-hour press conference.