The relief hit Marco like a physical force. He felt his shoulders sag, realized he'd been holding tension in every muscle for hours.
"Thank you," he managed. "I won't let you down."
"That remains to be seen." Valentina's tone was matter-of-fact, not unkind. "You're being accepted provisionally. The first month is probationary—we'll evaluate your progress, your attitude, your ability to adapt. If we don't see sufficient development, the offer can be withdrawn. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Now, practicalities." She pulled out a folder, began laying out papers. "You'll live on campus in our residential facility. Room and board are covered by the program. You'll receive a small monthly stipend for personal expenses—two hundred pounds. You'll train six days a week: physical conditioning, technical education, simulator work, and track time. Sundays are free, though most students use them for additional training."
Marco tried to process it all. Living here. Training full-time. Getting paid—not much, but something.
"The other new intake students arrived yesterday," Valentina continued. "There are nine of them. You're number ten. They're at lunch now—I'll introduce you shortly. But first, some ground rules." She fixed him with a serious look. "This academy has produced successful drivers because we maintain high standards. You're expected to be professional at all times. That means punctuality, respect for staff and fellow students, dedication to improvement. We don't tolerate drugs, excessive drinking, or behavior that brings the academy into disrepute. Break these rules and you're out immediately, no second chances."
"I understand."
"I hope you do. Many students come here thinking they're special, that normal rules don't apply. They don't last long." She stood. "Come on. Let's get you settled and introduce you to your cohort."
The residential building was modern and functional—four stories of small but comfortable rooms. Valentina led Marco to the third floor, room 314.
"Your roommate is Yuki Tanaka, from Japan. Good driver, very technical, quiet. You'll meet him at lunch." She handed Marco a key card. "Unpack, take a shower—you need one—and meet me in the dining hall in thirty minutes. It's the building with the glass atrium, you can't miss it."
Then she was gone, leaving Marco alone in a room that would be his home for the foreseeable future.
The room was small: two beds, two desks, two closets, one window overlooking the track. One side was already occupied—clothes hung neatly, books stacked precisely, a Japanese flag thumbtacked to the wall above the bed. The other side was empty, waiting for Marco to fill it with the pitifully small contents of his suitcase.
He unpacked quickly. Three shirts, two pairs of jeans, underwear, his racing suit. Everything fit in one drawer with room to spare. His father's blue jacket he hung in the closet, even though he had no idea when he'd need it. The lucky shirt went it the drawer, carefully folded.
The shower was hot and wonderful. Marco stood under the spray for longer than necessary, washing away two days of travel and stress. When he finally emerged, he caught his reflection in the mirror—same face, same body, but somehow different. A face that belonged to someone who lived at a racing academy now, who was actually doing this impossible thing.
He dressed in his cleanest jeans and shirt, checked his phone. Luca had sent seven messages, escalating from curious to frantic. Marco typed: I'm in. They accepted me. I'm actually doing this.
The response was immediate: HOLY SHIT! I KNEW IT! Tell me everything!
Later. About to meet the other students. Nervous.
Don't be. You beat everyone at Montebello. You belong there.
Marco hoped that was true.
The dining hall was impressive—high ceilings, large windows, modern furniture. About forty people were scattered around various tables, eating and talking. Some wore the academy tracksuit Marco had seen earlier. Others wore casual clothes.
Valentina was waiting near the entrance. "Your cohort is over there." She pointed to a table where nine people sat, ages ranging from what looked like sixteen to early twenties. "Go introduce yourself. Lunch is buffet-style, help yourself."
Marco approached the table, acutely aware that conversation stopped as he got closer. Nine pairs of eyes turned to evaluate him.
"Hi," Marco said. "I'm Marco. Marco Venturi. I just arrived."
A moment of silence. Then a boy with neat blonde hair and expensive watch extended his hand. "Dominic Ashford. England." His accent was posh, his handshake calculated to assert dominance. "You're the Italian? The one who arrived late?"
"I arrived when they told me to arrive."
"Right. Just odd, isn't it? We've all been here since Monday, getting to know each other, starting training. And you show up Thursday, after tests." Dominic's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Must be nice to get special treatment."
Before Marco could respond, another voice cut in. "Ignore Dominic. He thinks being here three days early makes him team captain." The speaker was a girl with dark skin and a French accent, athletic build, confident posture. "I'm Amélie Dubois. France, obviously. That's Yuki Tanaka, your roommate." She gestured to a slight Japanese boy who nodded politely. "Carlos Santos from Brazil, twins Henrik and Petra Svensson from Sweden, James Park from Korea, Michael Chen from Canada, and Maya Okonkwo from Nigeria."
A chorus of greetings followed. Most seemed friendly or at least neutral. Dominic continued to watch Marco with barely concealed disdain.
"So what's your story?" Amélie asked as Marco sat down. "How'd you end up here?"
"Won a karting championship. Got noticed by a scout."
"Which championship?"
"Regional. In Italy. Montebello."
Dominic laughed. "Regional karting? I won the British F4 junior championship last year. Carlos was second In Brazilian F3. Most of us have been racing cars for years. And they accepted someone from regional karting?"
"Must have been something special," Amélie said, her tone making it clear she was defending Marco. "Valentina doesn't accept people without good reason."
"Or maybe they needed to fill their diversity quota," Dominic muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "Poor Italian mechanic makes for a good story."
Marco felt heat rise in his face. His hands clenched under the table. But before he could respond, Yuki spoke quietly.
"Diversity quota is ten percent. Nine of us are from wealthy families with racing backgrounds. Maybe Marco is the one who actually earned his place."
Dominic's face flushed. "I earned my place—"
"We all earned out places," Amélie interrupted. "Can we not do this? We're supposed to be a team."
"We're supposed to be competitors," Dominic corrected. "Only the best of us will actually make it to F1. The rest are just... practice."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Marco stood. "I'm going to get food."
The buffet offered more variety than Marco had seen in his entire life. He filled a plate with pasta and vegetables, grabbed water, and returned to find the table had split into smaller conversations. Amélie had saved the seat next to her.
"Don't let Dominic get to you," she said quietly. "His father owns a construction company worth about a billion pounds. He's used to buying his way to the front."
"What about you, What's your story?"
"Father is a former F3 driver, now runs a karting circuit. Mother is a physiotherapist who works with athletes. I've been racing since I was six, training properly since I was twelve. Won French F4 championship last year." She paused. "So yes, I come from privilege too. But at least I'm not an asshole about it."
Marco smiled despite himself. "Thanks for the defense earlier."
"We're all in this together, whether Dominic believes it or not. Besides—" she lowered her voice "—I looked you up. Read the article. That qualifying session you did? Breaking the track record in a rental kart? That's actually impressive. More impressive than winning in a car your daddy bought you."
The rest of lunch was a blur of conversations, learning names, figuring out the social dynamics. Henrik and Petra were quiet but friendly. Carlos was loud and confident, already friends with Dominic. James was analytical, asking detailed questions about everyone's backgrounds. Michael was friendly in a diplomatic way. Maya was reserved but sharp when she spoke.
And Yuki, Marco's roommate, remained mostly silent, observing everything with careful attention.
After lunch, Valentina gathered the group. "Afternoon session. We're going to the track. Full evaluation laps in our F4 cars. This is your baseline assessment—we need to see where everyone is before we start formal training."
The track was a 2.1 kilometer circuit with twelve corners, designed to test every skill. In the pit lane, ten identical F4 cars waited, white Apex Academy logos.
Marco had never driven a car. Only karts. These machines were bigger, heavier, more powerful, more complex. The cockpit was tight, the steering wheel covered in buttons he didn't recognize.
A technician helped him into the car, explained the basics. "Paddle shift, left is down, right is up. This button is radio, this is drink system, this is pit lane speed limiter. You'll do ten laps. First three are warm-up, last seven are timed. Any questions?"
Marco had about thousand questions but said, "No."
One by one, the students rolled out. Marco was last, party because he'd arrived late, partly because he needed extra time understanding the controls.
The engine fired with a roar that dwarfed any kart. Marco eased out of the pit lane, feeling the car's weight, its power, its completely different nature. The first corner approached too fast and he braked too early, the car's momentum different from anything he'd experienced.
Lap one was terrible. He missed apexes, braked at the wrong points, fought the car instead of working with it.
Lap two was slightly better. His brain cataloging information, adjusting expectations, learning the machine's language.
By lap three, something clicked.
It was the same as the simulator, the same as every kart he'd driven. The machine was different but the principles were identical. Read what it wants to do. Work with it. Find the limit.
Lap four through ten, Marco pushed. The car came alive under him, responding to inputs, communicating through vibrations and sounds. He wasn't as smooth as he should be, wasn't as fast as he could be, but he was learning with every corner.
When he came into the pits, his hands were shaking and his neck was sore from the G-forces. The technician helped him out of the car.
"How'd I do?" Marco asked.
"You'll find out at the debrief."
The group gathered in a classroom. Valentina projected their lap times on a screen.
Dominic was fastest: 1:18.4. Amélie was second: 1:18.9. Carlos third. The times ranged down to James at tenth: 1:21.7.
Then Valentina added Marco's time.
1:19.2. Fifth out of ten.
"Not bad," she said, "considering Marco had never driven a car before today."
The room went silent. Every head turned to look at Marco.
"You'd never driven a car?" Amélie said. "Ever?"
"Just karts."
"And you ran 1:19.2 on your first ten laps in a car?" She laughed in disbelief. "That's actually insane."
Dominic's expression had gone very cold. "Lucky," he said. "Beginner's luck."
"Maybe," Valentina said. "Or maybe raw talent and adapting quickly. We'll see tomorrow when everyone does another session. Dismissed. Dinner is at seven. Be punctual."
As the group filed out, Dominic deliberately bumped Marco's shoulder. "Enjoy your moment," he said quietly. "It won't last."
Marco watched him walk away, understanding crystallizing. Dominic saw him as a threat. Not because of where Marco came from, but because of how fast he'd been despite coming from nowhere.
This wasn't going to be a friendly competition.
This was going to be war.
Yuki appeared at Marco's elbow. "Impressive driving," he said in careful English. "But Dominic is right about one thing. Tomorrow will be harder. Everyone will push more, knowing your pace."
"Good," Marco said. "I'm here to race, not make friends."
Yuki smiled slightly. "Maybe you can do both. Come on. I'll show you where everything is. And you need to learn the training schedule. Tomorrow morning is physical conditioning at six AM. It's... intense."
As they walked back toward the residential building, Marco looked back at the track, at the F4 cars being pushed into the garage, at the facility that was now his home.
Fifth place on his first day driving a car.
Not first, but not last. Room to improve, but proof he belonged.
His phone buzzed. A message from Elena: Heard through the grapevine that you got accepted. Congratulations. The real work starts now.
Marco typed back: Already feeling it. Met the competition. It's going to be interesting.
That's a polite way of saying someone's already decided to hate you, isn't it?
How did you know?
Because this is racing. Someone always hates the newcomer. Especially if the newcomer is fast.
Marco pocketed his phone and followed Yuki inside. Tomorrow would bring more challenges, more tests, more opportunities to prove himself or fail spectacularly.
But tonight, he was here. He'd made it to the Academy. He had a room, a roommate, a place in a program that could change everything.
He just had to survive it.
And judging by the look Dominic had given him, survival wasn't going to be easy.