My Formula 1 System
Chapter 450 - 450: S2 Prize Giving Gala

Luca made it just in time for the Prize Giving Gala of this season. Strangely enough, it was held on the exact same date as last year's gala, but the location this time was much different, because the title had changed hands and shifted homes.

Milan, Italy—home to Squadra Corse, hosted the Formula 1 Prize Giving Gala for this season. Luca had to fly straight from Switzerland to Italy without even pausing to recess in London for a few days like he usually might. The night he and his team arrived was the very night the long-awaited dinner ceremony was scheduled to take place.

Luca didn't exactly look forward to the Gala, unlike many other drivers who had been pining for the night like it was a dream come true. He chose to attend primarily because the FIA had sent him an attendance request, which likely implied he'd be leaving the venue that night with some sort of award or recognition.

In the message, they made it clear he wasn't obliged to show up, and if he still wasn't in any competent physical condition, his absence would be understood and accepted.

Luca considered this part of the message—but he decided to go. Because he wasn't in an incompetent physical condition anymore. He was more than fine now; he wasn't limping around like everyone might have assumed. He didn't need bandages, and he didn't smell like ointments or balms anymore.

The only remnants of his long and brutal recovery were some faint scars that crawled across his left brow, eye, and cheek. They were too subtle to tell the true story of being hugged in the face by a fire blast. The damage didn't look grotesque anymore. In fact, it aged him in a peculiar way—like fine leather—and even enhanced his look in a strange, rugged manner that only a woman could sheepishly explain.

And just as his face had undergone this quaint but fetching alteration, so had his body. Only Amir and Jonathan truly knew the hell he had put his body through in those two months. It felt more punishing than even Ansel's fire, but the outcome was ravishing. Right now, his black tailored shirt for the Gala couldn't even hide the thick definition of his chest, even with a vest worn underneath.

Loosen the tie, unbutton the shirt, remove the vest, and there it would be: a handsome tattoo now framing his new body shape. It traced his left chest, flowed up to his upper arm, and wrapped the border of his shoulder. A solid 9.5/10 tattoo.

Since no one had seen him from September up until December, Luca wanted to make this public appearance not just for show, but as a statement. To remind all supporters and foes that he was still a Formula 1 driver. That retiring by fire was never an option.

The FIA and the show organizers at Galleria Fiori d'Oro had held onto their uncertainty about Luca's attendance. So, when he showed up, it was a massive stunner.

A reporter was in the middle of a conversation with a high-ranking figure, one of the key members from one of the top hospitality clubs in the sport. It was still just 7 p.m., the event only just beginning. Camera shutters shattered the air's peace, guests murmured in gentle clusters, media crews conversed, and polished, expensive shoes steadily filled the entryway with movement.

Roughly fifty feet away from the venue, a huge gathering of fans had formed like a swarm of bees behind the barricades, which were heavily guarded by firmly armed security personnel. There was no mistaking them because they were Squadra Corse fans. And they weren't just excited, they were so energized it looked like a mob was on the verge of galvanizing.

The city itself was still wrapped in a celebratory haze. Spirits were high—too high, perhaps—and had grown slightly dangerous in tone. The FIA had been compelled to take serious precautionary measures to ensure the night unfolded smoothly without any security breaches or disruptions.

Cars kept rolling in; glossy, thunderous assets collectively worth close to half a billion dollars, steadily occupying the designated open parking lots beneath the pitch-black Milanese sky. Then came another vehicle. It was an elegant, charcoal-black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, just as exquisite and priceless as the others.

This reporter's instincts were pinpoint and sharp as she watched the luxury SUV coast past the gathering crowd and ease toward the main entrance. Once the car halted at the blue-lit entryway, the passenger door opened, and out stepped Luca.

The reporter's clipboard nearly slipped from her hand as Luca's right side was facing her direction, easy to recognize. Two bodyguards, Vance, and his diligent PA, Manuela—whom many had seen countless times—filed out of the Cullinan too, confirming that this was indeed Luca Rennick.

As they started into the Galleria, a massive crowd of journalists and reporters were already running toward them. Chico quickly took to Luca's right side and held out a hand to keep them away before they even arrived, while Dino glared around for any other incoming groups.

"Are you lost?" Vance asked impatiently, directing the question at the velvet-rope hostess stationed on the left side of the red carpet.

The young lady, dressed in a burgundy satin uniform, was indeed lost when Luca and his crew stomped out of the SUV with purpose. Her gaze had drifted afar, fixated on Luca, and it wasn't until Vance snapped her out of the daze that her shock turned into embarrassment.

"I am truly sorry," she whispered apologetically and hurriedly scanned the digital invite Vance was already holding out.

The chief guest liaison was equally stunned by Luca's presence, but he remained composed and personally greeted him. Tapping his black earpiece, he quickly announced into it that Luca Rennick had arrived at the F1 Prize Giving Gala.

"Thank you," Luca said with a short smile before moving through the door that was held open by the security. His entire team bounced inside the building, leaving the feral cluster outside to claw their fingernails on the tinted windows.

The main red carpet stretched up and ahead now, reminding Luca of last year. This year, however, he was alone, with no family member attending. He briefly wondered what kind of table he would be served.

"Mr. Luca!"

"Luca! Over here!"

"Were you forced to come tonight?!"

"Mr. Rennick, just one word please!"

The press was never-ending. Even around the red carpet inside the building, they were still countless and inquisitive. Vance and the rest had to disperse while indoor security ushered Luca past the premature interviews already crowding him, guiding him toward the more mandatory engagement, which was the red carpet photos.

"Turn this way, Luca!"

"Luca! Smile for the cameras!"

"Luca! Look right! Look right!"

The photographers on the right were suddenly all fans of Luca Rennick the moment he walked into the center of the booth. Once he looked up to the blinding camera lights, Luca knew everyone in the world could see him now. And he took a deep breath, hands in pockets.