The Turning of the Engines — Part 2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlxg6ljNWgg

Morning Cafeteria

The AVEX INFINITY cafeteria gleamed in white: immaculate tables, open curtains, wide windows reflecting the Ceres circuit beneath the sun. Michà sat alone, having a simple meal — she could not train on an empty stomach.

A shiver ran down her spine: memories of the GFG, the extreme adrenaline, and the sickness that had made her vomit in Ron's office. Everyone there knew that the effect came without warning, and that it was part of the test.

As she chewed, she thought about the day's training: warm-up, G-force exercises with weight around her neck — boring, repetitive, but necessary. Without it, she would be nothing more than a mannequin in the cockpit, shaken around by the machines like a toy.

Looking out the window, Michà wondered who the 12 drivers chosen by Ron would be to become her internal rivals. Her face hardened as she remembered his words:

“Hatred is your fuel. It's your energy. Work hard, faster, stronger, little girl. The others will swallow you whole. Mother Ceres has no tolerance for weak people. Here, you deal with steel machines and heartless men, who will look at you as if you were meat… Look at me, hate me, spend that energy, turn it into speed. Imagine these supercars crushing you… smile with scorn and desire, because that's the only way you win! Remember Annes, the traitor, is your rival. He threw you away with mastery. Next year, there will be 10 men and 2 women competing to tear you apart. Nothing is guaranteed. I want all your hatred concentrated. Don't make it easy for anyone.”

Michà took a deep breath, feeling anger transform into fuel. Deep down, she knew she did not need Ron's approval to be a driver. But it was precisely that challenge — the hatred, the pressure, the risk — that made her want to push past every limit, become faster and stronger.

Training Academy

As she completed her sets in the gym, Michà felt the pressure crushing her shoulders. But deep down, she loved hating the pressure and hated loving it. Every pain, every effort, was fuel to break through limits.

She knew from behind-the-scenes information that her car was more aggressive: parts made from a lighter, stronger alloy, making it faster and more agile. Her body, 57 kg of pure fiber, marble-like muscles, was her advantage. Her weight helped her control the car masterfully without taking excessive risks — and that would also be an advantage against Annes, as impulsive as she was.

Annes had a poetically aggressive style, almost challenging her without words:

“Look, you're lighter than me and you still can't pass me! I can feel your fear!”

His eyes said everything, merciless, with a crooked smile that sparked a flash of anger in Michà.

The car was ready, with excellent performance. But now came the real test: the asphalt. More resources guaranteed nothing. The real world was unpredictable, filled with problems that only human intelligence could solve. It was not about starting everything over from scratch, but about correcting, adjusting, and evolving the details that had gone unnoticed.

Because, as Ron always said:

“We lose in the details. And it's in the details that we win.”

Michà clenched her fists, feeling hatred, adrenaline, and concentration converge into pure energy. The next training session, the next test, would be where talent, discipline, and intelligence would meet at maximum speed.

Starting Grid

After finishing her exercises, Michà headed toward the starting grid. She looked around, feeling the weight of the circuit's magnitude and imagining the crowd screaming her name. Here, it was pure freedom. She put on her gloves, anxious, her heart racing. The smell of oil and fuel filled the air — the simulators and the GFG were violent, but the real supercars were gods of steel, the ultimate creation of Mother Ceres.

Every lap was the extension of the human being in pursuit of absolute freedom. One mistake and death could arrive in an instant. Every moment behind the wheel transformed life into something fragile and intense: a steel god or a coffin of wheels and metal.

She felt the inner symphony: the vibration of the wheels, the texture of the curb that became part of the track, the perfect corner, the intense braking, the absurd weight on her neck. Her body warned her how much it could endure. Every pain, every effort, was the price of freedom.

— This is what I suffer for. — she thought, almost in a trance. Three intense hours of abstract freedom transformed into something concrete. The final lap was approaching, and the sensation was better than any victory — being ahead was merely a consequence. The sacrifice, the pain, everything was rewarded by that moment when she came out alive to race again.

The car responded like the score of a symphony. Every adjustment, every note, every reaction demonstrated the harmony between driver and machine. The connection was absolute: either it elevated her, or it killed her.

As she felt the course beneath her while racing and responding to every corner, Michà thought about the useless and harmful products plastered across her uniform: colorful patches, gloves, racing suit, even the candy bar. She remembered that advertisement for super-processed doughnuts, so sweet that even the ants would die from the artificial flavor.

— Even the cockroaches of Ceres are in better shape than the rest of the continent… fat cockroaches! — she laughed to herself.

One day, she had tried one of those doughnuts. It was so artificial that she spat it out live on camera, during an advertisement at the Republic of Fiume circuit. The reaction was instantaneous: the product lost market share, not because of sales, but because of her unexpected honesty. The public mockery won her fans, but it also fed her ego. Michà knew that she could not lose herself in that: she was the first driver, but how long would she remain at the top? One race, two?

She remembered her sociology and economics classes about neighboring countries. They failed at the obvious, at the details, and that was why they could not win. Small gestures, apparently insignificant — such as spitting out a doughnut — could bring down entire chains of multiprocessed products.

As she ran lighter, Michà felt that every detail, every choice, every reaction could be a weapon or a weakness. The circuit, the audience, the rivals — everything was calculated, even the mistakes of others.

In the middle of the track, an unknown woman approached Michà, calling her:

— Michà, I need you to come take measurements for your car's cockpit seat after training.

Michà frowned.

— Who are you?

— I'm Dan, the newest member of the AVEX INFINITY team. Track Engineer. I'll be your intermediary with Ron, the link between you and the team principal.

The tension rose immediately. Michà felt invaded and disrespected: an intermediary? She did not need one. She did not want one. Furious, she fired back at Dan with sharp words, arguing with her right there on the grid.

Soon afterward, they both entered the complex to argue. Michà questioned Ron's decision, feeling uninformed and unnecessarily subordinated, while Dan explained that the Track Engineer's role was essential for collecting precise feedback and optimizing the cockpit and the car. The argument grew heated, mixing frustration with professional curiosity.

They went up together in the elevator, continuing the debate: Michà questioned every choice, every reason why she did not have direct contact with Ron, feeling that her autonomy was being limited by protocols she did not fully understand.

When they reached Ron's office, he looked up, surprised by the tense energy between the two.

— Sit down, both of you. — he ordered, his voice firm but calm.

The heavy atmosphere in the room announced that the conversation would be about more than cockpit adjustments; it would be about limits, authority, and control within AVEX INFINITY.

Ron’s Office

Ron sighed, looking at Michà and Dan:

— I'm overwhelmed with adjustments to the car. Afterward, Michà, you'll test it. But the car has no problems. In fact, it has excessive quality — something that rarely happens.

He paused, watching Michà.

— Mother Ceres asked Dan to act as an intermediary between us.

Michà and Ron looked at each other, understanding perfectly why, even though they did not need to say it aloud. The complex was filled with surveillance cameras. Mother Ceres tolerated the two of them a great deal, not because of the hidden romance — which had not happened in more than three months — but because she believed that it had cost them the entire season last year. Dan had no idea why she was there, but Ron and Michà knew.

— This is going to get in the way — Michà retorted, crossing her arms.

— I will not accept this disrespect — Dan replied firmly.

Ron intervened, maintaining his authority:

— We need communication between you. It's not optional.

Michà raised an eyebrow, ironically:

— “Communication,” huh? Communication at the last minute, without details.

Ron remained calm, but firm:

— I was informed beforehand. I would explain it to you, but the urgency of adjusting the seat is critical. The urgency may pass, but the damn results remain.

The atmosphere grew heavy, but the tension carried a clear truth: at AVEX INFINITY, discipline, precision, and communication mattered more than pride or personal feelings.

After the conversation with Dan and Michà, Ron dismissed them both from the office, making it a clear order, and remained alone. Surrounded by the car's designs, he knew they were exceptional on paper. But he also remembered: last year they were exceptional too, and on the track, reality always found its own way. Internal details, rivalries, and accumulated results could turn small imperfections into enormous failures.

He scratched the arm that was slowly rebelling against him. Years earlier, he had lost the limb, but thanks to Ceres' modern medicine, he could now move with almost no restrictions, like that wheelchair-using student who, months later, began playing Flagball.

Ron remained silent, thinking about Michà — a beautiful and dangerous woman. He remembered the times AVEX had traveled to other countries, where drivers lived with almost no supervision. Not that there was no freedom in Ceres, but there, Mother watched and judged whether that need existed, always within an environment of discipline and competition.

It was like an invisible leash: “You can only go this far.” Mother Ceres knew how to intervene between him and Michà. She understood the human spirit: she did not repress it, she embraced and disciplined it.

Ron remembered his classes in tractor engine mechanics, the almost sensual pleasure of watching those electronic lathes shape exclusive parts. It was like turning steel into butter, transforming old machines into absolute, perfect, brand-new toys.

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