My Formula 1 System-Chapter 345: Rennick’s Reign. 2

The day after the race, Luca woke up feeling a touch groggy, his body still heavy from the Grand Prix's grind. But he'd promised Isabella they'd explore Brazil together, so he pushed through the haze, finding the energy to make it happen.

They were staying at a five-star hotel in Jardins, a lush pocket of São Paulo where the grounds bloomed with dense green ferns, vibrant orchids, and tangled vines that spilled over stone paths, the air flourished with the scent of earth and petals.

São Paulo's bustling city center was as striking as its quieter suburbs. The metropolis carried a calm, orderly rhythm, its streets flowing smoothly in coordination. The only bright spots vivid through the scene were the traffic wardens' neon vests, the steady glow of streetlights and traffic signals, the pulsing brake and turn lights of cars, and the soft gleam from countless buildings stretching across the skyline.

Luca had wanted to hire a driver for today. Someone who could weave through São Paulo's districts and neighborhoods with ease, knowing every hidden corner and backstreet. He'd also need to understand local customs to avoid any missteps.

It was a smart idea, no question, but Luca ended up assigning the day's long driving task to Vance instead.

Vance wasn't a workaholic by any stretch. He was simply the kind of guy who liked having important jobs to tackle, never one to sit idle for too long without purpose.

So, he'd called Luca up, asking if there was anything he could take on, explaining that Brazil felt too slow and dull for him.

That's how Luca put Vance in charge of driving. And since Isabella had gotten to know the entire team by now, she'd probably feel more at ease with Vance behind the wheel than with some random stranger they didn't know.

Isabella had barely stepped out of their hotel room. She'd spent most of her time buried in books, leaving the hotel only three times since they arrived.

The first was for a convention tied to Formula racing. Most Grand Prix weekends came with a side event in the host country, either before or after the race, something educational or fun. Brazil's own was a seminar not a fun one, heavy on racing insights.

The second time, she went with Sara and Mallow to a viewing center to catch the qualifiers. The third was race day itself, watching Luca's victorious battle unfold.

Unlike what Luca had assumed, Brazil didn't feel familiar to Isabella at all. Maybe she was just wired for European life, more at home in its rhythms.

That made him worry the tour might overwhelm her instead of spark wonder, but since Isabella stayed keen and enthusiastic about the plan, he didn't hold back from pushing forward.

When Vance pulled up, Luca and Isabella stepped out of the hotel and headed to the car. Just then, Luca's phone buzzed with a call from Mallow.

"What plans could you possibly have the day after a race?" Mallow's voice came through, half-curious, half-annoyed. "I wanted to go over some important stuff with you today, but Manuela says you're booked 'all day'."

Luca let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah, just a short tour around the city with Isabella," he said. "We're leaving tomorrow, so I figured we'd do some sightseeing."

There was a strange pause from Mallow's end. Luca wondered what he might be thinking. He couldn't tell if he was choking back a jab about Isabella or just picking his next words carefully.

Luca had long picked up on Mallow's unease about his relationship—especially his relationship with Isabella. Mallow felt like Isabella was pulling away his young, innocent, willful client. All of a sudden, the young lad was making major life decisions without looping him in, and Mallow wasn't thrilled.

Finally, Mallow spoke again. "You're heading out in public?" he asked, a slight edge of worry creeping into his tone.

"Man, what's 'going out' mean if it's not in public?" Luca fired back.

"I'm saying the race vibe's still raw out there—not exactly friendly!" Mallow pressed.

Luca took a slow breath. "Like I told you, we're out of Brazil tomorrow. Today's all I've got," he said, then narrowed his eyes. "What, you think some rival fan's gonna spot me and start trouble?"

Mallow gave a shrug through the phone. "Who knows? You're the guy who climbed on your Ferrari and taunted them," he said. "It's blowing up online. People are calling it the boldest and coldest move of the decade."

Luca stayed quiet, letting Mallow get it all out. When he was done, Luca doubled down. "We're touring today, that's set. We'll talk later tonight, yeah?" he said, then ended the call.

Luca had planned the day to run 10 hours, kicking off at 7 a.m. sharp and wrapping by 5 p.m.

First, they headed to Trianon Park, right in Jardins. Vance drove them to the small forest off Paulista Avenue, a pocket of Atlantic trees and greenery. They strolled the tiled paths, old branches casting shadows, the air still crisp from last night's drizzle.

The short walk cleared out any lingering fog in Luca's head, the grogginess that could've dulled his morning. Isabella was all energy, practically bouncing, and so, he matched her pace. Yet again, she did not drive a grueling race the previous day.

They kept walking, happy, from Trianon all the way to Paulista Avenue and even down to Ibirapuera Park, messing around near any lake they spotted, where early joggers and families were already out.

São Paulo was a city through and through, so Luca's hope of finding village-like spots with raw Iberian roots wasn't happening today. Still, he held out for next year's Grand Prix, when he might carve out time for that.

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While buying a pastel de frango from a vendor's cart, Isabella flat-out refused to hand back Luca's nose mask when he asked for it again. She'd seized it the second they stepped into Trianon Park.

"Why're you so on edge?" Isabella asked, twirling the mask. "You're known, sure, but you're not Michael Jackson out here."

"I get it," Luca said, scanning the crowd. "It's just Mallow's talk rattling me. He's got me second-guessing everything."

"But no one would hurt you, right?" she asked.

Luca let out a small laugh. Let them try, he thought. "It's not me I'm worried about," he said, his eyes moving to her, hinting at his real concern. "Come on, let's move," he added, paying the pastel vendor, who gave him a knowing nod of recognition.

"The park map shows a shaded path by the Planetarium up ahead, past the lake and those big banyan trees. Vance'll be waiting just beyond the north gate, circling slow on the access road."

Back in Jardins by noon, they stopped for lunch at a restaurant called A Figueira Rubaiyat. It was a high-end spot with open-air tables under a sprawling fig tree, but Luca picked a table inside for a bit of cover.

There, people spotted him fast, and he was signing stacks of autographs—napkins, hats, even a kid's race program. The attention kept coming, wave after wave, and Isabella started to see what he might've been dodging all day.

After lunch, they hit the streets for shopping, browsing boutiques on Oscar Freire, then headed to Vila Madalena's Beco do Batman, a graffiti-covered alley bursting with murals that drew another flood of stares and selfie requests. Finally, they sank into the backseat of Vance's car, worn out from the long but memorable day.