Five Days Later.

Berlin.

In the tall mirror of a hotel in Berlin, a new version of 19-year-old Victor Surmann stared back.

There’s a saying that goes: when the sun hits the mirror at an angle where every speck of dust on the mirror could be seen, whatever reflection was true.

Victor stood there, finishing the last few touches of his new truth.

His suit was crisp, dark, and formal, and had that just-pressed stiffness, broadening his shoulders and making him appear more respectable.

Buttoned all the way up was a stark white shirt, and a collar so stiff, it was a constant reminder to keep his head up. And finally, a symmetric tie that was as standard as the suit.

Looking at himself, Victor was obviously not checking his appearance anymore. He was looking for the man who can handle what’s coming. His eyes told him he was too excited for this, but his body language screamed supreme level composure.

Maybe it’s the combination of both that makes one a true force of nature.

Moving away from the glass, Victor smoothed out the fabric of his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, then his watch, and every small detail that completed the image.

The simple hotel room, too small for his ambitions, remained silent as Victor exhaled, watched his chest rise and fall, then turned to leave.

Today was the D day.

Today was the big turning point Victor had been waiting for. It was the day he finally became contractually independent, stepping away from just being a name on a roster to becoming a true F1 brand of himself.

He had a massive afternoon ahead of him, filled with meetings to officially sign on his own agent, a dedicated manager, and a full personal team. In the racing world, this was the ultimate benchmark for a successful career. Without your own people in your corner to handle the politics and the money, you were just a driver; with them, you were a powerhouse. This was how things actually progressed.

Before this day, it was Trampos Racing that handled everything.

When a team handles your affairs, there are pros and cons.

The pro is total focus; you simply drive while they manage the logistics, legalities, and sponsorship noise. That’s a turnkey career.

However, the con is a massive loss of leverage. Without an independent manager, your interests are secondary to the team’s bottom line, making you disposable during contract negotiations or political shifts.

A good example was Niklas Himanen, a Finnish Squadra Corse driver, who once teamed with Luigi briefly before Marko Ignatova.

For a long time, Niklas didn’t have his own big team to fight for him, so he kept getting stuck with tiny one-year contracts. Because he lacked a powerhouse personal team to play the market, he faced the constant pressure of being a support driver, always one boardroom decision away from the exit.

In other words: He was always worried about getting fired because he didn’t have his own people to make him look like a superstar.

Fortunately for Vic, nothing of that sort would happen to him.

Instead of holding him back, Trampos Racing had actually agreed to help him set up his own independent support system.

After his amazing P8 finish in Baku, the team was totally convinced that Victor was a prodigy worth a massive investment. They realized that if they didn’t help their own driver look like a superstar with a top-tier legal team of his own, it would show they didn’t truly value him. They were ready to let him grow his own wings so he could fly even higher.

And that... is the most satisfying news ever.

But it wasn’t just generosity from Trampos. Not entirely.

They had some very strategic, primary reasons for pushing Victor toward his own management. By helping him build his structure, Trampos had the ability now to refine control and order.

An independent agent didn’t mean freedom to wander; it meant a controlled channel through which every opportunity would pass, granting the team some peace of mind, especially now their driver had begun to attract eyes.

The goal was to prevent Vic from listening to outside sponsorship offers from rival companies with the intent to sabotage Trampos and Ferrari.

After the mess Chris and his cohorts tried to pull by sneaking around with their own deals, Trampos knew they had to tighten the leash. They’d seen how quickly interest from rival companies could blur lines, create tension, and pull a young driver in directions that didn’t align with the team.

An agent fixes that.

Not by restricting Victor directly, but by surrounding him with professionals whose job is to understand contracts. To enforce them. And to avoid conflicts before they even begin.

No accidental breaches. No side negotiations. No emotional decisions. Everything becomes structured and predictable as it should be.

Truthfully, Trampos Racing was smart.

Because instead of controlling Victor, they made it appear like he was the one in control.

It was a masterclass of corporate machination disguised as a career milestone!

*********

WESTEND HERITAGE, BERLIN

Victor had never been to a country club before.

The driveway was a long path made of crunching white gravel, lined perfectly with round trees that looked like they’d been trimmed with giant scissors. The main building was a massive two-story colonial house with huge, white pillars and a wide porch. And beyond the building, the club’s golf course stretched in waves of uneven terrain, marked by sand pits and blue ponds.

Victor’s driver helped him with his door, and he stepped out of his ride. He was immediately greeted by the two people who had been the invisible hands moving his career behind the scenes: Dominic Sehlman, the Trampos General Counsel Officer, and Lydia Hellmuth, the Chief Press Officer.

Dominic was a stout, stoic man with a firm handshake and eyes that looked like they were always scanning a contract, while Lydia was more approachable, wearing a constant, media-ready smile that made everyone feel at ease.

However, in reality, Dominic was the better person to be around.

Victor could tell from a season-long experience.

As they began to navigate toward the main building, it was clear that Victor’s P8 in Baku had made him a local celebrity. Several club members paused their conversations or lowered their newspapers to offer greetings.

"Excellent drive in Baku, Surmann!" one older gentleman called out.

Victor smiled and nodded back, feeling the weight of the interest they had in him.

Dominic and Lydia guided him through the crowd with practiced grace, serving as a protective barrier while still allowing him to soak up the attention. Mr. Grant wasn’t there, but his influence felt heavy in the air as they led Victor to a private, sun-drenched seating area overlooking the greens.

Victor wasn’t going in blind. He already knew exactly who he was there to meet.

Earlier, Trampos had provided him with a curated table of elite candidates, all eager to guide the career of the grid’s newest prodigy.

Among the high-flyers, Victor’s gut had pulled him toward one name: Adílio Andrade. 63 years old.

Mr. Andrade had been manager to the retired tennis ball legend, Seven Yemer. He also boasted a decade as the lead negotiator for South American TV rights, and an independent advisor who had guided athletes across disciplines.

While other candidates were equally impressive, Victor had felt a pull toward Mr. Andrade.

Why?

Because the man already had everything—money, influence, even shares in this very club.

To Victor, this meant Adílio wasn’t looking for a quick paycheck; he was looking for a legacy.

At his age, and with his wealth secured, Adílio’s primary drive would be the pure, ego-driven success of seeing Victor blossom into a world champion.

And Victor felt that made all the difference.

*******

As Victor reached the table, he got his first real look at the man who would hold the keys to his future.

Mr. Andrade looked cool and charming. He had significant body weight, yet he was fit in his pink thin-fabric suit jacket and plain white trousers.

His hair was a thick mane of white curls, and his beard was a perfectly groomed mix of salt and coal.

As the group approached, Adílio didn’t look at the counsel or the press officers first. His knowing eyes landed directly on Victor, the taller young man trailing slightly behind.

Slowly, the deep wrinkles at the edges of his eyes stretched as a genuine, fatherly smile broke across his face.