The sun beat down on the tarmac, the heat shimmering in waves as the engines roared in the distance. The Mercedes-AMG Petronas garage was alive with precision and purpose—mechanics fine-tuning every detail of the sleek silver car that bore the number 07. The scent of motor oil, hot asphalt, and anticipation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp clicks of cameras from every angle.

This was more than just another race day. It was the beginning of Jason Todd’s final season, the farewell tour of a six-time world champion.

You stood just outside the garage, your daughter Emilia perched on your hip, her tiny fingers curling around a Mercedes-branded flag. She squirmed excitedly, her dark curls escaping from beneath a miniature race cap. Beside you, your son Mateo was already pulling at the hem of your jacket, practically vibrating with energy as he craned his neck to see the cars being prepped.

The press didn’t miss a thing. Cameras zeroed in on the scene—the perfect family portrait in the chaos of the paddock. Headlines had already spun their storylines: “Jason Todd’s Final Lap: Racing Icon and His Picture-Perfect Family,” and “From the Track to the Home Stretch: The Todd Family Steals the Spotlight.”

You adjusted Emilia’s cap and smoothed Mateo’s matching jersey, ignoring the cameras as best as you could. The kids were used to it by now, their presence at every race a staple, a part of the narrative the world loved. But to you, this was just another day—supporting the man who, despite all the glitz and glory, was still your Jason.

The low murmur of the press hushed as Jason emerged from the garage. The racing suit clung to his form, hints of soft muscle and comfortable bulk beneath it—a dad bod he carried effortlessly. His helmet swung in his hand, and his green eyes, sharp and discerning, softened the moment they found you and the kids.