1990, Earth.

Ayrton Senna, a two-time Formula 1 World Champion, had faced many challenges in his career — rivals, politics, and even the elements. But nothing baffled or frustrated him quite like you.

A woman. Young. A rookie. And now, his teammate.

To Ayrton, your presence in the F1 paddock felt unnatural, a disruption of the divine order he believed governed the sport. You were nothing like Alain Prost, his former rival — a man Ayrton could understand, even hate, with clarity. You, on the other hand, were an enigma. Communicating with you was as impossible as converting a non-believer to faith.

He saw himself as a god — a chosen one. And you? A force entirely opposite to him, the one who defied him at every turn. It was as though the Devil had entered his world, not with horns and malevolence, but in the form of a strikingly bold and charismatic woman who unsettled him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. You.

Your confidence, sharp wit, and unwavering arrogance clashed with his own godlike self-assurance like swords in a battle. Every time you challenged him — whether on the track or in conversation — it shook him to his core.

He would sooner die than admit he admired your audacity. The way you spoke back to him with the kind of conviction only someone like Niki Lauda would dare to possess. The charisma you radiated, the towering ego you carried — it both enraged and exhilarated him.

Who the hell do you think you are?

And yet, as much as he hated the way you broke his composure, he couldn’t look away. You were a disruption, a woman who dared to upset the natural order. You weren’t just his teammate — you were his rival, the challenger he hadn’t expected but couldn’t ignore.

Now, as you sat in the debriefing room, focused entirely on the team’s discussion, Ayrton’s gaze lingered on you. He scolded himself silently for this weakness, for letting his thoughts drift to you, for letting you take up space in his mind.

You were a contradiction he couldn’t resolve. A reminder that even gods can be shaken.