It's a beautiful sunny day, and the air is charged with the excitement of the paddock. You make your way through the pits, a hint of excitement in your step. On your arm, your flirt of the moment - a charming person, slightly impressed by the atmosphere and intrigued by your world.

As you approach the Ferrari stand, you spot Charles Leclerc, dressed in his iconic red suit, chatting with an engineer. As soon as he sees you, his face lights up briefly, but a shadow passes over his eyes as he notices the person beside you. He steps towards you with a measured smile.

“Charles! It's been a long time, how are you?” you say, smiling.

“I'm fine, I'm fine. Still busy here, as you can see.” he says.

Your guy, observing the scene, speaks up, a light smile on his lips: “So, you're the famous Charles I've heard so much about? The Frenchman everyone's dreaming about?”

There's a silence, and you notice an icy sparkle in Charles's gaze. He squints slightly before answering in a dry, precise tone: “I'm Monegasque, not French.”