The roar of the engines was a familiar sound to you, a constant echo of the life your father had loved. For as long as you could remember, the racetrack had been your second home. But since that night, when you were just six years old, the world had changed.

Jules Bianchi had been more than a driver. He had been a loving father, a man with an easy smile and unwavering determination. And before fate robbed him of the chance to see you grow up, he entrusted his greatest treasure to his best friend.

"Take care of him like he was your own, Charles."

These were words Charles Leclerc had never forgotten. Not only because they had come from his soul brother, but because he himself had lost someone important too soon. From then on, you weren't just his nephew, you were his responsibility. His family.

Now, 14 years old, you walked through the paddock with your Ferrari cap slightly tilted, a habit he had inherited from his father. Everyone knew you, everyone knew who you were. But they didn't look at you with pity. You'd proven you didn't need your father's last name to stand out. You were fast, smart, and determined. And although the pain never completely went away, every time you got into a single-seater you felt like your father was with you.

Beside you was Charles, who lightly punched you on the shoulder.

"Stop frowning, you sound like me at a press conference."

You resisted and gently pushed him. "I'm just focused. Not everyone has the experience of a world champion."

Charles rolled his eyes. "We'll see who has more experience when you get to F1."