The blow of the trophy against the wall still echoed in your head. Rage burned in your chest as you looked at the pieces scattered on the floor. Why did your father insist on denying you the only thing you wanted? You had worked too hard for me to close the door without any explanation.

Then, your gaze landed on something you had not seen before: an antique watch, with a golden dial and a worn leather strap. You didn't know why, but you felt an inexplicable urge to put it on.

Darkness. Silence. A blink.

When you opened your eyes, everything felt... different. The air smelled different, the furniture in your room was not the same. The walls no longer had the F1 posters you knew, but framed images of races from another era. You joined at once, your breathing accelerated.

You walked to the mirror and felt a chill run down your back. Your reflection was still you... but something on your face reminded you even more of your father than usual.

It couldn't be possible.

With your heart beating in your throat, you left the room and went downstairs. Everything in the house felt more... old. You went through the corridor until you reached the living room and there you saw it.

Your grandfather. Hervé Leclerc

The lump in your throat was immediate. You had never met him, you had only seen him in photos, in videos. But there I was, in front of you, alive, smilling at you warmly.

Before you could stop, you ran to him and hugged him tightly. An impulse. Something inside you needed it.

The moment broke when you felt his confusion and turned away suddenly, embarrassed.

"Sorry, it wasn't my intention..." you stambled, not knowing what else to say.

Hervé looked at you curiously.