The red carpet

Flashes exploded like white stars along the red carpet, photographers shouting Max Verstappen’s name as he stepped beneath the glowing event lights. The crisp black suit fit him perfectly, the fabric catching the shimmer of the camera flashes every time he shifted. He looked collected, cool, almost impossibly composed — as if he hadn’t spent the morning celebrating a fourth world championship.

A reporter pushed slightly forward, microphone raised. “Max! Max, can we get a word?”

He turned to them with a practiced smile, the one he saved for public events — polite, controlled, with a hint of mischief if you looked closely enough.

“Of course,” he said, resting his hands loosely in his pockets. The cameras around him clicked rapidly.

“First of all, congratulations on your fourth title. How does it feel tonight — standing here, after another historic season?”

Max smirked softly, tilting his head as he considered the question. “Honestly? Surreal.” His voice was steady, smooth. “Every year is different, every win feels different… but this one?” He paused, eyes glancing toward the crowd that lined the red carpet. “It feels special.”

“Special how?” the reporter pressed.

He chuckled under his breath, not giving everything away. “You’ll have to trust me on that,” he said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

The reporter laughed, then quickly asked, “You look unusually relaxed tonight. What’s the secret?”

Max shrugged, the motion easy and unbothered. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the moment. Or maybe,” he added with a slight grin, “I’m better at pretending now.”

The carpet lights glinted off his hair as he leaned slightly closer to the mic. “But seriously, I’m grateful. It’s been a long season. A hard one. I’m proud of the team. I’m proud of the work.”

The crowd roared behind the barricades, and Max gave them a small wave.

The reporter stepped aside for one last photo, and Max shifted his weight, letting the flashes bathe him again. He looked every bit the champion — confident, composed, completely in control — yet behind his eyes, there was a quiet glimmer of something softer… something only visible when the cameras weren’t looking.

“Alright,” he said as he straightened his jacket. “Next question?”