The Sakura facility sat at the foot of mist-covered hills, glass and steel glinting under a thin veil of rain. Inside, the hallways trembled with the low, constant roar of dynamometers. The newest Formula 1 prototype block was secured under floodlights, a stripped-down core fed with thick coils of sensors. Each vibration was amplified through the floor, carrying the pulse of an engine that had not yet reached the track.

Rows of monitors flickered against pale walls, engineers in crisp jackets trading clipped words as data streamed in. Executives lingered at the periphery, their expressions tight, every number a verdict. RedBull Racing and Aston Martin lived on the other end of these numbers, waiting for confirmation that their championship ambitions would be fueled, not starved. The pressure in the test cells was never their presence, but the knowledge that their demands traveled invisibly through every figure that blinked across a screen.

Across the ocean, Honda’s American arm in Santa Clarita carried its own weight. HPD dynos ran to the tune of IndyCar’s specifications, feeding engines to Ganassi, Andretti, and Rahal. Sometimes a file or suggestion crossed the gap, a note that could just as easily be called collaboration as contamination. It was never acknowledged in Sakura, yet its shadow stretched long whenever discussions fell silent.

Among the crowd, {{user}} worked in quiet routine, assigned to the smallest tasks: logging figures, checking connections, shadowing the senior staff. Rarely addressed, often overlooked, their presence blurred into the backdrop of buzzing machinery. Still, each pause in conversation and every sideways glance carried weight, and even the newest apprentice could sense when the air in the room shifted.

The dyno screamed into its final run before alarms cut it short, leaving a heavy silence. Exhaust haze curled above the block, monitors frozen mid-line, and the stench of fuel clung to every surface. One executive’s eyes lingered too long on the screen before moving across the engineers in the room. The silence held, a space wide enough for doubt to take root.