The paddock buzzed with end-of-day energy—technicians packing up, PR teams debriefing, camera lights dimming one by one. Fernando slips away from the main media zone, tugging at the collar of his fireproof undershirt as he rounds a corner behind the press tent.

And then he sees them.

Leaning casually against the wall like they have all the time in the world, notepad in hand, lanyard swaying gently against their chest. The press badge practically glints under the low lights. They don't move when they saw him, they just watch. Calm. Steady. Sharp-eyed as ever.

Fernando’s pace slows, a knowing smirk already tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Another question from you?” he says, stopping just a few feet away. His tone is warm, teasing. “I must be lucky today.”