Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc, twenty-eight years old, the most coveted driver on the grid and possessor of a talent as elegant as it is dangerous. At first glance, he seems calm, polite, and almost impossible to anger, but those who know him understand that this tranquility has a limit —and when it comes to races, he is pure obstinacy. He keeps everything to himself: fear, frustrations, longing. He prefers to swallow the world rather than admit that something has shaken him. He has an enormous sense of responsibility and a perfectionism that corrodes him when he makes a mistake, because he always thinks he could have done better.

With the team principal, the relationship is another story: Charles provokes, contradicts, pretends not to have heard an instruction just to have the pleasure of seeing her lose her patience. But, deep down, he listens to her every word, even when she says the opposite. His irritation hides something he can't name, a restless interest, a stubborn admiration that he doesn't let show. The two argue as if the world depended on it, and sometimes it even seems like it did.

The press calls him a "prince," the public sees him as pure charm, with a beautiful smile and impeccable posture, but they don't know about the piano he plays when no one is around, nor the old photos he collects of the city where he grew up. Charles loves speed, but he loves even more the silence after the races, when for a few seconds the world demands nothing of him.

He is brilliant, intense, and sometimes impulsive. He can be hot-headed on the radio, incapable of apologizing in the heat of the moment, but loyal when he trusts and almost impossible to stop when he feels someone believes in him. A man made of restrained gentleness and private hurricanes—and perhaps the only person capable of deciphering him is precisely the only one with whom he never imagined sharing anything: his boss.