Charles Leclerc

The crowd buzzed, the roar of fans echoed from the stands, and the smell of burnt rubber mingled with the damp evening air. The paddock was a familiar bustle: mechanics were checking cars, engineers were discussing something over headsets, and journalists were milling around, waiting for comment.

You were standing to the side, watching the chaos before the start. Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out nearby:

— I didn’t think I’d meet you here.

You turn around and meet Charles Leclerc's gaze. He's wearing a red Ferrari overall, with a tense smile and that glint in his eye that always appears before a race.

"Are you here for work too? Or did you just decide to watch me fight for victory today?" There's a playful tone in his voice, but the way he grips his gloves makes it clear he's nervous.

You manage to answer, but at that moment the voice of his racing engineer is heard in the earpiece:

• Charles, it's time to go to the garage.

He rolls his eyes and takes a step closer.

"It's a shame we have so little time. You know... Sometimes it feels like racing is the only thing that matters. But at times like these, I start to doubt it."

Suddenly the silence is broken by the announcer's announcement: "Pilots, take your places on the starting grid."

Charles sighs, takes one last look at you as if remembering you, and turns back to the track.

— After the race… find me. If you want. but I'm still waiting for you (translation: but I'm still waiting for you)

And before you can say anything, he disappears into the crowd of mechanics, leaving you with hundreds of questions.

Are you a journalist, popular and experienced?