Pitfall ( ENG )

Part 3

Liam

The following days were incredibly exciting. I got an inside look at how the team operated, and I saw how data flowed between the different departments—particularly the coordination with the aerodynamics and engine development teams was fascinating. I wasn't just reading about it anymore—I was part of it. I belonged.

As a junior race engineer, my first tasks included preprocessing simulation data and compiling configuration tables for qualifying and race scenarios. Every day, Alessandro assigned me a segment to evaluate: tire temperatures, fuel consumption curves, and telemetry discrepancies between ideal and actual laps.

One afternoon, while I was trying to interpret a long heat profile summary, Alessandro stepped up behind me. He didn't say anything at first, just watched me work.

"What's this?" he finally asked, pointing at my screen.

"It's the change in aerodynamic and mechanical grip during the long run due to the overheating of the left rear tire," I replied quietly but confidently.

"Uh-huh. And where's the comparison to the previous race weekend?" he asked, his face tense.

"I haven't done that yet. I thought I'd first look at the effects of each segment separately," I tried to explain.

"Don't think in fragments. A race engineer sees the whole picture. Your job isn't to focus on details—that's the refuge of weak engineers," he said coldly.

I blushed. It wasn't his words that hurt—it was that he was right. I'd been thinking too narrowly. I reached for my notebook, but he was already walking away.

"Have it ready by tomorrow morning," he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

Another day, Alessandro criticized my data visualization approach.

"This isn't a PowerPoint presentation, Brooks," he hissed, pointing at the screen. "We care about relevance, not aesthetics. Your color coding doesn't help if I can't instantly understand what I'm looking at."

"I'll revise it," I nodded, and I immediately rethought the entire system.

A third time, I had compiled a strategy reaction analysis based on replayed pit-to-car radio communications. Alessandro listened through my presentation, then just said:

"In the long run, the most useful engineers are the ones who don't just analyze data—they prepare decisions. Right now, you're just calculating. Work on that."

I wanted to make a good impression, so I barely went home, only to sleep. I worked overtime instead. Finally, I was using my knowledge to create something. The heads of the engine department always welcomed engineers' suggestions, so I compiled several proposals: software adjustments to optimize engine response and data-processing templates to make race weekend work more efficient. I organized them and shared them with the rest of the team.

One evening around 10:00 PM, when the factory was winding down, I stepped outside, my bag over my shoulder, checking my phone. A black sports car slowed in front of the building. The side window rolled down—and I recognized Charles in the driver's seat.

Charlotte was in the passenger seat, and in the back were Riccardo and Nico, Charles's childhood friends. Loud music played from the car, and they all seemed in high spirits.

Charles turned off the music, got out, and shut the door behind him.

"Hey," he said softly. "Just getting off?"

"Yes," I nodded. "Stayed a bit longer to work."

He stepped closer.

"Your hand... still hurting?" he asked quietly, his gaze on my wrist.

"Not too bad anymore," I replied. "Thanks for asking."

Charlotte lifted her head from the back seat and said mockingly:

"Seriously, Charles? You're stopping for a scratch? It's not like he's the first person to work overtime."

Charles glanced at her for a moment, then back at me.

"You always stay this late?" he asked.

"I'm trying to prove myself," I said honestly.

Charlotte laughed and leaned back in her seat.

"So diligent. How charming," she muttered loud enough for me to hear.

Charles took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry..." he said to me.

"It's fine," I tried to smile. "I was just heading home."

"Alright. Good night, Liam," Charles said before getting back in the car, and they slowly drove away.