The heat of São Paulo wrapped around the arriving teams like a tight embrace. The city buzzed with energy, from the painted favelas sprawled across the hills to the humming avenues near the Interlagos circuit. Despite the picturesque chaos, a different tension simmered beneath the surface this time—one that had nothing to do with engines or lap times.
Daan Vermer's breakdown in Valencia had sent ripples through the motorsport world. Social media was ablaze. Fans were split. Former drivers gave sympathetic interviews. Pundits debated ethics on nightly panels. IRC Chairman Castalino Piere had promised answers. Now, the world waited.
All eyes turned to Interlagos. And before any tire met the tarmac, the International Racing Confederation would address the storm head-on.
---
The press conference was scheduled for noon in the paddock media center. Security was tight. Credential checks took longer. Even the journalists—normally so eager for soundbites—seemed more reserved, whispers replacing their usual banter.
Sukhman entered quietly through the side entrance with his manager, Nandini Thakre. He wasn't due to speak, but she insisted they witness it firsthand. "You learn more from moments like these than any telemetry sheet," she'd said. He didn't argue.
Inside, the media room was packed. Cameras lined the back, microphones stretched out like reaching fingers, and in the front row sat Daan himself. He looked composed, but pale. Next to him sat Henrik Maes and his daughter, Ana Vermer, clutching her father's hand tightly.
Then came Castalino Piere.
Tall, silver-haired, and wearing the crisp navy blue of the IRC, Castalino took to the stage with calm authority. Beside him were the heads of media regulation, driver welfare, and legal oversight. No other drivers were invited to speak. This was a statement, not a debate.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Castalino began, voice even, "the events following the Valencia Grand Prix have demanded reflection, correction, and immediate action."
The room stilled.
"This organization exists to protect the integrity of motorsport. That includes the rules on-track—and the people off it."
He gestured toward Daan. "When a veteran like Mr. Vermer is publicly accused, mocked, and vilified without proof, we must ask ourselves: have we forgotten the cost of this sport? The human cost?"
Cameras clicked. Pens scribbled.
"The IRC believes in accountability. But that applies not only to drivers and teams. It applies to the press. To ourselves. To our fans."
He raised a paper. "Effective immediately, three Dutch media outlets—'TrackTalk NL,' 'Paddock Pulse,' and 'Race Roar Netherlands'—are under suspension from accessing any IRC-sanctioned paddock for the remainder of the season."
Gasps. A few muffled protests.
"Furthermore," he continued, "we are implementing the following changes, effective in the next season: a revised media code of conduct, mandatory ethics training for accredited journalists, and the formation of an independent Drivers' Mental Health Council."
That announcement brought murmurs of approval.
Then he turned back to Daan. "Mr. Vermer, you are not here to defend yourself. You are here to be supported. On behalf of the IRC, we apologize for the harm caused."
Daan looked down at his daughter, then stood slowly.
"Thank you," he said simply.
A few journalists clapped. Then more. Then the room filled with reluctant applause—not for a win, but for something heavier. A step forward.
As the conference closed, Sukhman watched Ana look up at her father, smiling for the first time in days. It hit him hard.
---
The next morning, São Paulo woke with fire.
The Brazilian GP was a celebration of chaos and rhythm. Interlagos, with its sweeping curves and sudden elevation changes, demanded precision wrapped in flair. This wasn't a race you survived with strategy alone. You needed guts.
Crews unpacked crates and began assembling their machines. Mechanics wiped sweat from their brows. Drivers reviewed corner data and fuel calculations. Journalists, their reputations freshly shaken, tread carefully.
Sukhman stood on pit lane, helmet under his arm, eyes scanning the circuit. He could already feel the asphalt pulsing under the sun. Somewhere nearby, Omar was doing jump squats, laughing with his trainer. Diego Montoya reviewed a new diffuser tweak with his engineers.
And Daan Vermer? He was back in his garage, looking like he had aged ten years—but there was a quiet determination in the way he fitted his gloves.
"Rookie," came a voice. It was Henrik.
"Sir."
Henrik looked him over. "You held your tongue in Valencia."
"I didn't know what to say."
"Sometimes silence says more."
Sukhman nodded.
"But now," Henrik added, "this track won't listen to silence. It needs your voice. Through the throttle."
Sukhman smiled. "Then I better speak loud."
Henrik laughs. "Good that's the spirit. Sp what are you people gonna do in this free time before Friday."
"We actually have not decided much, sir."
"Hmm. If you have no problem then how about an unofficial race between you and Daan on Thursday. One-on-one." Henrik says.
"A... are you sure about this sir?"
"Yeah. It will help Daan. Actually he is struggling to get a grip on this new generation tech. Plus new generation racers are fearless. That's something really different from Daan's ideology of 'safety first' driving. I know what he does is perfect but now a days, you have to take risk. That's why I want him to compete with some young blood. I have seen you racing before. You are always welcome to take risks. Please don't deny this offer for the sake of Daan." Henrik tells all this with one breath.
"Okay. I will."