SHIRT, charles leclerc (REWRITING)

TEN, etched in history

(  Please vote & comment, it motivates me to write more! )

CHAPTER TEN,
etched in history

The private jet hummed steadily, cutting through the clouds on its way to Baku. Inside, the cabin was a mix of quiet conversations, subdued laughter, and the occasional snore. Juliette glanced out the window at the endless stretch of gray and blue, a moment of stillness amid the chaos that had become her life.

She turned her attention back to the cabin and stifled a laugh. Lando Norris was sprawled across his seat, his McLaren cap askew and drool glistening down his chin as he snored softly. His arms hung limply over the seat's armrests, making him look like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Juliette nudged Amelia, seated beside her. "Look at him," she whispered, biting back a giggle. "Do you think he even knows where we are right now?"

Amelia, always poised, smirked and leaned in. "I doubt it. That boy could sleep through an engine test."

Across from them, Giulia Armani, Juliette's mother, glanced up from her tablet, her expression a mixture of amusement and fond exasperation. "Mio amore," she said, addressing Juliette, "can you please wake him? We'll be landing soon, and I'd rather not have to explain why he's drooling during customs checks."

Juliette hesitated, her lips twitching. "Me? Why me?"

"Because I asked," Giulia replied simply, sipping her espresso.

"Fine." Juliette leaned over, gently tapping Lando on the shoulder. "Lando... Lando, wake up. We're almost there."

He stirred slightly but didn't wake. She tried again, a little firmer this time. "Lando, wake up!"

This time, he jolted upright, his cap falling into his lap. "What—? I wasn't drooling!" he blurted, his voice groggy.

The cabin erupted in laughter. "Sure you weren't," Carlos Sainz called from across the aisle, holding up his phone, the screen clearly displaying a photo of Lando mid-snore.

"Delete that!" Lando groaned, snatching his cap and jamming it back onto his head.

"Too late," George Russell added with a smirk, leaning into the aisle. "It's already in the group chat."

"You lot are the worst," Lando muttered, slumping back into his seat.

Amelia chuckled, crossing her legs elegantly. "Don't worry, Lando. It's not the worst photo of you we've seen. Remember that time in Bahrain—"

"Stop!" Lando interrupted, holding up a hand dramatically. "We don't speak of Bahrain."

As the plane began its descent, the mood shifted slightly. The rookies—Juliette, George, and Carlos—exchanged quiet thoughts about the track ahead. Baku's street circuit, notorious for its tight corners and long straights, was both thrilling and intimidating.

"This is your first time here, right?" Amelia asked Juliette, her tone curious but warm.

"Yeah — I was sick when F2 raced here," Juliette admitted. "It's different, you know? Watching it on TV doesn't really prepare you for... this."

Amelia nodded knowingly. "It never does. But you've handled everything so far with grace. Baku will be no different. Just remember, patience is key here."

Juliette smiled, grateful for Amelia's encouragement. Though she was technically competing against the other rookies, there was an unspoken camaraderie among them, a shared understanding of what it meant to be new in such a high-stakes world.