Thanks from the Rain God

After seeing the reporters off, Nakayama Takuya led his group back from the bustling amusement park to the solemn maintenance area.

The atmosphere in the repair area was even more tense than yesterday.

The engineers, each with a laptop, gathered around the race car, discussing the data in hushed tones.

The mechanics, like surgeons, methodically performed final checks and adjustments on every part of the race car.

"My God, the atmosphere—" Kevin lowered his voice, his tone filled with a pilgrimage-like reverence, "I can feel that every single cog in this machine is on high alert."

Mark Cerny patted him on the shoulder, signaling him to be quiet, but his eyes were also glued to the red and white beast lying quietly on the ground—the MP4/7A.

Nakayama Takuya walked straight to the back of the convoy, where Ron Danny stood with his arms crossed, looking like a stern general inspecting his troops.

"Ron, it seems everything is going well," Nakayama Takuya said.

Ron Danny turned around at the sound of his voice, and seeing it was him, his serious expression softened slightly. "There's never anything that goes smoothly," Mr. Nakayama replied in his characteristically unemotional tone, "All we can do is strive for perfection."

This was said in a style very much like Ron Danny, making Mark Cerny, who was standing next to him, nod in agreement.

"Where are the drivers?" Nakayama Takuya glanced around, not seeing the two most prominent figures. "Haven't they arrived yet?"

"Elton and Gerhard are on the track." Ron Danny gestured with his chin toward the track. "They're surveying it on foot, measuring every inch of asphalt, every shoulder, with their own feet, and memorizing it all."

"A site visit on foot!" Kevin was so excited upon hearing this that he almost jumped for joy, but quickly lowered his voice to exclaim, afraid of disturbing the busy engineers.

"My God! These are real professional drivers! They memorize the track with their bodies, not just with their eyes!"

No wonder Senna is so amazing in the rain; he must know exactly where the water is and where the grip is better on the track!

Ron Danny glanced at Kevin, a rare hint of approval flashing in his eyes.

"They'll be back before lunch," he added, glancing at his watch. "It's about time."

Since that was the case, Nakayama Takuya and his group waited quietly in the repair area.

The United States stopped whispering among themselves and quietly observed the McLaren technicians at work.

They witnessed a technician tightening wheel nuts with a torque wrench, each tightening precise in force and angle.

I also saw another technician with a small mirror and flashlight, inspecting an extremely tricky corner of the suspension system.

This extreme professionalism and focus deeply impressed these elites from the gaming industry.

They finally understood why this team was able to create one legend after another.

Just then, from the end of the maintenance passage came the sound of conversation approaching.

Immediately afterwards, two figures appeared in everyone's sight, both wearing McLaren Team uniforms and walking briskly.

The man walking in front wasn't particularly tall, but his gait exuded an indescribable focus and sharpness. His deep eyes seemed to pierce through the air; it was none other than the Brazil racing legend, Ayrton Senna. Beside him walked a taller...

Gerhard Berger, Austria with a relaxed smile.

When the two saw a group of unfamiliar faces standing next to Ron Danny, especially the leader, Nakayama Takuya, they immediately guessed who they were.

Ron Danny had already told them that Sega's people would be coming, especially the young executive who had proposed two driver safety improvement plans.

However, their professional ethics prevented them from immediately going up to exchange pleasantries.

The two walked straight to the engineers surrounding the data screens and succinctly handed over their insights from the track survey and their initial ideas for car tuning.

Only then, through Ron Danny's introduction, did they approach Nakayama Takuya and his group.

"Elton Gerhard," Ron Danny pointed to Nakayama Takuya, "This is Sega's Managing Director Nakayama."

"Mr. Nakayama, hello." Senna extended his hand proactively, his gaze sincere and direct. "Ron told us about your suggestion. Thank you very much for being so considerate of our safety."

When that strong hand grasped his, Nakayama Takuya's heart clenched.

The warmth emanating from his palm felt so real it made him feel somewhat dazed.

An image flashed uncontrollably through his mind—a blue and white Williams racing car crashed into a wall and shattered into pieces, a yellow and green helmet lying helplessly to one side.

That was a tragedy frozen in time at the Imola Circuit in my past life, in 1994.

At the time, the San Marino Grand Prix was in its seventh lap when Senna's Williams FW16 car lost steering control and crashed straight into the concrete barrier at approximately 307 km/h. The broken right front suspension of the car pierced his helmet.

Senna was airlifted to the Bologna Maggiore Hospital near the racetrack, but ultimately succumbed to his injuries.

And now, this legendary "Rain God" is standing right in front of me, his eyes bright and his words earnest.

A complex emotion welled up inside him, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on Senna's hand.

"I was just offering some immature ideas," Nakayama Takuya quickly composed himself, a gentle smile appearing on his face. "I hope they can be of some help to you."

"It's more than just helpful!" Gerhard Berger, the more outgoing one, chimed in, exclaiming in an exaggerated tone, "I don't want to test a race car's crashworthiness with my neck! Your idea is simply genius!"

His joke immediately lightened the otherwise serious atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Kevin, who was standing behind, was practically "ascending to heaven" on the spot.

He looked at his two idols, his lips trembling, his eyes shining, as if he had witnessed a miracle.

Mark Cerny nudged him quietly, signaling him to calm down and not embarrass himself in front of his idol.

Kevin took a deep breath and finally managed to utter a somewhat coherent sentence. "Mr. Senna —I—I'm your fan! A very, very loyal one—that... In the 1988 qualifying session in Monaco, after you set that greatest lap in history, you said you felt like you were driving in another dimension. What exactly was that feeling like?"

The question surprised even Senna, who clearly hadn't expected this seemingly IT-savvy United States to remember the details of an interview he'd conducted years ago so clearly.

He thought about it carefully before answering, "It's a very magical state. You can't feel the limits. The race car is like an extension of your body, and the track becomes a band of light in front of you. You just—go with it."

Kevin listened to this mysterious and enigmatic description with rapt attention, while the others also looked on with longing.

The atmosphere became incredibly lively, with Senna and Berger patiently signing autographs for the excited United States one by one. Mark Cerny even pulled out a brand-new US dollar bill and asked Senna to sign it, which drew laughter from the crowd.