Chapter Text
Max's ideal morning should have started with a lap of jogging, breakfast, and then heading out to watch the team's testing session. But the first thing to greet him in the morning was the persistent blaring of his phone at three o'clock—a call from Toto. Max sat bolt upright, his eyes blurry as he fumbled for his phone and answered. A sense of dread gnawed at his gut; Toto always checked what time it was on Max's end before calling, never making a sudden move like this.
"Hello?" Max’s voice was raspy as he blinked with difficulty. "Is something wrong, Toto?"
"Max, I need you to take a deep breath before I tell you this," Toto’s voice on the other end carried a heavy exhaustion.
"I'm fine, just say it," Max said, rubbing his head to fix his messy hair.
"Marco has withdrawn all his investment from your side. He had a meeting with me this morning to discuss it. You'll likely receive a formal notice from the legal department soon."
"What did you say? He withdrew everything?!" Max nearly crushed the phone in his hand. The dim sunlight filtering through the hotel window only added to his irritation.
"Yeah. He told me he's no longer interested in developing the GT side and wants to move his investment elsewhere," Toto said, hands in his pockets as he looked out his office window.
Max’s head throbbed.
"Is that guy crazy!?! Right before the GT Europe season and Nurburgring—damn it." He kicked a chair standing next to the tea table.
"Max, calm down. The most important thing now is finding a new sponsor. My side will try to arrange something for the party this weekend; hopefully, you can settle things with someone there. Otherwise... I'm afraid many of the costs will fall on your shoulders," Toto sighed heavily. To be honest, if things didn't stabilize, he would lose a valuable foothold in GT3.
"Alright, Toto. I'll do my best. Sorry for bothering you." Max rubbed his temples and slumped back onto the bed.
"Mm, see you. I have some urgent business now, otherwise I'd want to discuss this further with you. If there are any issues, just call me or my assistant later. Goodbye, Max." Toto hung up abruptly, leaving Max’s dark phone screen reflecting a face that looked like it had swallowed thorns.
He was finished.
It was insane. The major Italian sponsor for the team had suddenly pulled out just because he felt like it. Even with the compensation money, it wouldn't be enough to sustain the upcoming season, let alone staff salaries.
Was it because his team won too much that the guy got bored!?
Moreover, the first person to know was Toto, not him. It felt like a deliberate hint to cut off all chances of renegotiation or further communication.
"What now? What do I do?" he groaned.
Max gripped his hair, pacing around the room. He felt like he was being crushed by a boulder while trapped on a train track.
Should he talk to his team first? Damn it, if he slipped up, other teams would swarm in like leeches to snatch his people away.
As for Max's private funds, they could only last a short while. It wasn't that he couldn't hold out, but it wasn't wise to pour money into something so uncertain. He had other expenses beyond racing. Max wasn't wealthy enough to lose a major investor without breaking a sweat.
Or... no way, he’d be crazy to call that man back.
It wasn't as if there was no way out. As long as he piqued someone's interest at Toto's party, it would be fine.
But everything hung on that "if." Most sponsors nowadays either made ridiculous demands or already had their investments locked in.
If he failed, he might as well throw his career away. By then, Max would only be able to go home to raise cats and enjoy a quiet life in Monaco—that was someone else's dream, but not Max's.
A total disaster.
Who was it that told him this job would be fun?
He opened the guest list Toto had sent to his phone, studying every prospect. Even after reading until his eyes blurred, he couldn't find anyone who seemed willing to throw money at GT racing. It was 4:00 AM; his eyes were heavy and his head felt like lead.
Then, as he scrolled past a certain section, Max’s finger froze. Hitting him squarely was a name that was impossible to forget and a face that was annoyingly handsome.
[Charles Leclerc]
Max's eyebrows knitted tightly at the note Toto had written next to it: "High potential."
Of course Toto would mark him like that. CEO of the Leclerc Group, investor in Ferrari’s F1 wing, the "Prince of Monaco." That man, who looked like a model, held enough wealth to buy an entire F1 team without making a dent in his bank balance.
In short, he was rich. He was rich enough to solve all of Max's problems with a snap of his fingers. Furthermore, Toto had mentioned in recent years that Charles was interested in expanding his investments into other racing categories. However, Charles was definitely not Max's first choice.
Why? Because Max didn't even dare to look at his face, let alone ask for sponsorship. Their past was something Max hoped remained buried seven feet under.
He let out a long sigh and carefully marked other people he could talk to. Money matters were always a headache.
He had held this team together for five years; so much championship glory and heartfelt passion had been poured into this place. He couldn't just walk away. There was still a way to turn this around.
Max rested his legs and stared at the white ceiling, his mind drifting between endless options. He had to do everything he could, for the team and for himself. Thinking of this, Max pulled up Charles's profile once more. He hadn't changed much since they last met, though he looked even more stoic now. The photo Toto attached showed him posing next to his LaFerrari; the sunlight hit at just the right angle to make that face even more breathtaking—like a prince charming standing next to his steed.
If he was at a dead end... everything had to be considered as an option.
Max decisively moved Charles's name to the bottom of his list, tossed his phone aside, and trudged off to find something to eat.
-----
The atmosphere at the Nurburgring today was cooler than usual, with mist still clinging to the surrounding forest. The Verstappen Racing Mercedes-AMG shot through the roads like a bright red arrow through the fog.
In the garage, only Daniel remained, discussing the car with some engineers after finishing his test lap. The person behind the wheel out there now must be Chris. Jules, for some reason, had been delayed by a flight and hadn't arrived yet.
Max walked into the garage slowly, wearing a thick black down jacket zipped up high. He glanced around and spotted one of his drivers, Daniel Juncadella.
"Dani, do you have a moment?" Max tapped the Spanish driver on the shoulder.
Daniel turned to look at him, a bit surprised to see his team principal out watching them race so early.
"No problem, what's up?" Daniel smiled.
"I need some privacy, everyone?" Max turned to the engineers surrounding them. They quickly nodded and dispersed back to their workstations.
Daniel signaled for him to continue.
"Our team just lost a major sponsor," Max whispered, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
Daniel’s eyes widened in shock. His voice dropped, urgent. "Wait, don't tell me—"
"I have to find a new sponsor at the party this weekend, otherwise... I'm sorry to break the news so suddenly. At the very least, I wanted you to hear it directly from me, not someone else," Max sighed.
Daniel nodded in understanding and rested his chin in his hand. "It's alright, I prefer it that way. So, does it look promising?"
"Maybe. I’m not sure if this can be done quickly, but at least I won't give up. You know that," Max gave a bitter smile.
Daniel looked at him with genuine concern. After all, he had been with the team for a long time and was one of the people who respected Max the most.
"Max, you look terrible."
He knew it. He knew exactly how bad someone looks when they've been woken up at 3:00 AM to receive soul-crushing news, forced to filter information, and then endure an hour-long meeting.
"No, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about my part, Dani," Max interjected quickly.
"Do Jules, Chris, or anyone else in the team know yet?" Daniel shook his head.
"A few people in management have heard."
Daniel fell silent for a moment, choosing his words.
"I trust and support your decisions, Max. No matter what happens, I still want the person leading the team to be you."
Short, concise, and filled with sincerity.
Then, the Spanish driver reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. Max laughed at the warm gesture. That was right—he always had a team standing behind him.
"If it’s inconvenient, I can tell Chris and Jules later. Don't you worry," Daniel said.
"Yeah, help me pass the word along," Max nodded.
"Don't be sad, Max. Toto will surely find a way to keep you around as long as possible. Good lord, as if he'd let a talent he chased for so long just retire that easily," Daniel chuckled.
"Stop teasing me and get back to work," Max grinned and turned to leave the garage.
Daniel's voice trailed after him. "Bye, boss! Have a... uh... good day?"
"See you later, Dani," Max waved over his shoulder.
"If things get tough, just tell me, Max!"
----
As he stepped into the noisy outdoor party by the pier, Max tried to breathe evenly to stay calm. Unlike most people here, he had a mission.
This morning, he wore a simple, custom-made all-black suit, his hair neatly slicked back—enough to give off an air of confidence and maturity.
Socializing was what Max found most annoying. It was ironic, given that his position required him to do it constantly. Naturally, Max had to train himself not to snap when having to listen to another rich guy brag about a newly bought villa or some Italian-crafted watch he didn't care about, all just to segue into a conversation about sponsorship.
After struggling for an hour just to track down the people he needed, everything was hitting a dead end. Most showed goodwill but didn't dare take a risky investment; others flatly refused because they had no interest.
One person even suggested he move to Mercedes' F1 personnel side before they'd consider investing. He really wanted to say that Toto lacked neither money nor sponsorship connections.
"Five people already. This isn't good," Max worriedly checked the list on his phone. Only two names remained, and one of them was... Charles.
He had avoided him all evening, and the remaining time really wasn't enough to find both people. Damn it, was he really going to have to accept defeat?
If he had to place a bet right now, Charles would be the better option, but whether he still held a grudge against Max for their past was hard to say.
While Max was fumbling in place, headache-riddled and unsure of what to do next, a familiar voice rang out from behind him.
"Max Emillian Verstappen. Long time no see, hasn't it been?"
Max felt goosebumps break out all over his body at the sound of that voice. He turned slowly, eyes meeting eyes with the other man.
It was none other than Charles Leclerc.
He wore a custom-made cream-colored suit, a silver Rolex worth millions sparkling on his wrist alongside a swirling glass of red wine. Charles’s gaze was affectionately evaluating him from head to toe, like a predator. Charles’s flashy appearance drew the attention of everyone around them; whispers began to rise. Knowing Charles’s personality, he probably hadn't initiated a greeting with anyone in the entire party except Max.
Charles stepped forward slowly, an air of both gentleness and pressure, and held out his hand to Max.
"Charles. Long time no see," Max forced a smile and reached out to take Charles’s hand.
"Mm, I've missed you a lot, Max," Charles smiled softly, his fingers faintly grazing Max’s before letting go. "The last time we met... wasn't very pretty."
Max broke into a sweat. He wanted to quit. Could he just quit right now?
No, stay calm.
"I—haha, I don't remember very well. I tend to forget old stories," Max took a sip of the wine in his hand—it was terrible, but better than nothing.
Charles raised an eyebrow, looking slightly disappointed. "Is that so? How sad. This isn't exactly the place to reminisce about the past, anyway."
Charles laughed and continued. "By the way, I heard you’re looking for a sponsor for your racing team?"
"That's right. My team is short of a sponsor." At least his Monégasque friend knew how to get straight to the point.
"It’s funny. Why didn't you come to me from the start instead of running around like this?" Max didn't know if he was hallucinating, but he heard a hint of reproach in Charles’s voice.
"It’s not what you think. I just didn't want to bother you," Max said, reaching up to awkwardly brush back his hair.
"Wasn't it that you were intentionally dodging me?"
Max's hand shook slightly, but his face remained steady. Thank God he had learned how to control his expressions.
"I would never dodge you, Charles."
"Then you won't refuse if I want to be the investor for your racing team, right?" Charles lightly swirled the wine in his glass and gestured vaguely. "Don't waste your energy looking for a sponsor anymore. Am I not the perfect choice here, Max?"
"I—you haven't even heard my presentation yet. That's a bit hasty," Max feigned a cough. "You aren't even specialized in the GT3 side, Charles."
"I have money, and you're my 'close friend.' That's reason enough. And what do you mean not specialized? I've been researching GT3 quite a bit lately," Charles adjusted his cuff with a smile brighter than the sun above them.
Max hesitated, scanning Charles's face. The handsome man didn't look like he was trying to deceive him; there was actually a lot of sincerity in his words. Images of his racing team flashed through his mind as if they were joining Charles in convincing him. Fine, he was out of backup plans anyway.
"Alright, that would be wonderful! I don't know how to thank you. Are you free tonight to discuss the details?"
Charles lowered his lashes and signaled to his assistant. "Yes, sir?"
"Clear my schedule for tonight. Book a spot at *that* restaurant; a private room would be best," Charles smiled and waved him off.
"Understood, I'll get right on it." The assistant, holding a tablet, immediately backed away into the crowd.
"You really don't have any special requirements?" Max asked warily, glancing at Charles, who still looked composed.
"Why? Do your sponsors usually ask for something?" Charles led Max toward a less crowded spot, both leaning lightly against a wooden railing as they continued talking.
"Usually, they ask for a detailed rundown of the team, or to go play golf or padel." Max rested his chin on his hand, looking out at the luxury yachts anchored along the coast.
"Can I make a different kind of request?" Charles placed his finished wine glass on a passing waiter's tray.
Max swallowed hard. "A different request?"
Charles held up his phone and pointed to his social media profile. "Follow me back. A sponsor needs to message and monitor the team’s situation at all times, don't they?"
It seemed he had unfollowed him a long time ago. Max laughed and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Seeing his relaxed expression, Charles seemed even happier. Max took out his phone and made a few quick taps to comply with his friend's wish.
Charles received the notification, nodded in satisfaction, and glanced back at the harbor. "I hope you'll show more sincerity to your investor in the future."
Max didn't know why, but he felt like he had just walked into a trap. Regardless, Charles held all the cards now.
"Charles, really, what are you—"
"You won't run away this time, will you?"
What.
"What do you mean by—" Charles leaned in close to Max before he could finish. They were nearly the same height, so Charles’s eyes were locked directly onto Max’s. Max’s heart hammered against his ribs as if it were about to jump out.
"I gave you a choice, Max. Letting you finish your sponsor list instead of just calling you, not appearing in front of you... Did you even think about me at all?" Charles’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyebrows furrowing sadly. "Don't run away from our date tonight like the way you abandoned me a year ago. Okay? Max?"
Max’s blue pupils wavered. He wanted to take a step back to widen the distance between them, but it seemed he couldn't—or rather, he didn't have the heart to.
It was strange how Charles could make a threat sound both terrifying and like a plea at the same time.
"Charles, we can't," Max forced out each word with difficulty.
Seeing Max’s face turn as red as a ripe tomato, Charles returned to his initial gentle demeanor and stepped back.
"See you tonight. Anything else you want to discuss further can be settle by then."
With that, Charles quickly strode out of the ballroom, his cream-white suit jacket slowly disappearing from Max's sight.
Max let out a long breath, feeling as if he had just been pulled out of water. He didn't want things to turn into such a mess. It was just a sponsor...
He unconsciously tightened his fist.
Since he had already taken the plunge, he had to see it through to the end.
God if only what happened back then between them never existed at all.