Formula 1: The GOAT

That was the year he was born, May 16, 2003, a Friday, to be exact. It had taken him a full two years to learn the exact date, but that was also long enough for him to grow accustomed to the limitations of being a child who couldn’t do much.

Now, at two years old, his brain had developed enough that he could think for extended periods without losing concentration or feeling sleepy. Thanks to his Sponge Body and Sponge Brain abilities, he had easily learned Turkish. He wasn’t at a fluent speaking level yet, but he could understand everything said to him, so long as basic words were used.

{An English commentator’s voice drifted from the TV in the living room.}

{“Hello, everybody. What a cracking atmosphere here at Monte Carlo. Well, as we saw, a young prince has risen to the throne here recently, Prince Albert taking over from his late father, Rainier, and in a couple of hours’ time, he will present the prizes to the winner of the world’s most prestigious Grand Prix.”}

{“In all probability, it’ll be one of the young contenders to Michael Schumacher’s crown who’ll be stepping up to the royal box to collect the trophy this afternoon. Kimi Räikkönen and Fernando Alonso are in a league of their own here this weekend.”}

{“The June jewel has been intense right from the get-go first practice on Thursday, throughout the two qualifying sessions as well. And the margin between them on the grid is just eight one-hundredths of a second. And I understand that Jenson Button is coming towards me now…”}

Fatih sat on one of the sofas, eyes glued to the screen, carefully watching the race that was about to start, determined not to miss a single moment. He had lucked out; his family had a subscription to a satellite channel provider that included international channels like ITV, which was now broadcasting the Formula 1 Grand Prix de Monaco 2005. The race was taking place on May 22nd, just a week after his second birthday.

“Can you understand it?” His mother, Rümeysa, entered the living room just as the race began and Kimi Räikkönen maintained his lead into turn one. She smiled, noticing him engrossed in the English channel.

“Bu kadarcık (Just this much),” Fatih replied, forming a small gap between his thumb and pointing finger, his small hands emphasizing the point as he looked up at his mother happily.

These past two years, he had experienced familial love, a warmth he hadn’t truly felt in his previous life. Though he had loved his friends dearly, this maternal bond was profoundly different. He had realized he had no father; he hadn’t seen one since his vision cleared, and the meaning of Turkish words began to solidify in his mind. Yet, he wasn’t sad. One loving parent would have been enough, but he had two: his mother and his grandmother. As if to ensure he never felt the void of his father’s absence, both his mother and grandmother doted on him, showering him with attention.

“Who do you think is going to win?” his mother asked, taking a seat beside him and gently lifting him onto her lap so they could watch the race together.

“Kimi,” he said, pointing a tiny finger at the onboard camera view of Kimi Räikkönen’s car as it navigated the Portier corner.

His mother looked slightly surprised that her two-year-old knew the driver’s name. Her surprise quickly faded, however, when the commentator mentioned, {“…Kimi Räikkönen holding strong…”}

Seeing her son, now resting his head on her chest, watching the race with such serious concentration, Rümeysa decided not to disturb him with more questions and settled in to watch with him.

While the images of roaring engines and screeching tires filled his vision, Fatih’s mind was also racing. Ever since he’d realized he was born in 2003, he had been trying to determine if this was the same world he’d left or an alternate universe with a different history. He wasn’t well-versed in global events from this era beyond motorsport, so he was watching this race intently. Despite already knowing the results and any highlight-worthy incidents, if they unfolded as he remembered, he would be sure this world was the same. That confirmation would make his road to Formula 1 easier by several magnitudes. If things went differently, however, he would have to devise other strategies to ease his journey, a more difficult prospect considering their current living conditions.

He was fairly certain they were a middle-class family, judging by the size of their house. But for a family at this level, funding a motorsport career was a monumental task unless one had exceptionally wealthy benefactors or found other unconventional paths into Formula 1.

With each lap, as the counter ticked down on the screen, Fatih’s smile grew wider. Events unfolded exactly as he remembered: Karthikeyan, Coulthard, Friesacher, Liuzzi, all of them DNF’ing (Did Not Finish). His heart pounded in anticipation as the final laps approached.

{The commentator’s voice rose with excitement: “We’re going to be watching Räikkönen win the race. Kind of understandably. And Kimi Räikkönen comes through, out of the final corner! Two in a row for the Finn! Another dominant victory, and Kimi Räikkönen wins on the streets of Monte Carlo!”}

As Räikkönen crossed the finish line, Fatih couldn’t hold his happiness in any longer. He jumped from his mother’s lap, startling Rümeysa, who was amazed that the driver her son had predicted would win had actually done so, even if Kimi had been leading when he’d made the call.

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Fatih cheered, running in circles around the room, ecstatic for Räikkönen’s victory but even more so because he was now certain: this world was, most likely, the same as his previous one.

Rümeysa watched him, a fond smile on her face, as he celebrated. “Do you like cars that much?” she asked once he started to slow down.

“Yes! I love racing! I want to be a racing driver!” he declared. He stumbled over a few sounds and pronunciations, his two-year-old tongue still mastering the words, but his intent was crystal clear.

After more than five minutes of exuberant celebration, his little body ran out of energy. He walked back to his mother, climbed onto the sofa beside her, and laid his head on her lap, drifting off to sleep.

……….

While his physical body slept peacefully in the real world, his mother gently stroking his hair, Fatih’s consciousness was elsewhere. He found himself inside the Simulation, sitting on a paddock chair at the Silverstone circuit. Although he had yet to register a car he could drive, the Simulation was still accessible. It was just an empty circuit of his choice, so long as he spent SP to unlock it. So far, he had only unlocked Silverstone, the very track he was now visualizing.

“Now that I’m sure,” he murmured to the empty air, “I need to come up with a plan to make my journey up the racing ladder as easy as possible.” He began to meticulously think through the ways he could achieve this.

“The largest problem is going to be money,” he mused. “I haven’t seen Mom or Grandma go to work at all. This means Mom is either on an extended maternity leave—more than two years now—or we’re living off her savings, Grandma’s money, or perhaps an inheritance from Dad. Whatever the source, it’s unlikely to be enough for the massive investment motorsport requires, especially for what Mom would initially consider just a hobby for a child.”

He continued, “The easiest way is to be signed by a racing academy. They would cover most of the costs. But that requires showcasing massive talent, which I’m confident I won’t lack. The problem is, I’m not sure if they even have scouts in Turkey during this period, or even in the next decade.”

“Other than that, there’s the route of using my future knowledge for investments. The memories I have that could be financially helpful are few, and some of the best opportunities haven’t even come into existence yet. Those will be crucial once I reach the money-hungry part of the ladder—the moment I leave karting. But even if other avenues open up, I still plan to exploit these memories.”

Slowly, he began to create a roadmap, piecing together the best path for his career. He used his memories and knowledge of upcoming regulation changes, the creation of feeder series, and the evolving ladder to Formula 1. Gradually, a rough plan started to take shape.

“What do you think of it?” he asked once he had visualized the basic framework.

A figure shimmered into existence beside him. Tall and imposing, with an aura of calm wisdom, it resembled the Greek mythological god he was named after. “It is a good basic plan,” Apollo, his Mentor, replied, his voice resonant. “But you haven’t considered your mother’s input, Fatih. How will she feel about letting such a young child travel for all these events? Or if she will even agree to buy you a go-kart in the first place?”

Fatih smiled. “That, I can try and convince her of. It will be difficult, but not entirely impossible.”