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the ghost of hubris

kimi steps back as his daughter paves her own path — separate from, yet reminiscent of his own.

ᯓ★ kimi räikkönen x daughter!reader

ᯓ★ depictions of a protective dad, a dad nostalgic about his daughter growing up, & a dad who has a preference for his daughter’s potential other half

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 5.9K words

masterlist | the ghost of you masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ taglist: @edgyficuselastica (lmk if y’all wanna be added!)

ᯓ★ all spanish, german, & finnish words in this are from google! as is the italian dialogue </3 all bolded dialogues are in finnish!

ᯓ★ i humbly request for some feedback on this because i got carried away, if y’all can’t tell by the word count :’) this got to be the longest one-part of a series/one shot i’ve ever written, i swear. that aside, look what finally has a series masterlist now :D

Kimi has long forgotten what prompts him so, but he finds himself at the paddock once more. His darling daughter [first name] was nowhere close this time — her Williams Racing internship having ended weeks ago — and thus blameless for his current whereabouts.

He supposes the lack of media around is a welcomed bonus. Very much so, frankly. It almost makes up for the fact that he’s currently miles away from his closest child — and that he’s potentially missing out on whatever milestone his youngest is about to achieve.

As it has always been, the paddock is loud. Not deafening, as he’s currently in the general hospitality and there’s no cars running on track at Formula One speed, but rowdy still with the amount of overlapping conversations all around.

Once upon a time (until four years ago, really), this had been his life. Regularly, for the twenty-ish years. He can’t say he prefers it, especially since he willingly traded it for a chaos he finds more precious, but he does miss it in a way. Because of nostalgia, more than anything, considering that his late childhood and the entirety of his teenage years built up to it — and that he spent his twenties and thirties in it.

Now, though, he is just someone passing by. A special guest, as some might call it, but a mere visitor nonetheless.

Yet, as always, Kimi welcomes any reason to get out of the paddock.

And, today, that seems to have come in a form of a random check-in text from his eldest. Faija, it reads, are busy?

He wastes no time to respond. No.

Technically, he is — with being a special guest and all. But they’re on a break right now. And, besides, nothing’s more important than his children.

Can I call real quick?

Call now, he sends.

Not a moment later, his phone rings with his ringtone for [first name]. He gets up from his seat to take it somewhere more private. However, on instinct, he clicks on the accept before he comprehends what he has done.

He almost scrambles to press his phone close to his ear. "—Someone asked me on a date."

And, immediately, he almost drops it. "Someone asked you on a date?" He accidentally echoes loudly before he can completely exit the room. He earns a lot of attention, but he pays them no mind. He only almost cared when he accidentally made eye contact with Oscar Piastri, A-K-A [first name]’s current crush, as he turns to leave. "Piastri?"

"My lab partner for Physics."

It’s not that he’s against [first name] dating. As much as he considers her his baby always and forever, he also knows she’s old enough for such things. It’s not like he has a fear of his daughter ruining her life for a man, as he trusts her to make informed and well-thought-out life decisions. Rather, he’s merely in-denial of her ever-growing maturity and stronger independence — and her eventual ability to navigate the world without his guidance.

In simplest terms, he’s afraid of losing his place as the only constant — and important — man in her life.

That aside, Kimi doesn’t really know what to feel about who her date is. He has somewhat expected her first date to be with someone who genuinely makes her happy, in some form or another. Like Oscar Piastri has, as of late.

He doesn’t help that he hasn’t heard anything about her Physics partner before. Frankly, there had been a fleeting second when he assumed it’s Oscar Piastri. "When’s your date?"

"I turned him down."

That response, he knows how to feel about. Relief. And curiosity, especially after she spent a call a couple weeks before on making sure she was within the age range he permits her to date. (That had been a half-meant joke he made when she was seven, but she had apparently made sure to abide by it all this time.) "Why?"

He can hear the shrug in her voice, albeit he doubts she physically did it, "I don’t like him like that. It’d be cruel to lead him on."

He makes a noise of understanding. Suddenly, he pieces what this call is about. She feels bad about rejecting her lab partner. "You did the right thing."

"You think so?" She sounds unsure.

His reply is somewhat indirect, but he’s confident she’ll get what he means. "Don’t settle for just anyone."

[First name] lets his words marinate in the air. He can only assume she’s thinking it over on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t rush her.

Eventually, like he knows she will, his daughter finds her voice again. "You don’t think I should give it a try so I can forget about my crush?"

There’s merit in that inquiry. However, ignoring all the complicated details and caveats, his answer really just comes down to one thing. "I don’t want you to live with regrets."

Kimi’s relentless pursuit of protecting her right to choose is included in that. He raised her to follow her heart wisely to make sure of it. He intends to uphold it, even if he has to live with the possibility of having an F1 driver for a son-in-law.

(Besides, based on the current selection, he’d say his daughter did her best in choosing.)

Kimi re-enters the room where everyone has gathered twenty minutes later. And, surprisingly enough, the atmosphere he came back to isn’t the same one he left earlier. Rather, the dissonance of overlapping conversations has been replaced by a sharp silence — which seems to be pointed at the McLaren driver closest to the doorway he just entered.

He has a theory but he isn’t sure how likely it is, as he isn’t told how many people know of the fact his theory is heavily dependent on. As far as he knows, only Sebastian and Fernando do — at least in an extent that can rival his. Carlos and Charles, he presumes, know just a little bit less. Maybe as do Alex, Esteban, Lance, Max, Pierre, Yuki—

Oh. That’s basically half of the current grid.

Even if not all of the last six turns out to be in the know, there’s probably a substantial enough portion to sway the atmosphere. Still, it won’t hurt to confirm first. "What happened here?"

"Oscar keeps denying that he has a date with [first name]," Alex tattles. He looks at Sebastian and Fernando’s direction to confirm. They both nod once, affirming and serious.

Kimi has half a mind to leave Oscar Piastri at the mercy of his fellow drivers. But, alas, his conscience ultimately doesn’t allow him to. "You’re barking up the wrong tree."

That loosens the sharpness of the silence. "He’s not the one that asked [first name] on a date?"

He almost scoffs amusedly at Sebastian’s attempt at asking for a confirmation. "It would’ve been the other way around, don’t you think?"

"So [first name] asked Oscar on a date?" Lando speaks up this time, sounding like he has completely lost the plot. He’s clearly not close enough to his daughter, albeit he’s not sure why so. The older McLaren driver seems to be a good one to be around, too.

"No."

"Is she—"

He interrupts the seven-time champion’s predictable question with a borderline threat. "One more question and I’ll personally rescind [first name]’s invite to her karting competition."

"What!" Younger Kimi — or Kiminen, as his daughter refers to him — exclaims. "No! Please!"

"She karts?!"

"[First name] never mentioned—"

"Princesa’s racing again?" Fernando’s calm — and surprised — intrigue is the quietest reaction amidst the audible gasps and varying exclaims.

"She’s doing it for charity," he clarifies. "She’s inviting you guys to watch. Except for Esteban—"

"What did I do?!" The French Haas driver interrupts in disbelief.

"—she wants you to be in her team."

Esteban’s relief gets drowned by protests — with Charles being the loudest of them all. "Why didn’t she ask me? I’m her favorite!"

Kimi is merely starting to realize why [first name] is joyed to hear he’s currently with the grid. It has nothing to do with her excitement about why he’s there — and everything to do with what he can do on her behalf while he’s there.

With him acting as her messenger, she doesn’t have to deal with the chaos that sets off for literally anything. Which means he just unknowingly let her escape something she didn’t want to do. Looking back, it’s a little amusing, considering it’s closely related to what he wanted her to have since childhood, albeit in an entirely different context.

However, a part of him doubts it’s just her unwillingness to surround herself with their familiar chaos, seeing that she invited all of them to her karting competition. A part of him is convinced she likes their company; she just doesn’t want to be forward about it. And, worse, he’s also convinced she’s wordlessly hoping Oscar Piastri comes with her guest ensemble — without burdening him with a personal invite.

Kimi isn’t graced with the specifics, but his daughter’s last story about Oscar Piastri has something with her admitting she had a crush on the latter just before he saw them enter the Aston Martin garage together. The McLaren driver had been shocked into near silence, as far as he is told, and that is all he got. [First name] doesn’t seem to mind the reaction she received, but he doesn’t really trust that completely. Nevertheless, regardless of his confidence, her feelings seem to be unaffected by the outcome.

He eventually dignifies Charles claim with a refute, "You’re not the favorite."

Kimi takes in his surroundings. He is far from being a stranger in the chaos of people preparing for a race, even post his Formula One days. However, still, he marvels at the stark difference the word ‘friendly’ brings into the competition. The latter part of the term is still very much present in the air, though.

He arrives with Sebastian, Lance, Fernando, and Gabriel. They’re all carpooling, just to be mindful of the other guests, albeit he doesn’t exactly know who’s going and with who. Apart from them five, he’s only aware of Alex coming with his girlfriend — as is Carlos — since the three women apparently bonded during her internship.

The directions [first name] sent him eventually lead them to a makeshift garage with a banner reading Cynder by the opening. Unlike a typical Formula One garage, however, there are three karts parked in front — one with a ‘31’ sticked on the front wing, another with a ‘36,’ and the last one with a ‘97.’

He knows two of them are hers and Esteban’s, but they’ve been surprisingly tightlipped on who their other teammate is. But, then again, it isn’t like he has asked.

"That one’s Esteban’s, for sure," Lance comments with a gesture towards the kart 31. "That’s—" he points toward the 97 one next— "[first name]’s. Whose—"

"How do you know that’s [first name]’s?" Fernando interrupts his teammate with the same question he doesn’t want to bother asking.

"She told me," the younger Aston Martin driver replies. "She switched around the numbers of Kimi’s birth year."

Kimi merely nods. In the most humble way possible, he’s aware of how much his daughter looks up to him. He’s uncontestedly her favorite person, from the moment she was born. Her paying homage to him, in some form or another, isn’t at all surprising. Yet, still, it never fails to touch him every time.

By the time [first name] shows up, a lot of the current grid has flooded in. She graces them with her race suit snuggly zipped up to her neck, with her helmet on hand. There are two figures next to her, donning the same designed suits with their respective helmets still on. Esteban wears the same red helmet he does for this season, so he’s able to identify the Haas driver with no problem. The identity of the bright lime green helmet’s owner — and simultaneously also the driver of kart 36 — evades him, even with the Alpine name clearly plastered across the front.

He doesn’t dwell on it for a moment longer. He has better things to use his brain power on, especially with his firstborn around this many F1 drivers.

"Dad!" [First name] jogs straight towards him, ignoring everyone else in her path. She doesn’t go in for a hug, but rather stops just three steps away. She beams happily, with a stance that reminds him of her first time wearing her school uniform.

And like he did then, he snaps photos to immortalize the moment.

"Have you eaten?" He asks after he’s satisfied with the photos he took. He leads her to the table where he left the bag of food he packed mostly for her.

Instead of answering directly, she opts to say, "I can eat." And, frankly, he approves of that response over whatever alternative she might’ve chosen. "Wait, dad, you can take a picture of us three first?"

Kimi’s immediate response comes by holding out his hand to ask for her phone. "Gimme."

It takes thirteen photos before he’s finally graced with the identity of his daughter’s other teammate. It’s Mick Schumacher, [first name]’s big cousin of sort since childhood. He’s also partly responsible for why she started racing comfortably under a pseudonym.

In hindsight, Mick is an obvious choice for [first name]. They’ve raced each other for fun numerous times over the years. Not quite with teamwork, but always with the same goal: To beat the other on track.

He has no doubt today won’t be any different, even if they’re teammates this time. He just feels bad for Esteban now — as there’s no telling the horrors those two will get into once they’re fastened on their karts.

"This has to be some form of cheating," someone from the crowd of drivers behind him comments. Unfortunately, he can’t identify whose voice it belongs to while he’s preoccupied with taking good shots. "Like, a Räikkönen and a Schumacher in one team?"

"Only if we had Verstappen!" [First name] rebuffs with quick wit. She returns her attention to the camera right after, as if nothing happened.

"You might as well!" That disapproval comes from behind him, and he’s willing to assume it’s Max. "You’re literally a kart racing champion!"

She doesn’t dignify it with a response.

"Those two kind of grew up racing each other," he hears Sebastian give the rest of the crowd a vague and brief history. "So them being teammates can either be the best or the worst thing to happen for this race."

"Man," another voice sighs all of a sudden. It’s Gabriel. "If I had known, I would’ve packed some popcorn."

Kimi’s slightly impressed with how spacious this makeshift garage is. Not only does it hold three racing karts, but it also shelters the twenty-something of them comfortably with space for more. It almost feels like a less fancy, one-story hospitality-motorhome of sorts rather than a mere garage where mostly engineers are about.

Yet, despite the ample space, it seems to shrink whenever someone unwanted — by him, as a forerunner — drops by.

It starts with a couple suspicious recruiters who has the audacity to interrupt [first name] while she’s eating. "Excuse me?" One of them approaches their large crowd. "Which one of you attends Polytechnic University of Milan?"

"That would be me," his daughter slightly steps forward. "Can I help you?"

The other stranger does a double take. "By chance, are you [pseudonym]? The one who won the kart racing championship in—"

"I am."

"Oh, wow. This is amazing." The first interrupter sounds a little awestruck. "We’re actually here to scout potential engineers for F1 academy, but you— You—"

"We’ll be delighted if you join us at F1 Academy as one of our drivers," the second one helps out. She hands her a calling card.

[First name] hesitates to accept it. "I’m flattered, but I think I’m only going to take a chance on your engineer spot."

Kimi has the pleasure to catch the recruits’ faces fall before they recovered. He isn’t surprised by her response, unlike the rest of his company who are subjected to hear the entirety of her rejection somewhat against their will. After all, [first name] has been upfront with what she wants to do with her life when she told him about her university application all those years ago.

"Karting is just a hobby for me," she echoes the words she told him then, albeit this time the tense has changed to reflect its current status. It’s not just a ‘want’ anymore, but rather an ‘is.’

"But you’re a champion?" The first interrupter, who he’s now realizing must’ve had less training than the other one, is aghast. He definitely has more audacity, though. "You shouldn’t just — excuse me — throw all that talent away."

Kimi must admit, he’s liking this recruiter less and less the more words leave his mouth. And, by a quick sweep over the crowd with his eyes, so are the rest.

"What my colleague here means is," the other recruiter starts in hopes of saving the face of their company, "it’ll be a shame to have someone of your caliber to be . . . behind-the-scenes."

The Cynder garage isn’t air-conditioned nor closed and, yet, the sudden thermal change is palpable. The breeze might blow cold from the openings, but their relative area is abnormally colder somehow.

"You’re absolutely right." [First name] doesn’t change her expression, but something undetectable within her definitely has. "I mean— What was I thinking? I’m a multi-year champion. I’m a Räikkönen. I do have a higher caliber than most."

"Exactly!" The first interrupter lights up. He can almost imagine him boasting to his workmates about how he helped a kart racing champion see reason. "I knew you’d get it."

"Of course." Her voice remains even. "Non posso credere che una persona del mio calibro abbia persino considerato una squadra che non valuta i propri ingegneri tanto quanto i propri piloti." ["I can’t believe someone of my caliber even considered a team who doesn’t value their engineers as much as they value their drivers."]

Neither of the two move to take the calling card she’s handing back. "We didn’t mean to offend you—"

"Not offended," she interrupts with the same even tone. Although nothing has changed from before, her voice suddenly feels jagged — like a razor-sharp ice stalagmite. "Just enlightened." She subtly nods towards the direction where they presumably came from. "Thank you for dropping by."

Silence starts as temperature warms up to normal. The former continues even after the second recruiter successfully — and not-so-subtly — drags the first out of their sight.

[First name] goes back digging into her portion in the Tupperware like no one interrupted her meal in the first place.

"Are we not going to talk about it?" Kiminen asks on everyone’s behalf.

[First name] halts her forkful mid-air to give her full attention to the younger Mercedes driver. She partially raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"We do." It’s Kimi’s turn to speak for everyone.

"I don’t," she counters in a beat. "It’s not interesting enough to talk about."

"Can we at least get where they work?" Lewis tries to get their interrogation somewhere. He feels some of the drivers around him anticipate her answer with partly bated breath.

Unfortunately, even that is futile. "Somewhere irrelevant," she dismisses with a shrug. "Nice try, though, Uncle Lewis."

Yuki tries his luck next. "Will you whisper it to me?"

"If I do, then we’ll just be playing telephone," she turns the younger Red Bull driver’s inquiry down. "You’ll tell Pierre. Then Pierre will tell Charles. Then all of the sudden everyone knows."

"Hey!"

"Telephone will make it more interesting," Oscar Piastri joins in. Having learned nothing, the rest gets their hopes up once more. Kimi can’t really blame them, since they all know by now about her crush on the Australian driver.

Maybe she’ll bend a bit of her will for him. "True."

"Mate, ask her," Alex not-so-subtly whispers while repeatedly gesturing towards [first name] with his eyes. He’ll give him kudos for trying not to move his mouth too much, though.

Alas, before they can witness the extent of Oscar Piastri’s influence on her, her phone rings in tune of a song Kimi doesn’t recognize.

They watch as she half-raises her left arm while her attention is at the parked karts on the other side of the garage. "On your left."

And, of course, as the curious crowd that they are, they all follow her eyes with their own.

Which land on a man around [first name]’s age in a plain white shirt and dark jeans, with styled gelled hair and a loose strand. He moves with an easy confidence, his eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced nonchalance that Kimi instantly finds irritating.

He has seen enough in the whole fifteen seconds the other has his attention. Whoever this person is, he’s obviously wrong for [first name]. He doesn’t hold a candle on Oscar Piastri.

"I’ll be right back," she excuses herself without taking her eyes off of the newcomer. They all watch as she gives the latter a short, almost missable nod, "Cassano."

Likewise, they all witness Cassano — as she called him — light up when he sees her approaching. Although he’s a distance away, they see how fast a smirk spreads across his face very clearly. "Räikkönen," he reciprocates with a playful tone. "Took you long enough."

Kimi focuses on watching the interaction [first name] strategically drags out of earshot. He glares at Cassano’s back, readying to pounce in case the other gets too comfortable about being close with his daughter.

As spacious as the Cynder garage is, there’s simply not enough room for Cassano. (Read: Kimi only prepared for one particular person to be his daughter’s other half — and it’s definitely not him.)

"Prinzessin has a boyfriend?" Sebastian voices the question that’s also floating in everyone’s heads.

Kimi knows the answer but, at that moment, he’s not sure if it still holds true. He definitely wants it to, though.

"At least he’s not an F1 driver, eh, Kimi?" For the life of him, he can’t even find comfort in that.

Kimi doesn’t know how to feel when [first name] returns with a renewed light in her eyes and her hands full of gifts. He’s all for anything that makes her happy, but he doesn’t exactly enjoy seeing it unfold when a boy’s involved — especially if that boy is someone he knows nothing about.

Not even her confusion at his one-word inquiry helps ease the one-sided animosity he feels towards the boy in question. "No?" She answers with her tone slightly raised by the tail. "That was just Cassano, my lab partner in Physics."

He almost malfunctions at that. "The one that asked you on the date?"

[First name] casts everyone a weirded out look when they all seemingly flinch forward. "Yeah." She doesn’t comment on their tuned ears, but he knows she notices them and their silent attention. "The one I turned down."

A wave of relief washes over the tension that unconsciously settled on his shoulders. Good, he almost says out loud. Oscar Piastri still has a chance.

"He’s quite a looker," Sebastian joins the conversation with a sugarcoated why did you turn him down?

"He is?" She’s unfazed. "I don’t notice."

"Seriously?" It’s Mick’s turn to join, disbelieved.

[First name] shrugs, unbothered. "He’s not my type."

"Does he know he’s not your type?"

She hums, still uninterested in the conversation as in the beginning. "I told him I like someone else."

Esteban gestures toward the gifts that she carefully places on the table. "Doesn’t seem like he received the memo."

[First name] doesn’t miss a beat in her rebuttal. "Cassano does whatever he wants."

Kimi doesn’t feel comforted. If anything, it only gave him the validation he needs for his instant dislike of the Italian boy. Never mind that that’s exactly what she does, too, just with more dignity and class.

"Do you know what three red roses mean, [first name]?" Mick’s eyes don’t leave the three roses she stacked like a pyramid on the table.

"Is it not because there are three drivers in our team and our team color’s red?"

No one actually does it, but he feels the collective urge to face palm as soon as she finishes her response. He can’t blame them, as he, too, is struck with the same urge at the same instant.

If only the meaning’s as innocent and as thoughtfully nonsensical as [first name] thinks it is.

"Prinzessin . . ." Mick’s pronunciation of her nickname comes out disappointed. Somehow, he can tell he’s mentally debating how to break the actual meaning to her.

Kimi, in all honesty, is a bit torn on the matter. Is it better to let her think it’s just a friendly, thoughtful gesture? Something that she can just say ‘thank you’ for upon receiving? Or is it better to tell her it’s nothing of that sort? That it carries a weight heavier than what she has already denied before?

Does he want her to carry the guilt of unknowingly accepting something she can’t promise to reciprocate?

Or does he want to give that choice up to her, like always?

To his luck, it’s Oscar Piastri who — unknowingly — takes him out of his short-lived complicated dilemma. "It means ‘I love you’."

[First name] looks at the McLaren driver with apparent surprise. "‘I love you’?" She echoes.

It takes him a second to confirm. And, somehow, he needs to clear his throat before he does so. "I— Yeah."

Kimi isn’t oblivious to the fact that he just missed a whole conversation between his daughter and Oscar Piastri amidst his blinks. After all, his eyes have been set on them two since.

And yet, for the life of him, he collects nothing that can help him fill the void no matter how long he sustains a hard look.

Kimi has seen his daughter race countless times, ever since her childhood. But the inexplainable feeling he gets whenever she zooms on track remains indescribable with a single word even after all these years.

There’s anxiousness, for the possibility of her getting hurt; anticipation, for what her hard work will amount to in front of the crowd; and proudness, for how far she has come from the five-year-old that almost refused to leave the cockpit of his Ferrari F2007.

There’s nostalgia this time around, too, because [first name] hasn’t been on a kart — that he knows of — for at least seven years by this point. It used to be a constant in her life, and now . . . He has missed it being part of her element.

He has almost forgotten how it progresses differently for her, compared to his second oldest’s, with her rituals and whatnots.

"Dad." She seeks him out after she zips her suit back up and secures her helmet back in place. "I’m ready for my lucky pat now."

A smile almost breaks through as he imagines a much younger [first name] standing before him with the same expecting eyes.

He obliges, his hands move like it’s still a muscle memory he hasn’t quite forgotten after all this time. "I’ll see you in the finish line, Princess."

[First name] nods once, satisfied with the completion of her pre-race ritual.

Kimi watches as her demeanor visibly shifts the further away she is from him. She transforms with every step, from just [first name] to [pseudonym]. Still his firstborn, though; still his daughter through and through.

"You’ve done well with her." Sebastian appears next to him. He hasn’t moved his attention from his daughter, so he can only assume his old teammate is also watching her and Mick as they teach Esteban their little pre-race ritual. "She has grown up well."

It takes him a moment to say anything in response, half-satisfied with the silence doing everything on his behalf. "She has, hasn’t she?"

He sees a glimpse of younger [first name] again, with a helmet that almost looks too big for her head.

However, before his thoughts can turn more nostalgic and sentimental, the very subject of his thoughts reappears directly in front of him. "Please keep it safe for me."

He accepts it without looking down to see what she needs him to hold. He freezes momentarily once he does so.

It’s a handmade orange and black bracelet, with beads spelling ‘OP81.’ It’s the very bracelet Fernando has hailed as her most prized possession.

A light, almost soundless chuckle escapes. "So it goes."

Kimi knows this is all for charity. He knows this is all for the children who dream of competing in Formula One, but have no means to start nor continue. He knows the mere objective is for all three cars to finish, for the charity of their choice to receive a donation. He knows the podium has little value, much less the top step, and yet—

He’s agitated. He’s heated. He’s competitive.

Which, funnily enough, is the complete opposite of [first name] who’s actually the one on track.

She, as the two gentlemen on her team, is cruising — relaxed and without a care.

"Have you decided if you want the trophy, [pseudonym]?" Mick’s voice comes through the small speaker [first name] placed on the table before they hopped onto their respective karts and drove off.

It’s from the gifts Cassano handed her, along with the earpieces that allow her, Mick, and Esteban to communicate directly as they go around on track. (They aren’t actually gifts, as it turns out, but rather a group project the Italian made final touches on.) They also have their respective buttons to radio their race engineers, but the speaker and earpieces are born from the creative freedom [first name] and her fellow engineering students have.

[First name]’s voice comes next. "It looks okay."

Which is swiftly followed by Esteban’s, "Copy that. We’ll continue with the pace, then."

On the other side of the speaker, the rest of them are understandably baffled. "Are they seriously basing their speed on the trophy?"

"Sounds like it."

Pierre shakes his head with a chuckle, "They’re something else."

"On a second thought," [first name] returns to the speaker — unknowingly halting their conversation from continuing further, "let’s pick it up a notch. My dad’s getting fussy back in the garage."

There cues the amused laughter and the stunned bewilderment. "How does she know?"

"How do you know?" Esteban unknowingly echoes Lance’s sentiment.

Kimi can hear a shrug in [first name]’s voice amidst the nonchalance, "I’m bored."

An elaboration doesn’t follow, which is typical of [first name] whenever she feels her energy is better used elsewhere. He understands her more than anyone in that regard, for he follows her train of thought with just two words. If I’m bored driving, then faija must be bored watching me drive.

Of course, it’s another matter if they don’t follow. But she doesn’t usually concern herself with such — and neither does he.

Mick isn’t one of them, though, having been around her since childhood. "Let’s give Onkel Kimi a show, then."

And, like a promise, the screens broadcasting the race’s progress are immediately thrown into chaos as kart 36 overtakes three karts as soon as it accelerates.

"You’re on, Junior." They hear [first name] accept the indirect challenge over the speaker. On the screens, kart 97 chases 36 after it zooms past.

Kart 31 has no choice but to speed up as well to keep up with the other two.

"Forget the popcorn," Liam references to Gabriel’s earlier comment. "I want hot dogs and pizza. This is proper stadium entertainment."

"You brought your wallet?" Ollie inquires without missing a beat. In lieu of answering verbally, the Racing Bulls driver merely pats one of his pockets with a nod. "Great! Let’s go, you’re paying."

Isack pulls Liam off of his seat before the latter processes what just happened. "Text in the group chat if you guys want anything!" The former says over his shoulder, one hand on Liam with a presumably tight grip. The rest of the rookies follow, with Ollie even taking a page from Isack’s book and putting an arm around Liam’s shoulders.

By the time the rookies come back, the track has become Cynder’s playground — with the three of them occasionally taking turns chasing each other. [First name], Mick, and Esteban’s playful banters over the speaker color the race’s privately televised broadcast much better than the commentary it comes with.

Kimi stands with the huge crowd at parc fermé, surrounded by Cynder’s burgundy red and the other teams’ navy blue and emerald green. The air crackles, thick with the scent of spent fuel and raw triumph.

It had been a close fight, mostly because Cynder didn’t utilize their strengths effectively to level the playing field with the rest, but they ultimately came on top. Not only did their team manage to claim the top step even with the bursts of unserious driving, but they were also the first team to have all three drivers finish the race.

Esteban gets out of his kart first and celebrates like he just won a Grand Prix with his fists punching the sky.

Mick follows, with a mirroring gesture of happiness whilst standing on his seat.

Then, it’s [first name]’s turn. She stands on her seat — utterly still as she takes in the crowd and their vibrating roar. She doesn’t raise a fist, nor does she leap out of her kart. Instead, she celebrates in the only way [pseudonym] does: She puts one leg behind the other, gently bends her knees, and bows her head in a quick curtsy of humble acknowledgment.

Kimi has certainly missed seeing her do the princess curtsy after every hard-earned win.

Her familial nickname didn’t come from her signature celebratory gesture. Rather, she sought inspiration from her nickname in her quest to find one.

Just like every time he dares to stare too long, he sees a younger [first name] curtsying on her kart — still a little unsteady and a whirlwind of impulsive grace, yet captivating nonetheless.

Kimi returns to the present just as his daughter runs into his arms. He catches her with the practiced ease of a man who has done so a thousand times, ever since she started learning how to walk.

"Dad," she breathes against his ear. And that’s all she needs to say, really. I did it.

He tightens his hold before pressing a kiss on a side of her helmet. Congratulations. It’s part of their tradition, too, albeit unspoken. "I’m proud of you, [first name]."

He smiles when her helmet tilts up to look at him.

Camera shutters explode around them, adding frantic flashes to the already deafening chaos. He pays them no mind. As does [first name].

For this stolen, fragile moment, the world doesn’t exist.

Right now, there’s only him and his firstborn. No crushing weight of expectations, no burgeoning affections that might pull her gaze away, no looming threat of leaving. No gnawing presence of media vultures, either, nor consequences for forgetting. Just him. And his baby.

(Later, when they’re back in the safety of Cynder’s garage, he slips the McLaren bracelet back on her wrist with a meaningful nod.)

#kr7 fic

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#kr7 fic