Chapter 1: The First Lap
Arnhem, 2009
The rain had stopped just an hour earlier, leaving the streets wet and shiny under the grey autumn sky. Trolleybuses hissed past brick buildings. Somewhere far off, a train horn echoed near the river.
Inside a modest apartment above a corner store, six-year-old Alex stood in the hallway, already dressed. His karting boots scraped gently against the tile floor. Helmet in one hand. Backpack zipped tight.
"Are you sure you don't want to bring a jacket?" his mother asked from the kitchen.
He shook his head.
His father leaned in the doorway, sipping coffee. "Nervous?"
Alex hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. A little."
It was supposed to be just a fun morning — a birthday treat for Alex's best friend, Leo, whose dad had booked time at the Duiven Kartcenter. Leo had invited him along, and Alex had said yes before the sentence was even finished.
But to Alex, it wasn't just a game. He had watched Formula 1 races since he was a toddler. He knew names, teams, numbers, lap records. Where other kids obsessed over dinosaurs or superheroes, he watched replays of onboards and studied braking zones. He could name every driver on the 2009 grid. His favorite wasn't the one who won the most, but the one who overtook best.
Even now, on the way there, he sat quietly in the backseat, eyes fixed on the passing roads, imagining racing lines through every curve. He visualized turning points, apexes, exits. He leaned slightly into every bend, mimicking movements only he could feel.
Willem, his father, glanced at him in the mirror. "You alright back there?"
Alex nodded silently.
Leo was talking the whole time — about cake, school, and how his cousin once drove a quad bike. Alex smiled politely but said little. He was already on the track in his head.
The kart center in Duiven was simple, but to Alex it looked like a palace.
The sharp smell of fuel hit his nose. The buzz of engines hummed in the background. The walls were covered in posters of local racing heroes and dusty trophies. Leo ran ahead toward the registration desk, dragging his dad behind him.
Alex followed, quieter, scanning every corner of the facility. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly. Somewhere in the back, a compressor kicked on with a loud hiss. The entire place seemed alive to him. He could almost feel it breathing.
"Looks the same as when I was a kid," Willem muttered, half-smiling. Miriam nudged him. "Don't make us feel old."
Alex didn't say a word. He was already watching the track.
The kids were grouped into pairs. It was a light schedule — just a few runs, nothing serious. Most of the other children were talking, laughing, playing with their gloves. Alex stood near the wall, observing.
He watched the way one boy pulled his gloves on backward, the way another adjusted the strap on his helmet three times. He noticed things. Small details. A girl in the back kept asking her mom if her kart would be pink.
The track twisted tightly under bright overhead lights. The karts were small, red, slightly worn. One was parked near the pit lane entrance, wheels spinning slowly. A mechanic gave it a light kick before adjusting something with a wrench.
A staff member called names. His was last.
The kart was a bit too big for him, but once he settled in, everything clicked. His feet reached the pedals. The seat hugged his sides. The steering wheel felt like it had been waiting for him.
The engine roared to life.
And he was gone.
At first, Alex drove cautiously. He braked early, turned slowly. But by the second lap, something changed.
He started lifting less. Braking later. Taking tighter lines. He wasn't the fastest — not yet — but his instincts sharpened with every corner. Where others slowed, he flowed. Where they fumbled, he corrected.
Each lap built on the last. His confidence grew. His hands stopped gripping the wheel so tightly. He could feel the limits of the kart, learning how far he could push it. His breathing found rhythm with the laps.
From the upper balcony, a man in a dark coat leaned against the railing, watching carefully. He wasn't part of the staff — more like a guest. He stood with quiet posture, hands in his pockets, eyes on the boy in the red kart.
Next to him stood another boy — a bit older, in a plain black rental suit. His name was Julian, though Alex wouldn't learn that until much later.
Julian said nothing. Just watched, calm and focused.
Victor glanced between the two of them for a moment, then looked back at the track.
When Alex crossed the line after his final lap, the kart slowed to a crawl as he coasted into the pit area. He pulled off his helmet, hair damp with sweat.
Leo came running over. "DUDE. That was awesome!"
Alex smiled slightly. "Did I go fast?"
"You were flying!"
Willem and Miriam met them by the side. Willem bent down. "You alright?"
He nodded. "Can we come back next week?"
Miriam laughed. "You just finished, and you're already planning the next one?"
But before they could leave, the man from the balcony approached.
"Excuse me," he said. "That was your son in the red kart?"
Willem stepped forward. "Yes?"
"My name is Victor de Bruin," he said. "I coach young drivers — kids with potential. And what I saw out there today… that was something special."
He reached into his coat and handed Willem a business card.
"If you're back next week, I'll be here. I'd like to see him drive again — properly. With a stopwatch."
He looked down at Alex.
"You've got something. Whether that turns into anything more… that's up to you."
Alex looked at the card, then at the track behind them.
His hands still tingled from the vibration of the wheel. His heart beat steady, but strong. And though he didn't fully understand it yet — something had begun.
That night, as he lay in bed, Alex stared up at the ceiling. The rumble of the engine echoed faintly in his memory. He closed his eyes, and in the silence, he could still feel the curves of the track, the rush of air against his cheeks, the weight of the helmet.
He didn't sleep right away. His mind was racing.