The ballroom of the Tokyo Grand Crown Hotel was ablaze with crystal chandeliers and opulent décor. Gold trim glittered against a deep navy backdrop, and a grand piano murmured in the corner while waiters carried silver trays of hors d'oeuvres. But what really shimmered through the evening wasn't the décor — it was the sheer energy. The racers were here. All of them.
Men and women who were titans behind the wheel now mingled over champagne and soft jazz. They wore suits and gowns, but their eyes betrayed the fire of competition.
From the elevator stepped two men, different from the rest. In a sea of tuxedos and bow ties, Sukhman and Harinder stood proud in tailored navy blue blazers, their turbans neatly tied — Sukhman's in deep royal blue and Harinder's a bold maroon. Each wore a Kara on their right wrist, polished and glinting in the chandelier light, and an India flag pin over the heart.
"Bhai," Harinder said, straightening Sukhman's collar, "suit toh sabne pehn ke rakha hai, par style sirf desi logon ke paas hi hota hai." ("Everyone's wearing a suit, but only desis carry it with style.")
Sukhman chuckled. "Bas is party mein koi DJ na ho jo bhangra chala de, warna tu stage pe chadh jayega." ("Let's just hope no DJ plays bhangra or you'll take over the stage.")
They entered the room to curious glances and polite nods. Some recognized Sukhman immediately, others took note of the team logo on his lapel — Vaayu GP. A few approached.
"Sukhman Singh?" said a tall figure with a German accent. It was Erik Holtz, the promising young driver from Team Aether, a team from Netherlands.
"The one and only," Harinder replied before Sukhman could. "But I handle his fan club. For autograph requests, see me."
Erik laughed and extended his hand. "Good to finally meet you lot. You made a hell of a mark last season. Glad to see you're back."
"Appreciate it," Sukhman said. "Tokyo still gives me... some memories."
"Yeah. That crash was brutal. Good to see you walking tall again."
Next came Jia Tan, the stoic driver from Shanghai Motors. She wore a minimalistic dress and a piercing gaze. "Mr. Singh. I hope you've healed not just the bones, but from the mind too."
"Working on both," he said with a nod.
"Then welcome back. The track remembers us all."
Sukhman shared quiet glances with Harinder after she walked away.
"Yeh toh thodi intense thi, yaar." Harinder murmured. ("She was kind of intense. Bro.")
"But fair."
They mingled more, speaking briefly with Argentine hotshot Thiago Martins, the charismatic Frenchman Alain Bellamy, and a few new rookie faces.
At precisely 8:00 PM, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight swept to the center stage. The buzz of conversation quieted as a dignified man stepped onto the platform — Castalino Piere, Chairman of the International Racing Confederation.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice amplified just enough to command attention, "this evening marks not only the beginning of another thrilling championship but also a moment of reverence."
The massive LED screen behind him flickered to life, showing grainy footage of a younger man — bold, unshakable, aggressive on the track.
"As many of you know, Daan Vermer, the Dutch legend, has announced that last season was his last season."
Applause erupted across the room.
"Daan," Castalino continued, gesturing toward the side of the stage, "has given twenty-one years to this sport. Twenty-one years of racing excellence, sportsmanship, and undeniable courage."
A spotlight illuminated the man himself. Daan Vermer stood tall and smiling modestly in a black tux, his signature silver streak of hair still as dramatic as ever.
Harinder leaned toward Sukhman. "Woh banda toh puri racing ki encyclopedia lag raha hai." ("That guy looks like a walking racing encyclopedia.")
Sukhman nodded. "Respect him."
A short montage played — clips of Daan's iconic overtakes, his legendary monsoon victory in Malaysia, and yes, his famous rivalry with Takumi Ito during the 2012 championship. The room was alive with nostalgia and emotion.
"So," Castalino said, raising a glass, "this season's opening race here in Tokyo will be dedicated to Daan Vermer. A legend, a mentor, and a friend to many."
Everyone raised their glasses. The toast echoed: "To Daan!"
Daan stepped up for a moment, took the mic. "I've lived for the race. Every lap. Every corner. This isn't goodbye, not yet. But let me say — cherish every moment you get on the track. And never forget why you started. Today I will like to pass down the baton to you young drivers. Lead the fire of heart to Next generation and achieve your dreams."
The applause was thunderous.
As the room returned to music and chatter, Sukhman found himself quiet, thoughtful.
Harinder, sensing the shift, handed him a glass of orange juice. "Tu bhi ek din aise hi stage pe khada hoga. Par jab hoga na, full Bollywood style speech de dena. Emotional music ke saath." ("One day you'll be up on that stage too. Just make sure your speech has full Bollywood drama and emotional music.")
Sukhman laughed. "Tu tab tak mera manager hoga kya?" ("Will you still be my manager by then?")
"Main tab bhi free mein kaam kar raha honga." ("Still working for free, probably.")
They clinked glasses and soaked in the moment.
Tomorrow, the paddocks would open. Cameras would roll. Engines would roar.
But tonight — tonight was for legends, laughter, and the calm before the storm.
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📢 Writer's Note – Temporary Hiatus Announcement
Dear readers,
Thank you all for your continued support and enthusiasm for the novel. I wanted to inform you that the story will be going on a short one-month hiatus and will resume on 7th July.
As a university student, I have my end semester exams starting from 9th June, and I need this time to focus on my studies and prepare well. I truly appreciate your understanding and patience during this period.
Looking forward to returning with fresh chapters and renewed energy!
Warm regards,
Sanu_Das_4848