Liam changed back into his street clothes. Even though Portside in February wasn't freezing, wearing a racing suit all day was still uncomfortable.
While the adults talked business, he sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor, watching the track below.
Some drivers were putting in laps. Others were tinkering with karts in the pits. He saw a kid get chewed out by a coach for a sloppy run.
Racing was a brutal profession. It was especially brutal for American kids trying to break into the European-dominated scene.
You could dominate every track in the States, racking up trophies and accolades, only to land in Europe and realize you were just another face in the crowd. The gap in competition level was staggering.
Real talent validation only happened in the higher tiers. In the junior classes, raw talent wasn't the only factor; hard work and seat time could mask a lot of deficiencies.
Choosing this path meant committing to a life of endless running.
Even having lived through it once, the thought of doing it all again felt... exhausting.
Not everyone was built like Max Verstappen—that cyborg who raced F1 cars for a living and then went home to race simulators for fun.
"Hi! Liam, I—" Louise stood next to him, eager to chat, before realizing she didn't speak English well enough yet, and he supposedly didn't speak Italian at all.
"Hm?" Liam feigned confusion. At his age, he wasn't supposed to be multilingual. It definitely wasn't just an excuse to avoid talking to a toddler.
"Argh!" Louise looked like she was about to explode with frustration. She ran over to the adults, tugging on her mother's arm. "Mamma! Voglio imparare l'inglese!" (I want to learn English!)
Watching Louise scamper away, Liam mentally counted down from three.
3... 2... 1...
"Waaaaah!!!"
Called it. Even if it wasn't a formal boardroom meeting, making a ruckus while adults were talking was bound to get her a lecture from Martina. And lectures led to tears.
Kids that age were like weather systems—storms brewed instantly and vanished just as fast. She'd grow out of it.
Liam tuned out the business talk. It wasn't his concern.
Once the deal was signed and dinner was eaten, the evening wound down.
"Son, racing is going to be hard work," Arthur said on the drive home, streetlights flickering across his face.
Liam watched the city blur past the window. "I know. Everyone says I have talent, right? So I'll give it a shot."
"Alright. Starting tomorrow, you'll be training at the track every day."
Training for domestic karting in those days wasn't exactly high-tech. It mostly consisted of two things: driving laps and wrenching on the kart.
With his past life's experience, Liam was actually better at the mechanical side than the mechanics instructing him. He didn't show off, though. He just played the role of a quick learner—the smart kid who picked things up instantly.
Mr. Chen and the pit crew were effusive in their praise, calling him a natural.
By the end of March, he'd fast-tracked his way to a Grade E license.
Normally, you had to run a few club races to qualify, but the domestic calendar was so sparse there simply weren't enough events before the season opener.
On April 21st, 2007, the first round of the SKUSA Regional Series—held at the Portside Circuit—kicked off.
Liam arrived with his father and Mr. Chen. The atmosphere was lively, but not exactly packed.
The junior grids were thin, though the senior classes were well-attended.
Liam, still small for his age, was practically swallowed by the crowd.
"Liam Vance!" a registrar called out.
"Here!" Arthur raised his hand, guiding his son to the administrative desk for check-in.
"Okay, looks good. Here's your transponder and number plate. Make sure they're mounted correctly." The official glanced at the license and medical forms before stamping them approved.
"Chen, I looked at the entry list. Not many kids in Cadet, huh?" Arthur noted.
"Yeah, small field this year. Only twenty-one entries. That means everyone goes straight to the pre-final," Mr. Chen nodded.
The race weekend format was standard: Practice, Qualifying, Heats, Pre-Final, and Final.
Usually, only the top 34 drivers advanced to the main events. With only twenty-one kids, there would be no elimination heats. Everyone survived to race on Sunday.
The low turnout wasn't surprising. In 2007, karting in this region was still a niche sport. It barely got coverage in the specialized press, let alone mainstream sports channels.
And even for those who knew about it, the barrier to entry was high. A full season's entry fees were thousands of dollars. If you didn't want the organizer's mandatory sponsor stickers on your kart, you paid a premium penalty.
And that was just to enter.
You still had to buy the chassis, the engines, the tires, the fuel. The Cadet class was restricted to specific 60cc or 100cc engines like the Yamaha KT100 or Vortex Mini ROK, depending on the specific regional rulebook.
In short: racing was not a poor man's game. You needed at least a solid upper-middle-class income to play.
Even Lewis Hamilton's father had to work multiple jobs just to keep his son's career alive in the early days.
Fortunately, as a corporate executive, Arthur Vance had deep pockets.
"Alright, registration is done. Do you want to join the open practice session?" Mr. Chen asked.
"I don't think I need to," Liam shook his head.
When Martina had flown back to Europe, Liam had briefly considered convincing his father to send him straight to Italy. The competition there was leagues ahead of the domestic series.
If I went this year, I might run into Max.
His feelings toward the Dutch prodigy were... complicated.
In his past life, his death had been the result of his own aggression meeting Max's uncompromising defense. Technically, that made them enemies.
But as a fellow racer, he understood the move. It was just business.
"Hey. You running Cadet too?" a kid walked up to him.
"Yeah. Hi."
"I'm Linus. This is my second season."
Liam didn't reply, waiting for the pitch. He noticed the kid's parents were watching but not intervening.
"See those guys over there? Tyler and Zach. They're fast. They raced last year too. We should... work together," Linus said, his voice dropping.
"Pretty sure this is an individual sport," Liam said, raising an eyebrow.
"You... look, I'm telling you, they're fast. If we don't, you know, block them a bit during qualifying practice, we won't have a chance to win," Linus pressed.
"Thanks, but I don't need help."
"You! Stuck-up... I'm just..."
"Linus! Let's go!" The boy's father called out, then flashed an apologetic smile at Arthur. "Sorry, Linus just wanted to make a friend."
"Mmhmm," Liam grunted, turning away.
"Race hasn't even started and the politics are already beginning," Arthur shook his head. "I guess it's the same everywhere. People will do anything for an edge."
"Heh, those kids. Tyler and Zach," Mr. Chen chuckled. "I know them. Their race pace last year was solid. But that Linus kid? He finished third, but he was ten seconds off the lead."