[F1 + Soccer] You Won't Even Call Me F1

Maybe an F1 and soccer story, not sure.

Silas Elkins was one of the campus F4 at Albert Noble Middle School. He had an astonishingly handsome face and, according to rumor, was a celestial dragon at the very top of the social pyramid. He was a famous figure known to everyone at school.

He had a happy family, devoted friends, and plenty of money. He was the perfect example of a winner in life.

He should have been growing up strong and healthy like a young poplar tree, but instead he kept saying, “It’s getting cold. Time to bankrupt the Adams family,” as his catchphrase. Not only that, he had a doctor friend who came whenever called, a butler who liked to say, “It’s been so long since the young master smiled,” and a whole crowd of toadies who would shriek “Young Master Silas!” as soon as they saw him.

Silas’s parents exchanged a guilty glance. “Oh no, our kid’s turned out a little warped QAQ.”

That can’t be right... We’re a family with so much money and so much love. How did we raise a kid who’s a cold, domineering-CEO-in-the-making?

Silas didn’t need to make an effort. The world would willingly offer him everything.

Dreams, money, honor, friendship, love. There was nothing Silas couldn’t get if he wanted it.

Everyone knew the world favored this child. All that was missing was a delicate little flower stumbling into his arms, and the story could begin.

Then one day, Silas said to his friend, “I think all of this is really boring.”

His friend laughed theatrically. “Young Master Silas, what more could you possibly want?”

“I want an adventure like no one has ever had before, or ever will again.” Silas said with an offhand laugh. “What do you think about me going to the rainforest to watch anacondas?”

Because of that casual joke, the world decided to give its favorite child a dream.

When Silas opened his eyes again, everything in front of him had become strange and unfamiliar. He had no doctor friend, no butler, no friends, and no followers. All he had were wealthy parents in the middle of a divorce, fighting tooth and nail for custody of him.

And on his phone was a late-night emo post: “I don’t want lots and lots of money. I want lots and lots of love.”

It had been posted two hours earlier. It had zero likes, and the only comment was from a fortune-teller: “You look pitiful. I’ll tell your fortune for free.”

A fallen phoenix is worse off than a chicken. Overnight, Silas had become a pitiful bookworm with no friends.

Silas, the male lead of a Mary Sue school novel, crumbled a little. “...”

I must be dreaming.

Silas couldn’t quite accept it. He casually asked someone if they knew about “F4.” The passing student suddenly seemed to understand, then said under Silas’s expectant gaze, “Silas, so you drive an F4? That’s so cool!”

F4 formula racing was the “beginner’s level” of motorsports, a key that opened the door to F1 racing, a starry avenue leading to dreams, and, above all, a challenge Silas had never tried before.

Silas: “?”

“What F4?” Silas immediately denied the title, which lowered his status. “I’m the campus F1.”

The passing student looked even more impressed.

The student went around school telling everyone how young and promising Silas was. Too proud to let anyone see through him, Silas had no choice but to join an F4 junior racing academy for real and begin his climb to the top, one step at a time.

Silas showed off his wealth, and a fan sincerely said, “Young Master Silas, do you need a hamster? I’d be happy to be your Annie.”

Silas failed, and a fan comforted him. “Maybe all your talent went into being old money. It’s okay, Young Master. You’re richer than all of them.”

Silas won the championship, and his fans were proud to share in his glory. “Why did Silas come from behind to win? Because this young master fights and grabs for everything.”

Years later, Silas had won three consecutive WDC championships. When the media asked him, “After all these years, what got you to where you are today?” he answered sincerely, “It all started with F4.”

The reporter understood. “You’re going to tell us the story of how you got here? We’re all ears.”

Silas looked even more melancholy and sighed. “No. My goal has always been to become the campus heartthrob.”

Even as a WDC champion, he still couldn’t get his classmates to look up to him and call him F1. (A bitter smile, an old-money sigh.)

Reporter: “????”

Where did this cold, cringe edgelord come from?

As the title says, this idea is so funny that I’m putting it up here first. No idea when I’ll start writing it.

Maybe I’ll write it as a change of pace when I get tired of writing soccer?

Not sure if there’ll be a couple, so I’ll list it as no-couple for now.

Theme: Promote the spirit of sports