LOVER -
prologue.

YOU HEAR ABOUT THE GREATS OF FORMULA ONE. And depending on who you support and who you grew up watching, you'll have a different opinion. Those in France lived divided, divided between whether they should support ALAIN PROST or MARC BLANCHE.

The much younger opponent Marc Blanche, proved to be a hidden challenger. Rising up to f1 in 1989, coincidentally one of the years Alain had won the title. He'd witnessed the many battles of AYRTON SENNA and Prost, on edge.

Every-time he stepped into his car, Marc prayed. He prayed to whoever was listening that he would step out of the car two hours later, safe from distress. He prayed for every other driver on the grid, that they too return in the same condition they entered the race in.

In the summer, Marc had replaced JEAN ALESI at Scuderia Ferrari. That dream he had once had of being sat in the red car coming true. But, my God, had it got off on the wrong foot. In the mist of his anticipation and anxiety, Marc couldn't hide this feeling of worry.

Although that race hadn't proved to be so distressing. For him at least. He hadn't been majorly challenged, the fight for first had mainly been in-front of him between DAMON HILL and MICHAEL SCHUMACHER. But at the end of the day, he was happy with his p3. A podium on his debut for the Tifosi.

That would only be the start for him.

The p2 he earned in the next race, made him rush with adrenaline. Race by race he was picking off the podium places until he reached the top. (Granted there was only technically three steps but no one wanted to ruin his bubble)

Arriving at the San Marino Grand Prix, no one could get him to stand still. The thought of qualifying on Saturday had made him sleep like a baby, of course he knew that if he could get pole position he stood a better chance at getting the win. But he did like a challenge.

The challenge he had obtained was to get Ayrton excited for the day, right from the crack of dawn he hadn't smiled or barely laughed. Marc described him as a walking zombie, too worried to think straight.

Ayrton had opened up to Marc behind the back of the pits, revealing his anxiousness towards racing this weekend with the amount of injuries that had already prevailed from the Friday qualifying session.

The advice Marc had given was simple to Ayrton. Drive simply and safely. Both the drivers in that moment had realized it was better for them both to be safe and sound, alert of their surroundings than to be the next stretched out of the circuit.

When Marc had sat back in his Ferrari, getting ready for qualifying, a pit formed in his stomach. That anxiousness coming back from the first race of the season. And he hated it.
His laps hadn't improved and currently he was sitting p3, behind Michael and Ayrton.

He was frustrated. Everyone saw it in his garage, those who were commentating saw it. Marc was desperate for a win and sometimes that desperation caused mistakes. And he'd made far too many.

Marc's own parents would say that their sons worst quality was that he was too critical of himself. Of course, to be an F1 driver you want to win. You want to be the best. But Marc could not rest until he perfected every tiny thing. If his exit on turn three wasn't good enough you best believe he would stay up late, closing his eyes and imaging the car set up before him. Imagining the perfect way to attack the corner.

Marc had rested his head against the cool of a metal cabinet, a shock running through his spine when he heard a large bang. Gasps sounding in the garage, horror ignited through them all. ROLAND RATZENBERGER, was to be added to the list of victims the San Marino GP was collecting. However, he would be one of the unlucky ones. The one who wasn't coming back.

Ayrton hadn't slept. Marc hadn't slept. Michael couldn't shut his eyes. And the other 33 drivers couldn't think straight.

Wondering whether they would be next.

Marc remembered the last words he'd said to Ayrton. A repeat of the words he'd uttered earlier that week, drive simply and safely.

Ayrton had. He'd kept it simple, often seeming too hesitant to push down on the throttle. Although he'd kept trying to gain a larger gap to Michael, on that day he had wanted to stand on the top step for Roland.

The sixth lap would haunt Motorsport for eternity.

On that morning, Marc, Ayrton, Michael and Berger had lead a conversation of safety. Discussing whether that actually felt safe enough to step on to that race track and attempt to finish it.

That sixth lap haunted everyone on the track. The race came to an immediate halt, the condition of Ayrton unknown to all drivers. The severity had been hidden from Marc, Ferrari having done it on purpose. To make sure he wasn't distracted and could hopefully end up on the top step.

The Tifosi had livened the crowd up again. When Marc had put his red car into first position, the first laps he had lead in f1 had been filled with such dread. He couldn't do it.

To be in F1 you have to have thick skin, you have to be strong. Not just physically but mentally. You experience speeds some can only dream of. You experience neck pain that no one wants to feel.

Marc let Michael passed. This was not the race he wanted to win. He wanted to enjoy his victory, to have Michael and Ayrton at his side. Deep down he still had some hope that maybe at Monaco Ayrton could watch him on the podium.

Although that never happened. His passing came a reality check to those of formula one. No one celebrated on the darkest day of the sport.

Monaco wasn't much better. Although tributes were put out by Williams, and Marc himself. Safety seemed to be lacking in the sport. In practice KARL WENDLINGER had his car demolished at the Nouvelle chicane. Being left unconscious.

Marc after the session headed straight for his hotel room. He'd put in good laps around Monaco, the most challenging track for a driver mentally. One mistake meant you would be in the wall. Your concentration had to be on point, you had to be on the ball.

VALENTINA ROSSÉ had been on the ball. Bumping into Marc on the way back from a disastrous date. She had spilt wine down his white shirt, nervously laughing afterwards.

Valentina knew who Marc was. Who wouldn't? The French driver, the next Alain Prost. My God, the French fans hadn't shut up about him since entering the country.

Marc promised her a date. A special one at that. He'd brought, well snuck, Valentina through the paddock. Hid her in the back of the garage and told her to watch him with a smile.

In his darkness, he found a light. Someone to reignite a spark.

That spark flew down the streets of Monaco. Minding through the turn one incidents and only had his eyes set on Michael. It took him twenty laps. Monaco was not easy to overtake, that was known.

The pair of them had lapped up to eighth place, making their way through traffic, tires beginning to blister.

And Michael missed the chicane. He missed the chicane. Lap 40. The day the Tifosi screamed, hung their red flags high. The prancing horse had won its first race of the season, breaking the hold Schumacher was beginning to have on the championship. Marc had won his first race for Ferrari.

Marc had won his race for Ayrton.

Marc won his first championship for Ayrton in 1998. The best year of his life. Was what he had claimed it be, getting married at the beginning of the year and nine months later having a daughter. IRIS VALENTINE BLANCHE was born into a world of chaos to put it lightly. Born in the back of a car, parked in the cramped streets of Monaco.

From a young age she was accustomed to the noise of an F1 pit lane, surrounded by drivers. Michael being named her godfather, and CORINNA SCHUMACHER being named her godmother.

Ferrari had a strong team, pole positions and win switching between Marc and Michael every race. MICK and GINA spending their weekend with the Blanche's watching their parents drive round.

Although by the end of his career Alain Prost had more championships, the French loved Marc. They adored his family, the charity work, the dedication. The enjoyment Marc had brought to the faces of the Tifosi. And he left them on a high note.

The 16th October 2005. China. A tight three way competition for the title had come down to the last race. FERNANDO ALONSO, Michael and Marc.

Both the Schumacher's and Blanche's had flown out to the circuit. Both wives hopeful their husband would return victorious and not a raging mess.

In all honesty, it couldn't have been easier for Alonso. Who had stared the race from pole, the two Ferraris behind him. But when the pressure mounts your most likely to crumble. And Alonso had done exactly that.

Team orders had to come into play for the red team, knowing that if Michael and Marc didn't stop testing each other round different corners they'd end up with both drivers not finishing the race.

Michael had been told to hold off on Marc. Who lap by lap was proving to be the faster car, the German listened. Shocking the crowd and his family who watched from the garage.

The German driver had always wanted the French driver to succeed, they were similar in many ways. Not just the obvious factor of driving for Ferrari but the standard they held themself to.

Many believed them to be the best driver pairing on the grid. They kept each other calm and collected, supported each other and supported the team even through errors. They celebrated each other's wins, and each other's losses.

Marc capitalized off Alonso's nerves, forcing him into errors he wouldn't usually make.

Turn twelve was a ballsy place to make a move. But, Marc was adamant on it. Even if his engineer had told him multiple times, 'not to do anything stupid.'

Marc didn't listen. The crowds held in the gasps, watching the Renaults rear right almost collide with the Ferrari's front left. Marc didn't care. Yes, he wanted to win this title. For Ayrton, for Ferrari, for the Tifosi. For his family. But ultimately, he just wanted to enjoy his final race.

And by enjoyment, he meant getting hearts racing in the crowds. Hearing their screams every time he attempted a move on Alonso. He wanted one last time, to be in the front seat. Fighting one last battle.

The second time around, turn twelve was a blessing. Going round the outside of Alonso's Renault. Leaving enough room, and making it stick. The cheers were music to his ears, he could almost hear the French national anthem.

The last five laps were horror. Not for Marc. For Fernando. After he got overtaken he seemed to lose his pace, and Michael had slowly been creeping up along the back of his car. He wanted to leave Shanghai with some dignity.

Fernando Alonso was leaving Shanghai with a third place trophy. And third place in the championship.

Ferrari were leaving Shanghai with a 1-2, the drivers championship and the constructors. But also, with a lot of memories. Fifteen years of Marc Blanche on their team. Two championships hard fought by him, 61 wins.

For Marc at the beginning that was all that had mattered. But his friendship with the Schumachers and the gift of his wife and daughter had been greater. A friend for life was the best thing he had inherited.

He retired from Motorsport in 2005. Having made his announcement clear to the fans in June earlier that year. Marc had a wife at home and a daughter. With a son on the way, he realized he hadn't exactly been around as much as he had liked.

He'd missed Iris' first steps. Her first word.

And he swore not to make the same mistake with his son AUGUST BLANCHE. Who had not been born in August.

Marc witnessed the next five birthdays of his children, along with Valentina only baking five more birthday cakes.

January 1st 2011. It was a new year, celebrations carried out all over the world. The Blanches' had just landed in Germany, heading towards the Schumacher residence. Driving in the rain in a rental car. Early hours of the new year.

The sky a dark grey, a minimal amount of stars shining down.

That night, two new stars would join the sky. With two children harboring a resentment for January 1st and a forever present feeling of missing their parents.

CHARLES LECLERC. Was no stranger to loss. And was no stranger to having to act as if he was fine, when as a matter of fact all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sob to his mother.

Charles had always admired the drivers of the red formula one car, Marc Blanche, Michael Schumacher, Niki Lauda and many more. That was his dream. But was also his godfathers, JULES BIANCHI had already made the first step: getting into formula one. Sadly, he would never achieve the dream he wished for.

His life being taken from him far too soon.

Charles put a lot of pressure on himself. To win for those he lost. And he would do everything he could to achieve his goals. To make his father proud, to make Jules proud.

Meeting Iris had never been planned. And definitely would leave some people unimpressed.

Especially when she forgets his name.

AUTHORS NOTE:
i can't take the heat
but i can announce charles and iris are my faves ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥