Max Verstappen did not like merch.

This was an objective fact. He didn’t like clutter, he didn’t like loud colours, and he especially didn’t like walking billboards masquerading as clothing. His wardrobe was a study in ruthless efficiency: black hoodies, dark tees, jeans that all looked the same. If it couldn’t be worn to a simulator session or a late-night grocery run, it didn’t belong.

Which was why the blue hoodie currently folded with surgical precision in the back of his closet was deeply, profoundly annoying.

Williams blue.

Carlos Sainz blue.

Max stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight, arms crossed like it might attack him if he let his guard down.