My Formula 1 System

It wasn't supposed to feel personal—at least that's what Ansel told himself. But deep down, there was something about this race, about the night streets of Riyadh and the glow of the podium's promise, that made it impossible to let go. He reasoned like Jon Stark, the second F2 English commentator, often did—analytical, pragmatic, focused on results. The Tiered Pursuit strategy forbade him from overtaking Luca under any circumstances, but this time he couldn't let it dictate his actions.

It had been five long Grands Prix since his last win, and the hunger for P1 gnawed at him. Ansel craved that victory, not just for the trophy or the cheers, but for what it represented—domination. Overtaking Luca wouldn't harm the team's point tally in any way. But for the drivers' standings, it meant everything.

P1 offered five more points than P2. Five points, and a step to the center of the podium. A moment under the lights, holding a trophy that screamed victory. Luca already had three of those moments. Ansel wanted his third too!

Luca Rennick— 126

Ansel Hahn —115

Luca recalled the drivers' standings as he began to take full control of his car. These were fairly enough points for an F2 driver! Even Oliver Kristensen would do anything to have Ansel's point tally. He couldn't understand where this was coming from and why Ansel's car was pressing down on him.

Mr. Moritz and Mr. Colt began to speak fervently through the radio, honing their ordering power by telling Ansel to align his chassis to the Tiered Pursuit strategy.

**Tell Luca to let me have this one** Ansel replied when Mr. Moritz told him to regulate his chassis and engine.

[2nd Position closing in]

[Host has unlocked Skills to disclose an opponent]

Luca wasn't sure if Ansel was aware the radio was on the two-way transmitter, and he could hear his statement loud and clear. Even so, he remained quiet as he began to defend.

**Han, this is not your decision to make. Gaffer's made it clear Luca keeps hold of higher positions. Let's keep some order here, Han** Mr. Moritz pleaded.

**Ansel, let's keep P2, okay?** Mr. Colt piped in. **You still can make some difference in Qatar**

**Same strategy in Qatar, huh? Hard pass** Ansel retorted, his voice sharp as his car closed the two-second gap to Luca. By the time they hit the bridge straight, he was barely a second behind.

"...AND YOU CALLED IT, JON! REAR WINGS OPEN! ANSEL HAHN IS MAKING HIS MOVE FOR P1!"

"WOOOOHH!" The crowd erupted in anticipation as Ansel activated his DRS, his car surging forward.

Inside the telemetry room, Mr. Moritz froze, eyes locked on the screen displaying Ansel's bold maneuver. The sight of the rear wing of the 3D blueprint opening sent a jolt of panic through him because he knew Luca would be ready to defend against a DRS. Hastily, he ripped off his headset and bolted out of the room. His frantic steps echoed through the garage as he pushed past team members who watched him with curiosity and concern. They'd been hearing his constant loud voice over the radio, and they'd also noticed Ansel's moves too.

Moritz was heading toward the viewing post to confront Mr. Grant, the team principal. Trampos faces turned as he passed, the tension in the air palpable, each crewmember aware of the brewing chaos.

Mr. Moritz barely made it to the post when, to his surprise, he nearly collided with Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton, who were already heading in his direction.

The three managers stopped, their eyes locking in a brief but intense exchange. No words were spoken—none were needed. Silently, they turned back toward the now-packed telemetry room, a storm of unspoken tension swirling around them.

"...LUCA RENNICK DEFENDS, BUT HAHN IS RELENTLESS AS THEY HEAD INTO THE SECOND TUNNEL, HAHN LOSSES DRS!"

"... Rennick's holding the racing line perfectly, Jon! He's not giving Hahn an inch!"

"WOOOOHH!"

Quickly, Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton were handed seats in the telemetry room. In contrast to the chaos around them, the Team Principals maintained a composed demeanor. Ms. Vallotton sat calmly, slipping on her headset and adjusting the mic, while Mr. Grant decided to remain standing, hunched over the largest telemetry screen. Within seconds, they were both communicating with their drivers, who had already begun battling on track. Their efforts seemed futile, however, as Ansel refused to respond.

[Straightaway Chopping +1]

[SYNC BAR: [][][][] 87.5%]

**This is outrageous, Ansel** Ms. Vallotton began firmly. **Selfishness at its finest. You two could collide if you continue this charade—there's only one lap left**

"...Luca moves to cover the inside! Hahn pulls out! He's trying the outside line, but Rennick defends hard, forcing him wide!"

"WOOOOHH!"

[Breathing: Drastically Spiked!]

Luca's heart hammered in his chest as Ansel tailed him relentlessly through the tunnel, closing the gap with every turn. The pressure was immense. He corner-chopped his teammate at the last moment, but Ansel's aggressive drive now was unlike anything Luca had ever faced. Sweat pooled under his gloves, his grip on the wheel tightening to maintain control as his pulse threatened to overpower his focus.

"Ansel should never push that hard through corners," Mr. Grant growled, slamming a fist against the table. "He's not Luca. He's Ansel Hahn, and he should know his limits."

"Maybe we should let them duel?" Mr. Colt interjected cautiously. "Forty-five points are guaranteed either way."

Ms. Val shook her head, dismissing the suggestion, even though it seemed like the most sensible option on the surface. Luca's position as Player A wasn't just because he was undeniably better—it was a matter of priority. The team had aligned its focus on him, valuing his new tenure with Trampos Racing. The formula was simple: the more GPs Luca clinched, the stronger his bond with the team would grow, and the happier he would be in the team—the longer he might stay. That was the entire premise, one only truly grasped by the team principals and the board.

Mr. Grant sighed heavily as Ansel ignored their attempts to rein him in. Gesturing indifferently, he adjusted his mic closer to his lips. **Alright, then** he said firmly. **Free, SAFE duel. But be warned—there will be punishments after this**

"Thanks," Ansel finally replied, his voice calm yet resolute. He'd been waiting for the go-ahead, even though he felt he shouldn't have needed permission as he closed in on Luca.

Mr. Grant folded his arms and stood upright, watching the screens intently. He knew his drivers well—not just their driving skills but their personalities. He was certain Luca wouldn't take it to heart after he had just given an order that contrasted to the current strategy. Judging by Luca's silence, Mr. Grant could tell he was frightened by not just Ansel's approach, but the energy that surrounded his car.

[44th Lap]

"...BOTH TRAMPOS DRIVERS BEGIN THE FINAL LAP IN THIS SAUDI ARABIAN GRAND PRIX!"

"...Luca Rennick in P1, Ansel Hahn in P2!"

"WOOOOHH!"

Ansel finally brought his Dallara alongside Luca's, the scream of his SomberCore engine revealing excessive ERS exertion to boost performance. Luca, noticing this, made the decision to activate full ERS as well—after all, it was the final lap. High ERS usage came with risks like faster tire degradation and increased wear on the car's general Operational Status.

As Ansel nosed into Turn 1 alongside him, Luca focused on dominating the duel, deploying his Side-by-Side King Skill. If he managed to secure a point here, he would complete his Sync Buff, ensuring that Ansel wouldn't even catch a glimpse of his gearbox after that.

Luca caught a fleeting glimpse of Ansel's Dallara, it was a blur slicing through his peripheral vision as they dove into Turn 1's apex. The floodlights gleamed off their chassis, highlighting the unmistakable similarities in their machines to the roaring crowd. A deafening cheer erupted as Ansel momentarily clinched P1, a razor-thin margin favoring him as he carved through the apex.

[2nd Position]

Luca tightened his grip on the wheel, his focus sharpening when Ansel didn't glance back. It was time to lock in, to push past distractions and secure his fourth consecutive Grand Prix victory, denying his teammate of his third. A sharp thought had crossed his mind earlier in the final lap, a thought to let Ansel take P1 peacefully and avoid any intra-team tension since the points would still benefit Trampos Racing. But Luca dismissed it almost immediately. His system demanded precision and progress, every point mattered, and every victory counted. To surrender would mean abandoning the competitive spirit that defined him.

How exceptional—or competitive—could he claim to be if he handed over a win so easily? Formula racing wasn't built on acts of charity, someone had once told him. In all his time competing in Formula 2 and watching Formula 1, he'd never seen such an act of selflessness—and he certainly wasn't about to be the first to do it.

[1st Position]

"...Luca Rennick back at P1!"

"WOOOOHH!"

[Side-by-Side King had failed due to difficult high ERS control]

Damnit!

Ansel gritted his teeth as Luca pulled ahead, the rear wing of his teammate's car filling his vision. The SomberCore whined with frustration as if it mirrored his thoughts. He couldn't let this slip. Not after the perfect apex he had taken at Turn 1, not after the energy he poured into gaining P1.

Luca, meanwhile, felt the rush of air buffeting his Dallara as he pushed his car to the limits through the sweeping curves of Turn 2. His rear tires skidded at the bottleneck as if it was a warning that the heavy ERS use was beginning to take toll on the chassis. Luca managed to guide it, maneuvering past the tallest skyscraper again. Keep it clean. Keep it clean, he repeated to himself, his eyes darting between the track ahead and the glowing proximity bar on his system's interface. Ansel was still right behind him, so close that both SomberCores sounded like a certain A-level engine to the spectators.

"I need more ERS. Just a little more, and I can—" Ansel whispered, but his words were interrupted as Luca sharply decelerated, catching him off guard.

"Nope," Ansel muttered, recalling Luca's constant use of Corner Chopping both in Featured Races and at training. He anticipated it, and forced Luca wide again, all eight tires screaming against the asphalt, leaving faint black streaks.

[Calculating host drift exit...]

[... successfully calculated]

Luca and Ansel exited the turn, Luca still in the lead.

"...Ansel Hahn refuses to back down! The Trampos teammates are neck and neck!"

**Reckless driving, boys. Ease off. 6km left for 45 points** Mr. Moritz piped in, breaking the silence that had been in the telemetry room. All engineers and the team principals remained quiet, everyone's eyes on the live feed and not the telemetry anymore.

Mr. Grant watched with a sweat-beaded forehead. He was confident Luca would emerge victorious, and if he did, it would even solidify his position as Player A. This duel might just be the benchmark where fans and lovers of formula racing could confidently say Luca was better than Ansel or Ansel was better than Luca.

**Stay defensive. Don't let him bait you. You've got this** Ms. Vallotton said over the radio, completely in support of Luca.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Her words hurt Ansel, but he digested it as fuel, trailing Luca out of Turn 4 toward the first tunnel. Once the curves straightened out a little bit, Ansel tilted his wheel to the side.

"...Ansel Hahn attempts against his teammate again! WHAT ARE WE WITNESSING IN RIYADH?!"

**Damn it, Han! Can't you just back off!** Mr. Moritz yelled, losing his cool as he slammed his fist into the desk, the computer screens rattling for a second.

The dim glow of the tunnel's interior beckoned Luca like the maw of a beast, and for Ansel, a dark path to victory.

Ansel darted to the inside line, his tires barely a whisper away from the fluorescent cage walls. Luca wanted to let that slide, but he felt that move might change everything before they headed into the tunnel. So, he reacted instantly, veering to block him, but the narrow confines left little room for error.

CRJNCH!

"OUUUHHHH!"

"...OH My GOODNESS! ANSEL HAHN DRIVES INTO LUCA RENNICK!"