On the second day of pre-season testing, many teams shifted their focus to qualifying simulations.
Yesterday's fastest lap was set by Lando Norris in the McLaren MCL36, clocking 1:19.568. Dominik Corvinus, driving the Williams, ranked an astonishing second with 1:19.947.
This performance was incredibly fast, especially since the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya hadn't been rubbered in yet. For a rookie to drag a perceived "backmarker" car to such a time on a dirty track was a statement of intent.
Dominik woke up early and headed to the hotel restaurant. While eating, wearing his Williams team jacket, he sat by the window, watching the Spanish morning unfold. Although there were other guests, they had been informed not to disturb the drivers.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over his table.
"Dominik. You're up early."
It was George Russell.
He was wearing the Mercedes team kit—the black polo shirt with the silver star. But he didn't look relaxed. There were dark circles under his eyes, the look of a man who hadn't slept well.
"George," Dominik nodded. "You're driving the W13 today?"
"Full day," Russell said, sliding into the seat opposite Dominik. He tried to sound casual, but his knee was bouncing nervously under the table. "Toto wants to see what I can do with the new aero package. It's a big responsibility, developing a championship-winning car."
Dominik knew the truth. Everyone in the paddock did. After Valtteri Bottas left for Alfa Romeo, Mercedes had scrambled to find a replacement. Negotiations with other top drivers had stalled. In a panic, they had given the seat to Russell—but not on a full contract. It was a temporary deal. A trial. He was essentially a glorified substitute teacher, fighting for his life every single session.
"Must be a lot of pressure," Dominik said calmly, buttering his toast. "Knowing every lap has to be perfect."
Russell's jaw tightened. "Pressure makes diamonds, mate. At least I'm in a car that can win races. Enjoy fighting for P15 in that Williams."
Before Dominik could retort, a figure in Ferrari red approached. It was Charles Leclerc.
"Bonjour," Leclerc said, flashing a charming smile. He looked between the two men—one the rookie with a secure contract, the other the talent with a ticking clock.
"Charles," Russell said, his tone instantly shifting to be warmer. "Join us."
Leclerc sat down. "Dominik, right? I saw your time yesterday. Very impressive. And George, I hear you're in the Merc today. Big day."
"Massive," Russell agreed, sitting up straighter. "We're focusing on long runs."
"We should document this," Russell interrupted suddenly, pulling out his phone. "The future of F1, right?"
He positioned himself between them, angling the phone for a selfie. It was a power move. Russell needed the world to see him as Leclerc's equal, as a permanent fixture at the front of the grid, not just a temporary stopgap.
Dominik played along. He leaned in, and Leclerc struck a pose. Russell leaned in from the side, smiling a little too widely, desperation hiding behind his eyes.
Click.
Russell posted it to Instagram immediately: Next Gen. #F1 #Testing #Mercedes.
In the photo, the three of them looked like a unified front. In reality, Dominik saw exactly what it was: a man trying to convince the world he belonged.
Later that morning, Dominik was back in the cockpit of the FW44. Today was a long-run simulation on C4 tires.
"Just keep adapting today, no need to push for lap times," Gaëtan Jego said over the radio.
But the car was struggling.
"I have no grip in the low-speed corners," Dominik reported, wrestling the wheel through Sector 3. "Turn 10 and 12 are ice."
"Adjust MCDS to Mode 2," Gaëtan suggested. "Try a different differential setting."
Dominik made the switch on the steering wheel. Immediately, the car felt more compliant. The understeer vanished, replaced by a slight oversteer on exit.
"That feels better," Dominik reported. He settled into a rhythm, lapping consistently in the 1:27.0 range.
"That's very good pace," Gaëtan said. "Hide your performance now. We know what you can do."
Meanwhile, in the other Williams garage, Alex Albon was having a tougher time. On the softer C5 tires—the qualifying rubber—his best lap was a 1:20.468. Nearly half a second slower than Dominik's time from the previous day.
Albon got out of the car at noon looking dejected. The pressure was mounting on the experienced driver to match his rookie teammate.
At noon, all drivers reported to the main conference room for the official FIA briefing.
The seating arrangement was a visual representation of the 2022 grid. Dominik took his seat next to Albon. Across the room, Lewis Hamilton sat checking his phone.
Next to Hamilton sat George Russell. He looked tense, drumming his fingers on the table.
The FIA official stood up to read the confirmed entry list for the season opener in Bahrain.
"Gentlemen, welcome to the 2022 season. Here is the confirmed entry list submitted by the teams."
He began reading down the list.
Red Bull Racing:
1 Max Verstappen
11 Sergio Perez
Scuderia Ferrari:
16 Charles Leclerc
55 Carlos Sainz
McLaren:
3 Daniel Ricciardo
4 Lando Norris
Alpine:
14 Fernando Alonso
31 Esteban Ocon
Scuderia AlphaTauri:
10 Pierre Gasly
22 Yuki Tsunoda
Aston Martin:
5 Sebastian Vettel
18 Lance Stroll
Williams Racing:
23 Alex Albon
45 Dominik Corvinus
Alfa Romeo:
24 Zhou Guanyu
77 Valtteri Bottas
Haas F1 Team:
20 Kevin Magnussen
47 Mick Schumacher
The official paused, then cleared his throat.
"Mercedes-AMG Petronas:"
"44 Lewis Hamilton..."
"...and in car 63, confirmed on a provisional basis for the Bahrain Grand Prix... George Russell."
The room went silent. The word "provisional" hung in the air like a lead weight.
Russell stared straight ahead, his face burning. He wasn't a factory driver. He was a temp. He didn't have a year-long contract; he had a race-by-race evaluation. One bad weekend, one crash, and Mercedes could put anyone else in that car.
Dominik caught Russell's eye across the table. Russell looked away, humiliation and fury warring in his expression. He had the fastest car, but Dominik had the one thing Russell didn't: a secure future.
The season was about to begin, and for George Russell, every single lap was going to be a job interview.