As night deepened, the roar of F1 engines began to echo once again over the Jeddah Corniche.
Dominik walked back into the paddock after a quick dinner with Leclerc. A few fans trailed them, asking for autographs, but kept a respectful distance.
"Do you know where George is?" Dominik asked, adjusting his team cap. "He skipped dinner. That's not like him."
Leclerc shook his head, his expression serious. "He's in engineering. The car is... problematic. He wouldn't give me specifics, but he looks stressed."
They reached the turnstiles. The photographers were waiting. The image of the Ferrari star and the Williams rookie walking side-by-side was gold dust for the media. One was fighting for a championship, the other was the sport's newest sensation.
"Good luck, mon ami," Leclerc said, fist-bumping him. "See you in Q3?"
"If I don't hit the wall," Dominik grinned.
8:00 PM Local Time.
The qualifying session was about to begin.
In Seoul, it was 2:00 AM. Yeji had just returned from the recording studio. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her sofa, pulling a blanket over her legs. She turned on the projector. The F1 logo flashed on the wall. She wasn't just a casual viewer anymore; after last week, she understood the stakes.
In Budapest, Katalin and Gábor sat in their living room. In London, Hanna had her textbooks open but her eyes glued to her laptop screen.
Dominik sat in the car. The wind whipped through the garage, carrying fine sand that gritted between his teeth.
"Check the car status. Adjust brake bias according to the wind direction," Gaëtan Jego instructed calmly.
Q1 Begins.
The green light illuminated.
The tire blankets came off. The Soft (C4) tires gleamed, shiny and untouched.
Dominik engaged first gear. He feathered the clutch paddle. The clutch on an F1 car was a distinct piece of engineering—bitey, sensitive, unforgiving. A millimeter too much and you stalled. A millimeter too little and you bogged down.
He rolled out, queuing behind Alex Albon.
"Push hard, Dominik. We can go all out. SOC 1," Gaëtan said. "Show them the real pace."
Dominik adjusted the switches. The sandbagging was over.
He started his flying lap.
Turn 27. He launched onto the main straight.
Turn 1. He braked late, shifting the differential to stabilize the rear. The car bit.
Turn 2. The understeer was there, but manageable.
Then, the FW44 entered its playground.
Turns 4-8. The S-curves. Dominik threw the car in. Lateral G-force hit 3.2G. The suspension groaned under the load, but it held.
Turns 9-12. Flat out. He hugged the walls, the endplates of his front wing millimetres from the concrete. The rear wing generated massive downforce, planting the car.
Purple Sector 1. Purple Sector 2.
He crossed the line.
1:30.084.
He went P1.
The paddock gasped. Magnussen in P2 was four-tenths behind.
"Where did that come from?!" Crofty yelled on the broadcast. "He's been P18 all weekend! He was playing us for fools!"
Dominik boxed. He sat in the garage, watching the screens. He had safe passage to Q2.
But the track was evolving fast.
"Verstappen goes P1. 1:29.8," Gaëtan updated. "The track is gripping up. We need one more run to be safe."
3 Minutes Remaining.
Dominik went out again. This time, he had a plan.
He followed Alex Albon out of the pits.
"Alex is on a push lap ahead. Give him a tow," Gaëtan ordered.
Dominik closed up to his teammate. He punched a hole in the air, allowing Albon to drive in his slipstream, reducing drag.
They flew through the first sector.
Albon was flying. Dominik was right behind him.
Sector 3.
Dominik arrived at the blind, terrifying Turn 22-24 complex. He grazed the white line.
Then, Turn 27. The hairpin.
Dominik pushed too hard. He braked late. The rear snapped on exit.
The car slid sideways, heading for the outside wall.
"Whoa!" Dominik wrestled the wheel, correcting the slide with lightning reflexes. The rear tire kissed the barrier—a gentle tap—before gripping up.
It was a mistake, but it had a side effect. It compromised his exit speed, allowing Albon (who was behind him on the track now after loop cycles) to catch his slipstream perfectly for the sprint to the line.
They crossed the line in formation.
Albon: 1:28.707 (P7)
Corvinus: 1:29.812 (P8)
Both Williams cars were safely through to Q2.
Dominik exhaled, sweat soaking his balaclava. "That was... close in the last corner."
"We saw," Gaëtan said, sounding relieved. "Nice save."
But then, the shock of the session appeared on the screens.
ELIMINATED IN Q1:
16. Latifi
17. Hülkenberg
18. Tsunoda
19. Stroll
20. ... LEWIS HAMILTON
The garage fell silent.
Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time champion, was out in Q1 on pure pace.
Dominik looked at the screen, stunned. Russell had been right. The Mercedes W13 was broken.
"George made it through," Dominik muttered. "But Lewis is out. This season is going to be crazy."