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Sorry guys, I had an urgent matter to attend to, so I wasn't able to post the update as planned. Thank you for your patience — I'll be compensating for the delay by releasing 5 chapters.
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The atmosphere in the pit lane was taut, like a bowstring ready to snap.
Dominik sat in the cockpit, his gloved hands resting on his lap. Through the visor, his eyes were fixed on the strip of asphalt ahead.
His heart rate was climbing. 120 bpm.
This was only his second Grand Prix, and he was in Q3 again. It was a statistical anomaly. The Williams FW44 belonged in Q1, maybe Q2 on a good day. But here it was, in the top 10 shootout.
But Dominik knew the truth. He was only here because Alex Albon had sacrificed his own qualifying to give him a slipstream. The weight of that sacrifice pressed down on him heavier than the G-forces.
If I mess this up, Alex died for nothing.
In Budapest, the M4 Sport commentators were screaming themselves hoarse. In London, Hanna was pacing around her dorm room.
And in Seoul, it was 4:00 AM. Yeji's alarm went off. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, pulled her duvet around her shoulders, and squinted at the projector on her wall. She saw the blue car sitting in the garage.
He made it, she thought, a sleepy smile spreading across her face.
Gaëtan Jego's voice cut through the static, steady and grounding.
"Dominik, breathe. The data from Q2 is good. Alex got us here, now we finish the job. Make it perfect."
"Understood," Dominik replied, his voice tight.
"Watch the tire temps in Sector 1. Don't cook them before the high-speed section. And watch Turn 2 and Turn 27—those are where we lose time to the Alpines."
The electronic bell rang in the garage. Q3 Begins.
"Release," Gaëtan ordered.
Dominik rolled out.
"Differential to Entry 5. You can try Brake Bias 65% for Turn 1," Gaëtan suggested.
Dominik made the adjustment. 65% was aggressive. It pushed the braking force heavily to the front axle.
He started his first flying lap.
He arrived at Turn 1. He braked late.
Too late.
The front left tire locked up immediately. A puff of white smoke dragged from the wheel. The car missed the apex, sliding wide into the runoff.
"F**k!" Dominik shouted. "Flat spot. Abort."
"Box, box," Gaëtan said calmly. "Reset. We have one set of tires left. One shot."
In the garage, Dominik stared at the steering wheel. He dialed the brake bias back to 62.3%. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. He needed to be perfect. Not for himself, but for the team.
3 Minutes Remaining.
The track was evolving.
"Okay, Dominik. Alonso is ahead on track. He is on a push lap. Use him," Gaëtan said.
Dominik left the pits. He saw the blue and pink Alpine of the two-time world champion ahead. A perfect target.
He warmed his tires aggressively. He needed them in the window.
Yeji, watching in Seoul, held her breath. Don't crash. Please don't crash.
The Final Lap.
Dominik crossed the line.
Turn 1: He braked earlier than before. The car bit. He threw it into the left-hander.
Turn 2: He fought the understeer, wrestling the nose into the apex. He sacrificed exit speed for stability.
"Sector 1 is green. Matching Alonso," Gaëtan whispered.
Now, the FW44 entered its element.
Turns 4-8: The snake. Dominik was violent with the steering. Left. Right. Left. Right. The car danced on the edge of adhesion.
Turns 9-12: The high-speed sweepers.
Dominik didn't lift. He kept his foot pinned. The walls blurred into a grey tunnel. He was millimeters from disaster.
In the Alfa Romeo garage, Zhou Guanyu watched the onboard feed, his eyes widening. He's insane. He's taking the wall line.
In the commentary box, Jacques Villeneuve, the 1997 Champion, shook his head. "With that driving style? He's going to put it in the wall eventually. It's too aggressive for a street track."
Dominik didn't hear the critics. He only heard the engine.
"Sector 2 is purple. One tenth off Leclerc," Gaëtan reported.
Dominik's mind snapped. One tenth off a Ferrari?
He hit the DRS button. The rear wing snapped open.
He flew through the blind high-speed chicane of Turns 22-24. The G-force tried to rip his head off, but his neck held firm.
Turn 27 (The Hairpin).
The final hurdle. The place where he nearly crashed in Q2.
He braked deep. The telemetry showed he was on the limit of locking up again.
He turned in. The rear stepped out—a slight slide.
Dominik caught it with a flick of his wrists, turning the slide into rotation. He pointed the nose at the exit and mashed the throttle.
He crossed the line.
1:29.068.
The timing screen refreshed.
3. CORVINUS (WIL)
He was ahead of Russell. He was ahead of Ocon. He was ahead of Bottas.
"P3! P3!" Gaëtan yelled.
But the Red Bulls were still coming.
Sergio Perez crossed the line. 1:28.200.POLE POSITION.
Max Verstappen crossed the line. P4.
Dominik was pushed down to P5.
Final Order:
Perez (Red Bull)
Leclerc (Ferrari)
Sainz (Ferrari)
Verstappen (Red Bull)
CORVINUS (Williams)
Russell (Mercedes)
Dominik slowed the car down. He looked at the steering wheel, his hands shaking slightly.
"P5," Gaëtan said, his voice thick with emotion. "You split the Red Bulls and beat a Mercedes. Alex is clapping in the garage."
Dominik exhaled, a long, shuddering breath.
"That was for Alex," Dominik whispered. "And for the factory."
In Seoul, Yeji turned off the projector, smiling into the darkness.
"Good job, Courier-ssi."
In the paddock, the mechanics were already running to the Parc Fermé. Dominik Corvinus had put a Williams on the third row of the grid. The "Street Prince" had earned his crown.