The national anthem faded, replaced by the chaotic symphony of generators and wheel guns. Dominik walked back to the Williams garage. The air was thick with tension, but strangely, his pulse was steady. He was starting P5. The car was fast. He belonged here.
"Just try to stay ahead of Russell," Gaëtan Jego said, gripping Dominik's shoulder as he walked him to the car. "Push on the start. Make sure you clear Alonso. Keep the Mercedes behind."
Dominik flashed a smile at his engineer, then at the mechanics who swarmed the car.
He walked out onto the grid. The FW44 was already there, gleaming under the floodlights.
He looked to his left. George Russell was standing next to his Mercedes in P6.
Their eyes met. Russell, usually the picture of British corporate professionalism, flashed a mischievous grin and, shielding it with his body so the FIA officials wouldn't see, subtly flipped Dominik the middle finger.
Dominik blinked. He was about to retaliate with a gesture of his own when he saw the red light of the official TV camera swing toward him.
He froze. He couldn't make a rude gesture on world feed.
Instead, he looked directly into the lens, then shifted his gaze back to Russell. He slowly, deliberately mouthed two words:
"Try me."
He followed it with a wink.
The camera lingered, then cut away.
In Budapest, the M4 Sport commentators went wild.
"Did you see that? The rookie isn't intimidated! 'Try me,' he says to the Mercedes driver! That is confidence!"
Dominik knelt on the asphalt next to the front wing of his car. He placed a gloved hand on the matte blue carbon fiber. It was a moment of communion. The machine was the culmination of thousands of hours of labor from the factory in Grove. Tonight, they were one entity.
He climbed into the cockpit. The sea breeze cut through his open visor, carrying the scent of salt and burnt rubber.
"Radio check," Gaëtan said.
"Loud and clear."
"Tire update: Magnussen, Hamilton, and Hulkenberg are on Hards. Everyone else is on Mediums. Good luck, Dominik. Elbows out in Turn 1."
20:00 Local Time.
The grid cleared. The Rolex clock struck the hour.
Formation Lap.
The field rolled away. Dominik engaged first gear, weaving the car aggressively to generate heat in the C3 rubber.
"Two burnouts," Gaëtan instructed as they approached the grid.
Dominik lit up the rear tires, white smoke curling into the night air. He stopped precisely in the P5 slot.
He engaged Launch Mode. The revs rose to a screaming crescendo.
In London, Hanna sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped over her mouth. Her father, Gábor, usually stoic, was pacing the living room in Budapest.
"One light... Two lights... Five red lights."
LIGHTS OUT.
Dominik dropped the clutch.
The Williams hooked up instantly. The reaction time was near perfect—0.18s.
He launched forward, gaining ground on Carlos Sainz (P3) immediately.
Behind him, George Russell got a monster start in the Mercedes. The silver car shot to the right, aiming for the inside line of Turn 1.
Dominik checked his mirrors. Russell was coming. If the Mercedes got alongside, he would have the inside line for the chicane.
Not today, George.
Dominik threw the steering wheel to the left. He chopped across the track aggressively, closing the door.
In the mirrors, the two cars were millimeters apart. The wash of dirty air from the Williams' diffuser hit the Mercedes. Russell had to lift.
Dominik claimed the apex. He swept through Turn 1, holding P5.
"Nice defense," Gaëtan said, his voice tight.
Into the slow Turn 2, the pack bunched up. The FW44's weakness in slow corners was masked by the traffic jam.
Ahead, Dominik watched Max Verstappen (P4) attack Carlos Sainz (P3). The Red Bull dove down the outside, aggressive and precise.
"That's professional," Dominik muttered, admiring the move. Someday, I'll have the car to do that.
He exited Turn 2. The high-speed section began.
But now, a new problem emerged.
Dirty Air.
Following four cars closely through the winding Sector 1 was a nightmare. The air was turbulent, robbing his front wing of downforce. The car felt light, skittish.
"I need to drop back a bit," Dominik reported. "The dirty air is killing the tires. I can't get the rotation."
"Copy. Manage the gap," Gaëtan agreed. "Adjust to SOC 5. Watch Russell."
Dominik eased off slightly, letting a 1.5-second gap open to Verstappen ahead. This allowed his tires to breathe.
But looking in his mirrors, the threat remained.
Lap 3.
DRS Enabled.
"DRS is active," Gaëtan warned. "Be careful. Russell is in Overtake Mode. Gap is 0.9 behind. Gap to Sainz ahead is 2.1."
Dominik looked back. The Mercedes W13 was porpoising violently on the straight, sparks showering from the floor as it bounced, but it was fast. Russell was closing in, hungry for the position.
Dominik focused forward. The car was fast in a straight line, but Turns 2 and 27 remained a struggle. The brake bias was set to 62.5%, but the understeer persisted.
He had to be perfect. One lock-up, one wide moment, and the silver arrow would be through.
"Come on," Dominik whispered to the car. "Let's make them work for it."