My Formula 1 System

[50th Lap]

It was the 50th Lap, and Max Adddams felt his breath hitch in his throat as he exited the pit lane from his second stop of the night, the pit limiter finally releasing him back onto the open, illuminated track.

P11— Max Adddams ←

Rejoining in P11 after leaving the race in P8, Max felt his heart rate rise far beyond the norms of an average F1 driver during a race. The field was tight, every position a fight, especially as the race neared its end. Now, the balance of his night rested on how quickly he could cut through the midfield before the leaders widened the gap beyond reach and ended the race on their terms by crossing the chequered flag first.

Max could lie to himself to validate his purpose, but truthfully, his tension wasn't imperative at all, nor were the lofty expectations from the crowd. No one was truly demanding that he scrabble his way into the top five before the chequered flag, but Max was a young man of ambition, and also of diffidence.

After Dreyer's brutal crash on the 15th Lap, Max stood as the only Outback driver left on the track. The reality made him feel as though the responsibilities of a main character in a story had been imposed on him, and failing would mean, to him, that he wasn't the main character after all.

Look at Albert Derstappen and Luca, both rivals he had faced in Formula 2, a division he had dominated with ease. Yet here in Formula 1, they were better. Derstappen sat comfortably in P8, armed with a car far superior to his own, and as for Luca… Max didn't even want to open that book yet. The thought alone of Luca and his charming face was enough to sour his focus.

His eyes sharpened with alertness as he caught Elias Nystrom's Audi falter slightly due to a poor entry into street Turn 6. The slip closed their gap significantly in that instant, and Max caught this on his dashboard. Despite running on cold tires, he kept his composure, masking the sudden rush of opportunity.

Confidence began to course through him, telling him maybe he could do this after all.

**One point zero behind Elias. Clutch for DRS after T9. Tire temp will be okay then**

Steadily, Max focused on bringing heat into the rubber, calculating his corners and throttle application with precision. Tire warmth wasn't yet optimal for higher-speed turns, but it was manageable for a quick DRS application. However, the team's sudden plan crumbled just as quickly, because Nordvind Racing pulled Elias Nystrom out of that impending predicament as swiftly as possible with sharp team instructions.

But it wasn't over yet because by the following lap, the Canadian's tires were holding better warmth, and this made him advance with courage. He also had the advantage of his Red Bull over Nystrom's ever-subpar Audi.

Corner by corner, the gap shrank until it was no longer a chase, but the development of a full-blown duel, playing out within Stellar's impossibly narrow streets.

There was another heated scrap between two midfield fighters just ahead. Nystrom had been eyeing one of them before Max's sudden disturbance.

Denko Rutherford and Albert Derstappen were locked wheel-to-wheel in P9 and P8, respectively, their positions so hotly contested by each other that the leaderboard itself might have been at a loss over who actually held which spot at any given moment.

"...This—this right here—is exactly what so many fans pay their tickets for…!"

"...this is the chaos that makes every lap worth the price of admission…!"

"...the tension dances through the cold night as the race evolves into a full-on battlefield, every driver clawing for track space and refusing to yield an inch! It's a living, breathing fight for glory, and it's absolutely worth every heartbeat it steals from the crowd…!"

"WOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

[>>>>>

T3--T4---T5┐

T6–T7┐

T8

T10––––T9┘

<<<<<<]

Throughout the first sector of the 51st Lap, Nystrom employed polish and flourish to defend against Max, but the main problem lay in the little alleyways that were like short straights between a few turns. The alleyway tunnel from T4 to T5 erased the gap Nystrom had created, because Max bounced back with the power of his Red Bull, ready to get at it again.

In the other duel, leverage tilted in favor of Denko Rutherford, who—to everyone's surprise—was dragging Derstappen's face through the mud. This was nothing like their dynamic back when Rutherford drove for Trampos in F2. Back then, it would have been a privilege for him to even come across Derstappen in a race.

The track was a tightrope of nerve through Turns 10, 11, and 12. At T10, a famous right-hander, Albert Derstappen utilized his Ferrari like a frisbee, hardly even using his throttle as he relied on smooth handling. The rear of the JRX–97 danced under meticulous braking to keep balance and downforce against Denko's attack, before the driver snapped straight for the short burst to T11.

Denko was glad to see Albert weaving to get away. He registered this as weakness and flicked his operations to full attack mode. The nose of his Renault darted toward any hint of open space, heat against heat as he and his rival zipped under the track lights through the night.

"WOOOOOOHHHHH!"

T12 was a bloodthirsty hairpin with a quick transition from its sibling corner—a street turn never advised to be taken during a duel. Rutherford and Derstappen couldn't back down now, especially Denko, who squeezed his way in with ferocious force, snatching P8 briefly at the apex.

"...ALBERT DERSTAPPEN LOSES HIS LINE! RUTHERFORD CLAIMS IT…!"

"WOOOOOOHHHH!"

Haddock Racing's garage brimmed with optimism, their eyes wide as Denko pulled off a great feat—one Derstappen might not be able to recover from.

At T11, just behind this notorious pair, Max saw another opportunity, and he hurled his Red Bull up the inside of Nystrom with a lunge so daring it spiked everyone's heartbeat. The crowd erupted at the thought he had pulled it off on a street track.

But Monaco's cruel, narrow confines had no mercy for such ambition; a cluster in Stellar was a doomsday for the drivers involved.

Frustrated, Nystrom snapped back in defiance to reclaim his racing line, but as he did, his Audi's flank clipped Derstappen's rear. Derstappen, who was ready to accept his defeat to Denko, definitely didn't expect a jolt at his exit.

"WOOOOOOHHHHHH!"

"...AND IT'S A CONTACT! YOU COULDN'T SCRIPT THIS…!"

Long story short—it was yet another dreadful round for Jackson Racing, and an even darker day for Albert Derstappen personally.

Nystrom's desperate move made contact, unsettling both himself and Derstappen, pitching them into an uncontrollable spin through the tunnel at T13. In the blink of an eye, both cars slammed into the thick concrete walls, shattering carbon and hope in equal measure. Their race was over instantly.

It was a miracle how Max eluded the chaos, emerging unscathed and two positions higher, showing not a shred of sympathy for the rivals left smouldering behind him. Moments later, the red flag waved, and the Monaco Grand Prix entered a tense and dire period in its closing laps.