"How far is he from me?" Luca asked, his engine roaring like a freight train as it accelerated through the straightway at top speed.
[Analyzing 4th Position's distance from host and Dallara (F2 04)...]
[5th Position is 3 sec away, host.]
[System's prediction: that value may change—and not in your favor.]
Luca could feel the force of the Gs pressing him back into his seat as he rocketed down the lap, rounding off the 21st and plunging into the 22nd. The next set of left-right curves loomed closer, and he knew it was time to disengage the DRS.
He glanced at his side mirror for the tenth time in under thirty seconds, his pulse pounding just as intensely as Miles's approach. "Wow, where's he getting such momentum?" he questioned, reluctant to ease off the throttle for the bends. Miles, still on the straight, would keep his speed up, tightening the gap with every millisecond.
I can't afford to drop speed unnecessarily, Luca thought swiftly. "System, calculate my optimal entry speed," he ordered, bracing himself for the looming curve.
[Analyzing optimal entry speed based on current velocity, tire traction, and curvature of the bend...]
[Recommended speed for maneuver: 178 km/h]
"Thanks," Luca murmured, his gaze shifting between the road ahead and the growing dot in his side mirror—Miles Bellingham. So, nothing more or less than 178, he reminded himself.
With his fingers poised to disengage the DRS just before the turn, he felt the first curve approaching and slammed the brake, sending a shockwave through the car as it decelerated sharply. His body jerked forward under the force as the Dallara responded instantly, emitting a sharp, high-pitched whine as the speed dropped off.
The world seemed to slow, the grandstands and banners melting into a blur as his car prepped for the curve.
[DRS disengaged, host.]
"Please keep me updated with our distance," Luca requested, his face tense as he swung the wheel to the left, tires screeching as they gripped the curved tarmac.
He maneuvered the tight corner, bracing himself for the next right-hander. In his side mirror, he saw Miles's black-and-golden Dallara entering the same turn, closing the gap with unsettling speed.
[Distance reduced: 2.4 seconds.]
"Oh, freaking heavens. Is he like on steroids or something?"
Pushing into the next right, he could feel the tires struggling again to maintain grip. He could already sense that he was losing traction, the rear of the car threatening to slide out from under him. "System, traction report?" he asked, his focus split between the road and his side mirror. Letting Miles Bellingham overtake him was not an option.
[Tire traction: 68%.]
The constant twists of the track were wearing down the fresh tires from his last pitstop. Luca wondered if George Park was deliberately constructed for more than one pitstop per race.
He decided to ease up, shifting into a lower gear to sacrifice some speed for tighter and better control through the treacherous curves.
[Distance reduced: 1.9 seconds.]
After rounding two more curves, the System updated him as he'd requested, and Luca couldn't believe his eyes. Miles's car was now in his rearview mirror—a sleek shadow of determination closing in fast. "But where's he getting such momentum?" Luca muttered, finally accepting a sliver of panic to creep in.
[Host, it is not unusual for racers to have moments of increased momentum. 5th Position is likely benefiting from your slipstream, using your car to reduce air resistance and gain speed. Additionally, he may have optimized tire performance for these stretches, giving him an edge in acceleration. His fuel load may also be lighter, allowing for greater speed output.]
[Analysis: 5th Position maintains an optimal exit speed of 191 km/h from the last straight.]
Luca cursed under his breath. If it is a surge of momentum, it will eventually die down at some point, won't it?
He shifted his gaze to the end of the final chicane curves, spotting Ansel's car expertly weaving through the track to approach the straightaway.
Luca realized he could warn Ansel about the looming threat just behind him. Together, they could attempt the Robust Formation Strategy. Even if Miles managed to overtake Luca, at least Ansel would be too far ahead for him to catch up.
Glancing at his Sync Bar's progress, Luca saw only the first segment filled and shook his head in dismay.
"Guess who's on my tail," Luca said to Ansel as soon as the radio opened.
**Uhh? The young face of England?**
"Yeah—what? Don't call him that when we're talking," Luca grumbled.
**Hehe, how fast is he moving? Is he that much of a concern?**
"He's not a concern; he's a problem. And we need to keep you in 2nd for both our sakes. How about we go with the RFS?" Luca suggested.
**Sure, sure. Cut with me at the next left chicane. It should give you some space behind me. We time it right. Once we hit the second bend, I'll drift wide, and you tuck in close. We'll shield each other from the slipstream and force him to take the longer line.**
"Alright," Luca replied, casting a quick, cautious glance at his side mirror. "Copy that."
**When we exit the second bend, I'll pull forward, leaving you just enough room to cut off his momentum. He won't have enough straight to recover before the next turn. Got it?**
"Yes, I got it. We will mess him up."
[4th Position closing in]
[Distance reduced: 1.4 seconds.]
Luca tightened his grip on the wheel, feeling the vibrations resonate through his palms. He still couldn't believe he was officially racing in front of a crowd in Australia. His gaze caught the number '5' switching to '6' beside '2' on his wheel display, right after his System announced the start of the 26th lap. Oddly, Luca felt as though he hadn't even started racing today.
He quickly toggled through the settings on his steering wheel, ensuring the brake bias was optimized for the upcoming curves. His Dallara responded smoothly, reassuring him he was in control.
"Is that 178 still good for this turn?" Luca asked his System, the floor of the track dissected into grids on the interface as he calculated which line he would follow to make the first left-hander.
[This curve is much tighter, host.]
[Recommended speed for maneuver: 150 km/h]
Luca sighed, replying, "Very well," as his foot danced lightly on the brake pedal, aiming for a brief tap just to bleed off speed without sacrificing the little momentum his engine had at the moment.