Mr. Schafer cleared his throat, a subtle signal for a drink from the attendant carrying a tray of glasses.
"Is your mouth dry from watching Luca keep ahead of Bellingham?" Mallow sneered, chuckling at his own joke.
"No, not at all, Mr. Mallow," Mr. Schafer replied, taking a sip. "I'm just pre-celebrating. Cheers to Miles Bellingham for third-place in the Australian Grand Prix."
"We're at Lap 32 now, I believe," Mallow said, glancing at the TV to confirm. "They'll keep battling side by side, but my money's on Luca—not just because he's my client, mind you. We both know he works magic when it comes to overtaking. He's outstanding at it."
"Mr. Mallow," Schafer said, holding his glass with a calm gesture, "George Park isn't built for aggressive overtakes. It's a technical circuit, rewarding stability and consistency. The strategy here is to capitalize on your opponent's mistakes.
Luca, pushing Hahn, set up his teammate with that basic draft strategy, but all he did was press down Bellingham's momentum without creating much for himself." He pointed at the track, just as Luca and Miles raced nose-to-nose. "Simple motorsport math, Mr. Mallow. Miles had built up a certain momentum, and Luca spent a whole lap chipping away at it. So who do you think will peak faster?"
Mr. Mallow frowned, feeling out of his depth with the nuances of racing strategies, he had no real expertise about it. Mr. Schafer, however, was once the Team Principal of Nevada HanSama, leading the team to an impressive record of trophies. He retired after the last generation of Formula 1 but, as a prominent figure, acquired the new training facility at Grey-Husson's, once a bustling circuit.
"If it were that predictable, Mr. Schafer, nobody would bother betting," Mallow countered in his defense.
Mr. Schafer chuckled, the reflection of the bright, towering screen glinting off his glasses as he watched the race unfold. The atmosphere had grown ominous—a chill breeze brushed through the roaring crowd as the sun began to slip behind gathering clouds. His chuckle deepened. "Just hope it doesn't rain, Mr. Mallow.
I doubt any of our boys have much experience under those conditions," he remarked.
"...and Luca and Bellingham are in an absolute showdown right now! Look at them go, Jon. They're practically glued to each other's rear wing, inching closer every second, both hunting for the smallest mistake from the other..."
"...no sign of backing down from either of them. Sticking this close lap after lap could be risky for both young drivers. If they could hear me, I'd advise a bit of space..."
"…I doubt they'd hear you now, Jon. With their wheels nearly touching, the roar of their engines has become one. Bellingham is hugging Rennick's slipstream. It's almost like they're daring each other to break first. Who do you think would break first, Jon...?"
"... I've said it before, Steve. The Trampos Racing lad might be driving with precision, constantly adjusting for each bend, but Bellingham's impending overtake is inevitable to me. The signs are clear, Steve. We've seen things . Bellingham is wild, taking risks, pushing his car to its absolute limits..."
"..OH oh, Jon! Risky! Just as you said, Bellingham's really making daring moves here at George Park. You can feel his frustration mounting as Rennick promptly shifts to force him off at the last second..."
"...and that's the thing, Steve. The Trampos Racing driver has endured once again, but he won't forever, would he? This is the 35th Lap, and we all know how things turn out during the late laps. Miles Bellingham is staying aggressive, Aaronson behind him contributing to that drive. Eventually, he would force a mistake out of Luca Rennick..."
[Host hasn't unlocked Skills to disclose opponent.]
Luca's eyes were glued to the track now, his brows furrowed with concentration. He had no time to glance at Miles, who was rocketing through the curves with him. They glided effortlessly but tensed through, Aaronson and Kristensen just behind with a few seconds margin. Luca had to accept the fact he was dealing with three competitors, not just one.
The edges of Luca's System interface shifted deliberately to a calming wavy cyan blue, attempting to soothe him as it signaled his spiking heart rate. Luca fought to keep steady and tried not to panic, aware that with Miles pushing for fourth and the 36th lap closing in, his podium chance would slip if he let his guard falter now.
Moreover, Sync Buff was far from available as the Sync Bar was still two out of four bars full.
He flattened his foot against the accelerator, feeling the raw power surge through the engine as the car lurched forward. Exiting the last curve, his focus locked onto the short straight ahead. It was barely a stretch for balancing out before they'd plunge back into the chicanes.
His tires clung hard to the track, the wind slicing past his helmet as G-force slammed him into the seat. Despite the force, Luca leaned forward, urging the car for more speed.
[You are moving at 300 km/h]
Speed. Pure, unadulterated speed filled the straight, their engines screaming in perfect synchrony. The crowd became a distant blur, mere streaks of color on the edges of his vision. The track became much brighter due to the cloudy atmosphere of the sky. Luca prayed that not a drop of rain shall leave the sky until this race was over.
Miles was relentless, holding his position alongside Luca through the brief four seconds of the short straightway. Both drivers knew that the upcoming turn could very well determine their final positions, as George Park's turns were notorious for separating rivals in a way many deemed as "the right way."
Luca's hands flexed on the wheel, bracing himself for the turn while his System diligently calculated the curvature of the track, factoring in the precise speed he would need to execute the maneuver and maintain the tight, favorable line.
Luca's eyes twitched, darting left for just an instant. He picked up on a weird, subtle change in the way Miles' car shifted beside him.