My Formula 1 System-Chapter 295: S2 Monaco Grand Prix. 15
[Night Mastery +1]
[High-speed Dominance +2]
[Gripper +1]
[Ding!]
[Level-up failed!]
[Sync Buff is currently being used]
[You have 1 min. 15 sec left for Sync Buff]
P2, a podium spot, was already solidified for Luca the moment Ailbeart Moireach decided to throw in the towel for recovery and visit the pits for his second pit stop of the night.
P1— Marko Ignatova
P2— Luca Rennick ↑
00— Ailbeart Moireach →
Just as Ailbeart Moireach was making his entry into the pit lane, Rodnick was exiting. He, too, had a late pit stop to attend to if he didn't want his Ferrari breaking down in the closing laps of the race.
00— Ailbeart Moireach →
00— Marcellus Rodnick ←
P5— Antonio Luigi
It was literally a time of position catastrophe for these drivers who had late pit stops, because now, Luigi had the momentum and better grip to overtake—and possibly even challenge Ailbeart Moireach—if the situation allowed it.
**He's side-by-side, Marcellus! Hold the inside!**
**I CAN'T! I'M SLIDING—DAMN IT, DAMN IT!**
The inevitable happened. Luigi powered past him, cleanly slicing through into P4, leaving Rodnick helplessly watching the back of his car disappear into the distance.
**F*ING HELL! Are you kidding me?! How the hell did I lose that position?!**
**Marcellus, you had no grip. Stay composed, we can still fight for position**
**No, we can't! It's gone—my race is f*ing gone! From podium to P5 in two laps—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!**
**We need you to refocus. Ailbeart is rejoining. Defend, or it's P6**
**OH, FOR—!** The radio cut out on Luca's part as Rodnick slammed his steering wheel in frustration.
P4— Antonio Luigi ↑
P5— Marcellus Rodnick ↓
The radio exchange brought a slight smile to Luca's face. It was amusing, but deep down, he genuinely hoped Rodnick could climb higher in the standings in time, maybe even reach P3 before the race was over and get more points.
But P1 was surely his—Luca's.
Right now, he was locked onto Marko Ignatova, just a heartbeat away from striking distance.
His Heat Management at (50) was working so efficiently that it began to subtly affect Ignatova's Mercedes as well, cooling it down by mere decimal percentages!
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It wasn't much though, but in a high-stakes race like this, every tiny factor could make a difference.
"...Into the tunnel they go—Rennick, Ignatova! Two of the greatest mobile forces in Formula One, Ferrari versus Mercedes, a modern gladiatorial battle under the night lights of Monaco...!"
"...Luca Rennick, closing in like a predator on its prey, relentless, unstoppable! Marko Ignatova has led half of this race after his teammate, but now, with just a handful of laps to go, he finds himself with a problem—a Ferrari problem—a Luca Rennick problem..!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"
Marko Ignatova wanted to complain about Luca's ridiculous speed, but he knew it would serve him no good. He had to keep all his focus on defending.
Yet, with the tunnel as wide as a playground, Luca utilized his slipstream and joined him side by side.
Ignatova himself had no slipstream to boost his speed, and they were just meters away from the next turn, where he hoped he could at least weave to confuse Luca.
But it seemed he was the one under confusion?! How could that be? The defender? The...
Marko Ignatova gradually grew short of his thoughts as Luca's Side-by-Side King pounded so hard that it shattered his rhythm entirely.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, but his control was slipping. His heart drummed as he realized all his defensive maneuvers were nullified.
No matter how much throttle he gave, no matter how perfectly he positioned himself, Luca wouldn't budge.
The Ferrari JRX-92B stuck beside him like an unshakable phantom, neither falling back nor surging ahead, as Luca taunted him to his delight.
Luca stole his racing line options, disrupted his focus, and boxed him into the most uncomfortable position possible.
The turn beyond the tunnel was approaching, and Ignatova wasn't in control of the duel anymore—if he ever was.
"…Marko Ignatova is struggling! He's lost command of the inside line, and Rennick is still there! This might just make him the most lethal driver on the grid..!"
[Turn type: Tight Right-hander] [Angle: 90°] [Braking Point: 100 meters before turn-in] [Recommended Entry Speed: 180 km/h] [Optimal Apex: Inside curb]
The same street where Luca recalled Hank Rice's car suspension.
Once again, he was on the left side of the track, and the struggling Ignatova was on the right, already set to take the inside lane.
So Luca reckoned he'd have to perform the same feat he did 40+ laps ago to fully seal his climb to the top of the leaderboard.
Now, it didn't even seem like he had a rival beside him. Now, the whole track felt empty, daring him to do as he pleased, for he had a car under a buff that could go to any length, and he himself was so buffed he could control those lengths.
Immortal was the word.
A sharp right-hander like this demanded his drift, so Luca took it.
Handling so smooth, braking so perfect, downforce exceptional, and high aerodynamics had him resemble a jet as he swooped past Marko Ignatova of Squadra Corse as a rug of white smoke.
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"
[Calculating host drift exit....]
[Successfully calculated!]
"...UNBELIEVABLE...!"
"...HE'S DONE IT AGAIN! HE'S DONE IT AGAIN...!!"
The crowd was on its feet screaming, roaring, losing their minds! Some of them couldn't even remember when Formula racing had ever been this tense, this electrifying, this absolutely insane!
"...LUCA RENNICK TAKES THE LEAD IN MONTE CARLO...!!!"
"...IT'S OFFICIAL! IT'S DONE! LUCA RENNICK IS P1...!!!"
**P1, Luca! P1! You are leading the race!!**
"....Luca Rennick in P1, Marko Ignatova in P2....!"
P1— Luca Rennick ↑
P2— Marko Ignatova ↓
"HAHAHAHA! WOOOOOH!!" Luca celebrated, loud and ecstatic.
"...HE CAME FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE GRID—AND NOW HE SITS AT THE VERY TOP...!!"
"...WHAT A MASTERCLASS FROM RENNICK...!"
**Marko… mate… what happened?**
Ignatova's heavy breathing simply meant his frustration held no bounds. "…F*ck. I—He just—" he cussed and slammed his hand on the wheel.
**It's okay, it's okay! We'll get him back! Keep your head down, focus on the next sector!**
"That wasn't normal. That wasn't normal at all."
[1st Position]
[You have 15 seconds left for Sync Buff]
"Right on time!"
The cheers were still a frenzy even after the overtake, Jackson Racing fans the loudest as Luca was on the path to win his debut formula 1 race.
[Sync Buff has elapsed!]
[SYNC BAR: [][][][] 0%]
The return to normalcy of Luca and his engine was just as dramatic as the activation since this was literally the reverse.
Imagine a mighty machine exhaling after an intense burst of exertion more than it was built for.
The blue essence began to dissipate, retracting from the combustion chambers, the high-pressure fuel pump, and the fuel injectors. The electrical veins that were pulsing before dimmed and gradually faded away.
The combustion chambers, which had been force-fed excess energy, suddenly found themselves deprived of that overwhelming boost.
The Ferrari trembled again, not from a surge, but from the recalibration. Power delivery evened out. Heat Management leveled back to its now (10) and the seamless connection between Luca and the car no longer had that razor-sharp instinct.
"Well, it was worth the god-mode trial," he said with a laugh.
Luca then lifted his gaze from his dashboard to take in the sight of the wonderful city. It was beautiful, a perfect night to host his first F1 win.
Ignatova was three seconds behind now, with the system predicting the gap would only grow. Luca could hardly believe that P1 was his, and so were the 25 points to kick off the season.
Meanwhile, the podium was shifting as a certain driver ensured he would stand in victory tonight, no matter what.
Dropping down from P1 must have been humiliating for Antonio Luigi. That was why he had been driving toxically against those just leaving the pits.
P3— Antonio Luigi ↑
00— Ailbeart Moireach↓
It wasn't over for Ailbeart as he found himself under attack again, from Rodnick this time, who had exited the pits earlier than he did.
Rodnick was determined to try and get P3 by all means in these closing laps, pushing with his heart pounding with grief.
Moireach saw him coming in his mirrors as a blur of shadow slicing through the track. But he had barely even begun to defend when Rodnick made his move.
With a perfectly timed rotation, Rodnick slipped ahead, planting his car firmly in front before Moireach could reclaim the line. By the time they accelerated out of the corner, the damage was done.
P4— Marcellus Rodnick ↑
P5— Ailbeart Moireach ↓
Moireach slammed his fist against the wheel in frustration. Twice in just a handful of laps. First Luca, second Luigi, now Rodnick. His race had gone from podium contention to barely clinging onto a top-five finish!
How?!
"Damn it!" Moireach shouted over the radio. "This is a disaster! I had them—I HAD them!"
P1— Luca Rennick
P2— Marko Ignatova
P3— Antonio Luigi
00— Marcellus Rodnick ↑
P5— Ailbeart Moireach ↓
"...These are the closing laps of sheer unpredictability and absolute madness! The fight for every position is relentless...!"
"...Luca Rennick holds P1 into Lap 58, but his teammate is down in P4! Squadra Corse claims P2 and P3! The season has just begun, but we've already seen our championship contenders...!"
[59th Lap]
[DATA DISPLAYED IN REAL-TIME:
-Car Speed: 280 km/h
-Heart Rate: 110 bpm
-Operational Status: 60% (Fair)
-Breathing: Calm & Steady
-Distance covered: 354000m
-Time: 1hr 20 min. ]
