My Formula 1 System-Chapter 603: Velocità Rivalry

The FIA was unusually pleased with the commencement of the Chinese Grand Prix. Maybe it was because this marked another smooth and successful collaboration with China after eight years.

Throughout Shanghai and other neighbouring cities, showcase events and exhibitions were hosted unbridled, sponsors taking full advantage of the large and enthusiastic Chinese population.

Tech firms held convocations with a few motorsport manufacturers, and distinguished gatherings were organized. The commercial vibrancy was outstanding, a strong statement that F1 was indeed influential in the world’s market.

On 4th July, Red Bull totally stole the spotlight in the evening at Pudong. They hosted an audacious bicycle stunt in the presence of a crowd of thousands on the city’s streets.

Three professional riders raced down a 60-meter ramp from the edge of a building, defying physics, before they launched onto a secondary 35-meter ramp that sent them soaring over three buildings in succession. Red Bull truly gives you wings.

The stunt produced an awesome photo where the three bikers formed a mid-air triangle of motion, framed by the glittering city’s lights and the night sky. The clip was judged as one of the year’s iconic images, and the crowd that attended the stunt had a memorable night of fun.

As a Red Bull ambassador, DiMarco anonymously spectated the stunt. The world’s best photo impressed him, but he knew it was nothing compared to the images Formula One put out monthly.

The undisputed best image of the year was the one of Luca walking out of his flaming Ferrari in Riyadh after the crash with Luigi. Second was from the first race of the season, where Luca collided with DiMarco himself, sending the RBIoL up into the sky.

DiMarco knew his rival had a love for participating in iconic things regardless of the nature and outcome. As long as it would give him "historical points," DiMarco believed Luca would throw himself at whatever that was, whether good or bad.

What happens when a force puts an end to this history-making wannabe?

DiMarco had promised that Rennick’s career was at his fingertips, and with one clench of his fist, he could crush the Mazerunner at his peak.

Now that he had returned, Diego had no plans to drop that goal. During his recovery, it had been his driving factor, his eyes following each of Luca’s triumphs, victories, and podiums.

Yet, even as the thought of extinguishing Rennick’s blaze was the purpose, DiMarco had a more internal reckoning to face.

Although DiMarco hadn’t yet been officially cleared by the team to race, they still welcomed him for a visit at their designated facility. It was his second meeting since returning, the first being a week earlier in Monza before traveling to China.

As Captain, he moved through the facility, greeted by everyone, friends and colleagues eager to show him the ongoing operations, explaining logistics, strategies, and the inner workings of the team laid bare.

It was less about oversight and more about reconnecting with the team’s main driver.

It was training day, and after long, thorough conversations with Finazzi and the team analyst, DiMarco announced he wanted to see his teammates.

Of course, the discussions he had with his team principal and other key figures revolved around questions like when he would be back in Red Bull gloves, and more importantly, whether he would reclaim his seat as main driver the moment clearance arrived.

The questions weren’t asked directly, but they circled the same topic.

DiMarco felt it clearly, that mixture of hope, uncertainty, and the instinctive shifting that happens when a leader returns after months away.

He met Matteo first at the quad doorway before the uniform room. Matteo nearly tripped over a cable when he realized DiMarco was calling for him. He looked genuinely grateful that the Captain had searched him out personally, and DiMarco didn’t miss the sincerity.

For the past eleven races, Matteo had carried a weight he was never meant to shoulder, thrown unexpectedly into the seat after DiMarco’s injury.

From his first race, where he struggled to finish in the top ten in Brazil, he had endured, fought, and presented the might of Velocita’s academy very well.

DiMarco put an arm around his neck in a form of congratulations and don’t-get-ahead-of-yourself. The surrounding crew laughed at this. DiMarco could be funny just as he was mean.

"Don’t think I’ve forgotten that bullshit performance in London. Jesus Christ, man. I told my brother to turn off the screen," he teased, making Matteo laugh in relief. The others joined in, cheering the substitute who had kept the team afloat.

Since the confirmation that his idol would return to action, Matteo felt like a heavy weight of responsibility had been lifted from him.

If DiMarco was taking back his seat, he didn’t feel upset. He was ready to take the bench.

Matteo’s agent had explained to him that he had proven himself in eleven races, shown resilience, and had drawn attention. The market valued him now. A move to another team, a fresh start, and a real career of his own... it all seemed possible, and Matteo was ready for it.

Back to the team, Jimmy Damgaard heard the laughter they were making before he saw the group. Tall and broad-shouldered, his frame intruded on the gathering, dampening their mood slightly.

All three Velocita drivers were now together, surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and staff who naturally formed a loose circle around their stars.

DiMarco met Jimmy’s eyes immediately. Jimmy saw a calm, pleasant smile on the Italian’s face, but it was an assessing smile with a disturbing curl at the edge.

"The sail was going wayward without your direction, captain," Jimmy said evenly. "Glad you’re back."

A few crewmembers nodded and hummed in agreement.

But DiMarco did not answer. He just kept smiling. ’Wayward? Really?’ he thought. ’But the team is still in the title race without me?’

It was clear the sail had been just fine since his absence. DiMarco didn’t fancy Damgaard trying to give him some sort of leadership credit while he was actively trying to overthrow him.

After a while, DiMarco spoke, clear enough for every ear nearby.

"I want the MkII back, little Jim," he said. "I want my seat back."

"..."

Jimmy inhaled sharply, his throat bobbing with a swallow as every head turned toward him. DiMarco’s eyes didn’t leave him. Unblinking, the man looked amused, fishing for a reaction.

Jimmy decided to give him none. Turning abruptly, he stormed off, ripping his gloves and tossing them away while DiMarco repeated, his words echoing.

"I want my position back!"

’How can he be this plain? This direct?!’ Jimmy thought angrily. He had thought this would remain an underlying issue, but DiMarco’s loud mouth had just exposed the scab.

~~~~~~

Seated in his shuddering cockpit, Jimmy Damgaard sat low with a hunter’s focus as a rival’s car zipped past on the home straight.

The blur reflected off the polished flank of his Red Bull, the RBioL. His RBioL.

Jimmy drummed all ten fingers in succession around the wheel, feeling its rubberized grain, and inhaling the scent of the car’s warm carbon fibre and engine fumes.

This was his machine. This was his weapon, and he would drive it in yet another Grand Prix. No one was taking it from him.

Qualifying for the Chinese Grand Prix was already underway. Cars were cutting through Shanghai’s curves, Matteo on his early fliers, trying to get the advantage for the team.

’Where is Davide DiMarco?’ Jimmy wondered darkly.

The answer was: not here. DiMarco would not be racing in China, and the odds were high he wouldn’t either in the next race.

Jimmy didn’t care if he was coming back. All he cared about was that if he did, he wasn’t getting this technical setup. Matteo’s? Maybe. But not this masterpiece Jimmy had spent months perfecting. No one was ripping these calibrations out of his hands.

**Jimmy, you’re up. Track window is open. Let’s roll**

The engineers stepped back from his tires like handlers releasing something dangerous.

Jimmy dropped the clutch, and the RBioL lunged, spilling into the pit lane with a predatory growl. He spun flawlessly at the line, then flashed down the exit before slicing left onto the circuit for his out-lap.

On his first flying attempt, Jimmy gripped the wheel tightly, the machine tearing forward at over 300 km/h. He engaged a sequence very quickly for speed, battery dumping while switching to ERS Mode 5.

A perfect surge of stored energy punched him down the first straight, catapulting him past Luca’s benchmark time and even Dreyer’s sector split before he braked for T3.

**Perfect start** the team praised.

Downshifting, Damgaard toggled his brake outward as he reapplied throttle through the exit, the circuit tilting.

The momentum he acquired carried him through Sector 2 as the fastest before Sector 3’s tighter layout, where he had to maintain the pace differential.

The car was just too powerful. The S-level engine remained the second-best. And Jimmy Damgaard would do absolutely anything to remain the team’s main driver.