My Formula 1 System

[2ND POSITION]

[Congratulations, host. You have made a podium!]

Luca figured if the system spoke with that much elation, then maybe he should be happy too. But the name—"Damgaard" "Damgaard" "Damgaard"—kept bouncing in his head like it was his own, like some damned ghost wouldn't stop chanting it through a tunnel.

**P2, Luca. Solid drive, mate!**

**Could've been a win, but we'll take it. Great recovery, given the wing damage**

"…AND IT'S THE FIRST GRAND PRIX VICTORY FOR DAVIDE DIMARCO! A P1 FINISH HERE IN BUDAPEST! HE CHOSE THE WILDEST, MOST THRILLING RACE TO PLANT HIS FLAG ON TOP—AND WHAT A TIME TO DO IT!"

"...FROM START TO FINISH, DRAMA TO MAYHEM, THIS RACE HAD IT ALL—AND IT'S DIMARCO WHO LEAVES HUNGARY AS THE KING OF THE RING...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"...1st Position, Davide DiMarco...!"

"...2nd Position, Luca Rennick...!"

"...3rd Position, Hank Rice...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

The Hungarian Grand Prix was finally over. An hour and 45 minutes of racing that stretched from a beautiful sunset into a dark, midnight-blue sky had come to its end at last.

Despite the race constantly teetering on the edge of catastrophe across all 70 laps, it wasn't technically a disaster, only one DNF appeared on the leaderboard when the dust finally settled.

Bueseno Velocità were crowned Constructors' winners here in Hungary, a statement that their Red Bull-powered machine had gone to war and survived it better than the rest. They had fought through the chaos and emerged as the team with the sharpest edge.

And Davide DiMarco—he was celebrated, too. The driver who brought that victorious chassis across the line. His teammate's collapse down the standings didn't concern him. This was the win he'd been chasing all season, and now, he'd claimed it even before the arrival of the super engine.

The world was left baffled by what Davide DiMarco did during the celebrations.

He hadn't forgotten how Luca had once rubbed salt into Velocità's wounds back at the Brazilian Grand Prix. And he had made a silent vow that one day, he'd return the favor. Tonight in Budapest was that day.

DiMarco's usual post-race celebration was iconic. He'd stand proudly atop his Red Bull, face his supporters, and raise a massive Italian flag high above his head. He'd wave it to their roaring cheers, then strap it to the back of his racing suit like a cape. He would then become Captain Italy, no less.

But tonight, he was mixing it up with vengeance laced into the celebration.

Buzzing on the high of victory, he took the flag from one of the Velocità crew and turned his car, driving straight toward the largest Jackson Racing grandstand. Coincidentally, it was also the very section where Jackson Racing management sat perched above the crowd.

Davide DiMarco had the greatest guts on the planet. He climbed onto his Red Bull and raised the Italian flag high, waving it with pride and shoving his victory right in the faces of every Jackson Racing supporter watching.

And, as expected, the fans responded exactly how Velocità fans did when Luca pulled the same stunt. Boos erupted like thunder, middle fingers were in the air, and debris flew from furious hands.

"...woow...It's always going to be a rivalry when pride and vengeance fuel both sides like this..."

Luca saw this and bit his lip. Seeing that it was the Italian flag—and not a flag with the Velocità logo—he began to wonder if this was even a taunt aimed at Jackson Racing... or something bigger. A taunt at the English Motorsport Community?

Luca never liked thinking in escalating terms, but most times, his instincts proved right. And watching DiMarco wave that fabric of red, white, and green so boldly, Luca didn't want to believe the guy was actually taking things to another level.

Luca removed his balaclava and decided to tear his gaze away just as his crew members swarmed him at the pitlane, welcoming him back from such a grueling race.

One took his helmet, two others were already tugging at his gloves far too early, while the rest clapped and cheered him for the P2 finish. In that moment, Luca's eyes drifted to the left toward the rival garages.

Just like he said, his instincts—whether intellectual or physical—rarely failed him. And right now, they were sounding loud and clear. You wouldn't believe it.

In the blur of racing suits and busy team personnel, Jimmy Damgaard was bouncing toward him with fire in his eyes. The kind of fire that didn't care who or what was in the way.

Everyone around caught on instantly, especially those Damgaard shoved aside like bowling pins as he carved a direct path to Luca.

"Hey!"

"Jimmy? Jimmy!"

"Stop—Jimmy!"

"Someone hold him!"

You idiots should train this brat right, Luca thought, though his chest tightened at the sight of the 6"1' Norwegian beast bearing down on him with menace.

A sharp thought clicked in Luca's mind. He knew no one would be able to stop Damgaard in time. So it was either that he was coming to throw fists… or coming to spit out some venom in Luca's face.

Regardless of what that dork had in mind, Luca knew that if he just stood there and let it happen, he'd look like a pushover. And that wasn't going to happen.

So, without a word and with a calm sharpness, Luca expertly pulled off both gloves that his crew was fumbling with, and began advancing toward the already advancing Jimmy Damgaard.

"Hey!"

"Guys—stop them!"

"Not here!"

"Back off!"

"..Oh wow—things are heating up post-race down at the pitlane..!"

"...That's Jimmy Damgaard heading straight for Luca Rennick, and no one's stopping him."

Luca and Jimmy Damgaard's foreheads slammed together like bulls. Their eyes locked and Luca stared deep into a set of ocean blue irises. Luca instantly felt the pressure from Damgaard's push, but he shoved right back, forehead-to-forehead, surprising the Norwegian with his Strength that made Jimmy's neck jerk slightly.

"...You don't often see this kind of drama after the checkered flag...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"Whoa whoa WHOA!"

"HEY—BREAK IT UP!"

Crew members from both teams stormed in. Two from Velocità grabbed Luca's shoulders while one from Jackson Racing wrestled Damgaard back, freeing him from the grip. Others squeezed between them, holding chests and arms apart before it escalated.

The engagement was brief, over in seconds, but Luca was satisfied he managed to drop the word "pussy" right before they were pulled apart.

By that point, DiMarco's flag-waving antics were already old news. The entire crowd had shifted its attention, all eyes glued to the pitlane drama unfolding in real time.

Luca had returned to calm, breathing easy now, but Damgaard was still thrashing, clearly not over it, as several hands worked to drag him back.

From the gap being cleared in Damgaard's path, Antonio Luigi emerged and stepped forward, pausing beside Luca.

He stood with them and quietly watched Damgaard being yanked away like a wild animal refusing capture. Then, he slowly turned to Luca, sized him up from head to toe, and let out a small chuckle. He gave a subtle nod to Mr. Matthews before turning on his heel and walking away to Squadra's garage.