My Formula 1 System

By the 30th lap, two more crashes had unfolded in the Spanish Grand Prix, with Desmond Lloyd and Jozef Konarski falling victim to the relentless chaos. Desmond Lloyd's crash was entirely orchestrated by Davide Dimarco, who rammed him square in the side, causing a massive, almost lethal dent that brought back memories of the one Ansel had inflicted on Luca last year.

It was so vicious that even after the collision, Dimarco's car bore the torn scraps of the Mercedes on his front wing, the battered remnants of an enemy he had somehow slain in his unyielding quest to claw up the ranks with his MkII.

For Dimarco, it was a moment of grim triumph—he had already reached P10, halfway up the field towards that P1 position he was hellbent on seizing, aiming to pull off a comeback that would echo through the paddock. But those ambitions were abruptly dashed by the race control's verdict, which declared him guilty for the incident and handed down a punishing penalty that struck Velocità hard.

"...#24, Davide Dimarco, has been given a 10-second time penalty for causing a collision with Car #86, Desmond Lloyd, at Turn 11...."

"...Davide Dimarco, ha recibido una penalización de 10 segundos por causar una colisión con el Desmond Lloyd, en la curva 11..."

Luca received the news and termed it good news. Having a super driver like Dimarco anchored by a 10-second penalty was a bit of a blessing, especially considering how he had been leading the race with flair and a sort of nonchalant mastery.

Currently, Ailbeart held the lead, followed by Nystrom and Damgaard. Luca had the courtesy of rejoining in P3, but was soon relegated further down the pack due to cold tires and a clear lack of momentum. Because of this, even Miles Bellingham swept past him without any resistance from the Mazeruner.

If he were to be honest with himself, Luca would admit that he had deliberately chosen not to put up much of a defense, knowing full well he wasn't at his best. In fact, by appearing weak, it made everyone understand that Bellingham's claim of P4 wasn't so much a heroic overtake as it was a simple "passing," since Luca hadn't been able to defend his ground properly.

It made Luca realize that just like his rivals, he too had begun to grow a measure of ego—and he didn't want it to be shattered in any way that would sting his pride.

But really, why would he grant Miles the privilege of dueling him when his tires were still cold and the speed was barely hovering above 250 km/h? Luca could see it in the way Miles took that position: he had left him unsatisfied, and he could sense that. But he would make it up to him now since they were still neck and neck on the leaderboard.

As his eyes remained locked not just on the Mercedes ahead, but also on Miles' helmet glinting in the orange sunlight, an unfamiliar panel popped up on his interface.

[Conducting Driver Analysis..]

[Name: Miles Bellingham]

[Age: 20]

[Nationality: English]

[Team: Squadra Corse]

[Role: Reserve Driver]

[Rating: ★★☆☆☆ ]

[Strengths:

—Ambitious

—Good sighting for opportunities

—Drives for a big team ]

[Weaknesses:

—Inexperience

—Slower in defense]

[Racing Style: Bold & Daring]

"This must be one of Top Driver Bundle's features too?"

[Yes, host. Rival Analysis is available; it grants the host the ability to conduct a comprehensive analysis of any Formula 1 driver.]

[This analysis helps highlight their weaknesses, strengths, and tendencies—giving you a strategic advantage.]

"Like I have my own F1 Monoposto game here with me… that's cool," Luca murmured, his grin growing broader.

He read the listed Weaknesses again and beamed with a sly satisfaction.

Inexperience was understandable—he was sure that if he were under this same analysis, it would probably label him with a few lumps of inexperience as well.

But slower in defense? That was a different matter altogether.

If there was anything Luca placed at the pinnacle of importance, it was defense. Every F1 driver knew how to overtake, but defending was an art form, a craft mastered only by a select few. And Miles, unlike Max, was a terrible defender—Luca recalled that clearly from F2 days.

So, when coupled with the wrath of the ThunderKat, the potency of the 97, and his own growth into the adept F1 driver he had become, Luca knew Miles didn't stand a chance.

No chance at all!

Luca took P1 with authority, without breaking a sweat. As he breezed past Miles at the uncanny Turn 9, he mentally winked at him

"...ahora en P4, Luca Rennick!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"...that is a show of superiority! It's worth noting—these two have faced each other before, back in their F2 days. Back then, it was often more balanced. But now? Luca has grown in leaps and bounds. He's in a different league..."

"...Bellingham may have talent, but he's not a permanent figure here. And against a driver like Rennick, these F2 instincts are glaringly exposed..."

"...qué demostración de fuerza de LUCA! El público está emocionado—VAYA PILOTAJE..!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

P4 wasn't the end of the hurdle as the second pitstop routine sent everything tumbling again. Luckily, there was no pitstop compromise this time around, but the argument that had broken out earlier between Jackson Racing and Squadra Corse was still simmering beneath the surface, like a powder keg just waiting for a spark.

So, when the second pitstop phase began, every eye was on the pitlane. The paddock was ruminating over what had happened thirty minutes ago, the tension crackled like a wire straining under weight.

It was almost a repeat of the last pitstop phase, though this time Luca and Luigi didn't even come close to each other in the actual pitlane. Luca had rolled in at P4, Luigi at P7, so there wasn't even a hint of contact. A lap difference had separated them, yet the memory of that earlier block still hovered like an uninvited specter.

The early pitters took the advantage and swarmed the top, while the late pitters filled out the middle ground in a scramble of rubber and resolve.

Luca was more than a bit shocked when he saw Ansel in P5, his highest position ever in a Formula 1 race since joining the grid this season.

What made it truly shocking was how Ansel was holding off Rodnick, no easy feat, especially with the potent 97 breathing down his rear wing, itching to steal the position with every straight and every corner. But Ansel was staying strong, driving with a fire and defiance Luca hadn't seen in him before.

"…and look at Ansel, what a sight! The rookie is punching well above his weight, fending off Marcellus Rodnick..!"

"...impresionante lo de Hahn! Está manteniendo a raya a Rodnick con una fuerza inesperada. El público lo está vitoreando...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

Indeed, Rodnick was truly frustrated. His hate for Ansel was fresh and new, like an old wound suddenly ripped open, probably because he had just learned that the German was tied to Luca.

Ansel wasn't just Luca's ex-teammate from Trampos—this German was actually Luca's friend. Rodnick couldn't believe it, the overdosed PEDs coursing through his system only magnifying his anger!

This explains why Luca had handed him P8 in Germany! This explains it!

A ruthless conviction was formulated in Rodnick's head as he kept pressing on Ansel, each lap more aggressive than the last. Mr. Ruben of Trampos Racing had to warn Ansel over the radio that Rodnick was becoming unhinged and would eventually make contact with the way he was attacking.

Two seconds behind, Luca couldn't help but feel a swell of pride seeing Ansel hold off Rodnick. He also knew who lost the duel would meet him next—if it was Ansel, then it would be him versus Ansel. If it was Rodnick, then another teammate duel would be set.

Little did Luca know, he wouldn't be facing anyone this afternoon.

The duel eventually shifted from an on-edge dance to a pure battering ram assault that prompted two warnings from the stewards. Rodnick then forced his way through the calculated block Ansel had laid at the last possible moment, refusing to back off.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"—AND THERE'S CONTACT! Marcellus Rodnick's aggression finally spills over, smashing into the rear of Hahn's car!"

Ansel yelped as his car was sent spinning backwards, wheels locked in a helpless dance in the opposite direction of the track. Rubber scorched the tarmac as he fought for control, the world around him a blur.

Luca didn't even need Spatial Awareness for this—he could see Ansel's car spinning towards him in wild chaos. He veered to the right, narrowly avoiding the German's car as it carved a smoking arc across the track.

"Jesus...."

"—AND LUCA JUST BARELY ESCAPES IT...!"

"...Qué maniobra tan increíble de Luca, esquivando el desastre como un verdadero veterano de la F1..!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

The crowd couldn't believe what had just fucking happened! Ansel's car was still spinning out of control, even as one tire had escaped and rolled behind Luca, narrowly missing the rear of his 97.

Luigi, who was running strongly behind Luca, didn't see Ansel's car until the last moment. He had good reflexes—if not, he wouldn't have escaped—but it came at the cost of a soft contact. The light collision changed Ansel's trajectory and also unsettled Luigi, who wobbled away and instantly dived into the runoff area to save his race.

"—THAT'S ABSOLUTE CHAOS! Ansel's tire's off, the car's out of control! Antonio's had contact too—he's gone wide, but he's managed to save it!"

"...ESTO ESTÁ AL BORDE DEL DESASTRE..!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

Luca's heart began to race as he darted his eyes to the mirrors, watching Ansel's car skid out of the track and plummet into a deep gravel trap that funneled down into a drainage ditch.

In Luca's widened eyes, a ball of fire reflected in his pupils.