Impatience is the thief of a good harvest. Matteo didn’t rush it.

Without structure, forcing a move was like building a bridge with still green wood. Even a rookie must know this much.

The humidity of the day seemed to thicken as the battle for P14 escalated. In the loud RbioL, Matteo had become an analyst, studying Victor’s rhythm, and spending the last three laps dissecting his defensive patterns.

In that time, he’d noticed the Ferrari’s occasional disability.

Under heavy load, the rear wing slightly oscillated a touch farther than Matteo believed Victor wanted. That was enough of a sign to make a move. As far as Matteo knew, Victor might just be breathing on his limit, and it could be an easy pass.

**Fronts are holding. You can pressure**

The gap was closed to 0.5 on an alley, a sudden half-move to make the Ferrari driver panic a bit.

"...Bianchi is closing now—this is the first real look—!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

shrrm~SHReeK

The crowd at T4 could swear Victor’s braking almost threatened a fire.

He’d been acting like he didn’t notice Matteo’s advance. But the instant the asphalt became thin between, he slammed on the brakes, held his chassis firmly at the entry of the corner, and dared his rival to go deeper into the kerbs.

Go deeper or lift off.

Ambitiously, Matteo accepted the challenge.

But once he was in, the dirty air off Victor’s rear unsettled his front end.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

Velocità’s team radio quickly worked Bianchi through the wobble that plagued him, his momentum broken.

**GG. GG. Back off**

"...Surmann holds firm out of Sector 1! That was a statement on the brakes...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

**Stay focused, Vic. He’s still there**

With the roar of the crowd and the engines, it proved even difficult to hear your own engineer speaking directly into your ears.

But, Victor didn’t need the heads-up. He ought to know Matteo wouldn’t retreat so easily.

The Italian stayed locked in. One car length. No weaving. No feints. Just trying to use his presence as a reminder that their encounter was far from over.

At the technical middle turns, Victor brake tested his predator. The stop-and-go moves forced Matteo to check his speed, gaining Victor a few precious inches of breathing room.

**Gap is stable. Keep him there**

**0.8 now. Don’t stay there**

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

Two different pit walls. Two opposite objectives. It didn’t matter which team was more efficient. On the track, the driver alone dictated results.

As Vic and Matteo raced into the heart of the city, both drivers remained in equilibrium, feeding the cameras one of the best driving synchronies from a bird’s eye view.

Through the faster sweeps, Victor made sure his chassis was ahead. This way, he could constantly dump that same turbulence directly into Matteo’s front end, until the pest let him rest.

As the chaser, Matteo could only resist the defense-attacks, not go around them. His grip subtly faded. His front wings waged wider, and his steering weight changed. Consequences that threatened his race.

All he needed was just that one magical moment of DRS use, and he’d mash Victor to paste.

Or maybe a moment of luck from Vic’s own mistake.

There it was!

Once again, Matteo spotted that rear wing twitch from the 81. Victor’s brutal means to unsettle him had bounced back, leaving the German in a moment of distress with Ferrari at the end of Sector 2!

"...They’re dancing on a razor’s edge through the middle! No opening for either man to close in or pull away...!"

"...but—oh! Matteo has poked in again, desperate for a lunge for the apex into the next corner—

—Finally, into the third sector, Bianchi has seen his chance...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

It felt like it was gonna be the defining move.

The absolute lunge, even without DRS active.

A move so late out of the middle sector that getting by the Ferrari was irrefutable.

But boy, did it burn out like a cheap wick.

Out of T10, Matteo closed again, pouncing early with fire in his arms. The wide buildings loomed over them, cutting out the cameras for a millisecond, and when the cameras were back, Matteo had the advantage at the apex.

But just as quick as his offense....

He had no entry, no space, and no choice to commit.

Using his unstable rear, Victor had pinched the apex with a heartless, V-line, so narrow, he cut off the angle of the Red Bull, leaving his Ferrari, the only machine among the two that could actually move forward without hitting something.

"OUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!"

The crowd let out a collective gasp.

"...And again, Surmann shuts the door! Bianchi has the idea, but not the opening...!"

"...no space to commit! He backs out. And maybe we can see this lap end without any more of these two going at it...!"

~~~

Velocità Pit Wall...8 laps to go.

Mr. Finazzi paced the small corridor of engineers, his right hand on his chin, and his left, supporting his right elbow upright.

His mind was skipping through a lot of strategic details at a comparable cognitive speed to the same F1 drivers racing several meters away from where he stood.

What could the Team Principal be thinking about at this moment with eight laps to go?

One driver’s in the top five.

The other was still in P15 after five laps.

Yes, Mr. Finazzi would be thinking about certain things he could have adjusted differently.

For a start... 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Fielding Davide DiMarco not Matteo Bianchi.

Mr. Finazzi scowled, spun around, placed his hands on the shoulders of two separate engineers, and stared into their shared screen.

’Matteo’s too polite!’ he thought. ’Surely, Victor Surmann and his car would’ve broken down in fear if it were Davide behind him. Ohhhh, damnit.’

He was right.

Matteo was trying to perform surgery on a man swinging a mace. Maybe if Victor got paired with DiMarco, a man who swung warhammers, then Velocità wouldn’t have stressed at all in their Grand Prix.

"Our car has the tire life advantage now," a strategist noted, pointing at the thermal degradation charts. "Surmann is burning his rears trying to keep that lead. If Matteo keeps the pressure on, the Ferrari will hit its cliff in three laps."

5-star information at a crucial time.

Mr. Finazzi absorbed it and slowly nodded his head calmly, happy to formulate something with this new lead.

Leaning in, he said, "Support him. We need those points to stay in the standings. Also, if Matteo keeps him still till the finish line, Trampos gains nothing, too. Which is still a win, I believe."

~~~

Trampos Pit Wall— 8 laps to go.

Unlike Mr. Finazzi who was restless, Mr. Grant stood motionless before the data wall he had come to check for the 29th time this race.

"... collision at Turn 3, Di Renzo and Luis Dreyer! Unbelievable...." echoed the commentary from the live feed, the words drowning.

"The points window just swung wide open," said Richard, a strategist. "If Victor holds this, AND advances, we’re in the top ten."

Colt leaned into his headset. As Vic’s most direct race engineer, he had more coverage of the JYX-81 telemetry.

And he had something important to say.

"The rear floor is taking a beating from those kerbs," Colt reported, specifically to Ruben.

A second later, he spoke to Victor directly.

"Vic, good race. Manage clobbering at middle entry**

........**Copy**

"And update. Eight laps. Yellow flag at Sector 3. This is for points. Prioritize exits out of 7 and 16. Don’t over-defend Turn 1."

.... **Copy**

Mr. Grant calmly folded his arms as the dialogue in the room settled.

"Rice is slowing up ahead too," Mr. Moritz updated the team.

"If Victor clears the air, he has the pace to chase. But he can’t get distracted by his mirrors."