Read My Formula 1 System - Chapter 282: S2 Monaco Grand Prix. 2

My Formula 1 System-Chapter 282: S2 Monaco Grand Prix. 2

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"...P10, Luis Dreyer...!"

"...P9, Jimmy Damgaard...!'

"...P8, Elias Nyström...!"

"...P7, Hank Rice...!"

"...P6, Marcellus Rodnick...!"

Stellar was ready to host the first race of the season, and from the aerial footage captured from above, the circuit had never deserved its name more.

It was a breathtaking sight as golden, white, and blue lights glittered all around the city.

In the silence to the side, everything mirrored on the dark waters of the harbor. The straight that stretched alongside was fully bathed in blue lights, with a line of luxurious buildings to the left.

A lot of helicopters were swarming the airspace of the circuit, even before the race had begun. They were capturing these pre-scenes and also the drivers engaged in free warm-up flying laps ahead of the race.

"...Just look at this place. The harbor is packed, the terraces are overflowing, and the anticipation is electric. The roar of Formula 1 is about to take over the streets, where there's no margin for error and no room to breathe...."

"P5, Davide DiMarco...!"

"P4, Mark Derfflinger...!"

"...This is the season opener, and every single one of these drivers must have surely dreamt of winning it first here in Monte Carlo..."

"...Let's see who makes the statement first and which rivalries are forged anew or made stronger. It's just twenty minutes till lights out, Monaco...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"...P3, Ailbeart Moireach...!"

"WOOOOH!"

"...P2, Marko Ignatova...!"

"WOOOOH!"

"...Pole Position, Antonio Luigi...!"

"WOOOOH!"

[You have reduced speed]

Jackson Racing was still getting everything in order ahead of the race that would soon begin.

Just as the streets of Monaco glowed under the floodlights, all the teams' garages were just as brilliantly illuminated.

And in Jackson's, the fluorescent overhead lights gleamed and reflected the glow against the pit wall, tiles, doors, and glass, creating that futuristic aesthetic they intended.

In the end, their garage looked like the interior of a spaceship.

The team were obsessed with their logo, and it was emblazoned everywhere, catching the lights.

Though every now and then, a shadow would pass over when a crew member moved to attend to something.

One logo on the pit wall, in particular, stayed in the dark for quite some time as four crew members rushed out into the chilly night to welcome Luca, who had just coasted to a stop before the garage.

Luca hopped out of the cockpit with their help and stepped into the garage.

He had just wrapped up the free warm-ups, where drivers took their cars out for a quick feel of the track before the main race.

Mr. Matthews approached him, his face set in a stern expression. The intensity of his gaze startled Luca. Luca wondered if he had somehow done something wrong.

But the frustration wasn't directed at him.

Matthews leaned in, pointing at Luca's cheek. "How did you get that cut? It's fresh."

Luca raised his brows and blinked, caught off guard. He reached up, pressing a thumb to the spot, then looked at his glove to find a faint smear of blood.

"I really don't know, sir," he said. "Maybe the interior of the helmet?"

Matthews shook his head. "Luca, our helmets are perfectly designed to fit. They've got padding inside," he said. "And you're wearing gloves. That means this cut came from one of the crew while helping you out. Just now."

Luca touched his cheek again as Matthews turned sharply, raising his voice at the team. "Everyone—cut your goddamn nails!"

The outburst turned into an unexpected lesson on Jackson Racing's standards, and Luca was getting an even clearer picture of just how strict and orderly the team was.

"You drove well in the warm-up. Let's keep it up," one of the strategists told him. Luca nodded in response.

"Get a new Blanche," Mr. Matthews said, still irritated by the small injury. "We need you fresh. And get that cut taken care of."

Luca gave a quick nod and headed toward the uniform room. Quietly, the girl responsible for the cut followed, guilt written all over her face.

"Four straights, twenty turns," Luca said to Di Renzo in the uniform room. "First sector, harbor section, tunnel section, final sector. I say sixty laps feels like a stretch."

Di Renzo folded his arms, watching as Luca worked swiftly on the light grid game, sharpening his reflexes before the race.

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Di Renzo couldn't fathom how his fingers moved with ridiculous speed, tapping the screen with precise accuracy that averaged 100% on the tablet's score.

Di Renzo then shook his head. "Monaco Grand Prix used to have way more laps back in the day. They've been cutting it down 'cause of all the new construction."

Luca exhaled and dropped the tablet after scoring another perfect 100—for the thirty-fifth time. He rubbed his eyes, took a sip of electrified water, then downed some glucose.

Di Renzo watched him in silence, taking in the way he moved with purpose.

"Just don't mess up your first race," he finally said. "Last thing you need is a DNF."

"You're right," Luca replied as he walked over to a fresh new racing suit.

Mr. Matthews had referred to it as "a new Blanche" because Blanche were Jackson Racing's suit makers just like how Veststar was to Trampos.

After suiting up, Luca peeled off the small plaster from his cheek, checking the cut one last time before tossing it in the bin.

Grabbing his helmet and head sock, he turned to Di Renzo, spreading his arms.

"Where is Marcellus???"

--------

"...five minutes till lights out in this Monaco Grand Prix!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

"...This is a reminder: all non-essential personnel must vacate the pit lane in the next three minutes..."

Everything had already been discussed prior to the night, but Mr. Matthews and the administrative crew still had more to clear up.

For example, Rodnick, who would be driving on softs throughout the race, was bound to make two pit stops, or even three if necessary.

Jackson Racing had predicted just a single pit stop for Luca, as the strategy was for him to go hard-soft.

This meant he would start on hards, stretch them as long as possible, and then take on the rest of the race with softs for a faster finish.

"Understood."

Whenever Luca and Rodnick had their helmets on, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart unless someone glanced at their race numbers.

Their body frame, size, and height were so similar and uncanny that if their visors were completely tinted, they could switch cars and drive in each other's name without a soul realizing.

They exchanged a firm dab handshake and headed to their Ferraris.

"...twenty elite drivers about to kick off another season of the grandest stage in the history of motorsport!"

[SYNCHRONIZING HOST....]

[SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE]

[Host is now synced with Ferrari (JRX-92B)]

Luca rolled out onto the pit lane, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the narrow lane, the pit limiter fully engaged.

Rodnick followed behind, and it was clear that Ferraris were the most fearsome-looking cars in the competition.

Luca caught a brief glimpse of Trampos' garage as he coasted along.

He exhaled sharply and refocused, pressing on as his JRX-92B glided onto the circuit.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

The streetlights above cast long streaks of white across his visor as he joined the flow of cars finding their grid positions.

Luca knew he was to share a row with Luis Dreyer of Outback Performance, so his eyes searched for Outback's colors and a Red Bull chassis design.

"WOOOOOOOOOOH!" The crowd's roar surged through the night air, echoing off the tight barriers of Circuit de l'Étoile.

"Aaahhhh. There you guys are," Luca muttered, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety as the track opened up toward the grid.

Ahead, he could see four single-seaters were already weaving their way to their grid spots, their brake lights flickering too frequently through the night.

Luca took a deep breath and rolled into box 11, while Rodnick drove past him to take his position further up.

Seconds later, Luis Dreyer took his spot in box 10, revving his engine a little bit.

What engine is that, in fact?

Cosworth PJ2005.

6% lower in average than Luca's 056.

He had just done the comparison, and it seemed Dreyer's engine was designed for continuous, undying sustainability—relentless output.

That seemed quite threatening, making Luca wander his gaze to start analyzing other cars.

But he didn't have much time because the grid marshals had left their post, the grid was filled up, and the first light had just flashed on!

So, he decided to analyze Luigi's alone. The veteran was at pole, after all. He was everyone's target.

[Car Specifications:

Brand: Mercedes

Model: Mercedes-AMG F1 W09

Engine Type: Mercedes-AMG F1 V11 EQ Performance

Weight: 745 kg ]

[Performance Metrics:

Top Speed: 360 km/h (0 km/h)

Acceleration: 2.5 sec

Max Power: 1050 HP (~160 HP boost)

Aerodynamic Efficiency: 3.5 ]

[Operational Status:

Fuel Level: 85%

Tire Condition: New (Softs)

Telemetry Status: Active

DRS Availability: Not Engaged ]

"This is not enough, system," Luca said, eyeing the three red lights. "Compare it to mine."

[Chassis Comparison]

[Retrieving Data from registered car and car under analysis....]

[...Data successfully retrieved!]

[Selected Modes:

—Ferrari (JRX-92B):

—Mercedes (AMG F1 W09) ]

[POWER & PERFORMANCE: