My Formula 1 System

Chapter 703: Dutch Grand Prix. 4

"Ugh! This is completely ridiculous! Why is he just stuck there like an idiot?!"The foul words broke the calm atmosphere in one of the luxury suites. Who else could utter them if not Paulette? She was in attendance at Zandvoort, and as the race reached half its length, some kind of frustration hit her, stunning everyone around.

Bam!

Paulette slammed her diamond purse onto a table like she was about to stand up and leave.

"Dear..."

Seated beside her was her father, Mr. Andrade, calmly sipping an expensive glass of champagne while looking out at the circuit. But after the tantrum thrown by his daughter, he had no choice but to turn his attention to her and figure out what was wrong.

Her eyes angrily fell from the TV in the suite to the floor. The TV was currently broadcasting a tight battle in the midfield, featuring Victor's Ferrari and a few others. It seemed she didn't want to watch the race anymore.

"He promised me he would glide through the field!" Paulette complained loudly, crossing her arms and stomping her high heel against the floor. "But look at him! He can't even escape those petty drivers! He's so pathetic out there!"

Petty drivers?

Victor wasn't just taking a leisurely Sunday drive; he was currently trapped in high-speed battle with coyotes! He was holding onto P11 by the absolute skin of his teeth, flanked on both sides by two ruthless specialists in the midfield: Derstappen and Nyström!

If there were someone to blame, it would be Luca, Luigi, and Damgaard. Because the top three teams were playing with 300 km/h like this was a mere sprint race, the middle of the pack had devolved into a lawless bumper-car derby. Drivers raced like cunning hyenas, trying to compromise any rival like forcing a lockup, giving a small bump, or feint so wickedly, the victim crashes himself.

Anything to further slow the race and pull back Luca and co back to base.

"Miss Paulette, it is absolutely not as easy as it looks from up here," a woman said to the billionaire's daughter. She was Thea, Victor's PT's general assistant. "Those three cars are heading into corners at over 180 miles per hour. The tire degradation is extreme, and any slight, erratic movement right now would be completely fatal for Victor's machine."

"Hello, did I ask for your stupid technical data?" Paulette snapped back ungratefully. "He has a steering wheel, doesn't he?! He should just press the gas pedal and go past them! It's not that hard!"

"Dear, be quiet and listen," Mr. Andrade stated. "Thea is right. If Victor tries to force a naive lunge, his race could be over. All sports require a staggering amount of patience—which explains why I'm so good at them, given who I have to raise."

Hearing her father's stern voice, Paulette shut her mouth, though she still rolled her eyes, huffed reluctantly, and turned her back away.

Mr. Andrade ignored her attitude as he turned his full attention toward the rest of the team sitting at the back of the suite.

"What is your actual assessment of Vic's performance today?" Mr. Andrade questioned."What are the core areas of improvement we need to force him to focus on during the coming week?"

Meanwhile, the stubborn and spoiled Paulette wasn't listening to a single word of the technical discussion. All she wanted was to have her favorite punching bag back in front of her.

Before the weekend started, Victor had looked her straight in the eyes and promised her that he would deliver a top-five finish in this exact race. A top-five finish?! And right now, the useless boy was rotting away in P11, getting bullied by mid-tier drivers!

Victor better find a way to magic himself to the front or he would have to deal with a monster after the race.

Meanwhile, on the track, Paulette was the last thing on Victor's mind. Anyone could sit in a luxury suite and complain. Only a few could drive an F1 car, talk less of racing in a Grand Prix.

BZZZZZZZZ—!

"Die!" Nyström seemed to snarl through his helmet.

He didn't show an ounce of human mercy as he dived in fast into the downhill turn named "Scheivlak" in the first sector. The aggressive move helped him cut his rear wing right across Victor's front nose cone, offloading a turbulent wake of air onto the JYX-81. In that same second, Victor's downforce disappeared.

'Turn! You piece of junk, turn!!'

Screech;

At two hundred kilometers per hour, the Ferrari refused to turn and the barriers were growing larger and larger in his vision like a tombstone. If he hit that barrier, it was the end of his race and he wouldn't reap any bonuses that were promised in his contract. So with his strength and determination, Victor forced the machine back onto the tarmac, surviving it.

**Bravo. Bravo**

**Adjust your mods and rely on ERS**

**Careful, Albert**

"...But before his heart can even beat again, a new predator has arrived! Albert Derstappen does not miss this momentary loss of momentum! Taking the clean line, the silver Ferrari draws completely level on Victor's left sidepod! They are side by side...!"

For two consecutive laps, red and silver ran like two angry bulls, so close that their sidepods rubbed each other at a slim corner.

CRASH! SPARKS!

Albert Derstappen was surprised by how fast Victor's car was. Was the JYX-81 actually faster than the championship-winning JRX-97? Or was this a driver-issue? The ice in Vic's eyes told the story. It was the latter. He wasn't backing off from the fight when Albert thought he would. Instead, at a braking zone, he deliberately ran his rear tires over the very edge of the white line, dropping two wheels right into the track-side debris!

SWOOSH!

The spinning rear tires acted like a machine gun, kicking up a massive, cloud of loose track-side sand and gravel directly into the main air intake vents of Derstappen's car!

Cough! Sputter!

The disruption forced the iconic 97 to briefly sputter, causing a loss in horsepower. That was enough for Victor to grab the helm and shut the door, leaving Derstappen swallowing dust.

**Vic! Watch out! Front temps are in red. 1200.**

**You need to fix your braking markers immediately or the discs go boom**

'Red zone?!'

In close duels, a driver's personal space is constantly deprived by the challenging rival. This creates a boiling exhaust that prevents cool air from reaching the wheels. Paired with late, harsh braking to defend their position, the immense friction rapidly pushes the carbon discs past their limit, trapping the heat and risking total structure failure.

For Victor, he had to back off his entries immediately just to keep the car alive. But he surely can't last too long.

**Box this lap, Vic. Fast stop to protect position. Don't let them leapfrog us** Mr. Colt informed as Vic's immediate rivals headed for the pit lane.