Luca was the proprietor of most crashes in Formula 1 this season. When he would be eventually available in the Monoposto ga, he would be given influences of chaos, not exactly an aggressive driving style, but sothing more unpredictable, more volatile. Of course, Monoposto makes sure that their gas are designed to depict everything exactly as it was—the data, the flair, the consequence of every driver's temperant, everything!
Luis Dreyer barely evaded Luca's rear wings, and as he managed to veer out, his front tires desperately gripped the left line of the straight. The sudden force burned away thick layers of rubber, instantly sacrificing traction.
In trying to correct this overcorrection, Dreyer was thrown further off balance, losing control of the car entirely. The back end stepped out violently, sending him into a spin, a wild dance of tal and smoke, before he crashed hard into the barriers, ending his run in a fiery ss of destruction.
"...And there it is! Dreyer's coback charge abruptly ends in disaster...!"
"...Tires lost all grip as he fought desperately to hold the line. Absolutely brutal! From a fierce battle to a fiery crash in seconds. This race just turned chaotic..!"
"...Increíble desastre para Luis Dreyer! Apenas logró esquivar el alerón trasero de Luca, pero perdió totalnte el control...!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"
After the confirmation of his DNF, the crowd quieted and the major roars subsided into murmurs and a hush to acknowledge Dreyer with a grudging round of applause.
Dreyer, who couldn't believe the drastic turn of events, just stood there beyond the track and his wrecked Red Bull, his hands resting heavily on his hips.
His body was filled with exhaustion, but it wasn't weariness of the flesh, but weariness carved within his spirit. A cathartic monologue was movingly proclaid by the comntary to those watching via TV, reminding everyone of who Luis Dreyer was.
No return clap was received from Dreyer as he was cheered on back to Outback's garage, a garage that had been thrown into a maelstrom since their lead driver was now out of the Spanish Grand Prix.
A strict safety flag session was declared, the race marshals wasting no ti in deploying a full safety car due to the grievous and hazardous nature of Dreyer's crash. His collision had left a scatter of debris and shrapnel, a dangerous tapestry of carbon fibre and molten rubber across the straight, which demanded the imdiate attention of every track steward and the full caution of every driver.
Hence, all the drivers grew jam-packed together behind the safety car, their fierce rhythms muted for a mont as they prepared for the eventual green flag's wrath.
During the parade lap, Luca brooded over the events that had just unfolded. He realized that his Straightaway Chopping had been executed with such ruthless precision that it had beco a turning point, albeit an unintended one. Dreyer was never ant to crash; in Luca's mind, it had always been Damgaard he aid to unsettle, to humble in front of the masses. But fate played its own card, and Dreyer paid the price for that savage duel.
It felt to Luca as if Dreyer had not been rewarded for his skill and persistence but rather punished for winning the war against Damgaard, a tragic stroke of misfortune that had seen him tumble out of the Spanish Grand Prix.
Now, with Straightaway Chopping completed, there remained only Night Mastery for him to conquer. Luca bet his every instinct and every muscle of mory that the Qatar Grand Prix, set beneath the blazing floodlights of night, would be the place he would cent that final Self Skill. He could already taste the euphoria of that final act, already see the rewards the system would bestow upon him, an achievent that would be nothing short of celestial in its magnitude.
*****
During the first pitstop phase of the race, the pack was significantly shuffled. Ailbeart Moireach who had confidently held P1 from that juncture of the race ultimately lost it after a ti-consuming pitstop even coupled with the fact that chassis powered by HiCEs often needed like an extra second of service over the usual 3 second average of Formula 1 pitstop ti service.
Other early pitters in this frantic phase included Miles Bellingham, Jimmy Damgaard, Ansel, Rodnick, and so on. The order of the field transford swiftly as the pit crews went about their ballet of tire changes and adjustnts, each second of hesitation or misstep a potential ruin.
Luca and Luigi shared the sa pitstop phase afterwards, rolling in together at P2 and P1 respectively, a sight that stirred the blood of every fan watching. Luca held an iron certainty that he would exit first. He had faith in his Pitstop Prodigy skill, knowing it was a fraction that could turn the race in his favor. Even if he would lose that P1 spot to the raw pace of others in the long straights and sudden corners to co—or not even rejoin the track in P1 at all—the truth of the matter was that he would erge ahead of Luigi, and that was enough. It was enough to know that his greatest rival would be behind him as they would fight through the next pitstop phase.
But there was a stain of controversy that soured the sweetness of the pit lane drama.
Luigi wasn't known to be cunning as a fox, but it seed that ever since Luca had joined Formula 1, he had begun to cultivate slippery moves and an undercut mindset, as if the re presence of his rival had stirred sothing darker in him.
He had taken it upon himself to deliberately block Luca in the pitlane. He crept slow and wide, leaving just enough of a gap to tempt Luca to go around him, yet never enough to actually let him pass.
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" ca the roar of disbelief from the crowd.
Majority of the stewards squird from their desks. A lot of them were quick to judge Luigi's actions as breach of conduct, while so believed it was simply pitlane warfare.
Jackson Racing were already on the radio to Race Control, complaining with indignation as they called out the blatant block that Luigi had pulled out on their man.
While one voice was busy on the radio complaining to race control, the entire Jackson Racing crew erupted in outward protests like garages do with their arms flailing, curses flying as Luigi finally moved out of the way and let Luca go. They pounded their fists against the garage barriers and kicked at air hoses in a display of raw fury that matched the boiling tension in the pitlane.
Squadra Corse's garage didn't stay idle and watch Luigi get criticised harshly. They leapt up to defend their man, shouting back with every bit of righteous indignation they could muster.
Before the Spanish Grand Prix knew it, the pitlane was filled with a war of words, and 40 m beyond it was still the race, very much alive on the iconic track.
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