Chapter 693: Mexico Grand Prix. 4
The field had rolled back into an uptight silence, all cars lined up with their noses pointed at nothing, their drivers sitting in the heat with their visors down and their thoughts loud, while the marshals punctuated the circuit.
The red flag in Lap 25 totally snapped the race out of its avid trance.
The track, which had been roaring and fighting and bristling with tension a minute earlier, looked suddenly exposed like a party after the music stops.
When the restart came, something strange followed it.
Decline.
All of a sudden, the Mexico Grand Prix lost its teeth.
Lap by lap, the theatre changed melancholically, the field spreading out, and the drivers becoming more cautious, so cautious, there were barely any duels afterwards. What was left were weighted encounters and prudent close-ons.
Pit windows opened and closed, teams went silent, then spoke in orthodox reminders, and tires began to matter in the way they always did when the first burst of madness had burned itself out.
The nature of the race thereafter was disappointing for fans who watched for noise, and for those drivers who fed on disorder, they were starved impenitently.
However, for rookie and calmer drivers, a sense of order and predictability was highly valued. Especially Victor. He welcomed the quiet, using it to hone his racecraft.
Earlier, the chaos almost swallowed him whole. The crowd booing him, his radio screaming, and the unbearable pressure from rivals. Hence, a quieter race was ideal, giving him space to breathe, focus on his lines, braking, and exits to execute a masterclass of race integrity.
However, the crowd hadn’t forgotten him.
For seven straight laps after the incident, the booing followed Victor around the track like another engine behind him.
It wasn’t the whole crowd.
But it was loud enough.
Every time he passed through the castle section, the noise came back stronger. And whenever the cameras pointed at him, the boos rolled down from the grandstands again.
Even through the helmet, even through the car, he could feel it vibrating through him.
The crowd had already made up its mind.
He crashed Denko Rutherford and Matteo Bianchi.
Especially Matteo Bianchi.
Similar to Alejandro Vasquez, Matteo Bianchi’s name was slightly a favourite here. A rookie trying to prove himself. Just like Victor. But fans always pick sides. And once they do, logic disappears.
So Victor became the villain fast. Although he wasn’t anything like it, they dubbed him as the "clean-looking rich kid with sharp moves on track", "the one who kept racing while someone else ended up in the wall", and "the one with the newest chassis on the grid, flaunting it any chance he gets."
Part of the crowd reaction leaked through his radio when the broadcast audio played for a second.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
"...wow, what a revelation. He’s definitely not going to be popular here after that..." one commentator said.
"...intentional or not, these fans believe Victor Surmann caused the crash...!"
Victor ignored the boos. There wasn’t time to care about any of that now. He still had a race to finish.
As the final pit stops played out, the order started looking settled. No more crazy surprises. No miracle charges. Just drivers trying to bring the cars home clean.
Buoso Di Renzo had quietly taken control of the race for Jackson Racing. By the end, it almost looked obvious, like he was always supposed to win, but it took patience to get there. He stayed calm while other people made mistakes.
Behind him, Ailbeart Moireach kept the pressure on the whole time for Haddock Racing. Never too far away. Never cracking under pressure either.
And Luca secured P3.
When Di Renzo crossed the line for P1, the Jackson Racing garage exploded.
"... Buoso Di Renzo, First Position..!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"
People jumped out of their seats, fists slammed against anything solid, and even one mechanic smashed his headset while celebrating. Even the cameras caught the new team principal grinning so hard he looked shocked himself. He and his strategy team must’ve outdone themselves in this Mexico Grand Prix.
**Excellent drive, my man!**
**That’s how you win a race!**
"...Buoso Di Renzo wins it for Jackson Racing! A controlled and mature drive today. What a sumptuous finish! What a lavish race...!"
"... Ailbeart Moireach, Second Position...!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"
Haddock Racing looked happy too, just quieter about it as always Moireach stepped out of the car looking tired but proud. P2 was still a strong result, especially in a race like this.
However, Luca’s podium finish wasn’t exactly taken as a victory, though it was still something worth respecting.
He drove smart, stayed clean, and brought home tangible points to keep the team’s championship dream afloat. But Trampos Racing didn’t exactly celebrate wildly.
Maybe because people had gotten used to Luca having the wins, so P3 felt good... but not amazing. This kept the garage mood calm, Luca receiving a few smiles, and nods. He knew the team was more relieved than excited.
And then Victor finally saw his own result appear on the timing screen.
P7.
Another top ten.
More points.
After all the crashing, the boos, and the angry fans, he still finished inside the points.
No matter what people said about him after the race, he had survived it.
And Victor left with something to show for it.
**P7, Victor. Nice work. That’s solid points. Solid weekend**
"Understood," he said.
When Victor climbed out of the cockpit, the heat slammed into him again.
For a second, it felt like the car had been protecting him from the sun the whole race.
A mechanic grabbed his arm to steady him. Another helped him down the steps. The paddock felt loud and bright and messy all at once. People moving everywhere. Cameras flashing. The smell of fuel still hanging in the air.
"Scales," someone reminded him.
Victor nodded and walked over.
The weigh-in was normal by now. Same routine every race. Still, he took it seriously. Even after the race ended, there were rules to respect.
Around him, people had already started arguing about what had happened out there.
Some thought he caused the crash, some thought the crowd was right to boo him, while others said he just raced hard.
Regardless of the narrative, Victor ignored all of it.
He finished the race. That was enough for him.
Then he spotted Luca walking toward him.
Luca looked exhausted, but happy too. Victor noticed the P3 sign on the screen before he even looked at Luca’s face properly.
For the first time since the crash, everything felt quieter as the teammates met midway and embraced each other in a hug.
"You got me at the line," Luca said with a tired grin, gripping Victor’s arms proudly.
Victor smirked a little. "Yeah, but you still got P3."
Luca laughed softly.
That was racing.
One weekend you looked unbeatable. Next weekend you were fighting just to stay on the podium. Things changed fast in this sport.
Victor glanced at the final results screen again.
Honestly, he wasn’t even fully sure how Luca ended up P3. Maybe it was strategy, tire management, or just not luck.
Probably all three.
That was racing too.
Ups and downs.
Victor looked back at Luca and gave a small nod. Like both of them understood something nobody else really could.
Then he turned toward his team, Trampos Racing.
The race was over now.
Soon the boos would fade, and the headlines too. And when all the noise disappeared, one thing would still be true.
Victor survived the day.
He scored points.
And somewhere in all that chaos... he grew up a little too.
