Page 53 of Formula Chance

“Sector 2—purple again,” I say after activating my mic so it’s my voice Nash hears, and I’m unable to hide my excitement.

“Copy,” he says, and I expected nothing more. He’s still driving at upward of three hundred kilometers per hour and is concentrating hard.

There’s nothing slowing him down and his focus is so on point, he executes almost every turn flawlessly, shaving valuable hundredths of a second off his previous runs.

When Nash crosses the line, his time flashes up on the screen—provisional P1, meaning he is currently in the first position on the grid.

It doesn’t mean he’ll stay there. There’s still ample time on the clock for another driver to put in a faster time.

“Nice work, Nash. That was a strong banker,” I tell him, indicating his initial lap time in this round was his best. I glance over his data and take in the other cars on the track. “That’s a really strong time but Moreno and Hemsworth are running fast. We could keep you out for another try but I think it’s safer to bring you in and not risk the car. Worst case, I’m guessing you might drop to P3.”

“Copy,” he says again, but I hear the satisfaction in his voice. “My nature is to try to stay out and beat my own time, but it’s probably safer to stick with what we’ve got.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Come on in.”

I feel like my chest is about to burst I’m so damn proud of him and, to an equal extent, proud of my engineering team. Alex and I high-five and I even see a grudging smile out of Hendrik. Luca gives me a thumbs-up and we all turn back to the screens.

Nash rolls back into the garage and while I’d dearly love to jump into his arms and give him a hug, that’s not possible. I still have a job to do.

Matthieu takes to the track and my focus shifts immediately, scanning his telemetry. His tires aren’t coming up to temperature as quickly as Nash’s, and his Sector 1 time reflects it—only P5, or fifth position, on the grid.

“He’s off pace in Sector 1,” I say to Petr.

“Matthieu,” Petr says into the comms. “Sector 1 is off the pace. Let’s push a bit harder through Sector 2.”

He doesn’t respond, but his driving shows he’s pushing harder. He throws the car into Turn 3, the sharp left-hander, with more aggression than before. The telemetry feed shows a flicker of improvement—his tire temperatures climb incrementally, but it’s not enough to close the gap to the leaders.

“Careful, Matthieu,” Petr advises. “Clean exit through Turn 5.”

Matthieu threads through the high-speed Turn 6 and barrels into the tricky chicane at Turns 9 and 10, pushing harder than he did on his out-lap. The car snaps slightly as he exits the chicane, but he catches it with a flick of the steering wheel. I hold my breath as his Sector 2 split flashes onto the monitor.

“Improved, but still not where we need to be,” I say, leaning closer to the screen. He’s P5 in Sector 2—respectable, but not enough to challenge for a better starting position.

“Matthieu,” Petr says again, his tone clipped but calm. “You’re P5 in Sector 2. Let’s keep it clean in Sector 3. Attack the apex at Turn 13 for a strong finish.”

Matthieu’s car dives into the high-speed Turn 11 but he brakes later than I’d like, the tires squirming slightly under the strain. The telemetry shows a minor lockup, but he recovers quickly.

“Easy,” I murmur under my breath, willing him to find the balance between aggression and control.

Matthieu powers through the final corners, threading the needle through Turn 14 with precision. The tension along pit wall is palpable as his car roars down the main straight, the timing screen updating in real time.

When he crosses the line, his final position flashes up and he unfortunately dropped to P6. It’s respectable, but I’m already bracing for him to lay the blame game.

I scan his telemetry, analyzing where he lost time, and the lockup seems to be the issue. That has to do with timing, and it will be something we’ll have to address with him in debrief. I’m already dreading it.

Petr commends his driver. “P6, Matthieu. Good effort, but we’ll need to debrief on Turn 11 but otherwise, well done.”

“Understood,” Matthieu replies curtly, his voice lacking any hint of satisfaction.

I watch as his car slows on the cool-down lap, my mind already racing with adjustments and strategies. It’s a decent result, but I can’t shake the feeling that we could have extracted more from him—and from the car.

Then Matthieu’s voice crackles through the comms. “The car’s not right. It’s too twitchy in the corners.”

“We’ll address it,” I say evenly, answering for Petr. The data doesn’t back up his complaint, but I’ll hear him out.

I take off my headset, as does everyone else on pit wall, and we cross over to the garage just as Matthieu’s rolling in. Nash is standing there, the top half of his suit unzipped and tied around his waist. He’s drinking water from a large bottle with a thick straw, his face still covered in sweat. I shoot him a wink and a thumbs-up and his lips twitch back his happiness with his status at P1. There are still other good drivers going out, so that could change.

Matthieu disengages the wheel, setting it on the hood of the car, and climbs out. He takes off his helmet and balaclava and it’s to Hendrik he immediately starts complaining. “If she knew what she was doing, we’d be higher up.”

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