Lap 3. The roof lights suddenly went out, signaling the race's first restart.
Inside the P team garage, the mechanics moved with practiced precision. Mark stood at the strategy console, eyes fixed on the live telemetry, fingers flying across the control panel as he double-checked the data.
He spoke into the TR, voice steady and low.
"Alex Sun, Armstrong is ahead of you. After the restart, hold your rhythm. Your tyre temperatures are a bit low—push harder on the warm-up."
"Copy."
Alex Sun shut out every distraction. He worked the steering wheel sharply left and right, making the car weave slightly, then added a firm stab of the brakes to bring the tyres and brake discs up to temperature as quickly as possible, forcing the car into its optimal operating window.
His eyes were sharp, focused. In his mind, he ran through the strategy again and again, waiting for the restart signal. He was currently P5. Ahead in P4 was Armstrong—his first target once racing resumed.
Up in the second-floor viewing area of the P team garage, Rebecca Lin leaned forward, eyes locked on the broadcast feed of Alex Sun's car. Her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt. She barely blinked, afraid of missing even the smallest movement.
The Safety Car peeled back into the pit lane. Green lights flashed.
Alex Sun instantly switched modes. His attention snapped to the car ahead, though he kept part of his awareness on Daruvala behind him, guarding against any torpedo dive.
In the commentary booth, Jolyon Palmer's voice rose, fast and animated.
"The Safety Car is in, and we are racing again! Viscaal still controlling the pace."
"He's accelerating now! Beckman reacts immediately—he's right with him!"
Palmer's tone shifted as he tracked the midfield battle.
"Look at Alex Sun—right on Armstrong's tail. Is he being held up?"
"No! Armstrong's restart reaction is clearly half a beat slow. He's dropped back from the pack, and Alex Sun is all over him, closing in fast!"
His voice climbed higher.
"Take a good look! Alex Sun is effectively P4 now, the gap to Armstrong under half a second—he's glued to him!"
"Next corner is a golden opportunity. Can Alex Sun make it stick?"
For Armstrong, that sluggish restart was a fatal mistake. His balaclava clung to his forehead, sweat streaming down his face despite it. The pressure hit him like a wave.
For Alex Sun, what had looked like a difficult overtake suddenly became straightforward.
He latched onto Armstrong's rear wing, harvesting the slipstream to the absolute limit, leaving his rival no time to react.
Then, in a flash, he darted to the inside.
The slingshot effect kicked in hard. The car surged forward as if it had found an extra 15 km/h, and in an instant they were side by side.
Approaching Turn 1, Alex Sun claimed the inside line with precision, sealing off any chance of a counterattack. Clean, decisive. He completed the move and moved up to P4, then immediately settled into his line and continued chasing the cars ahead.
In the garage, Mark's voice came through the TR at once.
"Beautiful move! Armstrong cleared. You're P4. Vips ahead, gap 1.2 seconds."
Rebecca Lin sat upright the moment the overtake was done. A smile spread across her face, relief and pride shining in her eyes. She had known he could do it.
Palmer could barely hide his excitement.
"He's through! Alex Sun up to fourth! Perfect braking point, decisive on the inside—what a move!"
The livestream chat exploded.
"Alex is insane! Armstrong didn't even realize he'd lost the place!"
"I heard Alex Sun and Verstappen are close? Sometimes they even race in online leagues together."
"Heard? They're definitely close. That's what you call resonance between two cars!"
"Is it just me or is Armstrong kind of overrated?"
"Shut up, Snow Leopard, you idiot. If you were up there, I'd do a handstand just to see you manage a clean start without retiring!"
Up front, the situation shifted. Beckmann, who had been P2, seized an opening and overtook Viscaal to take the lead.
Palmer followed immediately.
"Change at the front! Beckman takes advantage and moves into P1!"
"Behind them, Alex Sun continues to reel in Vips, step by step. This is no fluke—he's proving it on track!"
Mark updated him through the TR.
"Beckmann P1, Viscaal P2. Gap to Vips down to one second. Hold your rhythm."
Rebecca Lin watched as Alex Sun steadily closed the gap. Her shoulders tensed again, fingers unconsciously rubbing at her shirt as she murmured under her breath, "Stay steady… stay steady."
It didn't take long for Alex Sun to catch Vips.
Usually unremarkable, Vips was on exceptional form today. His defense was tight, almost airtight. Instead of frustrating Alex Sun, it sharpened him. His gaze grew even more focused, a hint of excitement flickering there.
Over the next few laps, the two were locked in relentless combat.
At Turn 7, Alex Sun tried a late-braking move down the inside. Vips anticipated it and shut the door early.
At the end of the straight, Alex Sun feinted toward the outside. Just as he began to gain overlap, Vips edged over and neutralized the attempt.
Through a sequence of corners, Alex Sun varied his lines, trying to unsettle his opponent's rhythm. Vips held firm.
Still, Alex Sun showed no impatience. As they battled, he studied Vips' defensive habits, quietly adjusting his own rhythm, waiting for the crack to appear.
If soft moves won't work, then let's go hard, he thought. We're in identical machinery. Once I've got your slipstream and DRS, if you can still hold me off, I'll eat the car.
Mark's voice cut in at the perfect moment.
"DRS enabled on Lap 6. Gap to Vips 0.5 seconds. Be ready."
The two cars ran nose to tail, engines howling in unison. The tension was suffocating.
Alex Sun kept his breathing steady, replaying every exchange in his mind. He read Vips' defensive tendencies with precision, waiting for the right moment.
Lap 6. DRS activated.
His eyes sharpened. This was it.
On the long straight between Turns 2 and 3—the circuit's second DRS zone—he opened DRS almost the instant he entered the detection point.
He stayed tucked tightly behind Vips, maximizing the slipstream, minimizing drag. With DRS deployed, the speed climbed sharply. The gap melted away.
He watched Vips' line closely, controlling his pace, denying him any time to adjust his defense.
Then he saw it—a slightly wider line than usual.
Alex Sun lunged to the inside.
Side by side.
He secured the inside through the corner, the entire move seamless and decisive, no hesitation. Clean pass. P3.
Behind him, Vips finally exhaled. Alex Sun's relentless pressure had drained him, and being passed almost felt like relief.
Palmer was nearly shouting now.
"Another overtake! Alex Sun up to third! DRS and slipstream—he's blown past that iron defense!"
"Defend all you want—he just powered past you on the straight. Nothing you can do about that!"
Mark couldn't hide his excitement over the TR.
"Brilliant! Alex Sun, you're P3! Hold this position and you're on the podium!"
"Watch for Vips' counterattack. Two cars ahead. Gap to Viscaal 2.3 seconds. Beckman leads by 4.2. Keep it steady."
Rebecca Lin's clenched fists slowly relaxed. Pride shone openly in her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips.
The top three now stood: Beckmann, Viscaal, Alex Sun.
The podium was within reach. Even the possibility of victory was quietly taking shape.
But there was no trace of arrogance in Alex Sun's eyes—only sharper resolve.
This was only a phase won.
Until he crossed the finish line, there could be no relaxation. He would defend P3 with everything he had—and if an opportunity came, he would go for even more.
...
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