Sunday arrived. The paddock buzz was electric, a palpable vibration in the air that separated Race Day from the rest of the week.
Dominik brought Yeji into the garage. The mechanics were already in the zone, conducting final pit stop practice. The clack-clack-clack of wheel guns echoed off the walls.
The Drivers' Parade.
Dominik hopped onto the flatbed truck that circled the track. He stood next to Zhou Guanyu, Russell, and Leclerc.
"Look at them," Leclerc shouted over the noise of the crowd, pointing to the stands.
Dominik followed his finger. Amidst the sea of Ferrari red, he spotted a large Hungarian flag draped over the railing.
Dominik smiled, waving enthusiastically. It was a small reminder of home in the middle of the desert.
After the parade and the national anthem, Dominik walked back down the pit lane with Yeji.
"Dominik!"
He turned to see Trevor Carlin, his old F2 team boss. Yeji followed quietly, eyes wide at the bustle of the grid.
Dominik gave Carlin a hug. "Trevor."
"You made it, kid," Carlin laughed, slapping his back. "Lucky I sent you to Williams. You would have been overqualified for my car this year."
"I had a good teacher," Dominik replied diplomatically.
"Speaking of students," Carlin gestured to a young man in a racing suit standing nearby. "Meet the future."
It was Logan Sargeant. The American driver, a fellow Williams Academy member.
"Logan, come here," Carlin called.
Sargeant walked over. He was older than Dominik, but in the hierarchy of motorsport, he was the junior.
"Hey, Dominik," Sargeant said, extending a hand. "Good luck today."
"Thanks, Logan," Dominik shook it. "The F2 car looks fast this year. Put it on the podium."
It was a polite, slightly awkward exchange. Dominik knew the reality: if he moved to Aston Martin next year, Sargeant was the likely candidate to take his seat at Williams.
Yeji watched from behind Dominik, her eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. She whispered to him as they walked away, "That was awkward. You acted like a strict senior."
"I am a senior," Dominik deadpanned.
The Strategy Briefing.
Inside the Williams hospitality, the plan was finalized.
Dominik: Start on New Softs. Two-stop strategy (Soft -> Medium -> Hard). Goal: Hold position. Score points.
Albon: Start on New Softs. Two-stop strategy (Soft -> Medium -> Soft). Goal: Push aggressively to recover positions.
Dominik put on his fireproof balaclava and helmet. As he settled into the cockpit, Yeji leaned over the halo.
"What is it?" Dominik asked, his voice muffled.
She didn't answer. She reached out and quickly smoothed something onto the side of his helmet.
"Good luck, Racer-ssi," she whispered, then retreated to the back of the garage.
Dominik couldn't see it, but the mechanics could. They were stifling giggles.
Yeji had stuck a small, cartoon cat sticker right next to his visor.
The Grid.
The car was pushed to the 4th Row. P7.
The grid was chaos. Mechanics, media, celebrities. Dominik climbed out to stand by the car for the anthem. He saw Gordon Ramsay walking past George Russell.
"Focus," Dominik muttered.
He climbed back in. The tire blankets were wrapped tight. He closed his eyes, visualizing Turn 1.
Start.
Clutch drop.
Shift.
Defend.
The mechanics cleared the grid. The tire blankets came off. The Soft (C3) tires gleamed.
"Norris and Ricciardo are on Mediums. Everyone else is on Softs," Gaëtan reported. "Their first stint will be long."
Dominik looked up. The giant Rolex clock struck 6:00 PM.
Formation Lap.
The engines roared to life. The pack moved off. Dominik wove the car aggressively, heating the tires and brakes.
"Burnouts, please. Two burnouts," Gaëtan instructed.
Dominik complied, lighting up the rear tires as he approached his grid slot. Smoke curled into the night air. He stopped precisely on the yellow line.
He engaged Launch Mode. The revs rose.
The Start.
Five Red Lights illuminated one by one.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The engines screamed at 12,000 RPM.
LIGHTS OUT.
Dominik dropped the clutch. The Williams hooked up perfectly.
Leclerc led into Turn 1.
Dominik steered slightly right, squeezing Fernando Alonso toward the pit wall. He got a better launch than the Alpine.
Into the braking zone for Turn 1, Dominik was side-by-side with Kevin Magnussen in the Haas.
From the garage, Yeji watched the screen, terrified. The cars were 5.5 meters long, 2 meters wide, and they were millimeters apart at 300 km/h.
Magnussen held the inside line. He braked late, forcing Dominik wide.
In Turn 2, chaos unfolded ahead. Lewis Hamilton squeezed Sergio Perez onto the kerb. The Red Bull lost momentum.
Dominik exited Turn 2 in P6, slotting in behind Magnussen and ahead of Perez.
"Clean start, Dominik. P6," Gaëtan said. "Gap to Magnussen is 0.4."
Yeji let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was terrifyingly fast.
Lap 3.
"Overtake Mode available," Gaëtan said. "Pressure Magnussen in the DRS zone."
Dominik didn't have DRS yet (it wasn't enabled until Lap 3), but he had a massive slipstream. He closed in on the white Haas.
Behind him, Sergio Perez in the Red Bull was recovering fast. He was glued to Dominik's gearbox.
Approaching Turn 1, Dominik saw his chance.
He faked a move to the left, then darted to the right, breaking out of Magnussen's slipstream.
At the same time, Perez dove to the left.
Magnussen was pincered. A Williams on his right, a Red Bull on his left.
"He's a sitting duck," Dominik thought.
He braked later than the Haas. The FW44 shuddered but held the line. Dominik swept around the outside of Turn 1, taking the position.
Perez also passed Magnussen, taking the inside line.
Dominik exited Turn 2 in P5.
"Great move!" Gaëtan cheered. "P5. Hamilton is ahead. Perez is behind."
Then, the tone shifted.
"Dominik, listen closely. Do not fight Perez. He is in a faster car. Let him go if he attacks. Do not kill your tires fighting a Red Bull."
Dominik checked his mirrors. The dark blue bull was looming large.
"Understood," Dominik replied. "I'll let the shark pass."