New driver in the paddock

Relentless Pursuit

The week after the race was a haze of exhaustion and determination for Y/n. The disappointment of finishing P6 weighed heavily on her, but what truly haunted her was the way the team had responded. They didn't acknowledge her efforts; they didn't even consider that she'd given everything she had on the track. It was just one race, one off performance, but for them, it was a sign that she wasn't good enough. That she was still just the second driver.

The team briefing had been brutal. Her engineers, the strategists—everyone—had been critical of her performance. They wanted more from her. P6 wasn't enough for Red Bull; it wasn't enough for a team that aimed for nothing less than domination on the track. And that expectation hung over her like a dark cloud.

At night, Y/n couldn't sleep. The pressure, the feeling of not being enough, the constant reminders that she was seen as secondary, as replaceable—it was unbearable. Every time she closed her eyes, she replayed the race, thinking about where she could have pushed harder, where she could have done better. Her mind was a storm of self-doubt, and it didn't help that every corner she turned in the paddock, the team's expectations seemed to loom larger and larger.

But Y/n wasn't one to back down. She wasn't going to let this label as the second driver define her. The next morning, barely rested, she was already back in the gym, pushing herself through grueling training sessions. She knew that the only way to quiet the voices of doubt, both inside her own head and from the team, was to be undeniable. To be better, stronger, faster.

Her training became relentless. From dawn until well into the evening, she worked on her fitness. Cardio, strength training, reaction time drills, simulator work—she threw herself into everything. When she wasn't on track, she was thinking about being on track. It was the only way to silence the nagging thought that maybe she wasn't enough, that maybe the team was right. She worked late into the night on the simulator, running race simulations and practicing every possible scenario, determined to perfect her performance for the next race.

There was a desperation in her efforts. No matter how hard she pushed, no matter how much she practiced, there was always the voice reminding her that she wasn't the priority for the team. She was there to support Max, to help him secure the championship, not to fight for her own victories. That thought ate at her constantly. Every time she saw Max in the garage, she saw what she could never have—the full backing of the team, the trust, the belief that he could be champion.

Despite how hard she trained, how much she pushed herself, the reminder of being a second driver lingered. It was in the way the team spoke to her, how they managed her race strategy, and how they reacted after every race. It was in the interviews, where the media focused more on Max's progress than hers. And it was in the late hours of the night, when she would sit in her hotel room, staring at data, trying to figure out where she could have been faster, what she could have done differently.

Max noticed. He tried to reach out to her a couple of times during the week, sensing her frustration and exhaustion. "You don't need to worry so much," he had said during one brief moment in the paddock. But his words, though well-meaning, only deepened the sting.

"You don't have to worry about anything," Y/n had responded, her voice tight with frustration. "You're not just a second driver...a replaceable driver."

The words hung in the air between them, and Max had no reply. How could he? He didn't know what it was like to be constantly overshadowed, to be viewed as the backup. He was the golden child of the team, and no amount of kindness could change that dynamic.

By midweek, the strain was beginning to show. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. But instead of resting, she pushed herself harder. There was no room for weakness, not if she wanted to prove to the team—and to herself—that she belonged in this fight. The upcoming race was looming, and she knew that it would be another opportunity for the team to watch her, to judge her, to measure her against Max.

The pressure was suffocating, but she channeled it into her work. Every lap on the simulator, every rep in the gym, every meal carefully calculated for optimum performance—it was all a part of her strategy to fight back against the label she had been given.