The desert air is thick with heat as Oscar Piastri steps into the paddock in Bahrain. It's the season opener, and there's an undeniable buzz in the atmosphere. Fans in orange McLaren gear cheer his name, cameras flash, and media members rush to capture every second of the rising star's movements. But despite the fanfare and the overwhelming energy of race day, Oscar walks with a measured, focused stride.
He's calm on the surface, a familiar sight to those who've followed his meteoric rise from Formula 2. His talent is undeniable, and in only his second season with McLaren, the media already hails him as the future of the sport. But behind his calm exterior, Oscar feels the invisible weight of expectations pressing down harder than ever. The car's development has been promising, the team is hungry for success, and every eye in the paddock seems to follow his every move. The pressure is suffocating, though Oscar would never let it show.
His schedule is packed with obligations—team meetings, debriefs, media appearances. Amidst it all, he's whisked into a media pen. Microphones and cameras are thrust toward him, capturing every word he utters. Journalists fire off questions, eager to know how he's feeling about the car, the season, and his teammate, Lando Norris.
Oscar gives measured responses, his tone respectful but professional. He speaks highly of the team's work, the progress McLaren has made with the car, and his readiness for the challenge ahead. A quiet confidence surrounds him, and his answers reveal the discipline and humility that have become his trademarks.
Yet, beneath the cool exterior, his thoughts race. The weight of expectation bears down on him—not just from McLaren, but from himself. He's always been his harshest critic, and this season, with whispers of podiums and race wins, there's no room for failure. He knows what this year could mean for his career—success will cement his place among the sport's elite, but a misstep could be disastrous. His mind flickers between strategy, race pace, and what lies ahead as the race weekend approaches.
The camera zooms in on his face, catching the glint in his eyes—sharp and determined, yet touched with a flicker of doubt. It's a doubt he hasn't voiced, even to himself.
The race in Bahrain comes and goes. Oscar finishes a respectable P5—solid but not spectacular. Lando takes P4, edging out his teammate in the final stint of the race. There are handshakes and smiles post-race, but Oscar's jaw remains tight, his mind replaying the events in his head.
The podium, just tantalisingly out of reach, gnaws at him. The team congratulates him, assuring him it's a good start to the season. But Oscar can't shake the feeling that it could have been better. The strategy—the late pit stop—cost him. Every second of hesitation, every decision, feels magnified in his mind. If they had called him in sooner, if the strategy had been just a bit more aggressive, maybe he could have snatched a podium.
Back in the quiet of McLaren's debrief room, the post-race analysis drags on. The room is a mix of soft murmurings and the whirring of laptops as engineers review data. Oscar sits off to the side, his arms crossed, his eyes locked onto the telemetry displayed on the giant screens in front of him. Tire degradation, lap times, sector speeds—it's all there, and he can't help but focus on the moment he knew they'd missed a chance.
The room slowly empties as team members filter out, one by one. Oscar stays behind, a habit he's picked up, immersing himself in the data long after most drivers would have left. The debriefs, the data crunching, and the quiet focus help him make sense of what went wrong and where things could improve.
The McLaren headquarters in Woking are slick and modern, almost sterile in their precision. It's a world of clean lines, chrome, and white walls—a reflection of the polished corporate culture that thrives within it. To many, it feels cold, but Oscar finds comfort in the order, the precision. He's always been drawn to the details. Alone in the debrief room, he runs his fingers over the telemetry screens, scrolling through the lap data, searching for answers that continue to elude him.
That's when he hears a voice.
The voice is quiet, hesitant. "If they'd brought you in a lap earlier, you could've undercut him."
Oscar turns to see a young woman sitting a few rows behind him, her presence nearly invisible amidst the towering screens and data displays. She's dressed simply in a McLaren jacket, her dark hair tied back in a loose, messy bun. Her fingers hover over her own laptop, its screen filled with lines of code and race data.
Oscar hadn't noticed her during the race debrief, but something about her tone catches his attention. She sounds nervous, but there's a certainty in her words that makes him pause. The room is empty except for them, the low hum of machinery the only background noise.
Amelia Novak—he's seen her in the background during briefings, one of the many engineers who work tirelessly behind the scenes. He doesn't know much about her. She's quiet, reserved, seemingly content to stay out of the spotlight. But here she is, offering insight that he hadn't even considered.
Oscar narrows his eyes slightly, intrigued but also cautious. "What do you mean?"
Amelia shifts slightly, tapping a few keys on her laptop and pulling up a graphic showing the race simulation. "The data from my simulation flagged it—during the safety car window. You could have gone in early, switched to hards, and come out ahead of Sainz. The team thought it was too risky."
Oscar walks over, glancing over her shoulder at the data on her screen. It's precise, detailed—far more in-depth than the analysis he had seen earlier. Amelia explains further, her voice soft but filled with conviction. She's been working on a new software model for race strategies—an AI-driven system that takes into account not just tire degradation and fuel loads, but driver tendencies, track conditions, and even weather patterns.
Oscar is intrigued, impressed even. He knows that Formula 1 is as much a game of strategy as it is skill behind the wheel. He asks a few more questions, his natural curiosity piqued. Amelia responds with technical clarity, showing him exactly where the team's strategy deviated from the optimal route her simulation had suggested.
Her insights are sharp, but Oscar can sense there's a reason her suggestions didn't make it to the top. Amelia seems hesitant, perhaps unsure of her place within the hierarchy of the team. She's smart—brilliant, even—but Formula 1 is a world of established systems and egos. Innovation often takes a back seat to tradition.
They talk for a few more minutes, and Oscar finds himself appreciating her depth of understanding. She speaks his language—the technical jargon, the obsession with precision. But just as quickly as she appeared, Amelia retreats back into her work, typing away as though she's said too much already.
Oscar is left standing there, thoughtful. Her insight could have changed the outcome of the race. He wonders why someone with such clear understanding isn't more involved in the team's decision-making.
As he walks out of the debrief room, her words linger in his mind. Maybe the missed opportunity wasn't entirely his fault after all.
YOU ARE READING
ᴄʜᴀꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ ; ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ
Fanficstrategically changing the strategic game *oscar piastri x fem!oc *this was written before the 2023 season began so don't expect much accuracy * this was also the first thing i have EVER written so dont hate me too much
