ᴄʜᴀꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ ; ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ

The Monaco Grand Prix

Monaco. The pinnacle of glamour in Formula 1. The streets are filled with roaring engines, and the atmosphere is charged with an electricity that only this city can bring. The harbor glistens under the Mediterranean sun, and the wealthy elite watch from their yachts, champagne glasses in hand. For Oscar, however, it's a different kind of sparkle. One that comes with weight—immense weight.

The media buzzes around him, microphones in his face, cameras pointed at him with every step. The murmurs of expectation are louder than ever: "Is this the race where Piastri finally proves he's McLaren's future?"

Oscar walks through the paddock with a forced calm. Behind his sunglasses, his mind races. Every article, every interview he's done this week, the constant comparisons to his teammate Lando—it's all running circles in his head. He knows that Lando, starting from P3, is being touted as the team's best shot for the podium, but deep down, Oscar feels this is his moment too.

Inside the McLaren garage, the tension is thick. The higher-ups have stopped being subtle about the pressure. They need results, now, and Oscar knows he's under the microscope. He glances over at Lando, who's chatting with engineers, the golden boy, unbothered. The team's cheers were always louder for him.

Amelia, Oscar's trusted data analyst, feels the pressure too. For weeks, she's been watching the strategy meetings from the sidelines, her input disregarded by senior engineers who prefer the tried and tested. Her simulations for Monaco predict a different path—one that could be pivotal—but once again, her ideas have been sidelined. She catches Oscar's eye across the garage, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Both are weighed down by expectations, both are searching for a way to break free.

Later that evening, McLaren's top engineers meet in a private suite of a five-star Monaco hotel. The mood is calm, almost too confident. They're discussing the race strategy, a straightforward two-stop plan that, while safe, lacks the risk that Monaco often rewards.

Amelia sits at the far end of the room, the hum of conversation barely registering as her mind runs over her own simulations. She's done the calculations—a safety car is coming, and it'll happen early. If Oscar pits then, they could undercut two cars and push for the podium. But voicing that out loud, here in front of McLaren's senior minds? That's a step she hasn't taken before.

The conversation shifts away from strategy to logistics, and Amelia sees her window closing. She takes a deep breath, then raises her voice, "What about the early pit stop? Under a safety car?" The room falls silent for a beat.

One of the lead engineers dismisses it, shaking his head. "Too risky. Monaco's tight, but we can't rely on a safety car coming exactly when we want."

Amelia knows the data doesn't lie. But she nods and lets the meeting move on, the sting of being overlooked familiar now.

Later, outside the hotel, she catches Oscar before he heads back to his room. "I think you need to see this," she says, showing him her tablet. Her heart pounds in her chest as she explains her theory—if a safety car comes, pitting on lap 30 could be a game changer.

Oscar frowns, unsure. "The team didn't go for this?"

"They won't," Amelia admits. "But I trust the data. And I trust you."

A long pause stretches between them, the hum of the city around them. Oscar knows going against the team would be a huge risk, but he sees the conviction in Amelia's eyes. Slowly, he nods. "If the chance comes, I'll push for it."

Race day. The sun beats down on the tight Monaco circuit, the air filled with the rumble of engines. Oscar takes his place on the grid in P4. The butterflies in his stomach are heavier today, not just because of the pressure but because of the quiet promise he made to Amelia the night before.