Checkered Hearts [Lestappen]

Chapter 1 - Burning ruber, broken pride

Song to listen while reading : Ogryzek - GLORY

—————————————————————————

The Melbourne sun cast a golden glow over Albert Park as the engines roared to life. Max Verstappen sat in his Red Bull, a calculated calm etched into his features. Just ahead, Charles Leclerc adjusted his gloves in the Ferrari, determination radiating from his every move. The front row of the grid promised fireworks, and everyone knew it.

The tension was palpable during pre-race interviews.
"Charles is quick, sure," Max said to the camera, his tone dismissive. "But speed isn't everything. Strategy wins races."
Leclerc, watching the replay, smirked as he tightened his helmet. When asked about Verstappen's comments, his reply was sharp: "Max is predictable. He thinks he owns the track. Let's see how that works out today."

The lights went out, and the race began. Max launched off the line perfectly, his car darting into Turn 1 with precision. Charles was on his tail, his Ferrari closing in at an alarming rate. By Turn 3, the two were side-by-side, their wheels nearly touching as they fought for dominance.

Lap after lap, they traded blows. Charles found his opportunity on Lap 12, diving down the inside into Turn 9. Max responded instantly, reclaiming the lead on the straight. The crowd roared, the tension rising with each pass. Neither gave an inch.

Over the radio, Max's engineer sounded worried. "Max, keep it clean. Don't risk the car."
"Tell him to get out of the way, then," Max snapped back, his voice sharp.

Meanwhile, in the Ferrari garage, Charles's frustration was mounting. "He's squeezing me every time!" he barked into the radio after being forced wide at Turn 4. His engineer tried to calm him, but his tone was clipped.

The inevitable happened on Lap 28. Heading into the tight chicane at Turn 11, Charles made his move. His car lunged forward, locking wheels with Max's Red Bull. For a brief, agonizing second, time seemed to freeze. Then came the screech of tires, the crunch of carbon fiber, and the horrifying sight of both cars spinning into the gravel.

"Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc are OUT of the Australian Grand Prix!" the commentator's voice echoed across the circuit.

The paddock was buzzing as the two drivers trudged back from the wreckage, their helmets still on. Cameras followed their every step, eager to capture the fallout.

Max reached the Red Bull motorhome first, ripping off his helmet and throwing it onto a nearby bench. Moments later, Charles stormed past, his Ferrari team shadowing him closely. But as they crossed paths, the simmering frustration boiled over.

"You can't keep pulling moves like that!" Max snapped, stepping toward Charles. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Me?" Charles fired back, his voice dripping with incredulity. "You never leave space, Verstappen! I had nowhere to go."

"You could've backed off," Max retorted, his eyes blazing.

"And let you win? Never." Charles's jaw tightened as he stared Max down, his breath heavy from adrenaline.

The tension was cut short by their respective teams, who stepped in to pull them apart. The cameras caught every second of the altercation, ensuring the clash would dominate headlines for days.

As the sun set over Albert Park, the paddock buzzed with whispers of their crash. Back in their separate motorhomes, neither Max nor Charles could shake the collision replaying in their minds. Anger still simmered, but beneath it lay a flicker of something neither wanted to admit: a grudging respect for the other's relentless fight.

For now, it was easier to focus on the fury.