Into the Apex

The Strain of the Start

Chapter 1: The Strain of the Start – 2023 Season's Early Battles

The first few weeks of the 2023 Formula 1 season hit Masachika Kuze harder than he expected. After the disappointment of 2022, he had hoped for a fresh start, but as the Bahrain Grand Prix loomed, he could feel the weight of the past dragging on his shoulders. The excitement of racing again, the familiar rush of the track, was tainted by an overwhelming sense of doubt that hung over him like a dark cloud.

Aston Martin had promised a new chapter, but in reality, their 2023 car felt like a ghost of its potential. It was sluggish, uninspiring, and woefully uncompetitive. The car was barely able to hold its own against teams like Williams and Haas, and Masachika could feel the frustration building inside him as each lap passed. The dream of returning to the front of the grid seemed like a distant memory.

Bahrain was meant to be a fresh start, a chance to prove to himself—and to everyone—that he could still fight. But it quickly became clear that the battle would not be against the other drivers. It was with the car, with the team, and with his own sense of self.

After qualifying, Masachika's mood was grim. Starting 12th, he knew the race would be a grind. The car wasn't fast enough, and there was little hope of much improvement. But he gave it everything, pushing the limits of what was possible with an underperforming machine. He clawed his way into the points, finishing 8th, a result that wasn't spectacular but at least offered some semblance of redemption.

Vettel, on the other hand, had managed 11th—a disappointing result for the four-time world champion, but one that seemed to add fuel to the fire of team favoritism. As Masachika climbed out of the car, there was a brief moment of satisfaction, but it was quickly replaced by the nagging thought: How much longer can I keep this up?

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix offered little respite. The team's desperation was palpable, and Masachika could feel the subtle shift in how they treated him. There was a growing sense that Vettel was the team's priority. Team orders were issued early in the race, a directive that stung deeply. Masachika was asked to let Vettel pass despite having a strong position. The fact that it was the second race of the season, and the team was already drawing clear lines of favoritism, hit him like a blow to the chest.

As Vettel slid past him, Masachika clenched his jaw, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He finished 10th, a result that seemed inconsequential compared to the tension that had grown between him and his team. Vettel crossed the line in 9th, ahead, of course. It was a silent confirmation that Masachika was expendable, a pawn in a team that had no real plans for him.

By the time they reached Australia, Masachika's optimism had evaporated. The pressure was suffocating, and his mind, once sharp and focused, was clouded with exhaustion and doubt. The frustration was compounded by a DNF, the car unable to finish the race after suffering a technical issue. He watched as Vettel finished 5th, once again proving the gap between their fortunes. But Masachika's mind wasn't on the results—he was just trying to hold it all together. Each race felt like another step into an abyss he couldn't escape.

But it was Azerbaijan, the fourth race of the season, where Masachika's breaking point became impossible to ignore. The Baku circuit had never been kind to him, and the first few laps were a relentless assault on both his body and mind. The car felt unpredictable, the track unforgiving.

And then, it happened.

As Masachika approached Turn 15, the rear end of the car snapped unexpectedly. The tires were struggling, the balance was all wrong, and he found himself sent into the barriers. The impact was violent, and the car came to a stop, wedged awkwardly against the barriers. For a moment, Masachika just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, the harsh reality of his situation crashing down on him like a wave.

This is it, isn't it? he thought. I'm done.

He sat in the car for what felt like an eternity, the silence almost suffocating. The usual calmness he relied on during these moments wasn't there. There was nothing left inside him but frustration and anger. Finally, he radioed in, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I'm okay. Sorry about the crash."

But as soon as he opened the door and climbed out, the mask cracked. With a primal roar, Masachika kicked the side of the car, his foot slamming into the metal with such force that it echoed through the pit lane.

He stormed down the pit wall, his rage boiling over. The media, cameras trained on him, caught a glimpse of the real Masachika—a man on the edge. And when he reached the end of the pit lane, he couldn't contain it any longer. A scream tore from his lungs, raw and guttural.

"FUUUUCCCK!!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the open air, loud enough for the entire paddock to hear.

It was the first time anyone—media, fans, team members—had seen Masachika lose control. For so long, he had been the picture of composure, hiding his internal battles behind a mask of professionalism. But here, in the harsh glare of the cameras, his mental state was laid bare.

The moment was a revelation. The mental toll of racing for a team that had already decided it favored Vettel, the endless stream of subpar results, the ever-deepening isolation—all of it had come to a head. He wasn't just frustrated with the crash; he was angry with everything. The unfairness. The lack of respect. The futility of it all.

And yet, despite the outburst, there was a strange sense of release. The anger, the pain, the pressure—just for a moment, it had been let out. But as he walked away from the scene, there was no euphoria. Just a hollow feeling, as if the storm inside him had only grown stronger.

The rest of the season didn't get any easier. Azerbaijan was a turning point, and not in the way Masachika had hoped. Each race thereafter felt like a countdown to something he wasn't sure he could endure anymore. The team continued to favor Vettel, and each radio message, each order that undermined him, chipped away at his resolve.

But the season continued, relentlessly. And with every race, the mental strain only deepened.