Into the Apex

Return to Misery

Silverstone should have been a place of solace for Masachika Kuze. The British Grand Prix was more than just a race—it was a homecoming of sorts, a track where Masachika had often found himself buoyed by the roaring support of the fans. Yet as he stepped into the Aston Martin paddock, the familiar scent of motor oil and the hum of engines did little to lift the weight pressing on his chest. The cracks that had first appeared in Baku hadn't just lingered; they had widened, fracturing his already strained relationship with the team.

The weekend began on shaky ground. Masachika found himself embroiled in yet another argument with team principal Mike Krack during Friday's debrief. The issue was the same as always—upgrades. Vettel's car had been fitted with a revised floor and suspension tweaks that Masachika had yet to see.

"How am I supposed to deliver results when I'm driving a second-tier car?" Masachika demanded, his voice rising above the hum of the paddock.

Krack remained impassive. "Sebastian has been providing better feedback. We're making decisions that benefit the team as a whole."

"Feedback?" Masachika scoffed, slamming his hands on the desk. "Or are you just using me to test outdated parts while he gets to fight for points?"

The tension reached a boiling point as Masachika leaned closer, his frustration palpable. Engineers shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other as if unsure whether to intervene. Finally, one of them stepped forward, gently pulling Masachika back.

"This isn't over," Masachika growled, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

British Grand Prix: Silver Linings Amidst Chaos

Despite the friction, Masachika delivered one of his strongest performances of the season at Silverstone. Fighting through a chaotic midfield, he showcased the tenacity that had once made him a world champion. A late-race safety car gave him the edge he needed, and he crossed the line in fifth—his best finish since Austria.

The cheers from the crowd brought a rare smile to his face as he stepped onto the grid post-race, but the victory felt hollow. Vettel had finished eighth, yet the team seemed more interested in celebrating his "solid points finish" than acknowledging Masachika's effort.

"You're still not satisfied?" Alya asked over the phone that evening, her voice tinged with concern.

"I'm never going to be," he replied flatly. "Not with this team."

Hungarian Grand Prix: A Return to Frustration

If Silverstone was a fleeting glimpse of hope, the Hungarian Grand Prix was a cruel reminder of Aston Martin's reality. The car's performance on the tight, winding Hungaroring circuit was abysmal. Masachika spent the race battling at the back of the grid, his frustration mounting with every lap.

"Seventeenth, Masachika," Krack said after the race, his tone cold. "That's not good enough."

Masachika clenched his fists. "You want miracles? Give me a car that works."

The tension in the debrief room was suffocating. Masachika's patience snapped, and for the first time, he unleashed the full force of his anger. "Stop pretending this is about me! It's always about Vettel!"

Krack stood, his face inches from Masachika's. "Watch your tone."

The engineers watched in stunned silence as Masachika and Krack exchanged heated words. When Krack dismissed him with a wave of his hand, Masachika lunged forward, only to be restrained by one of the team members. Breathing heavily, he tore himself away and stormed out, his frustration echoing in every step.

Belgian Grand Prix: A Fading Glimmer

Spa-Francorchamps was one of Masachika's favorite circuits, but even his love for the track couldn't mask the growing disillusionment. Despite starting in a lowly grid position, he fought his way up to sixth, a commendable result considering the car's limitations. Vettel, once again, trailed behind in eighth, though Masachika knew the team would spin it as a "strategic success" for his teammate.

As the summer break approached, Masachika felt himself teetering on the edge. The constant battles—both on and off the track—were taking their toll. The physical exhaustion was one thing, but the emotional drain was something else entirely.

When the final debrief before the break ended, Masachika gathered his things and walked out without a word. The prospect of four weeks away from Aston Martin was a small consolation, but he knew it wasn't enough to mend the fractures in his spirit.

As he boarded the plane back to England, Masachika stared out the window, the roar of the engines a faint echo of the turmoil within. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he clung to the faint hope that the second half of the season would bring change. But as the clouds swallowed the horizon, he couldn't help but feel like he was heading into a storm he wasn't sure he could weather.