Into the Apex

The Return to Hell

The Zandvoort weekend arrived with a mix of anticipation and underlying tension. Masachika Kuze had barely finished unpacking his bags before he found himself face-to-face with the reality of racing again. The summer break had brought fleeting moments of peace, but now, with the roar of engines returning, so too did the suffocating pressure.

Aston Martin's results in the first half of 2023 were nothing to write home about. The team had floundered at the back of the grid, often fighting with the likes of Williams and HAAS for scraps. Masachika stood 13th in the standings, a far cry from his former glory. Meanwhile, Sebastian Vettel—Aston Martin's supposed golden boy—sat in 9th place, their championship hopes diminished. As a team, Aston Martin was in 6th place in the constructors' standings, and the rift between Masachika and the team's management seemed to widen every race weekend.

The first indication that things had shifted slightly was when Vettel, once the golden child, began to openly praise Masachika. It wasn't just a casual comment either; every chance he got, Vettel would express admiration for Masachika's resilience in the face of adversity.

"Mike, you need to understand," Vettel had said firmly during a particularly heated exchange with Mike Krack earlier that weekend, his voice steady yet assertive. "Masachika is the 2021 World Champion. He deserves the respect that comes with that. We can't keep treating him like this."

Krack, as usual, wasn't pleased. "He's not performing like a champion," he snapped back, but there was a noticeable hesitation in his voice now, a recognition that maybe the team's approach hadn't been entirely fair.

But Vettel didn't back down. "He's doing his best with what we give him, Mike. And it's still better than most. If we gave him the same resources as me, we might see something different."

The conversation had ended there, with a heavy silence hanging in the air. But for Masachika, it was a rare glimmer of support from the man who, despite his status, had never forgotten their shared struggles.

As the weekend unfolded, it was clear that the pressure was mounting on both Masachika and the team. The tension between him and Mike Krack continued to simmer just below the surface, never quite erupting but always present. In the garage, the arguments about car setups and strategies were growing more frequent. Every time Masachika disagreed with Krack's decisions, the air in the garage became more stifling.

On Friday, Krack had snapped at him in the debriefing. "If you want a better performance, do something with the car. Stop complaining about it!"

Masachika had clenched his fists, but instead of firing back, he simply nodded. "I'll do what I can," he said, his voice betraying none of the frustration that roiled inside him.

But the anger didn't dissipate. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface.

In the midst of all this, a familiar face had been a comforting presence throughout the weekend. Lando Norris, a friend Masachika had known since their days in Formula 3, had been keeping close tabs on his situation. They had always shared a bond, forged in the heat of competition and long days on the road together.

Lando had often been the voice of reason in Masachika's ear, reminding him not to lose sight of who he was. But it wasn't just that. Lando had also taken it upon himself to get Masachika the opportunity he desperately needed. He had approached Zak Brown and recommended Masachika for the meeting about a potential seat at McLaren, a lifeline that could come after Zandvoort.

"How are you holding up?" Lando asked as they sat together during the Saturday break. His casual tone masked the concern in his eyes.

Masachika ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the horizon, where the Dutch coastline met the sky. "It's hard, Lando. The car is dreadful, the team doesn't support me, and I feel like I'm just—" He stopped, biting his lip. "I don't know. I don't belong here anymore."

Lando's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You're too good for that, Kuze. You've been through worse, and you'll get through this too. Just hang in there."

Masachika forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll try. Thanks, mate."

Lando gave him a pat on the back and stood up, clapping his hands together. "Alright, let's make sure you finish ahead of that guy," he said with a wink, pointing to a smirking Sebastian Vettel.

Masachika chuckled, but the laughter was thin, a fleeting distraction. Still, it helped.

Saturday's Qualifying

The tension continued to mount through the qualifying session. Masachika had struggled to extract the pace from the car, but a final lap in Q2 had seen him secure a spot in 13th, just shy of a higher position. Vettel, on the other hand, had managed to make it to 11th, a small but significant gap.

Despite the results, there was an unspoken acknowledgment between the two drivers—Vettel might be ahead in qualifying, but Masachika was still the driver to watch.

"Not bad," Vettel said, his tone surprisingly warm as they passed each other in the paddock. "Could've been better, but with this car, it's a miracle we're even getting these positions."

Masachika's lips quirked upward. "Yeah, I'll take it."

Vettel nodded, his eyes betraying a deep understanding. "We're in this together, you know. Keep pushing."

Race Day: Sunday

Race day brought more of the same. The car was still difficult to manage, but Masachika's natural talent was undeniable. He fought through the pack, keeping his composure while Vettel, as expected, raced a steady race, securing a position in the top ten.

By the time they crossed the line, it was a bittersweet result for Masachika. He had fought hard and gained a point for 10th, while Vettel finished 7th.

After the race, Masachika trudged back to the garage, his shoulders slumped from the weight of yet another race where he had been left to scrape together scraps. He saw Lando waiting by the barrier, leaning on it casually as always.

"Good race," Lando said with a nod. "You're not showing it, but I can tell you're holding up. You're stronger than this car, man."

Masachika gave him a small, tired smile. "Barely," he muttered. "But I'll keep going."

And just as Masachika was about to step into the garage, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his eyes scanning the screen. It was a message from Zak Brown:

"Let's meet next week after the race in Italy. We've got big plans."

The offer hung there like a promise, a potential future that could free him from the weight of Aston Martin's favoritism. A new chapter was waiting.