Taking Sides

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The Italian Grand Prix at Monza had always been one of Masachika's favorites. The historic circuit, the roar of the tifosi, the high-speed corners—it was the kind of track that made every driver feel alive. But as the weekend unfolded, it became clear that Monza, like the rest of the season, was not going to be kind.

The tension within Aston Martin had reached new heights. Mike Krack's management style, combined with the continued favoritism toward Sebastian Vettel, had turned the team into a pressure cooker, and Masachika was right in the center of it. This weekend, however, it wasn't just Masachika and Krack at odds. For the first time, Vettel found himself joining the battle, not out of friendship, but out of frustration at how both he and Masachika were being treated.

Friday Practice

The weekend had begun with a clear sense of unease. During the Friday practice sessions, it was evident that Aston Martin's car was nowhere near fast enough for the top teams. Masachika had struggled to extract any real pace from the car, while Vettel had been fighting a similar battle, often muttering under his breath about the lack of support from the team.

In the debriefing after FP2, Krack's frustration had boiled over.

"We're losing too much time on the straights. You two need to find more pace. If you want to be competitive, you have to make adjustments," Krack snapped at the drivers.

Masachika had been silent at first, but the words hung in the air like an accusation. "We're doing what we can with what we have, Mike," he finally said, his voice sharp. "I'm not a magician. I can't make the car faster just by asking."

Vettel had interjected almost immediately, surprising everyone in the room. "He's right. We can only work with the tools you give us. I've spoken to you about this before, Mike. The favoritism, the lack of support for Masachika—it's not going unnoticed. He deserves better than this."

Krack's face reddened, but he didn't argue back. The room was tense, and it was clear the team was fractured.

Saturday Qualifying

Qualifying at Monza had been a disaster. The pressure from both the team and the championship points seemed to get to Masachika, and he never seemed to get into a rhythm. As the qualifying session came to an end, he was left in 15th position, far behind where he wanted to be. Vettel, too, had struggled, failing to get the best out of the car and qualifying 19th.

Afterward, the drivers filed into the garage, the air thick with frustration. Vettel, once again, spoke out, a rare moment of solidarity between him and Masachika.

"Mike, we can't keep going like this. You can't expect results when the car is like this," Vettel said, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying an undeniable force.

"I've told you both already. Just do your best," Krack replied, his voice tired and dismissive.

Masachika stood in silence, the weight of his situation sinking in. Vettel had spoken for him, but the words were falling on deaf ears. It was clear the team didn't value his championship-winning pedigree, and it was starting to eat away at him.

Sunday Race

Race day at Monza arrived with a sense of inevitability. For all the tension, Masachika and Vettel both knew that the race was likely going to be a struggle. Still, Masachika was determined to at least finish and salvage something from the weekend. But fate had other plans.

As the lights went out, the field surged forward, and the chaotic nature of the first lap quickly became apparent. Just before Turn 8, a massive 12-car pileup occurred, triggered by a collision between Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon. The field came to a sudden stop, and Masachika had no time to react as the cars ahead scattered.

Masachika tried to avoid the wreck, but it was impossible. In the blink of an eye, he was caught in the mess, his car violently slamming into the barriers. The sound of crunching metal filled his ears as the impact threw his body against the harness. For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

When the car finally came to a halt, Masachika sat motionless, his head spinning. The pain wasn't sharp, but it was enough to make him pause. He quickly assessed himself, checking his body for any serious injuries. Everything seemed to be intact, but the car was destroyed, the front end crumpled beyond recognition.

His radio crackled to life. "Kuze, are you alright?" the team's engineer asked urgently.

"I'm fine. Just frustrated," Masachika muttered into the radio, the weight of everything crashing down on him. "Sorry. I... I can't continue."

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment as he took a breath. Then, without warning, he yanked himself out of the car, the frustration finally spilling over.

He walked toward the pit wall, his steps quick and purposeful. "FUUUCCCK!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, the raw anger echoing off the barriers. The cameras were rolling, and it was the first time anyone had seen the true extent of his mental state—he had reached his breaking point.

Post-Race and Beyond

By the time he made his way back to the paddock, the race was already over, and the damage to his car was evident. He sat in his chair, staring at the wreckage of the car that had once represented his hope for a successful season. The feeling of hopelessness was almost overwhelming. He was a World Champion, yet here he was, once again, fighting for scraps with a car that didn't even deserve to be in the race. The season was slipping away from him, and it felt as though no one was listening.

Despite the disaster on track, Masachika knew there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. After the Italian GP weekend, he would finally have the meeting with Zak Brown. For the first time in months, there was the possibility of a fresh start—a chance to leave Aston Martin behind and find a team that believed in him.

But for now, all he could do was try to make it through the weekend. The cracks had already formed, and the reality of his situation was clear. Monza had been a disaster, both on and off the track. But Masachika wasn't ready to give up just yet. He had one final chance to turn it all around, and he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers.

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