VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 48

{ DISCLAIMER: The results of this race have been changed for plot purposes}
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[ POV: Andreanna Saunterre ]

The 'Curse of Leclerc" has always felt... cruel.

When it first came about, I remember thinking it was just a coincidence—a few hinderances of bad luck in Monaco Grand Prix's that would eventually pass.

But then... it happened again.

And then again, and again...

Each time, Charles would seem poised for victory. He'd be completely fine, and even sometimes get Q1. But then something would go wrong. Brake failure in 2017, then again in 2018. In 2019, he didn't finish— he didn't even start in 2021.

And I don't like to even think about last year.

If this 'curse' came from any other race, I'm sure Charles wouldn't have batted an eyelash.

But it was Monaco.

It was his race. His home. It's where, every single year, people expect the best from him; where he should shine. And he wants to. More than anything. But instead— it became a yearly disaster.

People need the drama, so they warp coincidences. And if they're persistent enough, they'll make you think it's fated to happen.

But it's superstition. I know that. Charles knows that.

It's a joke among the fans; something to keep them busy.

And, you know... me and Charles used to joke a lot. About a lot of things; most things. We'd laugh about silly mistakes he made in Formula 1, ones I made in MotoGP. It kept us humble.

but I—

I never joked about this.

*

The lounge was packed. People talking around tables and drinking at the bar; some were half-watching the race on the mounted televisions, but most were idly chatting, caught up in their own worlds, only reacting when the room did.

But I was at the window. Up high, above it all, where I could see it happen; live.

Out there— it was much more exciting. Out there; with the adrenaline, the snap decisions, the way the world blurred at that speed. I could still feel it if I really tried to. The rush— the instinct. All of it.

I leaned against the railing, my eyes locked on the streaks of red flashing through the tight corners of the circuit. Charles had a good first lap. Clean and controlled— so far so good.

I wonder what he's thinking.

I often wondered that. Too much, maybe.

...Probably.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared for him. I always was— in Monaco, that is. I know how badly he wants a win here, and I want it for him just as much.

Today, especially, I'm worried. Since I can't be there for him, all I can do is watch. And maybe he's wondering where I am. Where my 'good luck' was.

I doubt it.

I hope—

Oh god, I hope it hasn't bothered him. Not today—
what was I thinking? Of all days, of all races, to not even acknowledge him? What if he's thrown off?

Maybe I should've said something.

I always used to.

Maybe—