Breaking the Grid

Quick weeks

The days passed in a blur of routine and discipline.

Every morning started the same—early wake-ups, training sessions that pushed my limits, hours with the kinesiologist to keep my body in check after months of recovery, meetings with analysts breaking down every detail of the cars and drivers. It was exhausting, but it was necessary. With my return to the grid next season, I needed to be in peak condition, both physically and mentally.

And then, of course, there was the Grand Prix itself.

The final race of the season.

A high-stakes showdown between McLaren and Ferrari for the Constructors' Championship.

It was all on the line.

If neither Lando nor Oscar won, we lost it. Simple as that. The title was so important—not just for the team, but for me personally. Winning meant more prize money, which meant more investment in the car's development for next season. And since I'd be the one driving it, I needed that car to be as competitive as possible.

The energy in the paddock was suffocating. Pressure sat thick in the air, and I felt it pressing down on me just watching from the sidelines.

Then the lights went out.

The race immediately started on the wrong foot.

Max dived aggressively into Turn 1, clipping Oscar's rear tire. Oscar managed to keep it on track, but he lost way too many positions in the process. My hands clenched into fists as I watched the replay on the screen. We needed both our cars at the front, and now one of them had been shoved down the order within the first few corners.

That left everything on Lando.

And damn, did he feel the pressure.

He was fast, no doubt, but every single lap was a test of his nerves. He had to defend, attack, and manage his tires perfectly. Mistakes crept in—small ones, but noticeable. A lock-up here, a slightly wide exit there. Every time, I held my breath.

But in the end, he did it.

Lando won.

And just like that, the entire McLaren garage erupted.

Mechanics, engineers, everyone—jumping, screaming, hugging each other like we'd just won a war. The pure explosion of emotion was contagious, and before I knew it, I was caught up in it too.

I barely even drove this season, but this moment? It mattered to me. This team had fought their asses off all year, and now they were finally getting what they deserved.

McLaren were Constructors' Champions.

And now, after all that adrenaline?

It was time to put on a suit.

The FIA Awards night.

I wasn't expecting to win anything major this year—obviously, considering I hadn't completed the season—but I still had responsibilities tonight.

Since I'd won the FIA Junior Karting Trophy years ago, I had to be on stage to hand the award to the new winner this season.

Oh, and apparently, I'd won Best Overtake of the Year—a nice little surprise.

And, of course, I had to go on stage when McLaren was officially crowned Constructors' Champions.

It wasn't my title, but in a way, it was. Because i started this season.