Rafa jams his helmet onto his head, gloves already tugged tight, as the final race grid assembles under the brutal glare of Abu Dhabi’s floodlights. Mechanics swarm around the car, checking tire blankets and telemetry screens; engineers bark last-minute data, but Rafa’s focus narrows to the car, the wheel, and the red and blue machine idling on pole, Max Verstappen, visor down, expression unreadable. Charles Leclerc, Ferrari red gleaming, sits alongside, gaze laser-sharp. The championship math is simple: whoever finishes ahead, wins. The national anthem ends. Rafa’s race engineer crackles in his ear, voice tight with nerves.
“Everything you’ve worked for, right here. Remember, Max will fight to the last corner.”
A marshal waves the green flag at the end of the pit lane. Rafa thumbs the clutch paddle, heart pounding. The grid settles into silence, engines snarling, heat shimmering off the asphalt. Five lights blink on above the start line, each one a countdown to history.