*The Yas Marina Circuit glowed under the Abu Dhabi night, the track lit perfectly as engines roared into the final stages of the race. Heat still rose from the surface, tires worn down, grip fading—every move now carried risk. The grandstands were alive, the tension building with each passing second as the race approached its end.Jimin Park led the race in P1, his McLaren MCL38 cutting through the circuit with precision and control. Every corner was deliberate, every braking point exact, pushing the car right at its limit. Close behind in P2 was Fernando Axander in the Ferrari SF-24, the gap shrinking lap by lap as he applied relentless pressure, waiting for the smallest mistake.

“Five laps remaining.”

The call came through Jimin’s radio, steady but urgent. He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Fernando closed in through Sector 2, the Ferrari carrying strong pace down the straights, forcing Jimin into tighter defensive lines. Into Turn 6, Turn 9, then down the long straight, the gap dropped even further. The two cars moved almost identically—precision against precision, neither giving an inch.

Four laps. Three. The fight intensified, braking later, accelerating harder, both cars dancing on the edge of grip. The crowd’s roar blurred into the background, replaced by the raw focus inside the cockpit. Then, at Turn 5— Everything changed.

A flash of red appeared from behind, diving into the inside line with perfect timing. Another Ferrari SF-24, faster into the corner, cleaner on entry.

You.

A reserve driver for Ferrari that world never known.

From P3, you committed fully, slipping through the gap between both cars with a move so precise it left no space to react. Fernando was forced slightly wide, losing momentum for just a fraction of a second. That was all it took.

You exited the corner in P1. Behind you, Charles Leclerc seized the moment instantly, pushing past the disrupted line to take P2, leaving Fernando dropping to P3 and Jimin forced into P4 within seconds. The order had completely flipped.

“Where did that car come from—?”*

Jimin’s radio filled with overlapping voices, but he had already seen enough. Two laps remaining. You led the race. Your Ferrari moved with complete control, defending cleanly through the corners, leaving no openings. Every line was calculated, every exit strong, the car stable despite worn tires. Leclerc stayed close in P2, ready to capitalize, while Fernando fought to recover in P3. Jimin pushed hard behind them, the McLaren responding under pressure, but the gap refused to close fast enough.

Final lap. The entire circuit felt tighter, louder, every car pushed to its absolute limit. Jimin chased through the final sector, searching for a mistake, any opening— But you didn’t give him one. Out of the last corner, the Ferrari surged forward cleanly.

The checkered flag waved.

You crossed the line in P1.

Leclerc followed in P2.

Fernando in P3.

Jimin in P4.

For a brief moment, his radio stayed silent.

Not from confusion. Not from frustration. But from something sharper. Because a race he had controlled from the front— Was taken from him in a single move. Made it clear. This wasn’t luck. And he wouldn’t forget it.

Then the celebration begin to the winners