Through sector two, Julien can tell he’s finally inching up on him. It’s subtle, but after so many laps of the same view, it’s easy to see Thomas is finally slowing.
Maybe his tires are worn. Maybe he’s conserving energy. Whatever it is, it’s an opening.
Julien lunges on the inside through turn ten, but Thomas covers him off. Another bite at thirteen, but he’s denied again. DRS fully open, Julien follows the tow through the straight, but when he jumps the line to attempt the pass, Thomas is there again.
Julien grunts in frustration but keeps his head down and follows his brother through turn one.
It was never going to be easy. Thomas has over a decade of experience in Formation 1. What has Julien done in comparison? Played pretend?
But Julien knows this track. He has run this same lap, these exact turns, thousands of times. He has won it across series—both in person and on his computer.
This is his home.
Every time Julien tried something risky on the sim and failed, he just restarted the lap. Hisstupid computer gamegave him infinite chances to figure out how to win this specific race.
Julien’s experience as a sim driver has to be his strength—even if anyone else would write it off as a weakness.
If Thomas ever failed, he wrecked the car. He doesn’t have enough data to get creative, so his laps are rigid. Though his consistency is commendable, it makes him an easy mark.
Julien activates his DRS through the mistral straight, and Thomas pops off the line again to cover him off. Julien ignores the invitation and stays on the race line. The area where rubber has already been laid has better traction, and he’s nearly even with Thomas’s back tires when they fall back in line.
Left, right, the brothers take the chicane wheel-to-wheel faster than they should, but Julien grinds his teeth and holds on.
They’re spit out onto the rest of the straight—the bit of road which sets up the high-speed turn ten. In a fraction of a second, Julien remembers every single time he’s ever passed here.
Once when an opponent dipped off the track after nine. Once during a blue flag. Once during a rain-ladened session, and again when winds were bad.
Then there was that one time—once when he was wheel-to-wheel with a competitor and needed the surprise. Why would anyone pass on the straight without DRS? Wouldn’t it be better just to accept the tow and attack later?
Julien leaves the line.
Thomas is still slowing, he’s faltering, but his eyes must be glued to his mirrors the way he jolts right in an attempt to cut Julien off before the high-speed turn.
Julien drifts left and powers all the way around the outside as both cars take turn ten at maximum speed. They’re flat-out, and it’s a game of chicken now.
Neck and neck they approach the apex of eleven, but Thomas stumbles to correct an oversteer, and Julien just barely completes the turn ahead of him.
Don’t leave yourself open, don’t leave it open.
Thomas said he hadn’t noticed Julien’s line, but he’s exactly where Matt predicted he’d be as he attacks at both twelve and fourteen. He doesn’t back off when Julien defends against him—Thomas stays wheel to wheel and both brothers take the slow turn together, two cars wide.
Thomas opens his DRS and the two trade jabs on the straight through the start-finish line. He showed his cards too early, though, and it’s all too easy for Julien to pull the same defense maneuvers he suffered for so long.
When he comes out in front, sudden radio static fills Julien with dread. He doesn’t want to switch positions—heearnedthe lead.
“Dubois’s tires are degrading fast,”Davide says.“Sorry, I mean Thomas.”
That doesn’t sound like team orders.
“Copy.”
“He’s point seven behind. You are the new race leader, Julien.”
Fuck, that’s so good to hear.
Julien focuses on maintaining absolute perfection as Thomas falls further and further behind. Before they can finish a full lap with Julien in the lead, Thomas ducks into the pits.
“Coward,” Julien mumbles to himself. He presses the mic button and asks, “Who is how far behind?”
