That evening, MP Motorsport hosted a simple celebration dinner at the hotel buffet restaurant.
The long tables were loaded with local Bahraini seafood specialties.
There were grilled lamb chops dripping with savory juices, glossy salt baked prawns, plump king crab legs, and neatly arranged sashimi platters.
The aroma of the food filled the entire dining room.
Julian held a large plate and strolled leisurely along the buffet line.
His plate was quickly piled into a small mountain.
He found a corner seat by the window.
The moment his fork pierced a piece of grilled prawn, his eyes curved into a happy smile.
The embarrassment of his morning spin out, the awkwardness of being watched by everyone, and the vague suspicion of the online backlash were all still buried in the back of his mind.
They were just temporarily overshadowed by the thrill of the afternoon track session and the delicious food in front of him.
He was not entirely carefree.
It was just that instead of sinking into a bad mood, he preferred to fill his stomach first.
After all, there was no sadness that a seafood burger could not fix.
And if there was, then three burgers would definitely do the trick.
Sander and Paul sat across from him with their own plates.
Watching him wolf down his food, they exchanged a smile.
Slow down, no one is going to steal your food, Sander said with a laugh, handing him a glass of juice.
Eat as much as you want today.
Even if you clear out all the prawns in the restaurant, it is fine.
Julian nodded with his mouth full of shrimp.
He paused for a second and suddenly remembered something.
His good friend Toby must have been incredibly worried about him today, sending him several messages on WhatsApp at noon.
Now that he had some free time, he definitely needed to reply.
Freeing up one hand, he pulled out his phone, snapped a quick photo of the massive seafood feast on the table, and sent it to Toby.
Julian: The seafood in Bahrain is actually really good.
The message was sent, and the reply was almost instantaneous.
Toby: Get lost.
Toby: Let us queue up tonight!
I lost two stars today because of randoms.
I have been waiting for you to carry me back up.
Toby: Saw the highlights of your test on video today.
Not bad at all.
You actually took first place.
Just like I expected from my boy.
Julian looked at the screen and could not help but laugh out loud.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he replied.
Get lost!
You are the boy!
Do you want me to carry you or not?
The last lingering bit of gloom in his heart completely vanished.
Who cared what other people said?
As long as he had friends waiting to play games with him, endless seafood to eat, and a track that let him completely relax, that was more than enough.
After the dinner ended, Julian rushed straight back to his room.
He took a quick hot shower, changed into loose pajamas, and collapsed onto the bed.
The moment he opened Wild Rift, his entire demeanor shifted.
The fierce and dominant driver from the track was gone.
He was back to being a seventeen year old gamer.
Get in, get in!
Toby’s voice exploded through the earpiece, full of stubborn determination.
We have to win at least two more stars today!
Coming, coming, Julian said with a smile.
He tapped accept and smoothly locked in Lee Sin.
That night, the two of them played in perfect sync, absolutely dominating the enemy team.
Julian’s Lee Sin was as sharp as ever, invading the jungle and ganking the lanes, carrying Toby’s Jinx as they ran rampant across the map.
They played from nine in the evening until one in the morning, winning seven games in a row and gaining a full seven stars.
That feels so good!
Toby let out a long breath, his tone full of satisfaction.
Same time tomorrow!
Nah, I have to practice driving tomorrow.
Julian yawned as sleepiness washed over him.
The nerves that had been tightly wound on the track all day finally relaxed, bringing a wave of exhaustion with them.
I am going to sleep.
Alright, alright.
Rest up, racing boss, Toby teased.
Goodnight.
Julian hung up the call, tossed his phone onto the nightstand, and buried his head in the soft pillow.
He was asleep in less than two minutes.
In his dreams, there was no embarrassing spin out, no reporters with their cameras.
There was only the speeding race car and an endless supply of seafood burgers.
Over the next three days of the winter test, Julian’s performance grew more and more stable, and increasingly shocking to the entire paddock.
In every practice session, his name was permanently nailed to the top of the timing screens.
His lead grew from the initial zero point five seconds, expanding little by little to zero point six, and finally opening up a gap of over zero point eight seconds.
Every time he sat in the car and stepped on the throttle, Julian could clearly feel his connection with the F2 machine growing stronger.
He knew perfectly well that no matter how much he practiced in the simulator, it could never fully replicate the feeling of driving a real car on a real track.
The vibration of the tires crushing the curbs, the power feedback from the throttle inputs, the G forces pulling at his body through the corners.
All of it was being carved into his muscle memory.
Watching the fastest lap times refresh on the screen, he did not feel overwhelming euphoria.
He only felt a solid, grounded certainty.
He really could do this.
He really could outrun so many experienced professional drivers on this track.
But what truly made the entire F2 paddock boil with excitement was the long run simulation on the final day of the winter test.
This was the most watched segment of the winter test.
Every team would perfectly replicate their race strategies to test the long run stability of the car and the tire management skills of the driver.
This was exactly one of the most critical factors in winning an F2 race.
Dennis, like the vast majority of the drivers, chose the universally accepted optimal one stop strategy of softs and hards.
He would start on the red softs to build an early advantage, run ten to thirteen laps, and then switch to the white hards for a long distance defensive stint.
This strategy had been verified by countless data simulations.
It carried the lowest risk and the most stable return.
Sander and Paul crouched in front of the control console in the pit lane.
They stared at the dense tire data curves for a full twenty minutes, their pen tips circling repeatedly over the soft and medium compound columns.
We cannot waste Julian’s talent.
The soft and hard one stop strategy is not right for him, Paul said in a low voice.
Should we not do the exact opposite?
Sander suddenly looked up, a flash of light in his eyes.
You mean…
Yes.
Softs and mediums.
Paul pointed at Julian’s historical tire wear data on the screen.
The softs degrade the fastest, but with his ability, he can absolutely run at least five laps longer than anyone else.
After that, we switch to the yellow mediums, which have better balance.
They have enough pace to hold off the hards and can last the rest of the race.
While everyone else struggles on the worst gripping hards, we cruise on the stable mediums.
The advantage would be massive.
It might even attract the attention of the F1 teams, and someone could come to the base to scout him the very next day.
Sander took a deep breath.
He knew exactly how crazy this strategy was.
The Bahrain softs were notoriously short lived.
A normal driver could only run them for a maximum of twelve laps.
Beyond that number, the lap times would drop off exponentially.
Running the softs for over sixteen laps without losing pace was something no one in the history of F2 had ever dared to attempt.
If the softs blew out or severely degraded after twelve laps, it would not only ruin the entire test, but they would become the laughingstock of the entire paddock for the whole season.
He turned his head to look at Julian, who was putting on his helmet.
His tone was serious.
Julian, we want to take a gamble.
Softs and mediums, starting on the softs.
How long can you push them?
Julian stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes.
He replayed the feeling of running the softs yesterday in his mind.
He could clearly recall the rubber degradation caused by every throttle input.
He could precisely feel the subtle changes in tire surface temperature and grip levels.
The ninety one on his system panel for tire preservation was his biggest confidence.
He opened his eyes and looked at Sander and Paul.
His tone was calm but incredibly firm.
I think I can run the softs for seventeen laps without losing any pace.
As soon as he said this, the few engineers nearby who were calibrating the equipment stopped what they were doing and stared at him in disbelief.
Seventeen laps on the softs?
And keeping the pace?
That was completely impossible.
Engineers walking past the MP Motorsport garage heard the comment and immediately started mocking it to their colleagues.
MP has actually lost their minds.
They are letting a rookie run seventeen laps on the softs?
I bet his tires will blow out and he will retire on lap fourteen when he pushes hard.
Just as expected from the sponsor’s son.
He can play however he wants, completely ignoring the rules of racing.
The news spread like wildfire, instantly circulating through the entire pit lane.
When Dennis heard the news, he just gave a disdainful scoff.
What a publicity stunt.
How was that even possible?
Even Sergio Perez, known as the tire whisperer, would not dare to make such a bold claim.