The green lights came on, and the final day of the winter test officially began.
For the first five laps, Julian’s performance was both expected and completely beyond anyone’s imagination.
Starting on the red soft tires, Julian used his absolute pace advantage to pull away from the pack.
On his very first flying lap, he was already zero point eight seconds clear of second place.
With every subsequent lap, he steadily extended his lead.
By the time he crossed the line on lap five, he was a full four seconds ahead of Theo Pourchaire from ART in second place.
Out on the track, the other drivers could only watch his taillights disappear into the horizon of the corner.
In a TikTok livestream room, a streamer who was illegally broadcasting the F2 session could not help but exclaim.
Oh my god, this pace is insane!
Who said Julian was no good?
Come out and explain!
In the pit lane, Sander and Paul stared at the screens, their hands sweating.
They believed in Julian’s talent, but running seventeen laps on the softs was still a massive gamble.
Sitting in the cockpit, Julian entered a state of near absolute focus.
He could clearly feel the vibration of the tires rolling over every single grain of sand on the track.
He could precisely control the throttle application, where even a one percent deviation would not escape his senses.
He was not just driving a race car.
He was having a conversation with the tires.
Lap six.
Julian’s red softs had been running for six laps.
At a normal pace, the tires should be starting to grain by now, with grip dropping by zero point one seconds per lap.
But the lap times on the big screen made everyone’s jaws drop.
One minute forty six point zero three.
That was zero point zero two seconds faster than lap five.
They were running a race simulation, so the cars were at full fuel weight.
The lap times were naturally much slower than the low fuel qualifying runs.
Impossible…
an engineer from a neighboring team stared at the screen, his coffee cup suspended in mid air.
He is setting purple sectors on lap six of the softs?
At the pit wall, Paul’s pupils dilated slightly.
Even though he already knew about Julian’s tire preservation, seeing the incredibly smooth degradation curve on the screen still made him sigh in awe.
Lap seven.
One minute forty six point zero one.
Lap eight.
One minute forty five point nine eight.
Lap nine.
One minute forty six point zero five.
Every single lap, Julian’s pace was locked around one minute forty six, with a variance of no more than zero point one seconds.
Meanwhile, the other drivers on softs had already dropped to the one minute forty seven range.
Is he just preserving the tires?
a reporter whispered.
No, a senior mechanic next to him shook his head, his eyes complex.
Preserving tires does not look like this.
He is pushing flat out, and the tires are not losing any pace at all.
The reporter was stunned.
Pushing flat out, on lap nine of the softs, with no drop in pace, or even a slight improvement?
What kind of monster was this?
Out on the track, Julian was completely oblivious to the shock in the paddock.
His entire attention was focused on his fingertips and the soles of his feet.
The vibrations through the steering wheel, the force feedback from the throttle pedal, the car’s attitude transmitted through the seat.
All these subtle sensations merged in his mind into a clear, distinct curve.
It was the tire grip curve.
He could feel that the right front tire was three degrees hotter than the left.
The tread had developed slight graining, but Julian used precise micro slips to literally sand down the grain layer in the corners, bringing the tire back to a smooth working state.
At the end of the straight on lap ten, he deliberately took a slightly wider line, letting the right front tire catch zero point one seconds of extra wind.
Cooling it down.
Then he attacked the corner.
The tire grip came right back.
Inside the cockpit, Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth curled upward without him realizing it.
Ever since his tire preservation ability got a specific numerical value, he had slowly started noticing details he used to ignore.
Since he was a kid, he had subconsciously kept his tires at their optimal working temperature. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
If the tires got too hot, the tread would melt faster.
If they got too cold, the grip would not come in.
He had always subconsciously maintained that perfect temperature, which protected the tires while keeping the pace high.
This was probably the real reason why his tire preservation was so absurdly good.
This realization made Julian so excited that his hands started to sweat inside his gloves.
Lap eleven.
Lap twelve.
Lap thirteen.
The whispers in the paddock gradually turned into a suppressed silence.
Every engineer in every team had stopped what they were doing and gathered around the big screens, watching the number two car with its red and gold livery.
He had already run thirteen laps, and his pace was still locked around one minute forty six.
This was no longer just a matter of raw talent.
This was an understanding of tires that existed in an entirely different dimension.
Inside the ART garage, Theo Pourchaire had just completed his pit stop for white hards.
As he drove out of the pit lane, his engineer’s voice came over the radio.
Julian is still out there.
On the reds.
Lap fourteen.
Theo’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.
What is his pace?
Fourteen laps.
Softs.
One minute forty six point one.
Theo was silent for two seconds.
He is insane.
Everyone thinks so, the engineer replied, a bitter edge to his voice.
But he is actually doing it.
Lap fifteen.
Julian’s lap time finally showed its first noticeable drop.
One minute forty six point five two.
That was zero point five seconds slower than his personal best.
In the MP Motorsport garage, Sander leaned forward slightly, his fists clenching unconsciously.
Should we bring him in?
Paul asked in a low voice.
Sander did not answer.
His eyes were locked on the little red dot representing Julian’s car on the screen, watching it move smoothly around the track map.
His cornering lines were still precise, and his exit acceleration was still decisive.
Wait a little longer, Sander said.
Lap sixteen.
One minute forty six point six eight.
Lap seventeen.
One minute forty six point eight three.
Julian drove the car down the start finish straight.
The red softs had been baking in the Bahrain sun for a full seventeen laps.
The tread was covered in fine grains, and the rubber was starting to peel slightly.
But his lap times were still faster than most of the cars running the white hards.
The tread was worn very thin now, carrying a constant risk of a blowout.
Box, box.
Pit now, pit now.
Race engineer Mark’s voice came over the radio, carrying an excitement he could barely contain.
Julian steered the car into the pit lane.
The mechanics were already ready.
The yellow medium tires gleamed with a warm shine under the sunlight.
Tires changed, fuel added, car released.
The entire process took only four point two seconds.
When Julian drove the car with the fresh tires back onto the track, a suppressed gasp erupted across the paddock.
Because he exited the pit lane exactly in front of a white car.
It was Theo Pourchaire from ART.
Theo had originally pitted for the white hards to run a long stint, but after hearing Julian’s absurd soft tire pace, he had decided to switch back to the softs to try and challenge the fastest lap.
Then he saw a red car exit the pit lane and slot perfectly right in front of him.
Theo’s expression changed instantly.
He is on the yellows?
Theo’s voice came over the radio, laced with disbelief. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Yes.
Soft to medium one stop.
He ran seventeen laps on the softs, and now he is on the mediums for the final fifteen laps.
The F2 Bahrain feature race was thirty two laps long, twenty five laps shorter than the F1 race.
Theo went silent.
Everyone knew that the optimal strategy for the Bahrain F2 race was always soft to hard.
But Julian had chosen the much more extreme soft to medium.
He ran a full five laps longer on the softs than Theo, and his pace was not any slower.
And now, Julian was on the medium tires, while Theo was on the softs.
Theoretically, Theo’s tires had an absolute pace advantage.
But as Theo stared at the rear wing of the red car ahead, a strange, inexplicable feeling suddenly washed over him.
He might not be able to overtake.
He might not even be able to catch the car on the medium tires.
Lap eighteen.
Theo started pushing flat out.
The red softs screamed loudly on the Bahrain track.
He was dancing on the absolute limit through every single corner.
But the red car ahead always maintained that exact, untouchable distance.
He really could not catch him.
It was not just that he could not catch him.
The gap was actually starting to grow.
On the mediums versus the softs, Julian’s lap times were actually faster than Theo’s.
This is impossible…
Theo’s engineer muttered, his voice full of bewilderment.
How can the mediums be faster than the softs?
In the pit lane, Sander and Paul exchanged a glance.
They both saw the answer in each other’s eyes.
It was not that the mediums were faster than the softs.
It was that Julian’s mediums were faster than anyone else’s.
Because his tires were always operating at their absolute perfect temperature.
Lap twenty five.
Julian’s lead had expanded to three seconds.
Lap thirty.
Eight seconds.
Gradually, the grip on Theo’s softs started to fall off, and his lap times slowly dropped.
Lap thirty two.
The final lap.
He was a full twelve seconds ahead!
Julian drove the number two car across the finish line.
On the big screen, the final lap time statistics flashed up.
With the fuel load dropping, his final lap time dropped to one minute forty one point eight!
The entire paddock fell into a dead silence.
Inside the MP Motorsport garage, the silence lasted for a full three seconds.
Then, an explosive roar of cheers shattered the quiet across the entire pit lane.
The mechanics hugged each other.
Someone threw their cap into the air.
Others slammed their hands against the workbenches, creating massive booming sounds.
Paul took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes hard.
Sander stood rooted to the spot, the corners of his mouth curling upward until it became a completely uncontrollable smile.
He had made the right bet.
They had made the right bet.
Julian had completed the race on the soft to medium strategy, and his total time was a full twenty seconds faster than the winner of the Bahrain race last year.
The red car rolled into the pit lane.
Julian climbed out of the cockpit and pulled off his helmet.
Sweat dripped down his cheeks, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.
His breathing was heavy, but his eyes were shining brighter than ever.
Sander looked at Julian, who had just climbed out of the car and was wiping his sweat while looking for water.
He clenched his fists tightly.
He thought back to the very first time he met Julian.
That teenager who had almost run over his shoes, shrinking his neck and weakly asking if he was there to pick him up.
Who would have thought that this seemingly harmless kid who secretly ate burgers would turn out to be a tire preservation monster capable of completely revolutionizing the entire F2 understanding of tire management.