Chapter 115: No Rumors in the Hunting Grounds
Lack of sleep inevitably slows a person's reactions. It's pure physiology.
And on top of that, the start lights went out so fast that even Wu Shi—usually razor-sharp—was caught completely off-guard.
His reaction time was 0.191 seconds, visibly sluggish. The nose of car #32 surged forward late.
"Wu's start was clearly slow! He's cutting across the whole track, trying desperately to hold position!"
"Max is right behind him! He's trying an outside overtake into Turn 1!"
"Ocon chose the wrong line—he's boxed in!"
The three drivers who qualified in the 1:10 range immediately locked into a brutal three-way fight.
Wu Shi's start may have been 0.03 seconds behind, but he stabilized quickly. Using perfect clutch-throttle modulation and sharper gear selection, he clawed the deficit back on the short straight.
The trio entered Turn 1 three-abreast. Verstappen swung wide on the outside, looking for a slingshot, but lacked the speed to complete the pass.
At Turn 2, Wu Shi hugged the right-hand line, clamping down on the inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Verstappen attempt a move on the left.
Before Max could attack, his entry speed dropped just slightly—and Ocon lunged from behind, braking so late he nearly rammed Verstappen's gearbox.
Three cars, three different lines—completely blocking the width of the street.
Had these not been three elite drivers, the track workers would be sweeping carbon fiber off the asphalt already.
Rustle!
After crawling through the slow second corner, the trio finally merged back onto a single line, the compression easing as the road widened.
"The top three remain unchanged! Wu stays in front, but Max is still hunting—he's desperate to overtake!"
"However, overtaking is prohibited in certain sections on lap one—especially the starting grid area—to reduce the risk of major collisions."
The commentator had barely finished explaining when the feed cut to Turn 2, where dust exploded into the air.
Two cars had come to a complete stop.
"Oh! The rule didn't help this time! Number 9—Mikey Gilbert! His rear wing is gone!"
"And ahead—Goddard! His front wing is shattered and the rear end is broken!"
Luckily, both had started at the back. Only three or four cars behind them had to brake hard and weave around debris.
Twenty seconds into the race—the yellow flag came out. Street circuits were merciless.
"I was afraid we'd see a Safety Car—and yes! Safety Car on lap one!"
Again, the commentator's curse hit its mark.
As Wu Shi rounded the corner, he saw marshals nearly leaning over the guardrail, waving yellow flags as far out as they could reach.
He slowed immediately.
By the time he returned to the start-finish straight, the Renault safety car was already waiting. The field tucked in behind it.
"Wu, careful. Safety car for at least two laps," Alan reminded him.
"Copy."
The temperature was still low. Wu Shi had to weave—scribbling S-shaped "dragons" across the track—to keep his tires warm.
On lap four, the safety car peeled away. Approaching the final corner, Wu Shi braked sharply, compressing the entire field behind him.
Then—at the apex—he blasted out, flooring the throttle, rocketing onto the main straight.
Verstappen and Ocon reacted immediately, refusing to let him escape.
Wu Shi's condition was poor. Though the weather was cool, his sweat soaked through his balaclava, and his scalp tingled with irritation.
He forced the intrusive thoughts away, using the car—always the car—to drown out the noise in his mind.
Alan TR: "Maintain consistent lap times."
Lap 8.
Wu Shi TR: "Copy."
Since he was holding the lead securely, the live broadcast shifted focus to the real war raging behind him—Ocon, Verstappen, and Lucas Orr. The cameras practically abandoned the front.
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Barcelona — The Eye of the Storm
Sid arrived in Barcelona that morning. With the Mercedes-issued work pass, he slipped into the paddock without issue.
FP3 had just begun. The garage buzzed with barely controlled chaos. Engineers hovered over telemetry screens; mechanics had parts lined up, ready to install.
Almost no one noticed Sid—until Toto Wolff and Niki Lauda approached him.
Only then did heads begin to turn.
Rosberg, speaking with his engineer Tony Ross, paused and looked toward the commotion.
"Who started that rumor, anyway?" Rosberg muttered. The topic had been circulating inside the team all week—a whisper, but a persistent one.
"I don't know," Tony said. "But Toto isn't that foolish. You and Lewis are performing incredibly. I can't imagine why he'd replace either of you."
Since the start of the season, the Mercedes W05 had been terrifyingly dominant.
Four races in.
Only Australia had been messy—Hamilton's engine failure had turned his six-cylinder into a five-cylinder. Otherwise, the team had gone 1-2 every time.
The car was a monster.
But so were its drivers.
Tony continued, "Honestly, even if someone did spread a rumor about a new driver coming in for 2015… I don't see why Toto would risk destabilizing the team."
Rosberg nodded. He wasn't overly worried about his own seat—he'd been with Mercedes since 2010, since the Schumacher era. He was one of their pillars.
But watching Toto and Niki escort Sid into the meeting room—mid-practice—told him the rumor wasn't baseless.
In Formula 1, there's an old saying:
"There are no rumors in the hunting grounds."
If a rumor exists, it came from somewhere.
And it came with teeth.