Test Drive ✓

lap 3: ballet in qualifying day

lap 3,
ballet in qualifying day.

THE ROOM WAS freezing cold with all carbon paneling and matte monitors, a half-dozen screens already flickering to life with sector overlays, cloud cover models, and tire degradation curves. It smelled faintly of black coffee, coolant, and pressure, the kind of atmosphere that ran tighter than any throttle response.

Rosie had arrived ten minutes early. Not because she was eager, just efficient.

She sat at the far end of the table, one leg crossed neatly over the other, tablet open, stylus in hand. Her headset was tucked behind her ear like she hadn't decided whether she'd actually wear it yet.

On-screen, her notes were already sorted: FP3 trends, tire delta simulations, and predictive cornering models. She didn't need the briefing to be honest, she could've run it herself but she was here.

James Alliot, Technical Director for Mercedes-AMG-Petronas, stood at the front like a man who had wrangled championship-winning egos and still wasn't paid enough for it. His windbreaker was half-zipped, his coffee long gone, and his tone brisk.

"All right, let's keep this short, the forecast's holding dry, track's still green in Sector 1, and we're running softs for all three quali rounds unless something explodes." He tapped the screen with two fingers, shifting to a graph. "Theo?"

Theo Hartley, Race Engineer for Jeongguk's, straightened slightly in his seat. Dressed in full comms gear and a grin that had survived four seasons of stress, he gestured toward the live telemetry split. "Baseline grip looks stable. Tailwind at Stowe, same as FP3. Jeongguk'll need to mind throttle out of Copse, as he said rear was twitching in the high-speed zone. Rosie flagged it last night, we've adjusted the diff map."

Rosie didn't glance up. "Also monitor temps in Luffield. He was late on entry in both laps yesterday. If that repeats, we risk flat-spotting."

James nodded. "Copy. We'll run Plan A for Q1, with fallback to B if temps spike."

A door creaked open.

And in he came.

Jeongguk.

Late.

Of course.

He strolled in like the day ran on his time, fireproofs unzipped to the waist, black compression shirt clinging damp against his collarbone, sunglasses still on despite the indoor lights. Hair wet. No explanation. No apology. Very cocky to say the least.

"Morning," he said, voice low, casual. Like he hadn't just walked into a room full of tense engineers and a screen full of variables.

Someone, probably Theo, muttered, "Here comes the main character."

Rosie didn't look at him. She just uncrossed her legs, flicked to a new telemetry sheet, and raised one brow at the screen like it had said something annoying.

Jeongguk dropped into the chair across from her, the scrape of it loud, deliberate.

"You all look nervous," he said, pulling off his sunglasses. His eyes landed briefly on Rosie — unreadable. "Something wrong with the car?"

"No," Rosie answered before anyone else could. "But we'd like it to stay that way."

James didn't flinch. "Now that we're all here — throttle discipline's critical. Jeongguk, don't muscle Turn 6. You want pole, you're going to have to brake like you mean it."

"I always mean it," Jeongguk replied.

"You always think you mean it," Rosie murmured without looking up.