Chapter 142: W05
Since its debut in 2008, the Marina Bay Street Circuit had become one of Formula One's most iconic stops—and the sport's first-ever night race.
Wu Shi wasn't familiar with the circuit.
First, he hadn't driven here in sixteen years. Second, Marina Bay had already undergone four layout changes. The version he remembered best was the post-2023 configuration—not the one in front of him now.
The 2014 Marina Bay Circuit had been adjusted just the previous year. It featured 23 corners and a total length of 5.065 kilometers—nearly 800 meters shorter than the 2012 layout.
Last year's fastest qualifying lap was a 1:42.841, while the fastest race lap was a 1:48.574, both set by Sebastian Vettel, who was still driving for Red Bull at the time.
This season, however, was the first year of the new power-unit regulations. The cars were slower—how much slower, no one could say for sure.
Wu Shi wasn't a data analyst. He could only judge by experience.
A loss of two to three seconds felt realistic.
That meant a lap time in the mid-1:45 range would at least put him in contention for the top three in qualifying—if everything went perfectly.
---
Friday, September 19.
The first practice session for the Singapore Grand Prix was scheduled to begin at 6:00 p.m.
Wu Shi was already wearing the Mercedes race suit. The silver-white fabric made him feel faintly unreal, as if his feet weren't quite touching the ground.
Near his navel, on the right side of the zipper, was a small five-star red flag. On the left side, embroidered in clean black lettering, were the words:
59 · WUSHI
This year, the FIA had officially approved personalized driver numbers, ending the ranking-based numbering system that had been in place since 1996.
From now on, each driver could choose a number between 2 and 99 as their permanent identifier.
Wu Shi chose 59.
Most of the "good" numbers had already been taken—every number in the top ten except for 2. Wu Shi had no intention of choosing that.
Either he would win the championship and use number 1, or he would pick a number with personal meaning.
Number 2 felt cheap.
He'd briefly considered stealing Lock & Lock's 16 or Pan Zi's 33, just to leave them scrambling—but in the end, he stuck with 59.
It was the number he'd used in his previous life.
---
There were still two hours before FP1, but the garage was already buzzing with activity.
"Phew…"
Wu Shi exhaled slowly.
Saying there was no pressure would've been a lie.
This was a top-tier Formula One car—one he had never driven—on a street circuit, under the lights, with the entire paddock watching. Competing against a grid full of generational talents.
Anyone who claimed not to feel pressure simply didn't understand what was happening.
Sid glanced at him but said nothing. At this moment, any words would only interfere with a driver's self-regulation.
Instead, Sid turned to Toto.
"How are things with Williams?"
Toto nodded. "Sir Frank and Claire are both willing to wait."
Sid was surprised. Frank Williams was famously ruthless; he hadn't expected him to delay decisions simply on Toto's word.
Seeing Sid's expression, Toto clarified, "It's not just because of me. It's also because of you—or rather, because of him."
He glanced toward Wu Shi, who was speaking with Rosberg nearby.
"Williams' finances aren't great. Your sponsorship would help. And Sir Frank admires Wu Shi. He thinks the kid has the potential of someone like Senna or Schumacher."
"That's… high praise," Sid said quietly.
Williams was known for discarding champions without hesitation. That Wu Shi had caught his attention said more than any headline ever could.
Toto nodded. "Yes."
Sid chuckled. "So—how about giving Wu Shi a Mercedes seat if he finishes top three in FP1?"
Toto laughed but didn't answer.
Practice times were easy to exaggerate. Real decisions weren't.
---
It should have been a happy moment for Mercedes.
Hamilton and Rosberg—two of the strongest drivers in the paddock—were in their prime. And now there was Wu Shi, a rising star with unprecedented momentum.
Yet for Toto, it was also torment.
If either Hamilton or Rosberg were merely good, the decision would be easy.
But both were WDC-caliber.
Anyone would hesitate.
---
On the other side of the garage, Rosberg said bluntly, "Street circuits demand respect. Kid—bring my car back in one piece."
"Of course," Wu Shi replied.
Rosberg clapped engineer Tony on the shoulder. "Treat him the same way you treat me. Be patient. I watched his race at Hockenheim—he's a real driver."
Tony nodded. "The FIA's new directive limits what we can tell drivers beyond car condition, but I'll help as much as I'm allowed."
Rosberg glanced at him. The rule had indeed been announced weeks ago.
---
Wu Shi lowered himself into the cockpit.
Fortunately, he was now close to Rosberg's height. Still a little thin—but the fit was acceptable.
The moment he settled in, his heart began to race.
It felt like a swordsman gripping a legendary blade for the first time.
"Get used to the seating position," Tony said. "If anything feels off, tell us."
Wu Shi nodded, suppressing his excitement, and began adjusting the seat to match his habits.
For this circuit, Pirelli supplied two dry compounds: red supersofts and yellow softs.
Each driver had thirteen sets—seven prime, six option.
Wu Shi didn't know Rosberg's exact tire plan, but in a 90-minute session, supersofts would definitely come into play at least once.
As 6:00 p.m. approached, multiple screens were rolled into place, displaying track data and live timing. For now, everything remained blank.
"Start the car," Tony said.
Wu Shi pressed the ignition.
Boom.
The engine roared to life.
"Run checks."
Wu Shi followed the steering-wheel checklist methodically.
"All systems normal."
Tony nodded. "Start on softs. This is your first run here—priority is bringing the car back safely. No team likes a driver who only knows how to crash."
Wu Shi caught the faint edge in Tony's tone.
He said nothing.
He simply listened to the deep, controlled growl of the W05—and waited for the lights.