Jeddah Circuit. Lap 38.
12 Laps to go.
Inside the cockpit of the Hawk VF-25, alarms were screaming like a dying animal. The dashboard was a Christmas tree of red warning lights.
[CRITICAL FAILURE: GEARBOX SYNC DAMAGE]
CRUNCH-GRIND!
A sound like a bag of bolts being thrown into a blender erupted from behind Ye Tian's head.
He tried to pull the paddle for 3rd Gear.
Nothing. Just the sound of metal teeth stripping and the engine hitting the rev limiter.
VROOOOM-BABA-BABA!
The car lost momentum instantly!
He tried 5th Gear.
CLUNK. Empty neutral.
"They're gone..."
Ye Tian's stomach dropped.
That violent "one-v-two" overtake in the S-curves had shattered the synchromesh rings for the odd-numbered middle gears.
He was left with: 1st (Start), 2nd (Slow Corners), 4th (Medium), 6th, 7th, 8th (High Speed).
The bridge between slow and fast—3rd and 5th—was gone.
This meant that every time he accelerated out of a slow corner, he had to rev 2nd gear until the engine screamed for mercy at 13,000 RPM, and then—
BANG!
Force it directly into 4th gear.
The RPM drop was massive. The car shuddered violently, like it had been rear-ended by a truck. The rear tires locked up momentarily from the torque shock.
"Ye! Retire the car!" Gary was practically sobbing on the radio. "You are killing the engine! Oil temp is 150°C! That shift shock is going to snap the driveshaft!"
"Shut up."
Ye Tian gritted his teeth. Sweat stung his eyes.
"As long as the wheels are turning, I am not stopping."
Behind him, Max Vesper smelled blood.
The dark blue Crimson Energy car surged forward. Vesper could hear the Hawk's engine sounding sick—screaming high, then bogging down low.
"Hah! His gearbox is toast!"
Vesper shouted in triumph. "Let's see how you defend on the straight now!"
Turn 13. A banked hairpin.
Vesper took it smoothly in 3rd gear, carrying speed.
Ye Tian was struggling in 2nd.
11,000... 12,000... 13,000 RPM!
SCREAM!
Just as the pistons threatened to shoot through the engine cover, Ye Tian pulled the paddle twice.
skip-shift.
THUD!
The car jerked violently. The rear slid.
"Hold it!!"
Ye Tian wrestled the steering wheel, his forearms burning with lactic acid, catching the slide purely on reflex.
He lost speed, but he blocked the line.
Behind him, Vesper was confused.
He expected Ye Tian to accelerate smoothly. Instead, the Hawk "stuttered."
To avoid a collision, Vesper had to lift off the throttle.
"Damn it! This guy drives like a drunkard!" Vesper cursed. "Is he brake-checking me?!"
For the next few laps, the Jeddah circuit witnessed the strangest defense in history.
Ye Tian drove like he had Parkinson's.
Slow entry (scared of downshifting and blowing the box).
Violent exit (2nd to 4th bang).
Shuddering on the straights.
This erratic, "broken" rhythm created a bizarre defensive shield. Vesper couldn't predict Ye Tian's speed, so he couldn't commit to a divebomb overtake.
"Is this... a tactic?"
In the commentary booth, Nico Rosberg looked baffled. "Ye Tian is using his mechanical failure to create an unpredictable rhythm! He is weaponizing a broken gearbox!"
"But... look at his head."
The onboard camera showed the violence.
Every time Ye Tian skip-shifted, his head snapped forward. The G-force spike was brutal.
His neck was already bruised red by the seatbelts. He was being physically beaten by his own machine.
Lap 48.
Two laps to go.
The "Suicide Strategy" was reaching its limit.
The Hawk's engine temperature was critical. Power was fading due to heat soak.
And Max Vesper had finally figured out the pattern.
Main Straight.
This time, Vesper didn't get tricked.
He left a small gap out of the final corner, anticipating Ye Tian's "bog down" shift.
Ye Tian shifted: 2nd -> 4th. THUD. The car lost momentum.
Vesper floored it!
CLICK.
DRS OPEN.
The Crimson Energy car's rear wing opened wide. Speed surged to 335 km/h.
Ye Tian, stuck in a tall gear with a dying engine, topped out at 310 km/h.
Speed Delta: 25 km/h.
Vesper's car looked like a fighter jet engaging afterburners. He pulled out of the slipstream and drew alongside Ye Tian halfway down the straight!
"It's over, Ye."
Vesper sneered at the white car next to him. "You survived a long time in that cripple. But the win is mine."
Approaching Turn 1.
The braking zone.
Who breaks late wins.
Normally, Ye Tian would brake late.
But today? He was missing gears. Without 3rd gear to help engine braking, if he braked late, he wouldn't be able to slow down enough to engage 2nd gear. He would overshoot and crash.
He was checkmated.
Or was he?
Ye Tian looked at the approaching Turn 1.
It was a narrow funnel. Concrete walls on both sides. Shadowed by the grandstands.
A death trap.
"Over?"
Ye Tian's eyes were bloodshot. The pain in his neck, the heat in the cockpit, the screaming engine—it all faded.
Replaced by a cold, psychotic clarity.
He pressed the radio button.
His breath was ragged, heavy, but there was a twisted smile in his voice.
"Gary... patch me through to Snow Jiang's channel."
"What? Now?!" Gary screamed. "Are you insane?!"
"Do it!"
Click.
"Ye Tian! Are you okay? Is the car dying?" Snow Jiang's frantic voice filled his ear.
"Shhh..."
Ye Tian looked at the Red Bull alongside him. He looked at the concrete wall rapidly approaching.
"Hey, beautiful. Close your eyes."
"Why?" Snow Jiang froze.
"Because what happens next..."
Ye Tian yanked the steering wheel to the right.
He didn't aim for the racing line.
He aimed for the wall on the outside—right where Vesper was trying to squeeze through.
"...might be rated R for violence."
"What are you doing?!" Snow screamed.
On the track, Ye Tian committed the ultimate sin of racing.
He didn't brake.
He had no gears to stop him.
So he decided to use the "other" way to close the door.