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vax-merstappen · 4 months

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undefeated pt. 1 (mv1)

more victories than defeats

summary: it’s the hungarian grand prix and max has won every race this season. when you get pole, can you finally defeat the undefeated?

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You walk through the paddock, cameras flashing, people shouting your name. You pull your red cap lower over your eyes, trying to get through the crowd and into the safety of the Ferrari hospitality.

As Ferrari’s clear number one driver, it was no surprise that people wanted to get your picture or signature. Even just a quick sound bite would get a reporter views. And normally you’d try to stop for as many of your fans as possible, knowing that taking a few seconds out of your day would mean the world to them. But today was different. Today you were on a mission.

The Hungarian Grand Prix normally wasn’t a huge highlight on the calendar for you or the team, but today it felt different. With the new upgrades on the car and a stellar qualifying that got you onto pole position, you had a chance.

That chance was to beat Max Verstappen, the current reigning world champion. Last season he had dominated, winning all but three races, his teammate Checo Pérez taking the ones he failed to win. And this season, he had claimed all of the victories of the first twelve races. He was on track to win every race this season, setting a Formula 1 record and doing something nobody else had ever been able to do.

But not if you had any say in the situation. As his main rival on track you would do anything to stop his reign. The bad blood between you and Max ran deep, having started racing in Formula 1 the same year as him. With both of you going into your 10th season in the sport, it was clear to most people that he was the better driver and you hated that.

Maybe today would be different.

You walked into the Ferrari garage, quickly making your way over to your race engineer, Renée, and pulled her aside.

“So what’s the game plan for today? Besides keeping Max behind me and defending like crazy.”

She smiled at you. “We’re running a one stop strategy. You’re going to have to push like crazy at the start and try to get a lead. You know how aggressive he is…”

I scoff. “Aggressive is an understatement. He’s a damn maniac.”

Renée chuckled. “Yeah. Well you’ve got pole so you’ll have a slight advantage over him in second. And you’ve got your teammate Charles behind you in third, so you should have the support there. He’s been made aware that his job is to keep the rest of the grid off of you and Max. Even our odds against him.”

You nod. “Glad to know. We’ve got to win this one today. He can’t win them all.”

“He won’t. We’ve got pole, a good strategy, car upgrades, and your determination to win this one. Today will be our day.”

“Let’s hope it is,” you say, giving one last acknowledgment to Renée before walking to your driver’s room to start your pre-race ritual.

You put on your headphones and started playing your favorite hype song, practicing a few stretches that you always did before a race. As you continued to follow your routine, slowly all the noise faded away and you were left with one feeling. Determination that Max would not win.

---

As you walked out to stand for the Hungarian national anthem, you found yourself lined up directly next to the world champion himself. The tension nearly crackled in the air between you as you made eye contact with Max, his gaze more like a glare. You didn’t dare speak to him as the performer was singing and the grid kids stood before you, but you could already tell he was focused. Though he seemed nonchalant, you knew it secretly bothered him that you were on pole.

As soon as the performance ended and the drivers began to disperse, you whispered under your breath as you walked by him. “Enjoy watching my rear wing.”

You walked away before you could see if he responded.

Standing by your car, you prepared yourself to race. You needed to start strong and capitalize on your pole position. You risked a glance back at the Red Bull behind you, watching Max put on his helmet and ready himself to get in the car. You could have sworn he was looking back at you, almost as a predator looks at prey.

You climb into your car, pulling your own helmet over your head, readying for the formation lap. You give a thumbs up to the crew, watching them step away from the car and take the covers off the tires.

As you pull away from the start line, you move side to side across the track, trying to warm your tires to get better grip for the start. You knew Max would be on you instantly, trying to pass you as you went into the first corner. You went through the corners of the track on the formation lap, readying yourself for the race.

As you pulled into pole position, you watched the red lights begin to light up

Lights out and away we go.

You sped up as fast down the main straight, trying to get your car first on the inside line. You could see Max beside you, trying desperately for the same thing. As you went wheel to wheel, you nudged your car ahead of his, managing to secure the racing line for the time being.

But in your mirrors was Max Verstappen in a Red Bull, arguably one of the scariest sights in Formula 1. And as you made your way around the first few laps, you just couldn't find a way to shake him. He kept behind you, only just outside of getting DRS to pass you.

You kept speeding through the corners of the Hungaroring, sensing it was only a matter of time before he passed you. The pressure was on, the Red Bull and Ferrari rivalry at its greatest.

One pit stop each and a safety car later, you found yourself driving slowly behind the car. And in your mirrors, you could now clearly see the man himself, right on your rear wing. Any lead you had built was gone, taken away with the safety car. The lion was in striking distance and you knew it.

As the safety car moved to resume the race, you pressed the pedal full on, needing to shake the dutchman behind you. With only 10 laps left of 70, you needed to hold on.

But as good of a driver you were, Max was better. The best driver on the grid, undefeated in the first 12 races of the season. And he wouldn't let a Ferrari beat him.

You entered the main straight and you knew Max was close enough for DRS. You watched he caught up to you, going wheel to wheel as you sped through the track.

It would have been easier to accept if there'd been a fight, some sort of defense available, a challenging overtake for Max.

But he just breezed past you, as if you weren't even there. Not a threat. Not a problem. Not anything he'd ever worried about.

Even after a strenuous and hard fought race to gain a lead, Max Verstappen once again would win. His thirteenth consecutive race. Another damn record.

You finished the last nine laps of the race, still pushing but not nearly as hard. You felt defeated. Nothing you or the car was capable of would be enough. Not against him, a living legend of a driver.

As you crossed the finish line in second, you congratulated the team on their efforts on the radio, but your heart wasn't in it. Most drivers would be happy with a podium, if not elated. But not you. Not when you would be forced to spray him oncemore with champagne. Not when he would take home another trophy, which would just be another hunk of metal to him.

You climbed out of the car besides him, noticing Oscar Piastri pulling into the 3rd place spot. You could at least be a little happy for the Australian, having earned another podium in just his second season. You walked up to Oscar and congratulated him, making a point to do so before turning to Max.

"Congrats on the win," you said, your voice monotone.

"Thanks," Max replied simply. "You had a good drive there at the start."

"Not good enough," you retorted, trying and failing to hide your disdain at both him and your own failure.

"Still a podium though," Max shrugged.

"You know damn well you'd be pissed in P2."

Max looked you in the eye. "I think you should be grateful I let you lead the race for so long. My car is clearly faster than yours."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to do this here. Not with all the cameras."

Max had the audacity to smirk. "Suit yourself. But I did earn the win, don't deny me that."

You hated it when he was right.

You stalked away from Max on track and headed over to your team, clapping a few of the engineers and team members on the back for their performance. Sure, you were mad. But they still got you a podium position. And you wanted to delay the cooldown room as long as you could.

But you couldn't delay it that long, and god did some water sound refreshing. So you went into that room, looking at Max seated in the center chair, Oscar on his right in the 3rd place chair. You grabbed a water bottle and slumped down in the remaining seat next to Max, not saying a word.

"Could have taken that corner better," Max said, commenting on a clip of your car briefly sliding out of track limits. "Maybe that's why you lost some time to me right before the safety car."

"Thanks for the observation," you said sarcastically.

The tension in the room was palpable. You almost felt bad for Oscar Piastri, having to deal with the two of you.

"If there hadn't been that safety car, I would have had a tougher race. But I still think I could have caught you... your tires seemed to be degrading faster than mine. At least that's what the team said. Also with a few of those small mistakes like going wide on the turns..."

He kept going on, in his typical way, what the internet had dubbed Maxplaining. They were right. It was like he didn't understand that you knew your mistakes and how he had driven faster.

But anyways, you were spared as the three of you were called for the podium. Oscar went out first, followed by you.

You heard the cheers of your team and fans and you tried your hardest to be happy and excited about your podium. But when the cheers for you were eclipsed by those for Max, you couldn't pretend anymore.

You stood only begrudgingly beside him on the podium as the Dutch national anthem played for the 13th time in a row. And when he popped the champagne, even he didn't seem excited, like winning had become habitual for him and that this was an obligation, not a reward.

This was a man with more victories than defeats in the past few seasons.

A man who's wins were routine.

A man you loathed with your whole being.

You chose to spray your champagne over your own head rather than his. An act of protest and anger.

And when you left the podium, you left with stronger feelings. The taste for victory lingered on your tongue. And the desire for revenge burned stronger in your heart.

Part 2 coming!

taglist: @jehun

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