My Formula 1 System-Chapter 378: S2 Hungarian Grand Prix. 16

The contact was entirely on Damgaard. His attempt to defend had metamorphed into a last-second, desperate move that lacked all calculation. It wasn't brave, it wasn't bold, but a poorly timed panic disguised as intent.

There was nothing "necessary" about it like Bueseno Velocità insisted over the radio afterward. The gap had already evaporated the moment Luca swung his Ferrari left with overwhelming reflex. Damgaard had tried to cover space that simply wasn't there anymore, and in doing so, triggered the collision.

"...OH CONTACT! CONTACT BETWEEN DAMGAARD AND RENNICK ..!"

Luckily for both drivers, the clash wasn't terminal to end their race. But the effect was still instant and drastic, especially for Damgaard. Luca's front wing had taken some damage, but it remained intact and was barely compromised. The real blow was to Damgaard, whose defense crumbled just as Luca surged ahead after baiting him into the trap.

At the point of contact, Damgaard was moving at a "slower" pace than Luca who was already bulleting through the straight to overtake after fooling him with that quick reflex recovery. So, Luca's Ferrari literally bulldozed through Damgaard's Red Bull because it had nowhere to go.

The impact sent Damgaard and his Red Bull viciously spinning, a thick cloud of smoke left behind in a swirling trail. The car pirouetted down the straight while the crowd erupted.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" roared the grandstands, stunned at just how close Damgaard came to a race-ending crash, but they were more stunned by what was left of his machine.

The left front wing, the part where Luca had really done damage, had gone loose from the single-seater. A few shards clittered across the asphalt while the unhinged wing dragged and scraped beneath the car as it helplessly drifted off-line.

"...JIMMY DAMGAARD IS IN TATTERS! HE BARELY HAS CONTROL OF THE CAR...!"

Moving over to Luca, while Damgaard was hanging at the brink of fate, Luca was... okay.

Of course he was going to be okay. He'd been operating under Sync Buff during that moment of impact, and with that kind of system support, he was in near-perfect form. His grip was Olympic, meaning spinout just wasn't an option. His reflexes were sharpened beyond human. His reaction to the crash was a flinch, wince, a curse at Damgaard, and an immediate correction. For the first two seconds, everything looked controlled.

Until the 92B itself registered the collision damage.

[ALERT: Front Wing Structure Severely Compromised]

That was the real hit—not the physical crash, but the blow to his car's balance. The front wing, the single most vital part responsible for air-channeling and drag management, was now mangled and worsening as he continued at full pace.

Yaw Flex, the very skill that helped the car resist crosswinds and yaw shifts in high-speed corners, was completely gone. And Aerodynamics, which Sync Buff had pushed to its peak at 50, had lost nearly all its value in a flash.

Luca began to feel the car tilting off equilibrium as the front end danced from left to right. Inputs he made no longer held steady. He was piloting something that was gradually becoming a beast with no anchor.

Just like that, the edge he'd built was cracking, second by second.

"Oh, goddamnnit. This Jimmy Damgaard!" Luca yelled inwardly as he glanced at his mirrors to remain updated about Jimmy. He definitely wanted him to crash after realizing what he had done.

One thing was that Hank Rice had taken the position—

"...Hank Rice in P4...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

Followed by Ailbeart Moireach—

"... Ailbeart Moireach in P5...!"

This felt like a compensation gift to Luca seeing Jimmy Damgaard tumble down the leaderboard.

Damgaard's hands trembled on the wheel as the car finally caught grip again, rocking slightly as the tyres clawed at the track's edge, dragging him out of the spin. The violent rotation had nearly sent him into the barriers—he'd seen them blur past too close for comfort. The smoke had cleared, but his fury hadn't.

"FUCKING HELL, LUCA!" he snapped. The entire left side of his wing was gone.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

**Wing's destroyed. You've still got suspension. Box next lap—repeat, box next lap. You're still in this!**

"He just dove in! He just fucking dove in like a lunatic—what the fuck was that!?" Damgaard was breathing hard, teeth clenched as he tried to find a rhythm with a machine that no longer understood what rhythm meant.

Everything felt crooked. Like the car had lost its language, and he was stuck speaking to it in screams and overcorrections.

To his side, cars began streaming past—one after another. The same drivers he'd bullied earlier. The same ones who now slipped by with ease, leaving behind sparks, dust, and pity.

Fortunately for him—and unfortunately at the same time—he rejoined at P9. P2 to P9—kinda wild.

P9— Jimmy Damgaard ↓

"...UNBELIEVABLE DROP! That's the #2 car tumbling down the order like a stone in water! Jimmy Damgaard—once at the lead with his teammate —is now barely hanging onto points...!"

"...It was a desperate defense, and it's cost him everything.The question now is—can he recover anything from this...?"

"...same goes for Rennick who manages to remain in the top five and takes Jimmy Damgaard's P2! He WINS the duel, but there's wing damage on that Ferrari...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

The crazy thing about the contact wasn't even that Luca ended up bagging P2 while Damgaard lost everything. The crazy part was that Race Control didn't even conduct an investigation, no review, no warning. The green light remained lit and silence stretched on from their tower.

Luca was fully committing when it happened. And Damgaard, in return, made his move to block the lane. Both actions were within reason. Both were aggressive, but legal. So, race control could never fault a driver for using insane speed to overtake the other. Hence, Luca was innocent of bulldozing through Damgaard.

In the end, it was just one of those unfortunate fast decision scenarios, because these drivers honed fast cars. And to be honest, this kind of collision wasn't even rare. In fact, it was one of the most common types of driver-to-driver collisions in Formula 1.

"...WHAT A STUPENDOUS RACE IN F1 HISTORY THAT WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN! THIS SEASON'S HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX DELIVERS A MASTERCLASS IN DRAMA, SPEED, AND PURE MAYHEM..!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHH!"

Mr. Berry could tell Luca was fuming in his cockpit. Everyone in the telemetry room could hear Luca's sharp breathing and yes they could understand what different kinds of breathing meant.

However, they were not even right on why Luca was furious.

**Stay calm, you're still in it. We have P2. Front wing's been compromised, but it's not race-ending. Aero loss is manageable if you don't push too hard in all S2s to come. I repeat—do not overdrive Sector 2**

**You've got this, Luca. Drive smart, drive smooth, and we bring it home**

18 points for P2 was something, but Luca was certain it should've been more. He was supposed to be in P1. "Fucking hell, Jimmy—one move without your brain, as usual. ARGH! Idiot. Fucking idiot."

This was the most frustrated Luca had been all season.

The precious Sync Buff time he had hoped to use to push forward had been completely wasted. Instead of gaining on DiMarco, he was stuck fighting to preserve his race, correcting the aerodynamic damage from that stupid collision.

Now, on the 66th lap, he was back to normal. DiMarco, in P1, was 3.5 seconds ahead.

[Sync Buff has elapsed!]