The minutes ticked by painfully as the race remained under the red flag. Both Charles and Max sat in their respective pit boxes, their engineers hovering, talking quietly to them, but neither could hide their growing frustration. There was debris scattered across the track, wrecked cars to be cleared, and barriers that needed repairs. The entire paddock was in suspense, waiting for word from the FIA. Would the race even resume?
In the Ferrari garage, Charles slumped in his seat, helmet still on, arms crossed as he tried to keep his cool. His leg bounced nervously, his mind racing with what-ifs. He was in a solid position, P2 right next to Max on the restart if the race resumed. But the minutes were ticking away. The longer they waited, the more uncertain everything felt.
His race engineer, Brian, knelt beside him, reading his body language. “They’ll get this cleaned up, Charles. They’ll want to finish it properly, not like this.”
Charles turned his head, locking eyes with Brian. He could feel the weight of the championship on his shoulders, the pressure mounting with every second. “I know,” Charles muttered, more to convince himself than anything. “But… what if they don’t?”
Brian gave him a reassuring smile, it was all they could hope for.
Over in the Red Bull garage, Max had removed his helmet and was staring blankly at the pit wall monitors. He could see the work being done to clear the track, but he also saw the clock ticking closer to the race’s end. The thought of winning the championship under a red flag, without a proper finish, sat heavy on his chest. It didn’t feel right.
“Do you think they’ll restart it?” Max asked his engineer, Gianpiero.
“I think they’ll try,” Gianpiero said, glancing at the latest updates. “No one wants the championship to end like this. Too much at stake, especially for you and Charles.”
Max nodded absentmindedly, his mind drifting to Charles, sitting just a few garages down. It had been such a hard-fought season for both of them, and as much as he wanted to win his fifth championship, the idea of doing it this way felt hollow.
“Can I have my phone?” Max asked suddenly, his voice steady but soft.
Gianpiero raised an eyebrow but handed him the device without question. Max opened up his messages and quickly shot off a text to Charles.
Max: We’ll still fight for this, Charlie. No matter what. Keep your head up.
A minute later, Charles’s phone buzzed in his hands. He glanced down, and his heart softened at the sight of Max’s message. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he typed a quick reply.
Charles: I’m ready. We’ll fight until the last lap. Whatever happens, happens.
The exchange brought both of them a sense of calm amid the chaos. They knew what they were fighting for — but they also knew, more than anyone else in the world, that the fight was fair. It was real, and they respected that about each other.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the FIA made an announcement. The race would resume at 17:30 local time, with a standing start, for two final laps. It was a last-lap shootout for the championship. The entire paddock was electrified with the news, the tension palpable as teams scrambled to prepare for the restart.
Max and Charles both got the news from their engineers at the same time. A standing start meant a clean slate, but only two laps meant there was no room for error.
Charles took a deep breath, letting it settle his nerves. He had fought all season for this moment. His dream was within reach. All he had to do was hold on for two more laps.
Across the paddock, Max mirrored Charles’s determination. He knew Charles was fast. He knew he couldn’t afford any mistakes. But Max had his own goal in sight: securing his fifth world title.
As they strapped back into their cars, both drivers went through their individual processes, finding their mental space, readying themselves for the final showdown. Charles clenched his fists, then relaxed them, going over every inch of the circuit in his mind. The battles they had fought in the past, the countless races, the karting days—this was all leading up to now. He could feel the weight of his entire life behind him, pushing him forward. He thought of his father, of Jules, of all the sacrifices made to get him here. He wasn’t going to let this slip away.
Max, meanwhile, ran through his racecraft strategies, knowing that while he had pole, Charles would be right beside him, eager to pounce. They had danced this dance before—wheel to wheel, pushing each other to the absolute limit. But this time, it wasn’t just another race. This was the culmination of everything. The entire world was watching.
The cars lined up on the grid for the restart, engines rumbling, the tension at its peak. Max looked to his left, locking eyes with Charles for the briefest of moments. In that instant, everything was communicated — respect, love, and the acknowledgment that they were about to go to war on the track. When it was over, they’d still have each other, no matter the outcome. But for these next two laps, they were rivals once again.
Charles felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The culmination of everything he had worked for. He was ready.
The lights flickered on, one by one, the sound of roaring engines filling the air. The tension was unbearable. And then, the lights went out.
They were off.
Max shot off the line, his reaction perfect, while Charles, starting from P2, launched right alongside him. The two cars barreled down the straight, their tires almost touching as they jostled for position into the first corner. Max held his lead, but Charles was relentless, sticking to him like glue.
In the next corner, Charles made a daring lunge down the inside, maybe to daring, coming so close that their wheels nearly touched. Max held firm, using every inch of the track to defend his position. The Red Bull squirmed under the pressure, but Max kept his cool, keeping Charles behind him by the slimmest of margins.
“Keep pushing, Charles!” Brian shouted over the radio. “You’re faster in the corners!”
Charles gritted his teeth, his eyes locked on Max’s rear wing. He could see the title slipping away with every corner that Max stayed ahead, but he wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
Lap one ended with Max still in the lead, but the gap was minimal. The crowd was on its feet, the atmosphere electric as they entered the final lap.
Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to go for it. His entire life had led to this moment. He took a deep breath and focused on the track ahead. He knew Max like no one else did. He knew where Max would defend, where he might be vulnerable.
Into the next corner, Charles dived down the inside again, this time with more aggression. The two cars touched, ever so slightly, but neither backed down. Max gave him just enough room to keep it clean, but it was close. Too close.
Charles refused to relent. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to push, to find that final gear. His mind flashed back to all the moments that had brought him here. His father’s encouragement. Jules’s quiet belief in him. Max’s unwavering support. All the sacrifices his family had made.
“Now, Charles,” Brian urged, “go for it.”
And he did.
In the final sector, Charles saw his opportunity. He pushed harder than he ever had before, getting the perfect exit out of the penultimate corner. He was right on Max’s tail as they approached the final corner, almost side by side.
Charles took a deep breath, trusting his instincts, trusting everything he had learned in his career. He braked later than Max, his Ferrari inching ahead by the narrowest of margins. They were so close that their wheels almost locked together.
The crowd held its collective breath.
Charles floored the throttle, his car rocketing out of the corner. For a split second, everything slowed down. He could feel the car responding, the engine roaring in his ears. And then, just as he crossed the finish line, Brian’s voice erupted over the radio.
“Charles!!! You are the fucking world champion!! Il predestinato, you brought the championship home to Maranello!”
Charles screamed, his heart soaring as he let out every ounce of emotion. Tears streamed down his face as he gripped the steering wheel, his entire body shaking. He had done it. He had done it.
Fred Vasseur’s voice broke through the commotion, crying out in pure joy. “You’ve done it, Charles! You’re world champion!”
Charles let out a laugh, overwhelmed with happiness. He couldn’t believe it. He was a Formula 1 world champion. He let the tears flow, laughing through them, a cramp suddenly forming in his leg. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Max had suffered a cramp after his first world title too. He chuckled to himself in his helmet, shaking his head at the thought.
As he slowed down, Charles spun the car in doughnuts along the main straight, the crowd cheering wildly. Max and Fernando joined him, their cars spinning in unison as the three champions celebrated the moment.
Charles finally parked his car and took a moment to breathe, his hands shaking as he unbuckled himself. This was it. Everything he had worked for, every sacrifice, every tough moment.
This was the moment Charles had dreamed of since he was a child. Every early morning on the karting tracks, every tear shed over lost opportunities, every heartbreak, every sacrifice—it had all led to this. He paused, his hand on the wheel, looking around at the sea of cheering fans. His mind flicked through the faces of those who had been with him on this journey: his father, his brother Arthur, Jules, his friends, his team, and of course, Max. This was for them as much as it was for him.
He undid his seatbelts and climbed out of the car, the roar of the crowd washing over him. Charles stood tall on the nose of his Ferrari, pumping his fists into the air, letting the reality of his triumph sink in. The Tifosi in the stands were in a frenzy, red flags waving as they chanted his name.
Charles took in the moment, the noise fading slightly as his gaze swept across the track. His eyes landed on Max, who stood a few meters away with Fernando. Max had a smile on his face, one of pride, but also… something deeper. A quiet understanding. Charles wanted to run to him, but before he could, his team engulfed him.
As Charles celebrated with his team, Max stood to the side with Fernando, watching the scene unfold. Fernando glanced at Max, noticing the quiet pride on his face. “Why aren’t you running to him?” Fernando asked with a smirk, his eyes flicking toward Charles, who was still being swarmed by the Ferrari crew.
Max smiled softly, shaking his head. “Because this is his moment,” he replied. “He’s worked so hard for this, and it’s his time with the team. He deserves to take it all in.”
Fernando chuckled warmly, clapping Max on the back. “You’re a good man, Max. Let him have it for now… but don’t keep him waiting too long.”
Ferrari mechanics surrounded Charles, hugging him, slapping him on the back, tears in their eyes as they celebrated their first World Championship in over a decade. Fred Vasseur pulled him into a tight embrace, both men laughing and crying at the same time. “You did it!” Fred yelled into his ear, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re a legend now, Charles!”
Charles smiled, still overwhelmed by everything happening around him, but his heart was searching for only one person. He accepted the congratulations from his team, but his eyes kept scanning for Max.
Finally, the sea of red-clad mechanics understood and parted, and there he was. Max stood a few steps away, leaning casually against the barrier, watching with a soft smile. Fernando nudged him with a grin and said something, but Max only smiled wider, waiting for Charles to notice him fully.
The moment their eyes locked, Charles broke free from the crowd. Without hesitation, he ran towards Max, almost colliding with him as he jumped into his arms. Wrapping his legs around Max’s waist, Charles buried his face into Max’s neck, tears spilling freely.
Max held him tight, his arms strong and comforting, his hand brushing through Charles’s hair. “Charlie, you did it,” Max whispered, his voice low and full of pride.
Charles pulled back slightly, his face still wet with tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice cracking. “You… you pushed me every step of the way. This is as much yours as it is mine.”
Max shook his head gently, smiling down at him. “No, this is all you. You earned every bit of it.” His blue eyes sparkled with genuine admiration. “But… I am so, so proud of you.”
The weight of those words hit Charles harder than he expected, and he sobbed into Max’s shoulder again, releasing all the tension, the fear, and the pressure of the entire season. They stood there in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by their teams, their peers, and the world’s media, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them.
When Charles finally pulled back, his face was flushed with emotion, but there was a soft, playful glint in his eyes. “You let me have this one, didn’t you?” he teased, a small grin tugging at his lips.
Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh no, I fought for it. But I knew if anyone was going to beat me, it would be you.”
They stood there for a moment longer, gazing at each other with an understanding that ran deeper than words. This season had been a battle, one fought on and off the track, but they had faced it together. Win or lose, they had always been each other’s biggest support.
Just as Charles was about to speak again, Brian’s voice he heard from behind. “Charles I hate to break this up, but we need you back with the team. There’s still the podium, mate!” Brian sounded giddy with joy.
Charles laughed, wiping the last of his tears. “I’ll see you after, okay?” he said to Max, his voice softer now.
Max nodded. “Go enjoy your moment. I’ll be waiting.”
With one last hug, Charles finally pulled away, heading back towards the Ferrari team, who were ready to hoist him up and celebrate him as their hero. As Charles walked back, he glanced over his shoulder and caught Max watching him, pride radiating from every inch of his body. Charles blew him a quick kiss before the sea of red swallowed him up once more.
The podium ceremony was a blur of champagne, roaring crowds, and flashing cameras. Standing on the top step, hearing the Monegasque national anthem play, Charles felt the enormity of the moment hit him once again. He was the world champion. For Ferrari. For his family. For himself. Max right by his side in p2.
When the celebrations calmed down, and the night began to settle over Yas Marina, Charles finally made his way back to the Ferrari garage. He was drenched in champagne, his emotions still raw, but his heart was light. And there, leaning against the side of the garage, waiting just as he said he would, was Max.
Charles grinned and walked over, still in his racing suit, his hands resting on his hips. “So… world champion, huh?”
Max raised an eyebrow, pushing off the wall to meet him. “Yep. I guess you’re stuck with the title now.”
Charles laughed, running a hand through his champagne-soaked hair. “Feels good.”
Max stepped closer, pulling Charles into his arms for another hug. “I knew you could do it,” he murmured into Charles’s ear.
Charles smiled into the embrace, holding Max a little tighter. “Thank you. For everything.”
They stayed like that for a while, neither of them wanting to break the moment. The weight of the season had been immense, but here, in each other’s arms, it all felt worth it. Max kissed the top of Charles’s head, pulling back to look at him. “You know,” he said with a smirk, “this doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you next season, I want my title back.” He grinned.
Charles grinned too, a spark of competitiveness lighting up in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
They both laughed, the tension of the race finally giving way to a familiar ease between them. The world had watched them fight tooth and nail on the track, but now it was time to celebrate.
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