OK Number 75 - Not Yet Lost

"WOAH HOAAH!"

Jeremiah, amazed, flew all the way back into his chair as Kallen uncompromisingly cut her way across the front of Naoto, skating on the absolute limit of grip over to the exit kerb. The sparks, where her magnesium skid plate hit against the ground, flew up behind her like she was literally setting fire to the track with how fast and how hard she was nailing the car into the corner.

Diethard was well able to take over where his colleague left off, though he was no less impressed by how confident Kallen had been through the curve, throwing it in without a moment of doubt or hesitance.

"Insane, bombastic move around the outside there from Kallen Kōzuki, that's gutsy. She was just not taking no for an answer."

There was a pause, before Jeremiah, laughing, was able to inject a jab.

"Now lads." he chuckled, "That's how you get the job done properly around the outside of Descida."

It was a fair point. Rolo had gotten away with trying to go around the outside of that tricky corner, while Gino had lost some of his floor elements. Even without another car boxing you in on the inside, the tight, yet fast corner was only just manageable with one downshift, a ride along the exit kerbs, and an upset stomach. It was not a corner where you took the outside line normally, as the person on the inside would either run you out of road, or you would have a collision. It was only in the rarest of circumstances, where you would have a run such that you were over two thirds of a cars length ahead, that you would even consider it, but even then, Kallen had one key advantage that Rolo hadn't had, one that Jeremiah was quick to lampshade.

"That's a lot of confidence, that the other driver's going to back out of it and give up the position."

It was not without precedent, Diethard acknowledged. Kallen had done the same thing to Naoto at Japan, taking the outside line into 130R and crowding him out. What had gone somewhat underdiscussed was how much Kallen either knew or didn't know that Naoto was going to pull out, particularly given the almost-career ending injury he had sustained at a similar corner two years previously. Kallen, had she known of her brothers anxieties, could well have used such knowledge to lever an overtake, and if so it was entirely conceivable that she had done a similar thing here. The simple intimidation of her being so willing to go for otherwise impossible gaps ironically made drivers leap aside and turn the impossible pass into the inevitable one.

It was simply a matter of knowing. If Kallen knew that Naoto would withdraw, she could throw it in with complete abandon, confident that he would. It was placing her brother in the position, with a car cutting across him at a corner her experienced significant anxiety at, of having to proactively avoid a collision. It was putting Naoto in a position where if he tried to take the corner, he would hit Kallen and they would both crash out, putting Naoto in the compromising position and then leaving the decision up to him whether he wanted to have the crash or not.

It was a calculated risk, but, once Kallen had confirmation from Japan, it was reasonable to be confident in the reality that her opponent, here her brother, would do it again if placed in the same position. As soon Kallen had done it once and succeeded, she would have the confidence and sense of certainty that he was psychologically buried, and that he would always do that, and that she could always get away with the same trick. Every time she showed a wheel around the outside, the mental effect would be immediate fear, and an instinctual diving out of the way.

Diethard wasn't sure what to make of this. Certainly, it displayed a certain uncompromising streak, a definite will to win, however it was certainly eye opening to watch that tool be applied as clinically as Kallen had just done. Uncertain how to begin discussing this within the context of live commentary, he simply nodded and replied "Aye. A lot of certainty that the other driver is going to do what you think they're going to do, that they're going to back off. That's no shortage of bravery, but she must know that her brother's gonna back out of it. I'm in disbelief, she just threw in her car and absolutely nailed it."

Jeremiah nodded, as the cameras followed her through the slow, twisty middle sector. It was audible, how early she was getting on the throttle following the apex, all without any hint of instability in the rear that would normally accompany such an early burying of the loud pedal.

"You can hear it too, she is really going for it." Diethard added, to help point out the things the viewers ought to pay attention to. "If you listen, the revs are high throughout, but she gets off the brakes early in the mid corner and is accelerating early, as she likes to. She talked a lot yesterday about how she wasn't used to this package and this setup, but by the sounds of things she has totally dialled into the way this car handles and how to wheel it around, that is really impressive for her to have picked it up that quickly."

Helpfully, the camera moved to a slow motion replay from overhead, zooming on the rear end. So much force was visibly being put through the rear suspension, to keep the maximum rear tyre surface in contact with the road. It was a fascinating demonstration of the force that was being put through the chassis, literally being twisted down its length under lateral g forces in an effort to retain its speed in the mid corner. The viewer could see how precariously balanced the vehicle was, on the limits of grip and physics to allow Kallen take the left hand turn at that speed. The inside tyre was visibly being compressed under the suspension, pushing it down into the road harder than a mile of concrete pressuring coal into a diamond. Diethard let out an audible breath, before marvelling at how much the chassis and suspension were being worked.

"She is definitely leaning on that mechanical grip to push to the track limits, and the backmarkers are coming up soon, which might put Suzaku within striking distance."

Jeremiah nodded, before noting "But it's all meaningless if they're fighting about out of the points. They are going to need to rise up with some absurd pace."

"Well Suzaku showed some absurd pace at Singapore, and Kallen showed some absolutely ridiculous pace at Britain and Spa, it's hardly unprecedented for them." Diethard observed, licking his lips at the prospect of them jumping through the pack like cream rising to the top. "So hold on to your hats, hold on to your betting stubs, we might see them come back into this fight, especially with a safety car. It's still Rolo, from Gino, who's being caught by Darlton, ahead of Bradley, ahead of Nu. Now, what's happening with our championship leader, Xingke?

Xingke, to put it succinctly, was busy. While he had started the race in tenth, he had no plans to stay there; tenth would not be enough to keep the championship within grasp.

This much was confirmed by his engineer Yianqiao, who on lap four, was laying out the situation to the cursed pilot.

"Rolo is in the lead, right now tenth will not do it for you, you need seventh or better. Go, push hard now. We believe in you."

Xingke let out a harsh chirp in reply, before focusing in. He had come back from further than this before, although those had been much longer races, over which there was much more time to get the job done. In 2010, a fuel line fault had left his team two laps down at the Circuit de La Sarthe, a thirteen kilometre road course. He had relayed in once the break was repaired at nine pm at night. He had stayed in the car for nine hours, and by the time he had to relay out at six o'clock the next morning, Xingke had made back the thirty kilometre gap and had put them back on the lead lap.

He didn't have as much to do, just pick up three or more positions, but he was on the clock; sixty seven laps of a four-and-a-bit kilometre circuit.

There was nothing for it but to crack on.

As Xingke punched the throttle out of Juncao, he looked ahead at his first victim, one Rivalz Cardemonde. A shaky exit up the hill for the American, and Xingke saw his chance.

Ride the rim of the bowl low, keeping tight to the wall, before letting the car drift out as the road straightened on approach to the first corner. Rivalz, fearing a dive to the inside, let his car settle in the middle groove. Xingke responded by hogging the outside line, with two wheels over the kerb and into the run-off surfacing seemingly looking either to go all the way around Rivalz or to compromise the Ashford drivers exit.

However, at the last moment, neither of these transpired; what instead occurred was inspired, and not the least bit wily. Lifting off the throttle slightly on approach to the Senna Ess, consisting of a turn into a major dip, the road literally falling away from you, before a slight kink back, Xingke allowed himself to fall back from his target, just as Rivalz began to apply the brakes.

And at that exact moment, Xingke jerked his wheel hard left, chucking the entire weight of the car to the side in a single wild swipe.

What Rivalz knew, but hadn't considered, was that under braking, the longitudinal loads would reduce the amounts of lateral loads it could take on. What this meant that the control authority of your steering wheel would be reduced significantly, and turning was much more difficult. As such, once you began braking, you were essentially committed to your line, and could not significantly adjust further towards the inside or outside, at least not until you released the brake.

Xingke, however, was not on the brakes, and having dropped back enough, had the lateral control authority to dive into the slight gap between the pit wall and Rivalz's inside rear tyre, only applying the brakes once his Geely was ploughing through the eye of the needle, only when he did not intend on changing direction again.

It was a dangerous move, shooting into the gap like an archer trying to nail the bullseye from over half a kilometre distance, slicing through to seize the position while Rivalz sat away from the apex.

It was a challenge to get the car slowed down so as to prevent the car, entering too fast, from skating off and missing the turn, however Xingke just about did it, and was bumped up to ninth. However, Xingke was only getting started.

Flying up the road like a man possessed with the fury of the Hundred Regiments Offensive and implacable inevitability of the reaper, Xingke ragged his car to within an inch of its life, squeezing the last, minute drops of performance out of it. Through each corner, he just barely felt the beginnings of tyre slip, the beginnings of lateral traction being exhausted as he fired into the corners. Over twenty years, he had turned some fifty thousand laps over almost every circuit that was worth talking about, in F1 open wheel chassis, Indy Cars, WEC prototypes, IMSA DPi prototypes, or touring cars.

The next sixty-five laps would need to be the finest he had ever driven, enshrined among those fifty thousand as his very very best.

Descida do Lago, without another car to avoid, could be taken with a single downshift if you were brave, and right now, in a position where he would lose the championship, Xingke had very little to lose by being a bit reckless.

Rear tyre jutted out over the entry kerbing, risk everything with an uncompromising, unapologetic hurl in towards the apex. As soon as he put the weight of his arms into the effort to force the wheel in to the left, he had committed to the line, and could now only live with the consequences if it didn't stick.

But, as Xingke knew it would, it stuck, and it predictably clipped the apex and slid out onto the rumble strip. The whole car was wired into Xingke's nervous system, the chassis melded with Xingke's spine, and he began to fly.

With the pace in clean air now having ramped up, his first target was Rivalz's teammate Rai, who was sitting in eighth. A lap to catch up, and he was feeling the wake ahead as he chased down the diffuser of the Ashford ahead. He felt his neck muscles wear, felt the arteries running through his neck bulge and convulse. His skull bobbled between the two pillars forming the head surround, buffeting as the car sat on the edge of grip, and simply stayed there; the tyres seemed permanently traction-limited either laterally or longitudinally with how frenzied Xingke was wheeling it about, desperately trying to rush up the field and back into a championship position.

And, up through Ferradura, Xingke saw his chance.

The normal line was to clip the apex early through the long curve that was Ferradura into Laranjinha, letting the car drift out wide to make the second turn in for the tightening turn as wide and as open as possible, making the tun in towards the apex as easy and as undemanding as possible, conserving the momentum that was normally lost by dramatically turning the car.

Xingke did not take the normal line.

As Rai let his car drift away from the apex to sweep back in, it created a gap between his car and the inside approach, an ever-so-tempting gap wide enough for Xingke's chassis to squeeze through.

And he was close, just close enough.

Rather than let the lateral momentum of the car take it away from the apex and out towards the outside edge of the track, Xingke cut down hard to the inside, keeping the line tight, and braking down into what would have been the path of Rai had he been unobstructed.

Sure enough, he slid up alongside, and while he had to do all of his turning in a much shorter and much tighter space with much less momentum, Rai wasn't quite skilled enough to do the under-and-over switchback move, and so was left with the broadside of Xingke's prototype blocking his path. His momentum was killed as he broke to avoid ploughing into Xingke's side, and he was only able to get on the power once Xingke had accelerated out of his way.

Up into eighth, and Xingke had no plans to stop here. His knuckles felt like they were going to explode, he was short of breath and, as he gave out a fierce cough, saw faint specks of blood spattered across the inside of his visor.

Not now. All he needed was to finish well, it was his championship to lose. Next car ahead. And then the next, and then the next. The car didn't feel floaty, or vague; it felt solid, and planted, which Xingke would be taking advantage of as he thundered up the road.

The front scrabbled, it clawed and bit and fought and clawed and kicked and screamed, as Xingke hounded every single apex, furiously chasing the chequered flag, to fight, to fight. Twitch, hack at the wheel madly like a bloody rain to squeeze the last drops of juice out of this package, manage the snaps and bites and barks, just keep the greyhound chasing the mechanical rabbit, that was Xingke's job. Two hundred and fifty kilometres, he just needed to hold on for that much.

Digging a tear into his lip, Xingke set the controls to the heart of the sun and fired it, stabbing it in towards the vanishing point. The car was skittish, on the mechanical limits of what grip the tyres could provide. Xingke was driving it as fast as it could be driven, but as he came up on his next targets, that might just be enough.

Nu, cutting down across the Bico de Pato, perhaps a second up the road as Xingke shot glares at her diffuser through his brow, head dipped slightly as he wrenched his wheel as hard as he could, ignoring the pleas of the rear tyres that threatened surrender and spinning if he didn't back off.

He didn't blink, and it was revealed to be a hollow threat, and as Xingke accelerated out of the sharp turn, while the steering column squirmed in his hands with a vicious torque, he was able to catch and arrest the harsh tug in its infancy. This meant that the lateral forces were neutralised by the time Xingke was accelerating out of the corner, allowing the throttle to be planted much quicker and much earlier than Villetta ahead on the run through Mergulho and into Juncao.

It wasn't enough to make the move, but it put him within striking distance to get the draft up the hill, to close in, to use the slipstream to get closer, closer, closer-

And, with the overrun, a jerk, again to the inside, sliding up into the narrowing gap between Nu's car and the wall at the Senna Ess, decelerating through the turning phase and forcing his eight hundred kilogram tub through the chink in her defensive armour, plunging his rapier in a thrust into the gap.

The piercing shot down her inside worked, as his car satisfyingly struck between the opposing apices of the left-right and slid through past Nu.

Seventh. But he wasn't done. He was not done, he was not finished, not until the end, not until the three hundred and ten kilometres had been reached.

Luciano Bradley ahead, sixth place. Xingke didn't need any more details than that, arguably couldn't process any more details than that given the amount of his mental faculties that were wholly consumed in absolute, uncompromised concentration on fighting through every corner, fighting to keep the car going as fast as it could, fighting the needles and daggers that screamed to stop.

Bradley was finally within spitting distance by the time Xingke was clearing the Esse, and by this point was in no mood to wait around. As the redheaded Briton swept wide on entry to the slowest corner of the circuit, excruciatingly long and irritatingly off camber, the Chinese pilot bullishly ploughed down the inside, taking his own sweet time rotating the car as he knew that for so long as he kept the outside lane inaccessible, there was no real way through.

It was not elegant, but elegance would not win championships any more than having a good story, being sympathetic, or whatever else would. Xingke knew the game he was playing, and had long surrendered the pretence of fighting graciously, or honourably.

He knew what he would need to do to win, and he knew that there would be nineteen other drivers trying to stop him. He would either be good enough to be champion or he wouldn't. The nineteen other drivers would each be fighting their own fights, for their own goals, and Xingke would not be given any leeway.

And none would be expected. Xingke wanted to earn the title of being the best, not just to be handed it. If he was fast enough, if he was the fastest, he could hold onto it, hold onto his lead. But, with the cars ahead, of Rolo, Albert, Glinda, Nonette, and Gino, being a bit too fast for the limits of his chassis, he had done all he could do.

He knew that right now, he was winning the championship. If he made no mistakes, he would win the championship, and would deserve the championship.

End of Lap Ten

Sixth - Li Xingke – 231 (5 wins)

First - Rolo Lamperouge – 229 (2 wins)

Fourth - Gino Weinberg – 220 (1 win)

Seventeenth - Naoto Kōzuki – 214 (1 win)

Fifteenth - Suzaku Kururugi – 211 (4 wins) (2 seconds) (2 thirds)

Sixteenth - Kallen Kōzuki – 211 (4 wins) (2 seconds) (1 third)

And now, it's here. In so long, for such a long stretch of time, it has finally arrived. We saw a glimpse in Hungary of 2018, but they have both raised their game since then. Strap in, because Kallen and Suzaku are about to do battle. See you then, and be sure to leave a review.

~G1ll3s