After successfully passing Nissany to move up to fifth, Alex Sun steadily pulled away from the cars behind, his full attention fixed on the racing line ahead.
At that moment, Mark casually relayed an update over the TR.
"Guanyu Zhou is changing strategy. He's just come back into the pit lane and is switching back to intermediate tyres."
Zhou's earlier gamble—pitting for supersoft dry tyres—had been ill-judged from the start. On a damp track, the supersofts simply couldn't generate performance. Instead, they slid constantly, wrecking his rhythm.
With no improvement in lap times, his team finally abandoned the aggressive call and opted to cut their losses by returning to intermediates. But the decision came far too late. The stop cost him a huge amount of time, and his position collapsed. When he rejoined, he was down in fifteenth. The team had effectively thrown away any chance of Zhou scoring points in this race.
Lap 18. As Alex Sun approached Turn 1, Mark's voice came through again.
"Lundgaard's lost control and brushed the wall. Speed limit in the Turn 1 zone. Hold your pace and defend your position."
It was an instruction for the sector ahead. Alex immediately lifted as required, slowed through the corner, and kept his line tidy, making no attempt to take advantage.
Soon after, he spotted a marshal waving yellow flags by the side of the track. Once clear of the zone, Mark updated him.
"Lundgaard has restarted. Resume normal pace."
The marshal lowered the yellow. Alex fed the throttle back in smoothly, eyes locked on his line, completely unfazed by the incident behind him. This ability to push when needed and stay calm when required kept him in control amid the chaos.
Even after switching back to intermediates, Guanyu Zhou still couldn't find his rhythm.
On Lap 22, Mark gave a brief report.
"Guanyu Zhou ran wide at Turn 1, has rejoined, now last. Watch Turn 1—don't make mistakes."
Alex replied with a simple "Copy," never diverting his focus. When he passed Turn 1 shortly after, he caught a brief glimpse of a marshal waving yellow flags again, but there was no need for extra attention. He continued on, steady and composed.
Almost immediately after Mark finished speaking, Alex sensed trouble ahead. Fourth-placed Yuri Vips had lost his rhythm.
Clearly affected by the disturbed area around Zhou's earlier incident, Vips adjusted his line, but his corner exit speed dropped sharply. Worse, he drifted off the racing line, leaving a valuable gap.
It was a perfect opportunity—but Alex didn't rush. He knew the area where Vips was struggling could still be littered with standing water and tyre debris, and Vips' line hadn't stabilized yet.
He followed patiently for half a lap. Once he confirmed the track was safe and that Vips couldn't recover his rhythm, Alex struck. At the end of the straight on Lap 23, he seized on a slight error in Vips' braking point and completed a clean pass along the dry racing line, moving up into fourth place.
Mark's praise burst through the TR.
"Perfect judgment! Beautiful move, Alex! You didn't blindly charge through the incident zone—you waited, then struck. That overtake was maximum difficulty!"
"Copy," Alex replied calmly. He then asked whether he had any chance of catching the car ahead.
Mark's answer was blunt. The gap was simply too large. Without a Safety Car, based on the lap-time difference, Alex would need thirty-two laps just to get within half a second—and the race was only thirty laps long.
Alex accepted it. Every step from sixth to fourth had been hard-earned. From here on, the priority was simple: defend the position.
Lap 25. Just as Alex was settling into a steady rhythm, Mark's voice suddenly came through the TR, urgent and distorted.
"Major incident! Alex, slow down! Viscaal and Beckman have crashed at Turn 16—Rascasse! Viscaal pushed Beckman out. Beckman's floor is destroyed, car's immobile!
Race control has deployed the full Safety Car—the only one this race! Remember the procedure: maintain position, close up to the car ahead first. Only lift once you're back in the train. Don't lose your place!
When the Safety Car ends, that's your chance. Take it. Don't let it slip!"
Alex's pupils shrank as he instantly understood. He didn't lift immediately. Instead, he held the throttle steady, adjusted his line with precision, and quickly closed the gap to the third-placed car, slotting smoothly into the existing order. Only after establishing a safe following distance did he ease off and bring the car down to Safety Car speed.
Inside the helmet, his breathing quickened. A full Safety Car. A chance he had never dared to imagine.
Under F2 rules, the Safety Car would bunch the field back together, erasing the gap Mark had said was impossible to close. All the lap-time differences would vanish.
Excitement surged through him like an electric current, but he forced it down. His eyes stayed locked on the track ahead as he followed closely, feeling for grip from the intermediates at low speed.
Trackside, a marshal waved the Safety Car boards and yellow flags. The atmosphere shifted instantly into tense anticipation.
The Safety Car continued to lead as marshals worked furiously to clear the wreckage. Lap after lap ticked by. Alex stayed focused, fingers ready, repeatedly running through overtake scenarios in his head for when the Safety Car peeled in.
A late-brake dive into Turn 12. A launch out of Turn 16. Every possible plan was rehearsed again and again, all waiting for the moment the green flags flew.
But on Lap 28, Mark's voice returned—this time edged with frustration.
"Alex, heads up. Time limit triggered. Wet pace plus Safety Car has taken too long. We won't reach thirty laps. Safety Car will stay out to the finish."
It was like a bucket of cold water.
Alex's grip tightened unconsciously, then slowly loosened. The energy he'd built up drained away in an instant.
All the carefully planned overtakes, the long-awaited sprint—gone. The Safety Car continued on, showing no sign of pulling into the pit lane. Trackside, the marshal lowered the green flag he'd been ready to wave, replacing it with continuous speed-limit signals.
Alex remained fourth, but the emotional shift was sharp. What he'd thought was a gift—a chance to gamble for the podium—had turned into a cruel twist of fate. The slow wet running and Safety Car delay had pushed the race straight into the time limit.
At Monaco, opportunities were rare. And the one he'd finally been given ended with the Safety Car escorting the field to the finish.
Alex forced himself to calm down. Rules were rules. No matter how bitter it felt, he could only accept it.
Behind the visor, his brow furrowed slightly. From sixth to fourth, then handed a once-in-a-lifetime Safety Car chance—only to lose even the chance to sprint.
He steadied his breathing, refocusing on the task at hand: protect fourth.
Even without a final charge, he had to bring the position home cleanly, to justify the team's setup work. Ferrari's interest still echoed in his mind. He told himself this disappointment would be paid back in the next race.
The Safety Car led the field through the remaining distance. What should have been a roaring sprint finish dissolved into steady speed and suppressed tension.
Alex stayed flawless to the end, maintaining perfect spacing, making no mistakes, until the Safety Car guided the remaining cars across the finish line.
The race was over. Fourth place.
After crossing the line, Alex gently lifted and slowed, the sense of loss still lingering. He had expected to finish fourth—regretful, perhaps, but still beyond expectations.
After all, climbing from sixth to fourth was no small feat, especially on his first ever wet race at Monaco.
...
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