After completing a warm-up lap, he brought the new tyres precisely into their operating window and switched into flying lap mode. Mark's reminder came through the TR channel:
"Keep the line steady. No need to push to the absolute limit—just hit the target."
Alex Sun responded calmly, managing his speed. The new Medium tyres came up to temperature quickly on the scorching track, the tread feeding back a clear, reassuring sense of grip.
Clearing the pit exit, he hugged the right-hand side to build revs, then charged onto Baku's 2.06-kilometer main straight. His top speed surged past 300 km/h with ease, no restraint whatsoever.
Eyes locked on the apex marker for Turn 1, he braked hard in advance. The car clung tightly to the inside barrier, skimming the kerb through the corner—his racing line accurate down to the millimeter.
On exit, he got back on the throttle immediately, flowing into the tight Turn 2. He extracted every ounce of stability from the Medium tyres, linking the consecutive corners in one seamless sequence.
He wasn't reckless, yet every movement was pushed to perfection. Each corner was clipped at the ideal line, wringing the absolute limit from the Medium tyres. It was a textbook flying lap.
As he crossed the line, the tactical screen flashed: 1:55.240!
"Beautiful! P8 for now! That lap was incredible—running that pace on Medium tyres is way beyond expectations!" Mark's voice carried undisguised admiration.
Almost at the same moment, Piastri crossed the line with a 1:55.108, provisionally going fourth.
After completing the flying lap, Alex Sun switched into a Cool-down lap as required, cruising to lower tyre and engine temperatures while speaking with Mark over TR.
"That lap was maxed out. There's nothing more to gain on the Medium tyres. No point wasting the supersoft tyres in Q1. After the Cool-down lap, I'm heading straight back to the garage. Holding position is enough."
Mark reviewed the timing data and agreed immediately.
"Understood. You're above the Q1 cutoff. Watch tyre pressure on the Cool-down lap. Come back and rest—save your energy."
After finishing the Cool-down lap, Alex Sun adjusted his line and returned to the Pit lane, guiding the car into Prema Racing's designated pit bay. Mechanics swarmed in to inspect the car. He unbuckled, removed his helmet, and stepped out. Rebecca Lin smoothly handed him a bottle of mineral water.
Leaning back in the rest chair, Alex Sun took a sip, composed as ever. But in his eyes lingered quiet certainty about that lap.
He had barely settled in when, at 14:17, another crash echoed around the circuit. The second Red flag was deployed.
Smedley's voice carried both frustration and disbelief.
"Another incident! HWA's Deledda has lost control at Turn 4! Wait—what's going on with Prema? Alex Sun is already out of the car?"
He paused, clearly astonished.
"He's just set a stunning lap on Medium tyres—he absolutely had the pace to go again. And he's chosen to call it a day?"
On screen, Deledda's car spun 360 degrees after the rear clipped the outside barrier, coming to rest sideways in the middle of the track, tyre debris scattered everywhere.
Smedley couldn't help pressing the point.
"Alex Sun has really packed it in! A 1:55.240 on Medium tyres—the only driver on that compound—and he's confident that's enough for the top 15?"
His co-commentator immediately analyzed:
"This is almost certainly Prema's tyre strategy—saving tyres for Q2 and Q3."
At Baku this season, each car was allocated just 2 sets of supersoft tyres and 4 sets of Medium tyres. Alex Sun had already used six laps of supersofts in practice. The remaining sets had to be preserved for Q2 and Q3.
That flying lap—hugging the straight at full throttle, threading the car through consecutive corners at the limit—had extracted the maximum possible grip from the Medium tyres. The time was both aggressive and stable.
Clearly, after discussing it with the team, he had chosen to forgo further attempts. He secured his position while preserving precious supersoft tyres. The tactical judgment—and his confidence in his own pace—were exceptional.
Race control then announced:
"Due to excessive tyre debris on track, the suspension has been extended to seven minutes. Session expected to resume at 14:24."
Alex Sun leaned back in the pit chair, sipping his chilled mineral water while watching the mechanics continue their checks.
Mark stared at the timing board, his tone shifting from relaxed to serious.
"In the last few minutes, several drivers have improved. You've dropped to P11."
"Armstrong, Boschung, and Guanyu Zhou are ahead of you now. Behind you, Daruvala, Drugovich, and Lundgaard are all closing in. All six are within your window—and they're all on supersoft tyres."
Alex Sun nodded, casually wiping sweat from his temple. His fingers continued tapping lightly against the bottle. His eyes sharpened as they flicked across the six names on the strategy screen.
"No rush. If they want to pass me, they'll have to earn it."
"We've only got two sets of supersofts. Saving them for Q2 is worth it."
On the leaderboard, the six drivers clustered tightly around him—each within 0.3 seconds. The margin was razor-thin.
14:24. The track was cleared. Qualifying resumed.
Race control issued an urgent notice:
"Six minutes remaining. Any laps completed after time expires will not count."
The Pit lane exploded into motion. Armstrong, Boschung, Guanyu Zhou, Daruvala, Drugovich, and Lundgaard were first to bolt from their pit bays. Engines roared as they scrambled for track position, desperate not to be held up.
Alex Sun remained seated, posture relaxed, eyes locked on the tactical screen. Only the faint quickening of his fingers against the bottle betrayed his focus.
Smedley's voice tightened as he watched the live timing.
"Six-minute countdown! The fight for survival is on! All six drivers are pushing on supersoft flying laps! Alex Sun's 1:55.240 on Medium tyres is under serious threat!"
"Guanyu Zhou is blasting down the main straight—six kilometers per hour faster at the top end than Alex Sun! He's attacking Turn 1!"
"Boschung right behind—very aggressive line!"
On screen, the six cars attacked at the limit. Every corner was a calculated gamble. With the advantage of supersoft tyres, their lap times kept inching closer. The tension on track was suffocating—one mistake would ruin everything.
Rebecca Lin stood beside Alex Sun, gripping a spare towel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded as she murmured under her breath, "Steady…" Leaning slightly forward, she watched the tactical screen, anxiety and trust intertwined.
Inside Prema's pit bay, the atmosphere was heavy.
Mark leaned over the table, eyes fixed on the data, brow furrowed. His fingers tapped unconsciously as he muttered,
"Armstrong's line is conservative—not a major threat. Drugovich is the real variable…"
The mechanics had all stopped working, holding their breath as they stared at the leaderboard.
Alex Sun finally sat a little straighter. His sharp gaze locked onto the real-time traces of the six drivers. His expression remained calm, unreadable.
Second by second, time slipped away. One after another, the six cars crossed the line. The timing board flickered wildly.
Smedley's voice climbed higher with tension.
"Daruvala—1:55.082! He's ahead of Alex Sun!"
"Lundgaard—1:55.150! Right behind!"
"Less than three minutes remaining! Armstrong and Drugovich are still on flying laps!"
"Alex Sun is currently P13—right on the edge of elimination!"
"With just that single 1:55.240 on Medium tyres… can he hold on to the top 15 and make it into Q2?"
...
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