CHAPTER 578: S3 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX

The colors of Squadra Corse were black and golden, and Velocità’s, blue and black. There were secondary shades alternated with seasons, but these had always been the unchanging insignia.

However, on race day, the Italian circuit in Monza was bathed in the nation’s own colors instead.

Apart from the sea of waving flags and trembling banners, some fans had even painted their faces and bare chests in green, white, and red.

It was an unbelievably loud atmosphere for a race that hadn’t even reached its final laps.

Xenophobia might be a strong word, but that was exactly what was unfolding at the Italian Grand Prix.

With bottles hurled toward the Trampos paddock, slurs screamed from stands, and their supporters drowned by waves of opposition, it was national animosity, no longer community rivalry.

Luca’s era had made history apart from the High-Intensity Combustion speeds. This was the most polarized atmosphere motorsport had ever seen.

The race carried on without any actual on-track interruption, even though the wild supporters did their best with several reckless attempts.

Lights out was steady—Luca had launched perfectly, leading into Turn 1 as horns blared and drums were beaten without any specific rhythm.

Such a charged atmosphere was bound to ignite the morale of Squadra Corse and Velocità, and Luca had two black vultures—Marko and Luigi—lurking right behind him from the start.

Luigi couldn’t have asked for a better ego boost from the deafening Italian crowd, and Marko too seemed to draw power from it.

With Luca’s car ahead of them for two, three, five laps straight, they expected him to crack under the weight of noise and national fury.

But Luca wasn’t really disturbed by this barbaric ceremony.

Every driver had thickly padded helmets, and only at tight hairpins or when the cars slowed through the chicanes could one actually hear the roar of the crowd.

So Luca paid no mind to anything apart from his driving, his system readings, and the voices of his engineers through his radio.

The same way he was using the critics and chaos to fuel his focus, so was Trampos, but the team was channeling theirs differently, in a darker manner.

Trampos, and nearly the entire Germany watching from their screens, swore to have their revenge in the German Grand Prix coming next month.

And as the saying goes, the one who laughs last, laughs best, so Italy’s madness might yet be its own undoing!

"...It’s a wild afternoon here in Monza! This is too soon from the crowd. Drums pounding, flags everywhere! You can even feel the ground shake beneath your feet..!"

"...It’s chaos and untimely celebration in a single event, the kind of display only the Italian Grand Prix can deliver!"

"...Rennick holds firm under this pressure. Ten laps gone, and he still leads. Ignatova and Luigi might be losing patience, they are frustrated with his composure, and they may soon begin to push beyond the rhythm for their team."

Luca was driving well because he had come ready, fully aware of what to expect from the chaotic Italian circuit.

He had decisively allocated his Catalysts and Wrenches to enhance his car skills beforehand, leaving nothing to chance.

Silent Restore and Wear Control required substantial boosts, and he had invested all he had into maximizing them.

The vision of serving only a single pit stop every race had always driven Luca, and he trusted that a fully completed Wear Control would make it a reality.

With Silent Restore growing too, he would be far less vulnerable to DNFs caused by crashes—especially if any of his rivals decided to go berserk around him.

[Skills:

—Gripper: 25

—Yaw Flex: 25

—DRS Boost: 15

— Silent Restore: 12

—Wear Control: 15]

Luca hadn’t used those tools in-race to gain Sync Buff points like he normally did.

It was intentional, and not out of forgetfulness. It seemed he simply wasn’t fancying the Sync Buff feature anymore.

Ever since he leveled up his engine to S-level, his fascination had shifted entirely toward exploring the limits of his own raw speed with no influence from Sync Buff.

Relying solely on himself could be both a merit and a weakness. He could sharpen everything about his driving and make himself less dependent, and also less desperate, toward the end of the race.

But it also meant he wouldn’t have his safety net. With Sync Buff, Luca could always assure himself of a podium finish, even if he didn’t race well in that race.

Perhaps the Mazerunner subconsciously wanted the championship he was chasing to feel authentic when he finally had it within his grasp.

Hopefully, that self-reliance of his wouldn’t turn into self-sabotage!

Whether spent in or off-race, Silent Restore and Wear Control upgrades were crucial for this track.

Autodromo’s fourteen turns, featuring five tight hairpins, made it a circuit that demanded finesse before unleashing speed in the necessary sections.

This combination inevitably attracted bumps, miscorrections, and rapid loss of tire rubber.

All drivers and teams were aware of the high degradation rate in Monza, so smooth, measured driving was highly prioritized.

Overtaking opportunities were studied in detail and executed with exactitude, as any reckless attempt could easily end in traction loss or contact.

But in the mid-pack, Jimmy Damgaard had climbed two positions, while Ailbeart Moireach was swiftly re-overtaken by Di Renzo after a fierce two-way duel through one of the hairpin bottlenecks.

However, after directly leading Marko Ignatova for twelve laps, Luca began receiving far more aggression than before.

Marko’s ambition was burning high, his morale lifted after smoothly shutting down his own teammate, Antonio Luigi, in a daring intercrossing that forced Luigi to drop back to avoid contact.

Now, with Luca just a second ahead, Marko sensed this was the perfect moment to strike and snatch the lead.

However, things quickly went south as the bottleneck at the turn of his attempt forced Marko into oversteer, because Luca had intentionally claimed the racing line, leaving no rivaling space.

Marko’s Mercedes skidded off the tarmac into the soil, flinging dust skyward as he fought to regain control and cut back in to save his race.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

His rapid reentry got him back on track, but the excess momentum left him disoriented, and his car clipped the left-side barriers.

The harsh scrape tore away concerning shards of carbon fibre from his side pod, but his car was still moving.

"...Rennick held his ground like a wall there—absolutely fearless defending! Ignatova went for glory and nearly threw it all away...!"

Luca was just steering through the very corner Marko had expected to be in P1 by now when something odd darted toward him.

It was fast, it was metallic, and before it struck him, it glinted in the sunlight.

Crrk!

A razor shard from Marko’s earlier scrape had flown off the barrier and smacked against Luca’s visor, leaving a thin branch of a crack across the lens like a spider’s web frozen in glass.

"Hey, hey! Something just hit my visor!" Luca instantly barked into the radio. "I’ve got a crack right across it!"

"...Oh my. That’s unbelievable! You can see a crack right across Rennick’s visor. That debris came flying like a bullet from Ignatova’s scrape with the barrier, striking him. That could be dangerous...!"

**How’s your vision, Luca? Can you see clearly?**

"Visibility’s fine for now, but this thing’s right in my line of sight," Luca replied, slightly panicked because he didn’t have any sort of self-skill that cleared a crack.

He could only rely on his Spatial Awareness and Track Awareness.

**If it’s holding, keep pushing till next pit window. We’ll check the damage and swap the visor if needed**

**You’re still fastest on track, mate. Keep your head down!**

"...Let’s take a look at that again... oh my goodness, that’s the moment right there!"

Luca’s helmet footage was publicly viewed by the entire circuit.

It was a normal helmet feed until the shard from Marko’s scrape flew into his cockpit from the side, slamming into his visor before bouncing away as quickly as it had come.

"...That’s a solid hit at over 300 kilometers an hour! He must’ve been absolutely stunned for a split second there, but he didn’t even flinch off line. That’s world-class composure from Rennick...!"