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Alex Sun parked the car in the P3 slot, shut off the engine, and removed the steering wheel.
Using the extra space, he climbed neatly out of the monocoque and stood steady on top of the car.
He raised both arms high, facing into the wind, listening quietly to the roar of the crowd beyond the barriers.
The cheers came in waves, louder and louder, charged with recognition and fervor, until the sense of accomplishment inside him brimmed over.
After savoring it for a moment, he bent his knees and jumped down from the car. The instant his feet hit the ground, the team swarmed him.
Each mechanic thumped him hard on the back, full force, "That was insane!" echoing around him.
Alex Sun's face was lit with excitement, his grin stretched wide, though there was a faint trace of helpless amusement in his eyes.
After being jostled around a few times and finally set down, he strode straight toward Mark and planted both hands firmly on his shoulders.
He shouted at the top of his lungs, "You absolute menace, look at what you've turned me into! You're like a little cow riding a rocket—awesome straight to the sky!"
Mark only laughed, lifted a hand, and gave his helmet a light pat. He didn't answer, just waved him off, signaling for him to hurry to the podium.
Right then, race officials had already arrived to escort him.
Alex Sun turned slightly and removed his helmet. He skillfully unlatched the HANS system, and a mechanic beside him immediately stepped in to take it. He tugged off his balaclava, sweat sliding down from his temples along his cheeks.
Hooking a finger under the earpiece, he pulled out his racing radio and rubbed his slightly muffled ears. Just as he smoothed down the stray hair by his temples, a staff member handed him a baseball cap with the Prema logo on it.
He took it and put it on backward, then tugged at the collar of his race suit, carefully straightening the wrinkled fabric. A quick tidy-up, and he was done.
The cheers along the track were still surging. At the same time, the live broadcast commentary rang out.
Alex Jacques' voice carried through the screens, thick with excitement. "And the most astonishing performance has to belong to our other Chinese driver—Alex Sun!"
The moment he finished, Jolyon Palmer picked up seamlessly, his praise undisguised.
"Absolutely! Starting from P18, he carved his way through the field with sheer car control and razor-sharp judgment, forcing a path through the chaos to claim P3. That is a perfect showcase of his individual ability!"
As the commentary rolled on, Alex Sun nodded to the staff member beside him and followed him through the passage behind the podium, walking step by step until he reached the base.
Guanyu Zhou was already waiting at the entrance. When he saw Alex Sun approach, he stepped forward with a grin. The two exchanged a look and walked side by side toward the podium.
The F2 podium was the usual three-tier structure. The center top step belonged to Guanyu Zhou for P1, Ticktum stood to the right in P2, and Alex Sun's P3 position was on the left. Beside it was the extra step reserved for the P1 driver's team, now packed with Guanyu Zhou's crew, waving and smiling toward the stage.
The three drivers climbed the steps one by one, taking their places. Warm sunlight washed over them, glinting off the trophies handed up by the staff.
In the order of P3, P2, then P1, the trophies were presented. Alex Sun accepted his with both hands. The metal was cool against his palms, yet something about it burned warm in his chest.
It wasn't the winner's trophy.
But to him, it was more precious than any title. He had fought for it inch by inch, carried every expectation alone, and clawed his way out of a desperate situation. This was the clearest proof of that.
According to F2 protocol, the national anthem of the P1 driver's country played first. With Guanyu Zhou taking P1, the Chinese national anthem began as the flag rose steadily up the mast.
Both drivers stood instinctively straighter, expressions solemn and composed, listening quietly as the anthem played.
It lasted only a short while before coming to an end. The three national flags representing the drivers were raised in turn, fluttering in the wind.
The FIA presenter stepped forward, shaking hands with each of them and posing for photos.
When he reached Alex Sun, he smiled.
"Young man, that was an outstanding race. You have a big future ahead of you."
Alex Sun nodded slightly, his tone steady.
"Thank you. I'll keep fighting."
After the photos, the three turned toward the grandstands and waved, answering the rolling cheers.
It was the crowd's most sincere tribute to drivers who had given everything.
Then came motorsport's traditional ritual—the champagne celebration.
All three uncorked their bottles at the same time. Cold foam burst out. They first saluted the crowd and the team members before lightly spraying one another. There was no wild horseplay, just the easy joy that comes after the fight is over.
Alex Sun tilted his bottle gently, watching the foam run down, relief and happiness clear in his eyes.
Soon, the celebration wrapped up, and the three stepped down.
The moment Alex Sun reached the bottom, a race reporter stopped him.
Microphone raised, the reporter couldn't hide his excitement.
"Alex Sun, congratulations! As the pole-sitter, you started from tenth and dropped to the back after a first-lap incident. Yet you fought your way through to P3. What are your honest feelings after this race?"
Holding his trophy, Alex Sun smiled calmly, his tone straightforward, without rehearsed clichés.
"First of all, I'm happy. And honestly, relieved."
"As a Prema driver, I took pole in qualifying and should have had a strong advantage at the start. I didn't expect an accident on the first lap to send me to the back. I was anxious in that moment, but I settled down quickly."
"After that, every overtake and every racing line had to be precise. I couldn't afford even a second of slack. I gave it everything. With the team coordinating in real time, being able to fight back and finish P3—I'm satisfied."
The reporter followed up.
"After dropping to the back, many people thought a comeback was impossible. How did you and the Prema team adjust your tactics and keep the rhythm steady?"
Alex Sun paused before answering slowly.
"Before the race, the team and my technical advisor Mark ran a lot of simulations. We considered every possible scenario."
"After the incident, the team immediately fed me track information through the radio and adjusted the strategy. I focused completely on the track, adapting my lines and braking points based on real-time conditions and the team's instructions."
"This result comes from my persistence, but even more from the full support of the entire Prema team. I'm truly grateful to them."
The interview only lasted a few minutes. He didn't say much, but every word was sincere, without forced sentiment.
After thanking the reporter, he carried his trophy toward the Prema pit bay.
He hadn't gone far before he ran into Guanyu Zhou, who was also heading back.
Guanyu Zhou strode over in a few quick steps and smacked him hard on the back, voice bright and blunt, full of genuine praise.
"Nice one, Alex Sun! That was insane! Dropped to the back on lap one and still clawed your way to P3. I'm proud, seriously."
"You know what? On the final lap, my race engineer told me over TR that you'd made it up to third. I thought I'd misheard."
Alex Sun laughed from the hit and returned one of his own.
"You're proud, huh? You know what my first thought was when that crash happened?"
"What?"
"That guy Leclerc really does have a mouth on him. I swear. Wait till he pulls that triple combo again—I'm going to punch him. Total jinx. He said I'd have an accident, and boom, I had one."
He spread his hands helplessly.
"Don't say that," Guanyu Zhou replied, recalling their conversation after yesterday's practice session. "I overheard it while waiting for you. It really did happen."
"Relax. You're scared of this superstition stuff, I'm not. Just call me 'Dad' and I'll take care of it."
Too tired to argue with superstition, Alex Sun gave in without hesitation.
"Call you what?"
"Dad."
"Fine. Dad."
"Hey!" Guanyu Zhou shot back instantly. "I'm taking your bad luck for you and this is how you treat me? Your father is heartbroken."
As Guanyu Zhou tightened his arm around him, Alex Sun sighed, gave a mock French military salute, and called him "Dad" properly, as if formally transferring the bad luck over. He really didn't want another race ruined before even completing the first lap.
They walked a few more steps with their arms slung over each other's shoulders. The jokes faded, replaced by quick, low exchanges about racing lines from the morning session.
With a grin, they each tossed out one last jab.
"Just wait. I'll get you next time."
Then they split off toward their respective pit bays.
No more needed to be said. The understanding in their eyes was obvious.
Beneath the easy banter lay their confidence and anticipation for the next battle on track. Starting from tenth and eighth, a fight was inevitable.
As for bad luck?
Who really knows.
...
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