Chapter 150: A Waste of Time
When Ricciardo's lap time appeared on the timing screen, Sid could no longer sit still.
A gap of three or four tenths—that, he could accept.
But twenty-five milliseconds?
That was intolerable.
If Wu Shi hadn't warned him in advance, Sid would never have managed to restrain himself at all. Even now, his expression was dark and volatile, as if a single spark might set him off.
Yet beneath that rigid exterior, his mind was operating at full speed.
As Wu Shi's agent, Sid knew that reacting emotionally was meaningless. What mattered was damage control.
He ignored the noise, the controversy, the interviews—and focused solely on strategy.
Mercedes remained the priority.
Whether there was still an opening or not, they would fight for it.
Standing behind Peter, Wu Shi was already aware that reporters would soon surround him. He slipped away to the back area, changed his clothes, put on sunglasses and a mask, and exited the paddock quietly.
---
Walking through the streets of Singapore, Wu Shi noticed how many Chinese faces there were around him. It felt uncannily like walking through a city back home.
When debts of gratitude and resentment finally balance out… what should I do then?
His phone rang.
As expected—it was Louise.
"Hello," Wu Shi answered.
"Uh… Wu Shi… my mom and I are flying to Singapore now."
Louise stammered, as if she'd forgotten how to speak.
"I'm fine," Wu Shi said calmly. "Leave everything else to Sid and the team."
There was a brief silence.
Then Martina's voice came through the line.
"It's good that you're alright. When you have time, come back to China for a visit."
"Mm."
After hanging up, Wu Shi let out a quiet sigh.
He realized that driving a race car was actually the simplest part of all this.
Unlike the track, the paddock was a hunting ground—crowded with conflicting interests, hidden agendas, and shifting alliances. Anyone immersed in it for long enough would inevitably be stained by it.
If he were truly still a teenager, he might have already exploded.
But after experiencing enough of the world, he understood something clearly:
His greatest bargaining chip right now was not results—but potential.
And potential, by definition, was talent that had not yet been realized.
Unreliable. Incomplete.
Not yet a trump card.
As for sponsors and backing, it made little sense for a top team to poach from a smaller one unless the timing was perfect.
Williams, powered by Mercedes, had become a regular podium contender over the past two years.
Perhaps staying there quietly for two seasons wouldn't be so bad.
Ferrari?
Let drivers with world championships handle Ferrari.
Martina was right.
Ferrari was mired in internal chaos. Without his own engineering faction, Wu Shi would inevitably become a casualty of internal politics.
Why had Schumacher succeeded there?
Not just because of his speed—but because he brought his people with him.
Wu Shi didn't have that luxury.
Ferrari's engineers—almost entirely Italian—were notoriously difficult to integrate with.
"Two years…"
He wondered whether Rosberg might suddenly retire in 2016.
He didn't know.
But one thing was certain—
He would not allow those two Mercedes drivers to have it easy.
Like Verstappen, Wu Shi shared a certain temperament.
On track, he would fight for every opportunity.
And if none existed—
He would create one.
---
Race Day – Singapore Grand Prix
The race proceeded as scheduled.
After the reconnaissance lap, Rosberg took his place on the starting grid.
Mercedes TR:
"Nico, try restarting the engine. If that doesn't work, try starting in gear."
Rosberg pressed the button again and again.
Nothing.
Rosberg TR:
"I can't select gears. No power."
He turned the steering wheel repeatedly, visibly agitated.
The race, however, would not wait for him.
Two green lights illuminated.
The formation lap began.
One car after another passed him.
When the grid finally cleared, Rosberg's car still refused to start.
He stopped trying.
Yellow flags waved ahead.
He placed both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight forward.
Mercedes mechanics sprinted onto the track and pushed the car into the pit lane.
In the pit box, Rosberg tried again.
This time, after a technician intervened, the engine fired.
But moments later, a warning light appeared on the steering wheel—electronic systems fault.
Bad news.
Still, at least he could race.
Car No. 6 exited the pit lane at the back of the field.
With Mercedes pace, there was still hope—points, damage limitation.
But on lap 13, the steering wheel control system failed completely.
The car became undriveable.
Retirement.
Everything—Saturday's pole fight, the desperate restart attempts—
All of it amounted to nothing.
The worst part?
Hamilton's luck.
With his teammate out, no one remained to threaten him.
He cruised to victory.
And with it, took a three-point lead in the championship standings.
Wu Shi looked at Rosberg, who had returned early to the garage.
Rosberg's mental state was visibly worse than his own.
Their eyes met.
Rosberg spoke quietly.
> "We both lost something incredibly important because of this car."
Wu Shi saw the bloodshot eyes.
He understood the pressure completely.
Rosberg and Hamilton had known each other since childhood.
Evenly matched.
Rivals—and friends.
They had grown up racing together, pushing each other forward.
Their childhood promise had finally come true:
To fight together as teammates in Formula One.
At first, they believed they could separate competition from friendship.
Just like in karting.
But the World Championship—the one thing no driver could resist—destroyed that illusion in less than half a season.
Rosberg had nowhere to vent his emotions.
Greed for the title.
Pain from a broken friendship.
Resentment toward fate.
Fear of failure.
Fear of judgment.
All of it churned inside his chest.
Wu Shi replied calmly:
> "But we also gained something incredibly valuable from this car."
Rosberg froze.
He stared at Wu Shi, stunned.
For a long time—
He had no words.