One month before the Macau Grand Prix, Crust was also completing his first month at the gym. He felt amazing; he couldn't understand how he'd lived so long without ever knowing that feeling. Crust—famous for secreting cortisol as if it were his middle name—had found in the gym a natural regulator.
He could already load the bench press bar with a pair of twenty-pound plates on each side. The guys laughed at him—he knew it—but he was three Grand Prix undefeated. That made them very easy to ignore.
Was he skinny? Yes. Even he admitted that. But he was disciplined, and sooner or later, that wouldn't be the case anymore.
Lyon was coming up fast. It was the most widely spaced Grand Prix of the entire season: three weeks without racing. Still, it went by so quickly that when Crust realized it, only hours remained before the most important Prix of the year.
The weather didn't help. It wasn't a storm, but the rain blurred vision and made the corners stickier than usual. The race was anything but easy.
Even so, Crust won. He finished just a couple of seconds ahead of Valentino Arcos. Tyler Reese came in third, Adrien Louvier fourth, Finn Aldon fifth, and Alan Marti sixth.
"Whenever there's bad weather, I don't do as well," Marti admitted to the press. "I've raced three times in the rain and something always happens to me. I led for a few seconds, but... I'm sure the next one will be better."
"This is the only time this season you don't make the podium."
"Well, I didn't make it in Milan either," he laughed. "And in Barcelona I almost died. Another one I finished fourth—Shanghai."
Crust watched him from a distance. He always looks so natural, he thought.
The Vancouver Grand Prix ended almost the same way. This time Marti finished fourth, and Crust won again. The world talked about nothing else: the boy who was dominating the SS20. He also won in Rio, Canberra, and Calcutta.
Alan hovered between fifth and third place. Only in Saskatchewan did he finish second, behind Crust—but that race Crust won by a four-minute margin.
Throughout that stretch, the SS20 got more attention than the SS10. Every outlet covered the undefeated streak: after ten races without winning anything, Crust climbed from 40th to 3rd in the last eight laps of his eleventh race... and from there, chained ten consecutive victories.
The standings looked like this:
1st — Alan Marti: 383 points
2nd — Christopher Crust: 276 points
Even if Crust won the final two races, he couldn't surpass Alan. To put it simply: each win gives 25 points, plus one extra point for each accumulated bonus (Crust had collected 11 bonuses, +11 points). If Crust won both remaining rounds, he'd add up to:
276 + 25 + 25 + 11 = 337 points.
Alan already had 383. Even if he finished outside the top ten in the last two races, he would still win the World Cup. Mathematically, Crust couldn't catch him. Only two rounds remained.
San Francisco Grand Prix — Race 22
Crust was the absolute favorite. He was racing at home, and everyone knows that when you race on your own turf, you race better. Six months of victories, confidence, and discipline were backing him up. That certainty fueled him.
And yes—he won. No doubt about it. Alan Marti finished third and added fifteen more points. He celebrated more than Crust himself.
"Do you believe it now?" a press girl asked him.
"It took me a bit to figure it out, but here I am."
The after-party was unmissable. San Francisco was known for celebrating everything hard; you could feel how important motorsports were there. Fans were completely out of control.
Crust was still surprised by how many people recognized him on the street, asking for photos—more than with any other driver.
"Alan Marti, how are you feeling?" the press asked.
"Health-wise, good. Emotionally, even better."
"You're not celebrating too early. The cup is already yours."
"Perseverance and discipline are what score points," he replied, "not crossing the finish line first. I haven't won a single race this season. Hopefully Miami will be different... but even so, I have the highest number of points."
As always, people interpreted it as a dig at Crust, when in reality he hadn't even been thinking about him. Still, the clips spread instantly. The internet had turned them into rivals—even when they themselves hadn't.
I want to believe that tension exists beyond the cameras and the tracks.
Most of the drivers were already inside the boulevard when Crust showed up. He arrived so late that he missed almost the entire press round. Ironically, the winner was the last to arrive.
"Have you seen this video where Marti says you have a very small ass?" someone asked, showing him one of the many viral clips on a phone.
"Just boys being boys," he replied, laughing with the group.
"So, what do you have to say back?"
Crust stood up, turned around in front of the camera, and finished by pointing at his glutes with an exaggeratedly confident—almost sensual—pose.
"Wow," said the host. "Of all the things you could've done, that was the last thing I expected."
Everyone burst out laughing. The vibe between them was electric.
"What do you think, Alan?"
"Now it really is worth being second," Marti said before the host even finished laughing.
It showed. Those six months in the gym had paid off for Crust. The cake was noticeable now. Everyone saw it. Even he did. Whether it was genetics, discipline, or both, in six months he'd built what people now call an aesthetic body.
That clip went massively viral worldwide. Of course, people accused the SS20 of queerbaiting—but audiences loved it. Probably no video in the history of this sport had ever spread that far.
Alan Marti—champion of the SS20 Challenge Cup, the individual championship, and simultaneously champion of the SS20 World Cup. It was official: Lynx would lift the trophy in Miami.
Somehow, that clip triggered a snowball effect online. Both guys—separately—were turned into endless memes and sexy edits. It didn't bother them too much, but it gave them far more exposure than they ever wanted.