The SS10 race ended with Regin Toro from Italy taking first place, and his team also claimed the cup. In last place of the WorldCup standings was Mirage Morocco, officially eliminated.
The SS20 race, as expected, was far more intense. Alan Marti looked unfocused at the start; all eyes were on him, and the pressure showed. But halfway through the race, he seemed to regain control. Slowly, steadily, he began to climb. From twelfth place—where he'd looked stuck—he was suddenly third, right behind the American team that had led almost the entire race. Alan managed to overtake Tyler and secured second place.
Crust's parents and his uncle were standing in the main spectator area, right in front of the finish line. They barely moved, only turning their heads from side to side in perfect sync, following Crust's car as it flew past—so fast they could hardly recognize it. They didn't need to. They knew he'd be first. They were just waiting to hug him.
Online and in the stands, everyone was talking about it. People found it incredibly touching: the way they supported their son without limits, without conditions. They were there for him—nothing else mattered. When Crust crossed the finish line, he jumped out of the car and ran straight toward them. What followed was a beautiful family reunion. The photo of the three of them locked in a tight embrace was everywhere within minutes.
The final podium for the SS20 WorldCup ended with Lynx in first place, Nesspet in second, and Pampas Arrow in third.
There would be a GOT between the two Spanish teams.
The SS20 Drivers' Championship was won by Alan Marti. For a brief moment, he thought Crust might take it—but no. It was his. He and Christopher Crust had been the only two nominees this season.
"Congratulations," Crust said before walking away.
He didn't sound particularly warm, but he wasn't angry either. He'd known this was coming all along. Deep down, he felt satisfied—maybe even a little happy for him. He would never admit it. He simply wasn't capable of faking joy, either. He stayed serious throughout the entire SS20 Drivers' Championship press conference, while Alan Marti could barely contain his excitement.
"Can you confirm whether it's true that a team—we won't name names—offered you a multi-million contract to join them next season in the Prime League?"
"Yes... yes," Alan replied thoughtfully. "It was a private proposal, presented only to investors and executives. And I rejected it. I don't want to leave my team, especially so close to entering the Prime League with them. I was honored, truly, but I decided to postpone the decision. It wasn't a definitive no—you can never get too comfortable in this sport. I'll reconsider if we don't win the GOT, or sometime in the future. But for now, I declined. Still, I was very honored."
Christopher Crust was starting to realize that things were never going to be the same again. Alan was already a professional—a first-division driver. By the time Crust reached that level himself, Alan Marti would probably be light-years ahead of him.
"Did you know you were going to win the SS20 WorldCup, but think you wouldn't win the Drivers' Championship?" The question from the Spanish press came out sharp. Even Crust could tell—it was a shot.
"The WorldCup goes to the team with the most points. Basic math," Alan replied. "But the Drivers' Championship is decided by a specialized jury. It doesn't necessarily go to whoever scored the most points. For a moment, I thought Christopher Crust would win. But deep down, I knew my season had been almost perfect, so..."
"So you're saying Christopher Crust didn't have a perfect season?"
"No, I mean—"
Christopher cut in.
"He's right. I didn't have a perfect season. I won almost as many races as I lost."
Instead of helping, Alan felt his words now sounded condescending.
"Christopher Crust is an incredible driver," Alan continued. "But if I were on the SS20 Drivers' Championship jury, I know exactly why I wouldn't vote for him. I'm sure he'll surpass all of us one day, but right now he's as fast as he is reckless. And he's very, very fast."
"Reckless?" Christopher looked at him, waiting for the impact, eyes narrowed, lips pressed tight. "I know my limits. The day I feel the need for caution is the day I'll hit the brakes—but while I'm driving—"
"I think you need to learn when you're about to put yourself or others in danger," Alan interrupted calmly, carefully choosing his words. "Just because nothing went wrong doesn't mean you weren't reckless."
"That's rich, coming from the guy who crashed into a wall in the middle of his 'perfect' season," Christopher snapped, his anger finally showing. Alan, meanwhile, stayed perfectly composed.
"You can accept criticism from someone who's made a mistake."
"So you admit you were reckless, and you say you wouldn't vote for me because I'm reckless—but you'd still give yourself the point?"
"In Barcelona, your aggressive driving is what made me lose control. You're a danger to the entire competition. Motorsport isn't just about winning. Like any sport, you need to race fairly—respect the rules, not break them just because you want to be first across the line. That's what makes you reckless."
"So I was aggressive because I overtook you."
"No. You're supposed to keep a minimum distance—five meters. While I was overtaking you, you didn't respect that distance even once."
"You didn't say over the radio that you felt threatened."
"I thought you were going to spin out. I lost half a second trying to turn on the radio to warn you that the curve was dangerous—but the smoke blocked my view, and that's when I lost control."
"It wasn't even a dangerous curve."
"It was dangerous when I crashed," Alan said, trying to joke.
"Okay. We clearly don't have the same definition of danger. The track doesn't scare me. I dominate it—it doesn't dominate me, but—"
Alan cut him off.
"Who would you have voted for?"
"You," Crust said. Just that. He had more to say, but it was enough.
Alan looked embarrassed. He smiled awkwardly.
The Crust family was already preparing a huge celebration. Everyone was partying while Christopher simply greeted his relatives and locked himself in his room. He honestly needed a full week shut in, leaving only when absolutely necessary. His family was convinced he was upset because he hadn't won the Drivers' Championship, when in reality he was just a little upset—nothing more. He was happy with the outcome.
He scrolled through his phone, watching awkward clips from their interview. Most people were on his side, though many accused Alan Marti of playing the victim. He didn't like that. Alan was pedantic, sure, but he didn't deserve to feel insecure the day before his decisive race. Even though Crust was already guaranteed a spot in the SS10, he still wanted to go forward with his team.
He turned on the TV to watch the Pre-Prix race. He was sure Pampas from Argentina would win—and they did. One of the best teams overall, but without question the strongest in the Pre-Prix.
Argentina had officially qualified for the SS10 as well. Only one race remained—the Spanish GOT—and the SS10 lineup would be complete. Soon, the next season would begin: the SS10 Toronto WorldCup.
Crust started analyzing who would make it into the SS20 WorldCup: whichever Spanish team lost, obviously; Australia had been eliminated from SS20; Argentina was moving out of SS20, meaning the winner of SS30 UK would face Leviathan in the GOT...
"Can you imagine if Finn loses the GOT?" he muttered to himself.
This year, the Pre-Prix 30→20 would be contested for two spots, so by his calculations, Crust had at least two months before the SS20 season began.
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"Big news!" a fan shouted in one of the TikTok videos on his feed. "The SS10 Miami WorldCup season isn't even officially over and leaks for next season are already coming out. After Max Mongomerie's injury, Crust TeamSport is allegedly replacing him with a new driver instead of promoting their reserve, Martín de Sepúlveda. And guess who it is? Christopher Crust."
"Listen, I'll be honest," another fan said. "I've been a Crust TeamSport fan since I was ten. If they don't sign Christopher Crust, I'm done. That team only knows how to lose."
Christopher laughed.
"It's basically confirmed."
"These people just make things up," Crust said out loud. "Then they get lucky once, and suddenly everyone thinks they're prophets."
"Christopher Crust, for the love of God! Roger Cienfuegos, put him on the team. Don't be afraid—no one's going to judge you for signing your nephew. I'll defend you myself. Anyone who talks trash about that boy can deal with me."
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Crust couldn't stop laughing. He was absolutely sure he'd reject any offer, but he loved the support. It gave him energy. If people talked badly about him—well, that drove him crazy. But there have not been doing it.