Max and Daniel sat in front of the camera, surrounded by Red Bull branding and the hum of their crew preparing to capture the banter that fans loved. A bowl filled with folded pieces of paper sat between them, each slip containing a fan question. The energy was light, playful, the way it always was when the two drivers got together. Max, with a smirk, reached into the bowl, fishing out a question and unfolding it.

He cleared his throat dramatically before reading aloud. “Alright, ‘Apart from our jobs, what do we have in common?’”

Daniel barely let Max finish before leaning forward, grinning mischievously. “Not much,” he said, his voice teasing, eyes twinkling with that familiar glint of mischief. “I mean, I’m naturally talented in other sports, you’re not. You can ride a jet ski—good for you, mate. I probably can too but choose not to, ‘cause, you know, I do better things with my time.”

Max raised his eyebrows, already trying to hold back a laugh, knowing exactly where Daniel was going.

“I’ve got good looks, you don’t,” Daniel added, tapping his chest proudly. “I mean, it’s a tough life being this perfect, but someone’s gotta do it.” He leaned back, satisfied with his roast, while the crew behind the camera chuckled quietly.