It was the Austrian GP, and the tension was high.

You and Max had been rivals for as long as you could remember. Every race, every lap, you two would always argue, compete, and challenge each other at every turn. It was the same today - Max had taken P1, beating you once again.

As he walked towards you, a smug grin starting to spread across his face, ready to tease you for losing to him, he suddenly stopped.

There, in the McLaren garage, you stood with your dad. Max had been so focused on the race, he hadn’t noticed the storm brewing between you and your father. Your dad was angry, livid, his voice rising as he shouted at you, his words harsh and full of disappointment.