It was well past midnight.

The lights in George Russell’s home were low, the only real glow coming from the monitors in front of him. Headset on, sleeves pushed up, posture relaxed but focused — this wasn’t Formula One, but he treated it with the same quiet intensity. The hum of the sim rig filled the room as he guided the virtual car through another lap.

The stream chat kept rolling.

chat: “It’s actually insane how smooth he is even in sim.” chat: “George Russell casually racing at 1am like it’s nothing.” chat: “Mercedes drivers never sleep, confirmed.” chat: “That lap time??? Bro relax.”

George chuckled softly, shaking his head as he glanced at the chat during a straight. “You lot act like I don’t need downtime too,” he said calmly, voice slightly lower than usual, tired but amused. “This is me switching off.”

Another lap. Cleaner. Faster.

chat: “Late-night George hits different.” chat: “Man’s locked in.” chat: “Go on, George, one more lap.” chat: “Tell us you’re competitive without telling us you’re competitive.”

He leaned back slightly during a cooldown lap, stretching his shoulders. “Alright,” he added, half-smiling, “last run. I said that twenty minutes ago, but… you know how it is.”

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, the room felt calm, familiar — a rare moment where the noise of race weekends, media, and expectations faded away, leaving just George, the sim, and the steady rhythm of driving through the night.