"A lot of people criticize Formula 1 as an unnecessary risk. But what would life be like if we only did what is necessary?"

- Niki Lauda

Rest in Peace ❤️

The two months between Brazil and Monaco pass like a dream.

She goes from race to race unsure if at some point she might simply wake up in her bed and the past three quarters of a year will not have existed at all. She thinks of that a lot. Almost as much as she thinks of Irene, smiling gently and drinking with her at the post-race bar in the hotel or in Irene's room and talking about how the day's gone. It's there, in those quiet moments of chatter, that Seulgi sees again just how much it means to Irene. So much so that even if the Prost photo and the signed pictures and the memorabilia and the trophies were gone it would still be obvious. The way she talks about it in such detail and with such enthusiasm, highlighting every missed apex and every corner where she could've attacked just a little bit harder, every long straight and every radio message, and yet careful to never give anything away that might benefit Seulgi or her team in any way. It's almost as intoxicating as Irene herself. Seulgi can't remember the last time she ever heard someone talk like that.

On Friday the mood is good, the tension electric. She looks at the individual leaderboard in the pit garage and then the team one. Apex are still in the lead, and with only two races to go and Yeri nowhere in sight on the podiums it's looking like it might stay that way. Then she looks at the individual rankings again. Her name in second place. Thirty-one points separating her from Irene. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder and jolts her out of her daydream if only for a moment.

'It's showtime, cowboy.'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says. 'Give me a sec.'

'What's up?'

'Nothing. It's just, I thought I had a real shot at winning earlier this season. I don't know why. I just did.'

'You still do.'

'Hardly. Thirty-two points in two races? I'd need nothing short of a miracle.'

'Crazier stuff has happened. You win this, you win the next one, she bins it twice. Easy.'

'Bins it twice.' Seulgi laughs. 'When was the last time she crashed?'

'America. Literally a month ago.'

'I'd rather forget that.'

'And before that it was China.'

'Thanks.'

She steps in front of Seulgi and puts both her hands on Seulgi's shoulders to calm her. 'Look,' she says, 'I'm gonna tell you the truth now, okay?'

'Okay.'

'It's not going to be easy. In fact, it's going to be nearly impossible. I'm not gonna beat around the bush. If it were any other opponent, I'd say sure, go for it, but Irene? There's a reason she's a three-time champ, and it isn't just because she's the fastest in a straight line. It's because she's got something no one else has.'

'Got what?'

'The X factor. She's maybe the best driver this sport has ever seen under pressure. It's the reason you always hear the commentators saying if you can't beat her before Japan, you can't beat her. I've never seen anything like her in the second half of the season. It's like she flicks this switch nobody else has and gets this laser-like focus. She doesn't make mistakes, she doesn't falter, doesn't slip, doesn't let the pressure get to her. She's a machine when the chips are down. It's scary.'

'You're really filling me with confidence here.'

'I'm just being honest with you. It's what you wanted at the start of the year, isn't it?'

'Sure. You said if you can't beat her before Japan, you can't beat her at all.'

'Pretty much.'

'I couldn't beat her before Japan.'

Wendy nods. 'That doesn't mean it's impossible, though.'

'Just that it almost is.'

'All you have to do is keep your head down and drive your best two races. Finishing second would be an achievement like no other. Hell, even finishing third, in your first ever season as a pro driver? Ridiculous. But it's still all to play for. You get cocky or you let the pressure swallow you up and you're down to fifth, maybe even sixth depending on how things go. It's looking tight near the top and you've got fifty points to potentially drop if you mess things up. So.'

'So.'

'So don't mess things up.'

Seulgi smiles a tired smile. The cars outside are already on the track and the engine notes in the cool Monaco breeze hum like an aspirated choir. 'Thanks,' she says.

'Any time, partner. Now go out there and show me what you've got.'

The Monaco circuit has always been one Seulgi's had little confidence in. The turns are so tight, the track so narrow, the sun so hot. But as she comes out onto the straight during practice and sees the grandstands and the spectators clad in formfitting suits watching from the balconies of their expensive hotel rooms and then the host of Italian sports cars parked just beyond the safety walls of the track she thinks Irene was right. It's all about the atmosphere, and the atmosphere is incomparable.

When she pulls into the garage at the end of free practice and takes off her helmet the look on Wendy's face tells the whole story. The other mechanics are busy sorting out something with Joy's car and the last of the McLarens and Renaults are just about pulling into the pitlane behind her. She tosses her helmet on the table and runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head. 'Yeah,' she says. 'I know I was bad. How bad was I?'

'Still pretty good, but yeah. Not as good as we were hoping for.'

'Me neither. I'm sorry, Wendy. I just had a lot on my mind.'

What she doesn't say is all that's on her mind is Irene. It should be the championship but it isn't. It's just Irene. It's Irene in the bar's low light in Japan and Irene in her hotel room and Irene in six other countries, always with a strong Martini, always so effortlessly beautiful and easy to talk to and calming. It's an effect Seulgi can't remember finding in anyone else for a long time and it's an uneasy feeling because her head's swimming and the fact she's a second a lap down on Joy's time is of less concern than it should be and Wendy's tilting her head and asking, 'Are you sure you're okay?'

She forces out a smile. 'Yeah. Fine. I'll be good to go tomorrow. I know I will.'

'You better be. Can't afford to be any less.'

'Sorry, Wendy.'

She draws Seulgi in for a hug. The stench of sweat and the way it clings to her like she's just been for a dip in the pool doesn't seem to bother Wendy. 'Don't be sorry,' she says, voice so soothing. 'Just go out there and do your best.'

'I will.'

'Go get some sun or something. Relax for the night. Maybe it'll do you some good.'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says. 'I'll get right on that.'

She knocks and waits. It feels like she's waiting years by the door, listening to the gaps in the distant sound of the hotel's self-contained world. Someone laughing in the lobby. The receptionist taking a booking. One of the other drivers talking a bit too loudly down the hall. She thinks it's one of the Mercedes. Typical.

Irene answers the door dressed in the most simple of white polo shirts and jeans, so simple she makes it look paradoxically elegant. Almost formal. She smiles and shows Seulgi in and pours them each a glass of champagne chilled in the fridge and goes and sits on the balcony in the cool evening sunlight. They sit drinking in silence for a while. Small birds arc long over the horizon and melt away into the pinchbeck dusk and the sea winks in the pale heat like diamondwater and Seulgi can smell the salt. It's almost nauseating. She looks out again at the fading light. 'You were right,' she says, squinting.

'About what?'

'Monaco. This place is incredible. I don't think I've seen anything like it in my life.'

'Wait until you get to the casinos. People in Monte Carlo can gamble like no other.'

'Yeah?'

Irene nods with a smile. Seulgi studies her carefully. She never gives anything away about how she's feeling. Is always too professional for that. Someone else laughs down the hall. They're playing their own little drinking games but Seulgi doesn't mind. Seulgi's got Irene.

'That's the Mercedes guys,' Irene says.

'I thought so.'

'Always the loudest.'

Soon enough they start talking about the race again. As if on cue. 'How'd you feel out there today?' Irene asks. Seulgi tells her she felt okay. Just that. It's a very difficult balance between being honest and open with someone she considers a close friend and accidentally giving away something about their race strategy. A balance she's learnt to weigh up in the past few months, and maybe Irene's purposely trying to pry something out of her but then again maybe not. She thinks the latter is more likely. Irene isn't like that. Irene doesn't need cheap tricks and drunken thoughts to win. All she needs is a working car.

'Congratulations, by the way,' Seulgi says.

'On what?'

'On winning the 2019 Formula 1 championship.'

Irene laughs. It takes a long time for her to stop laughing. She puts her glass on the table and grins at Seulgi and Seulgi grins back, a little proud of herself for drawing that out of Irene where nobody else can. 'I'll be honest,' Irene says, 'I didn't expect that.'

'Figured I'd say it ahead of time, you know?'

'I haven't won yet. Stop blowing up my ego.'

'Yeah, but still.'

'Anything can happen.'

'You know, that's exactly what Wendy said to me. Anything can happen. But then she also said something about you, so.'

'About me?'

Seulgi looks at her and freezes. 'Yeah,' she says, acutely aware she should've shut up.

'What did she say about me?'

'Just that you're a machine in the second half of the season, and that no one can beat you when you're on form.'

'Well.' Irene sips her champagne.

'Well.'

'They're not wrong.'

'Confident, are you?'

'You have to be in this sport. Didn't I say that a couple months ago?'

'Must've slipped my mind.'

Irene giggles. They watch the slow turning of the sun like a bloodstone in the west. The silence is gratifying, tender. 'This is where the pressure always mounts,' Irene says. 'Or, not really now, but once you get to about June, July. It's when all the people who can't handle the heat start falling off. You get a couple people who rise to the top three, top five, and then they all start plummeting. They've got the talent, sure, but it's not just about talent. It's about having the capacity to remain calm and do all the right things. To not get in your own head. I think that's the hardest part of being a driver, is not getting in your own head. I think sometimes it's almost impossible.'

Except for you, Seulgi wants to say, but doesn't.

'Even Yeri,' Irene continues. 'She's a great driver. The skill's all there, the aggression, the youth, the desire to win. But she's not championship material, at least not yet. She doesn't have that spark, that little extra that you need to be a champion.'

'Well,' Seulgi says.

'Well what?'

'I mean, the only person on the grid to have won a championship in the last three years is, well, you.'

'Yeah.'

'So I guess it seems you're the only one out there with that special something.'

'Except you.'

'Me?' Seulgi laughs. Her hands are shaking in her lap. 'Come on.'

'I'm serious. Properly serious. When I look at you race, I see it in you. The way you do everything. You've got that extra something, that push that you need to get all the way to the end. Honestly I saw it in you all the way back in China, minus the crashing and ruining everything.'

'Sorry.'

She waves Seulgi away. Four months ago she would've turned in disgust and told Seulgi to leave and the change in attitude is still a little startling. 'The fact that you even thought about it in the first place is what counts,' she says. 'Nobody else on the grid did. Not even me. Not even your engineer did. Just you, and you alone. And you pulled it off once already, on your own teammate, no less. That takes some serious guts.'

'It was just a dumb move.'

'That won you a Grand Prix. And sure, you might be in second, but everyone sees it in you like in no one else. You never know, a couple years from now you might be world champion.'

'A couple years. How about a couple months?'

Irene laughs again. 'I thought you just got finished congratulating me for winning this year?'

'Yeah, well. Anything can happen. It's not over until it's over.'

'Amen,' Irene says, and it's smiles all around.

'Amen indeed.'

The look on Wendy's face when she climbs out of the car following qualifying on Saturday is the opposite of twenty-four hours ago. The first thing she does is high five Seulgi and draw her in for a hug and laugh. The other drivers are pulling in behind them along the pitlane and the white Samsung goes past and then Yeri's behind it and Seulgi turns just long enough to see a helmet-clad Irene disappear down the far end of the pit. 'That's how we do it,' Wendy says. 'Just like that.'

'First.'

'You're damn right first. Great drive. Seriously great.'

She motions to the tablet on the tablet and shows the finalised qualifying times to Seulgi. She's first by three tenths of a second, the largest gap in qualifying since America. Irene's in second, Joy in third, then it's the Renaults and Yeri and the rest of the grid. 'How did the tires feel out there?' Wendy asks.

'Good. They felt good, especially for mediums.'

'If you keep that up you'll be first easily tomorrow. I guarantee it.'

Seulgi almost laughs at that. 'Easy,' she says. She looks around for Irene despite knowing Irene's in the Samsung garage. 'Nothing's going to be easy. Not even a slight.'

'Shame we couldn't get a front row lockout. But still, first place. Gives you some serious leeway tomorrow.'

She nods and looks back at the crowd and at Wendy again. They're still all there, still losing their minds. Wendy looks at Joy and smiles and taps Seulgi on the shoulder and disappears. When they're alone Joy says, 'Where'd you learn to drive like that?'

Seulgi laughs.

'Seriously, though, that was great. Properly impressive stuff.'

'Sorry about your tires.'

'Don't sweat it. I'm still third. It's all about you now. Team orders and stuff.'

'Team orders? For me?'

'Yeah. You don't know?'

Seulgi just looks at her.

'It's between you and Irene now,' says Joy.

'The championship.'

'Yeah. So the orders are to make sure it's you, and if that means keeping me a distant third then it's what's got to happen.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be. It's how this sport goes. You should know that by now. Am I annoyed? Sure. I wanted the trophy. But this is a team sport, you know? At the end of the day, it's the team as much as it is us, and they're right. It's all about you now. Look at them.'

She motions out to the crowd in the grandstands. 'See?' she says.

'I can't believe it. Any of it. Any of this.'

'Maybe it's better that way.'

'Maybe so.'

They stand a while taking in everything. Pinch me, Seulgi wants to say. Make sure I'm not dreaming. After a while she grabs her helmet and Joy shakes her hand with a smile. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' she says. 'Good luck.'

'You too.'

The first thing she does when she gets back to her hotel room is shower and change and work up the courage to go and knock on Irene's door.

They're sat by the arch of the window some four stories up. From there all of Monte Carlo gleams in the evening's cool sunglare like something seen through bad glass, ripples on the surface of water. The restaurant smells of lavender and expensive cologne and vaguely of brandy and champagne undernotes. The waiter that serves them their seafood meals with a healthy helping of salad greens and two chilled wine glasses wears a pressed tuxedo and a fancy white undershirt and smells nicer than anyone Seulgi has ever smelt before. She watches a moment while Irene eats. Everything about her is so infuriating, so easy to sit and study and be fascinated at. She finishes a piece of the lobster and looks at Seulgi and smiles.

'What?' she says.

'Nothing.'

'What.'

'I just didn't expect to be sat here doing this the night before the race.'

'Consider it my treat,' Irene says. The waiter comes over with a bottle of wine and pours them each a glass and Irene thanks him. It's a deep shade of red, fruity aftertones. 'I said I'd get you to try the Chateau, didn't I?'

She never said that but Seulgi doesn't remind her. She drinks and motions for Seulgi to do the same. It's a tart taste but it's sweet and rich and almost too rich. Irene giggles. 'Good?' she asks.

'Yeah.'

'Told you.'

'This is the fanciest place I've ever eaten at.'

'That's Monaco for you. Where the Formula 1 race course is the least extravagant place in the country.'

'Imagine that.'

They eat and talk about nothing and sip their expensive Chateau red while the candled world wilts away to a wicker in the low west. Seulgi watches Irene very closely. She thinks it's rather strange how Irene is even entertaining the notion of something other than talking about racing but thinking about it too long only draws the bad out and not the good. They eat and drink and she doesn't think about the race tomorrow at all. Not until Irene mentions it offhandedly. 'Should be fun,' she says.

'I hope so.'

'Monaco's always fun to race around. If you're in the lead, that is. If you're not, well, not really. Too hard to overtake.'

'Good thing you're always in the lead, then.'

'Good thing indeed,' Irene says. They're all smiles and red wine again. Seulgi sits a minute just thinking to herself. She wants to say something but she doesn't know what to say. She's comfortable with Irene but there's a tension below the surface and she treats every interaction with the sort of cautious distance as one might make when walking on ice, as if the wrong word or phrase might serve only to divide back whatever they've become into its origins, and there's nothing she wants less than that. She finishes the last of the wine, rich and smooth in . Her watch reads just past nine. After a minute she says, 'I wonder where the others are.'

'Probably preparing for tomorrow.'

'Yeah. Like we probably should be doing.'

'Probably,' Irene says. They share a glance Seulgi can't truly gauge and it's frustrating. Smirks and smiles and idle talk and is that it? Is that all there is? Or is tomorrow simply too important to give way to anything else? She doesn't know. It's impossible to tell. Irene sips the last of the red and pushes the glass across the table and leans back. A stray strand of hair falls about her face and she pushes it back with such grace it looks rehearsed.

'We should get back,' Seulgi says.

'Yeah, I think you're right.'

'Thanks for the meal. I didn't expect it.'

'It's alright.'

The waiter comes over and Irene hands him her credit card.

'Oh, no,' Seulgi says, but Irene stops her and smiles at the waiter and takes her card back. 'It's my treat,' she says.

'I would've paid.'

'Well, it wouldn't have been a treat then, would it?'

'I suppose not.'

She thinks about it all the way back to Irene's room on the third floor of the hotel. She's still thinking about it when they're at the end of the corridor and Irene turns to her and smiles as if to say: See you tomorrow. Seulgi just stands. There are things she should and should not do and this falls somewhere in the middle, this breaks the neatly arranged spectrum. The world without them is silent. She and Irene exist if only for a moment in their own glassglobe universe. The quiet is awful. She wants Irene to do something. Maybe speak or maybe say good luck or maybe just turn around and open her door and disappear inside but she doesn't. She just stands there with a smile playing on her lips.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' she says, standing there with a hand on the wall behind her.

‘Yeah.’

She just stands there. The silence in the hall is suffocating. Seulgi only looks at her. The space between them is inches. Do something, she thinks. Say something. Or go inside. Just don’t stand there any longer. Please.

‘Seulgi,’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

‘Kiss—’

Seulgi's lips are on her before she can finish the word Me. She stumbles a slight, so that her back is pressed up against the hotel room door and her legs are awkward and she doesn't know what to do with her hands. Seulgi kisses her for a long time. She smells so incredible. Looks even better. When she pulls away they're both flushed and Seulgi looks at her and realises exactly what she's just done and where and with whom.

'Oh my God,' she stutters. 'I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me.'

'Sorry? For what?'

'I just, I mean—'

'Took you long enough.'

'What?'

Irene smirks. The tinge on her cheeks is so palely gorgeous it looks painted on. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' she says. Then she turns around and opens the door and does finally disappear and Seulgi is alone with the truth of all that has transpired, the truth that she doesn't know what it means for her, for them, for anyone.

She sleeps better than she's slept in a long time.

It's strange, in a way. Friday afternoon her head was Irene Irene Irene and her practice laps were dreadful. Sunday her head is still Irene Irene Irene but the car feels good and the race is smooth and perhaps it's the Monaco crowd or the luscious scenery or the lingering taste of Irene's sweet lips but whatever it is, it's working. She pits on lap forty onto a new set of softs and comes out of the pitlane still in second behind Irene and the crowd are on their feet and Wendy's in her ear.

'Hey,' she says. 'Keep the pace. You're doing really well.'

'What are the times like?'

'You're about equal on pace. Your last lap was a tenth quicker than hers.'

'I'll never catch her like this.'

'Just keep your head down.'

'What about behind me?'

'Don't worry about behind you. You're fine for second.'

'I don't want second.'

'I know. Just don't do anything stupid. We don't want a repeat of China.'

'I can catch her. I know it.'

It's six laps later when she rounds Portier heading into the tunnel that she catches sight of the white Samsung just up ahead for the first time in a while. The static in her ear cuts in and Wendy's there. 'I don't know what you're doing,' she says, 'but it's working. How are you feeling? How's the car? The tires?'

'Good, all good.'

'You're not pushing them too hard?'

'No. It's all fine. I feel great.'

'Well.'

'Well what?'

'Well keep it up.'

She thinks perhaps it's Irene. It's the advice Irene has given her over the past three or four months telling her to be confident in herself, telling her she has that extra something to do what it takes to be champion. Or maybe it's the hidden desire to impress her. To make her proud. To earn that mutual respect. There isn't enough time to stop and mull it over. On lap fifty at La Rascasse she sees just how close they are. Maybe only two seconds in it. Maybe less. 'Hey,' Wendy says. 'You're closing the gap bit by bit. This is insane.'

'Talk to me.'

'You've just done a one forty-four three.'

'What about her?'

'About eight tenths of a second off your pace. You'll catch her in the next three or four laps if you keep this up.'

'I can,' Seulgi says, more to herself. 'I can catch her.'

The truth that Irene is a lot slower than usual never even registers. There's too much going on to think about that at the moment. It's only when Irene runs wide going into Saint Devote and slides the back end out does Seulgi begin to notice something's wrong. By the time they're at Beau Rivage the gap is only a second. 'Wendy,' she says. 'What's happening?'

'I don't know.'

'To her, I mean.'

'She's struggling. Maybe it's the grip, I don't know. But her times have been slipping lap after lap for the past fifteen laps or so. And yours haven't.'

'I hope she's okay.'

'You should worry about your own race,' Wendy says.

'I know. But—'

'Just focus on what you're doing.'

The autumn sun is wicked on the white paint ahead. The crowd watch her shoot by at Massenet and Casino and clap in awe. She's got a twenty-second gap on Joy in third. It's just her and Irene. Irene Irene Irene. She expects to cut down the inside and overtake Irene going into Portier. What she doesn't expect is Irene losing all control of the car and running it straight into the safety wall in a cloud of smoke. The front wing shatters instantly. By the time Seulgi's in the tunnel and checking the rearview mirror Irene's at a dead halt and the marshals are already checking on her and the crowd is so loud she can barely hear herself in the headset.

'Holy ,' she mutters. 'Oh my God, Wendy.'

'Yeah. Yeah, I'm here.'

'What just—'

'I saw it, yeah.'

'Is that it?'

There's silence. Then Wendy says, 'Yeah. That's it for her. She's binned it.'

'Oh my God.'

'Just keep your head down now. The win's yours.'

She crosses the line to the adoration of the crowd some twenty minutes later but there's no joy in the win. It isn't like Bahrain. It isn't even like Japan. Only the thought at the back of her head saying: I wonder if Irene's okay. I wonder what happened.

Wendy and Joy both hug her in the garage but Wendy's the first notice something's wrong. She always is. 'What's up?' she says. 'You don't look like you've just won the most prestigious race in the world.'

'That wasn't like her. That was uncharacteristic. She never messes up like that. Not in the second half of the season. You said it yourself.'

'Everyone has their off days.'

'But not like that. You said she's a machine.'

'You won, Seulgi. That's what counts.'

Seulgi isn't paying much attention. She sees the ruined Samsung being pushed into the pitlane and excuses herself and goes out and down to the Samsung garage to find Yeri stood drinking a bottle of water by the scoreboard monitors. They've already been updated with the latest points. Seulgi takes one look at them and has to do a double take.

1. IRENE BAE - 308

2. SEULGI KANG - 302

3. SOOYOUNG PARK - 227

Yeri turns to her and sips her water through a straw and gives a curt nod. 'Congrats,' she says.

'Thanks. Congrats on third.'

Yeri just nods.

'Where's Irene?'

'Gone, I think. She didn't say.'

'When did she leave?'

'Right after she went into that wall.'

'That's not like her.'

'You're telling me.'

One of the other marshals taps her on the shoulder and herds her to the interview box and it takes all her remaining respect for the way things are done not to excuse her and go searching. And when they're up on the podium with the champagne and the trophies and a thousand cameras in the audience all pointing their way, Seulgi's the only one not smiling.

The answer is tentative, the door opening only slightly. Irene's been crying. That much is obvious from the onset. It's the first time Seulgi's seen that sort of emotion from her. She's seen laughter and amusement. She's seen quiet contemplation. She's seen anger that fateful day in China so long ago. But this is something else.

'Hey,' Seulgi says, trying to smile. Irene looks at her and wipes her eyes and sniffs. 'Sorry,' she says.

'I just wanted to see if you're okay. I was really worried for you when I didn't see you in the garage.'

'I'm fine.'

'Are you sure?'

'No. I'm not fine. But there's not a lot you can do about it.'

'Irene—'

'Sorry,' Irene says again. She's still got her hand on the doorframe. 'I just want to be alone for a bit.'

'Yeah, no, I get that. I'll go.'

'Thanks.'

'I'm sorry about what happened.'

'It was my fault. I ed up.'

'Happens to the best of us.'

'Not to me,' Irene says, and the severity in which it comes out is alarming.

'I'm here if you want to talk, or vent, or whatever.'

'I know. Thanks.'

'If you need anything.'

Irene stands there. Nothing else in the corridor makes a sound. For a moment Seulgi thinks she might open the door and let Seulgi in and just spill everything. Just break down and let it all out, whatever there is to let out. Talk about the kiss, talk about the race. Talk about anything. Instead she forces a lopsided smile and says, 'I just need some time alone. I'll see you back in Korea.'

'Korea. Yeah. Of course.'

She smiles again. Her hands are already moving to close the door, to shut Seulgi out. 'Thanks,' she says, and then Seulgi is alone.