Qualifying

Before noon, all the limited-edition items had signs saying "Sold Out Today" hanging in front of the shelves.

Those who missed out let out a huge sigh, while the professional scalpers had already gathered in twos and threes in the park's smoking area, taking stock of their day's winnings.

A windbreaker that originally cost 15,000 Japanese yen can be resold for 25,000 yen.

Compared to the bustling and lively sales scene at the Sega booth, the atmosphere inside the McLaren Team's pit garage was somewhat subdued.

Saturday's qualifying session at Suzuka Circuit was unusually good; the bright sunshine made the track scorching hot, gradually drying up the McLaren Team's last hopes.

Nakayama Takuya and Mark's group were in the VIP lounge of McLaren. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows faced the pit lane, and several screens on the wall displayed the real-time situation of various parts of the track and the drivers' lap times.

Kevin, like a devout believer, clasped his hands together and stared intently at the ever-updating results board.

"Go Elton! Go!"

Every time the red and white MP4/7A race car crossed the timing point and the result jumped on the screen, Kevin would let out a shout.

But reality is cold and cruel.

At the very top of the screen, a name was soldered there like a branding iron—Nigel Mansell.

1:37.360.

A result that left all competitors in despair.

When the number first appeared on the screen, a collective gasp filled the entire lounge.

"My God—is this Williams equipped with rocket boosters?" Kevin's face turned pale.

Mark Cerny, holding a cup of coffee, frowned. "The FW14B's active suspension system has a significant advantage on this winding track."

Before the words were even finished, another blue and white Williams race car crossed the finish line, with Gato Patres' name following closely behind.

1:38.219.

Williams Team has secured the front row starting position with undisputed confidence.

Kevin opened his mouth, but couldn't utter the words "Go for it!"

He watched helplessly as Elton Senna's name was pushed down to third place, while Gerhard Berger came in fourth.

The red and white McLaren was firmly blocked behind him by the blue and white Williams.

What made their hearts sink even more was that Michael Schumacher's name appeared in fifth place.

The young Germany driver, driving Benetton car, was like a shark that had smelled blood, relentlessly chasing McLaren.

"It's over." Kevin slumped onto the sofa, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been ripped out. "They didn't even give Elton a chance."

The enthusiastic fan who danced and gesticulated wildly upon seeing his idol yesterday has now completely deflated.

"Don't be so pessimistic, Kevin," Mark patted him on the shoulder, trying to comfort him. "Qualifying and the race are two different things. Maybe—maybe McLaren's strategy today is to carry more fuel to prepare for the race."

Even Mark himself felt unsure of his words.

"Save your breath, Mark," Kevin waved his hand listlessly. "Even if McLaren has more fuel, the fact remains that both Williams drivers are in great form, not to mention how difficult it is to break through the blockade of the first two cars at the start."

Yesterday, he was excitedly boasting to his colleagues that Senna could make up for the shortcomings of the car with his skills and create a miracle in Suzuka.

But today's qualifying results were like a resounding slap in the face, landing hard on his cheek.

The other United States in the lounge looked at each other, and no one dared to speak again.

October 25, 1992, the day of the F1 Japanese Grand Prix.

The clouds hung low over the Suzuka Circuit, and the air was so humid it seemed you could wring water out of it; an autumn rain seemed imminent.

Sega's booth at Motopia Park was rather deserted compared to the crowds of the previous two days. Only a handful of people were in front of the dozen or so VR Racing units, as most were completely captivated by the roar of engines about to erupt on the track.

The sales area was deserted. Apart from a few scalpers who were still looking around, ordinary spectators had already flocked to the stands to find the best viewing spots.

"It's about to start! Mark, where do you think Senna will start and take the lead today?" Kevin was fidgeting, constantly shifting his position on the sofa in the stands, as excited as a sprinter waiting for the starting gun.

Mark Cerny, holding a cup of coffee, glanced at the pre-race preparations on the big screen and said calmly, "Kevin, there are endless possibilities in a race. Let's see how it starts."

Nakayama Takuya stood behind them, his hands in his pockets, his gaze calmly fixed on the screen, but the slight tension in his jawline betrayed his inner anticipation.

The tire warm-up session ended at 2 PM sharp.

Twenty-six race cars came to a stop one by one on the starting grid, the roar of the V12 engines merging into a sound that shook the earth.

Red light off!

The race cars surged out like a floodgate being opened, with the red and white McLaren cars standing out prominently in the traffic.

Kevin's fists were clenched, and he was muttering to himself, as if he were using his mental powers to cheer on his idol.

But just as they entered the second lap, a sudden change occurred.

On the big screen, Senna's MP4/7A race car slowed down noticeably after turning one, sliding helplessly toward the run-off area on the side of the track, with an ominous wisp of smoke billowing from the engine at the rear.

Kevin's cheer caught in his throat, and all the color drained from his face.

No way?

The commentator's heartbroken roar blared from the stadium's loudspeakers, "Ayrton Senna! Engine failure! My God! The Brazil racing legend has retired from the race after just one lap in his semi-home arena!"

The camera focuses on Senna, who has just stepped out of the cockpit. He takes off his yellow and green helmet and throws it to the ground, his face showing undisguised disappointment and anger.

Nakayama Takuya stared at the forlorn figure on the screen, the sincere gratitude in those eyes from two days ago still vivid in his mind. He sighed softly.

This is F1.

Precision and cruelty are at play; the failure of even the smallest part can render all the driver's life-risking efforts futile.

The drama on the racetrack didn't stop with the racing legend's departure.

On lap 13, Michael Schumacher, the prodigy hailed as Senna's successor, also had his Benetton car stop on the side of the road due to a gearbox problem.

The entire audience erupted in uproar.

The match suddenly turned into a brutal war of attrition.

On lap 44, Nigel Mansell, the defending champion and the "United Kingdom Lion" of Williams Team, who had been far ahead and had set the fastest lap of the race, also suffered the same fate: his engine exploded and he retired from the race!