Just as he was preparing to return to the pit lane, Mark's excited, voice-cracking shout suddenly exploded in his ears.
"Alex Sun! Big news! Lawson's been disqualified for a violation! You've been promoted to third—you're on the podium!"
Alex Sun clenched the steering wheel, his breathing instantly quickening beneath the helmet as he asked in disbelief, "Mark, what did you say? I'm on the podium?"
Only after the team's cheers erupted over the radio did the corners of his mouth finally lift, beyond his control.
As a rookie taking on a wet Monaco for the first time, he had proven himself with a performance defined by controlled progress: two decisive overtakes at critical moments, steady rhythm through multiple Safety Car interruptions, and, in the end, a podium secured through a rival's infraction.
Those points didn't just narrow the gap to the front of the standings. They validated the team's wet-weather setup, helped him overcome his weakness on slippery circuits, and proved his value with real results.
After taking the chequered flag, Alex Sun didn't head straight back to the pit lane. Instead, he guided the car slowly toward the designated podium parking spot by the track, clearly marked "3rd."
Not far away, Ticktum was already waving in celebration toward the "1st" sign, while Piastri had parked his car neatly in the "2nd" area. The three cars formed a triangular formation, instantly becoming the most eye-catching sight on the circuit.
Alex Sun stopped the car cleanly, removed the steering wheel, climbed out of the monocoque, and stood atop the car, pumping his fist hard in celebration. Even the system's mechanical voice faded into irrelevance in that moment.
From March 8, 2021—when he arrived during winter testing—to May 22, the second sprint race at Monaco, seventy-five days and nights of relentless effort had all condensed into this moment, crystallizing into the finest trophy, waiting for him on the third step of the podium.
Cheers rolled in from the trackside stands, this time for him—the rookie who had climbed to third through promotion.
Alex Sun jumped down from the car, straight into the arms of the Prema mechanics. His race engineer, Mark, gave him a solid slap on the shoulder and shouted, "You're our pride!"
As the noise gradually settled, Alex Sun reined in his surging emotions and turned toward the podium steps.
The steps beneath his feet were still damp from the race. Sunlight fell across the metal railings, reflecting a blinding sheen.
He took his place on the third step. Beside him, Ticktum and Piastri both extended their hands. The three exchanged smiles and shook firmly. It was a mutual understanding shared only among drivers—nothing to do with winning or losing, only with the perseverance demanded by a rain-soaked battle.
Soon, the presenter approached with the trophy and placed it into Alex Sun's hands. The metal felt cold against his palms, yet it set his heart ablaze. He raised it high and waved toward the grandstands as cheers and camera shutters blended into a single, rousing chorus.
The celebration followed right on cue, with staff bringing out three bottles of champagne.
Ticktum was the first to pop the cork, golden foam spraying skyward as he laughed and splashed the champagne into the air. Piastri followed, turning toward Alex Sun and flashing a "cheers" gesture.
Alex Sun copied them, twisting open his own bottle. The icy champagne splashed across his palm, the fizz sharp and unmistakable.
He lifted the bottle, first saluting the Prema pit lane, then joined the celebration. The three sprayed champagne at one another, foam sliding down their race suits and mixing with the leftover rainwater—unable to douse the elation burning inside them.
All regrets and frustrations melted away, leaving only the joy of success and anticipation for what lay ahead.
No sooner had the podium ceremony ended than reporters waiting at the exit surged forward, microphones thrust toward Alex Sun.
"Alex Sun, Prema have taken a double podium today. This is also your first time racing on a wet Monaco circuit, and you ultimately made the podium through promotion. How are you feeling right now?" The question went straight to the point.
Holding the trophy, Alex Sun spoke calmly, though the excitement was impossible to hide.
"It's a huge surprise, and I feel very fortunate. This race had so many twists—from the hope the Safety Car brought, to the disappointment when the sprint chance slipped away, and then finally being promoted onto the podium. None of it was easy.
Thanks to the team for the wet-weather setup, and to myself for not giving up. This trophy belongs to the whole team."
Another reporter followed up, "What kind of mindset will you bring into the next feature race?"
Alex Sun's gaze was steady.
"This race helped me overcome my weakness on wet tracks and gave me experience managing complex race rhythms. Next time, I'll aim higher and try to bring even more surprises to everyone who supports me."
The short interview wrapped up quickly. Alex Sun nodded to the reporters, cradling the trophy and carrying the half-finished bottle of champagne as he headed straight back to the team's pit box.
Sunlight spilled across the circuit, the remaining puddles scattering fragments of light. Water droplets slid down the edge of the trophy, mingling with champagne foam to leave unique traces. His eyes drifted to the temporary classification screen ahead—"Alex Sun 3rd" stood firmly in place, sending a surge of heat through his chest.
The moment he entered the pit lane, he saw his Prema teammates clustered at the garage entrance, waving and shouting excitedly. He quickened his pace, and they immediately swarmed him—hugs, pats on the back, and cheers so loud they nearly drowned out the fading engine noise from the track.
His gaze swept across the pit lane just in time to see his car being smoothly pushed toward scrutineering. Under F2 regulations, every classified car had to pass technical inspection.
Not far away, Viscaal and Petecof stood dejectedly reviewing their race, their downcast expressions forming a stark contrast with the celebration on this side.
Mark stepped up again and patted his shoulder. "Well done. You earned that trophy."
At that moment, Guanyu Zhou's car rolled slowly into the pit lane as well. Through the cockpit canopy, his tightly furrowed brow and frustrated expression were clear. He was still stewing over his mid-race gamble to pit for new tyres—a call that backfired completely and left him at the bottom of the order, wiping out all his earlier efforts.
Inside the pit box, the team already had clean towels and water ready. Alex Sun took a towel, wiping sweat and champagne foam from his face, then set the trophy down on the rest table, its metallic sheen reflecting the garage lights.
The sudden downpour during practice, the team's efficient wet setup, the composed sprint race, the glory of the podium—scene after scene flashed through his mind. This race hadn't just helped him conquer his weakness on slippery tracks; it proved his control over race rhythm and delivered a perfect answer to the expectations placed on him.
Looking ahead to the next feature race, Alex Sun felt more confident than ever. He clenched his fist, his fingertips trembling slightly with anticipation. This hard-earned belief would carry him toward an even higher goal.
Monaco's track surface was still damp, but Alex Sun's fighting spirit burned bright. Next time, his sights were set on the top step.
But before that, he needed to take his champagne and properly console his beloved Zhou—Friend Zhou—and, while he was at it, figure out just what was going on with that mysterious system alert.