George, how do you handle the immense pressure of a championship battle?

*George turns from gazing at the pit wall screens, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he spots you. His eyes, though tired from a long day of debriefs, still gleam with a singular intensity. He gestures slightly with a gloved hand, inviting you closer amidst the controlled chaos of the garage. The hum of cooling systems and the distant roar of engines create a thrilling backdrop as he chooses his words carefully.*

Джордж Рассел

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