"Dirty tactics!"
In the mixed zone, before the post-race press conference and podium ceremony, Toto Wolff launched his attack in front of everyone.
The Austrian, with a cold and arrogant demeanor, threw out the phrase, refusing to hide his anger and disdain. His eyes were full of condescending contempt as he opened fire.
"There is no doubt, this was deliberate by Ferrari."
"Look at that collision. Kai came straight up and hit Lewis accurately! That wasn't a mistake. Don't use 'rookie' as an excuse. This was a carefully planned strategy to ruin our race and destroy Lewis's home victory."
"Dirty! Shameless!"
His anger burned.
Although Wolff tried to take a deep breath and control himself, it was clearly difficult.
The Mercedes boss usually presented a calm, elegant business elite image, rarely showing distress in front of the media. But today, he couldn't control his emotions. As the championship battle intensified, he bared his fangs.
"This isn't the first time."
"In France, Sebastian hit Valtteri. In Britain, Kai hit Lewis. So, is this Ferrari's strategy?"
"We are here to race. Don't bring those dirty, ugly, low-class street racing tactics into the paddock. It's disgraceful."
"Let me tell you, if Ferrari thinks they can shake us with these methods, they are wrong! Next time they play tricks, they better make sure they take us out completely. Otherwise, Mercedes will fight to the end. Lewis will fight to the end. Those despicable tactics will never defeat justice."
A long, righteous tirade.
No more words were needed. Wolff's stance was clear. From France to Britain, Mercedes refused to be the victim a third time.
If Wolff was calculating, perhaps his "rage" was just a performance. He hadn't forgotten this was Silverstone, where Hamilton's influence was unmatched. No driver or team could compete with Hamilton here, so using public opinion to pressure Ferrari wasn't surprising.
But Hamilton was different.
In or out of the car, Hamilton always gave the impression of being calm and composed, rarely losing control—perhaps Rosberg was an exception?
But today, in the mixed zone, Hamilton couldn't control himself either, launching a sarcastic attack.
"Today, Ferrari used 'interesting tactics,' didn't they?"
Pointed words with hidden meaning.
After speaking, Hamilton paused deliberately, looking up just in time to see Kai approaching.
Gazes collided in the air. Sparks flew. The atmosphere tightened.
Hamilton spoke slowly, word by word. Even without raising his voice, the sharpness was palpable.
"Obviously, they coordinated at the start to create chaos. And that collision... it was either deliberate or complete incompetence. It ruined my race. I don't think Ferrari's overall strategy is clean enough."
Light words, but heavy impact.
Those sarcastic remarks were thrown straight at Kai without disguise.
Kai: Hehe.
Kai was originally holding back his anger. The mixed zone was crowded, eyes on him, and he didn't understand what had happened. But hearing Hamilton's distorted accusation, his anger vanished instantly. Instead, he was amused. This was too funny.
Thanks for the trust! Hamilton actually thought Kai and Vettel coordinated perfectly at the start for a tactical play.
Leaving aside whether the Ferrari drivers cooperated, if Hamilton hadn't messed up his own start, none of this would have happened.
The air froze slightly—
This season, Kai had burst onto the scene, battling Hamilton fiercely on and off the track. But in reality, they had never truly clashed wheel-to-wheel until today's collision at Silverstone.
Always, despite media fanning the flames, the two drivers had kept their distance. The seemingly intense rivalry was just spectator fodder. After all, whether this rookie could last and pose a real threat to Hamilton needed time to verify.
But today, the daggers were out. Blood was in the air.
Instantly, Kai stood under the spotlight, experiencing what it felt to be the true center of attention. At Silverstone, things were indeed different.
Kai paused slightly, his smile rising. He nodded gently at Hamilton. "Thanks for the cooperation."
Wait, what?
Thanks... for the cooperation? Was he saying Hamilton's predicament was entirely self-inflicted, and his cooperation made Ferrari's "strategy" work?
Just one sentence, delivered with a smile, froze the air.
Kai continued walking unhurriedly. Hamilton's anger surged, and he raised his voice, a rare occurrence.
"This is Silverstone. Everyone knows how important this is to me. In front of my home crowd, I gave everything. I fought to the last moment. But this isn't the result I wanted. Ferrari ruined my race. They know what they are doing. Don't tell me it's all an accident. Once might be an accident. Twice? That's a strategy."
On the surface, Hamilton was speaking to the media, but his peripheral vision was locked on Kai. The smell of gunpowder thickened.
Here it comes! The first direct confrontation between Hamilton and Kai!
Everyone watched as Kai didn't turn around. He just raised his right hand and dug his pinky into his ear, as if he had just heard something dirty.
Silence. Sudden silence.
The noise outside the mixed zone continued, but the reporters surrounding Hamilton and Kai held their breaths, looking at each other, unable to hide the excitement in their eyes.
Showtime!
Kai stopped. Did Mercedes think only they could talk?
Honestly, Kai was still bitter about the 10-second penalty. Mekies and Clear had reviewed the footage repeatedly and confirmed he hadn't broken the rules. If he had, they would have warned him. But clearly, he hadn't.
So it wasn't a track issue. Ferrari was already preparing an appeal.
Why did the FIA favor Mercedes? Was it because Wolff complained louder?
Now, Kai was holding his breath, ready to fight back. Mercedes claiming Ferrari was "dirty"—as if they were some innocent white lotus being framed.
At that moment, Lorenzo appeared in the mixed zone. Searching left and right, he finally found Kai. He hurried through the crowd, pulled Kai back two steps, and whispered in his ear.
Visibly, the smile on Kai's lips paused. Then, it vanished.
In that moment, Kai's entire world went silent.
Buzz, buzz.
The world was noisy, chaotic and surging. Crowds, sounds, lights, and colors intertwined like a kaleidoscope, pouring down like a summer storm. Everything seemed fast-forwarded, spinning at 10x speed.
But in Kai's world, there was no sound. Only colorful lights flowing, colliding. Yet, it was dead silent. Terrifyingly quiet.
Kai froze. He turned to Lorenzo, forced a smile, and patted his friend's shoulder, signaling not to worry.
Then, he looked back at the reporters. Shoulders open, head high, facing the storm calmly. There was still a pack of wolves waiting for his counterattack.
But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vettel entering the mixed zone, triumphant and spirited, his light steps unable to hide his joy.
Suddenly, Kai was hit hard again.
"Sergio had brain damage during surgery. He's in a coma."
That was the news Lorenzo had just whispered. Like an April Fool's joke. Unreal.
Sergio Marchionne, the smiling old man who commanded the world, who had joked with him just a few days ago... in a coma.
Without warning. A sudden turn for the worse.
So, the rumors weren't groundless—Marchionne did clash with Arrivabene. Arrivabene and Vettel's high spirits this week stemmed from the pressure above, the "last stand" desperation. That was the real reason for Vettel's rejuvenated form today?
At this moment, watching Vettel's triumphant posture again, mixed emotions surged. Kai stood there, dazed.
He had to leave. The media didn't matter. Mercedes and Hamilton didn't matter. The 10-second penalty didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
He just needed some time and space.
Without pausing, Kai turned and walked away.
Lorenzo's heart sank. Ignoring the stunned, noisy reporters, he chased after him.
He knew Marchionne's role in Kai's short career. Without exaggeration, without Marchionne, this career wouldn't exist. The scene in the Milan hospital a few days ago was still vivid, pressing heavily on his chest.
And now, the future was uncertain—
Hurrying forward, Lorenzo found Kai stopped again in the middle of the crowd. Standing there blankly, head down in thought, seemingly swallowed by the noise. He caught up. "Kai?"
Kai didn't respond. Suddenly, he turned, walked past Lorenzo, and strode toward Vettel—not Hamilton, but Vettel!
Wait, what was Kai doing? Punching Vettel in public? The media would faint from excitement!
Lorenzo tried to grab Kai's arm but was too slow. He watched helplessly as Kai rushed forward, his breath catching.
Not just Lorenzo. The reporters, paddock staff, drivers like Sainz and Grosjean—everyone looked over with eager eyes. The busy mixed zone stopped briefly. After the friction at the French GP podium, was the conflict between the two Ferrari drivers finally surfacing?
Even Hamilton sensed the atmosphere shift, paused his interview, and looked over.
Swords drawn, bows bent!
Vettel, facing away, didn't notice until the reporters' excited gazes made him turn around. He saw Kai.
Vettel's muscles tensed instantly. But the young man stopped two steps away, staring at him intently.
Then, Kai raised his right hand, extending it flatly. "Great race. Congratulations!"
The air stagnated—
Wait, what? What did Kai just say?
Vettel realized. Last week, he had mockingly suggested they start by shaking hands. So this guy was taking the initiative to shake hands.
Was this a coincidence?
Under the public gaze, Vettel felt the weight of everyone's eyes on his shoulders, burning his skin. Although he didn't understand Kai's move, he didn't need to be petty with a youngster. Be the bigger man.
Vettel extended his right hand too, shaking politely. "Great race."
A light flashed in Kai's eyes. "Next time, I'll work harder, go further, and strive to stand beside you."
Hamilton: My back is full of arrows! If you think I'm in the way, just say my name!
Everyone present was smart. Although Kai never directly responded to Hamilton or Mercedes, he was clearly holding a grudge.
And he wasn't bowing his head.
Instantly, eyes shifted back to Hamilton.
However, Kai didn't linger. He turned again, walking toward the stunned Lorenzo, signaling his friend. They returned to the hospitality unit together.
In the mixed zone, people looked at each other, confused. But only for a moment. Phones and laptops buzzed. A flood of news poured in. No one cared about Kai anymore. Even Hamilton and Vettel were left behind.
Bustling, noisy. A heatwave surged toward the Ferrari garage—
Official news from Ferrari: Chairman and CEO Sergio Marchionne cannot return to work due to health reasons.
Soon, major media outlets confirmed it.
Shock hit faces. Brains crashed. What happened to Marchionne? Combined with the events of the past week at Silverstone, the racing world experienced an earthquake. No one knew what it meant or what waves it would cause.
Life is always like this. No one can predict which comes first: death or tomorrow.
However, the noise outside was blocked by the door. It had nothing to do with Kai.
Lorenzo watched Kai sitting cross-legged in an ice bath, cooling his muscles. His face was calm, but Lorenzo couldn't control his own unease. A storm was coming.
Lorenzo scratched his head vigorously, messing up his hair. "Kai—"
But how to comfort him?
Facing life and death, one always feels small and powerless.
"Just now, Sebastian... what was that about..." Lorenzo changed the subject clumsily. He knew it was stiff.
Kai's lips twitched, but no smile came. He calmed down immediately. "For Sergio."
Lorenzo froze. "Why?"
Kai remained calm. "For his dream. The Championship! Lorenzo, I can't help Ferrari win the Constructors' Championship alone."
"If I have to work with Sebastian and Maurizio to win the Constructors' title, I'm willing to try."
"Sergio's dream... he handed it to me personally. I will realize it."
Light words. No grand speeches, no oaths. But the weight was palpable, suffocating.
Lorenzo felt his eyes itch. He rubbed them awkwardly, took a deep breath, and forced a big smile.
"Yeah, I believe you. If you can't do it, I don't know who can. Kai, Ferrari's championship dream depends on you now—"
But why was the smile so bitter?
The 2018 British Grand Prix ended. Ferrari successfully extended their lead in the Constructors' Championship and encircled Hamilton in the Drivers' standings. The season's excitement continued to rise.
—
However, rarely, news off the track stole the spotlight. First Force India teetering on collapse, then Ferrari Chairman Marchionne's health crisis. Rumors swirled in the streets.
Although Ferrari and Marchionne's family kept strict secrecy, refusing all probes and visits, preventing any knowledge of the 66-year-old titan's specific condition, they couldn't stop the pervasive paparazzi and media.
Later, news emerged: Marchionne was being treated for an invasive shoulder sarcoma, a type of cancer. During surgery, he suffered a cerebral embolism, causing irreversible brain damage. He fell into a coma. The hospital was assembling a team to consider the next steps.
Worse, the situation was grim. Brain damage was irreversible. Recovery hope was lost. Marchionne relied on a ventilator to maintain life signs.
Rumors, for now. No official confirmation. But Ferrari was on edge. Tifosi across Italy held vigils, hoping to help the titan weather the storm.
There's a saying in the paddock: Ferrari has no small matters. Even a breeze can cause a tsunami. No team could ignore this.
This was a big matter.
An event that could shake the entire Fiat group, affecting every aspect from top to bottom. The F1 team was no exception.
Everyone knew Ferrari's F1 resurgence was a key part of Marchionne's rebranding. Hiring Arrivabene in late 2014, emphasizing the Academy... all to bring Ferrari back to championship contention.
However, last season, Ferrari controlled the first half but collapsed in the second. This deepened the rift between Marchionne and Arrivabene. Arrivabene's first four-year term was ending. Marchionne's attitude was crucial.
Now, Marchionne was in a coma—
Some thought Arrivabene lost his biggest backer and his job was at risk. The summer break would be a time of change for Ferrari.
Others thought the opposite. Marchionne was Arrivabene's biggest trouble. Now, Arrivabene might gain more authority. Amidst the chaos, the F1 team would be left entirely to him.
What about rivals?
Mercedes and Red Bull were restless. Respecting Marchionne was one thing; a fire in a rival's backyard was another. Public blessings wouldn't stop them from stabbing Ferrari in the back.
Sauber and Haas, customer teams, were anxious. Sauber almost left Ferrari last season. Would this instability trigger a definitive break?
Ambitious Renault and McLaren were sniffing around. If Ferrari was in chaos, could they fish in troubled waters? Poach talent? Steal data?
Even Force India and Williams, struggling to survive, were not exempt.
Chaos, turbulent waves. The paddock was a microcosm, reflecting the ruthless, profit-driven reality.
Logically, in this chaos, drivers were pawns. They couldn't shake capital or participate in power struggles. They had almost no presence. Let alone the high-level bosses; even the media had no time for their inner thoughts.
Maybe Alonso, who could leverage capital, was a rare exception.
However, unexpectedly, Kai's name appeared in the headlines again. And not with kind words.
Clearly, the media hadn't missed Kai leaving the mixed zone early at Silverstone. To some, it was normal. Marchionne's coma was shocking; even Wolff and Horner were speechless.
But others speculated maliciously about the "cruel truth."
Like Arrivabene, Kai's arrival at Ferrari was orchestrated by Marchionne. But Kai became a flashpoint for the Marchionne-Arrivabene split—disagreement on team building, Marchionne meddling in Arrivabene's work.
So, Kai's days at Ferrari were walking a tightrope. One wrong step meant doom. Rumor had it Arrivabene wanted to kick Kai out after the Baku/Barcelona DNFs, but Marchionne saved him.
Now, Kai's good days were over.
Without Marchionne, Ferrari's upper management would enter a power struggle, ignoring F1. Arrivabene likely seizing power meant disposing of Kai would be effortless.
After all, Rosberg won a title for Mercedes and couldn't survive the politics. What chance did Kai, with nothing but his two sleeves, have?
As for a successor? No worries.
It's Ferrari!
Arrivabene just had to whisper, and drivers with Super Licenses would swarm like The Hunger Games, using every trick to get the seat.
It was precisely because Kai realized his career might end that he ignored reporters and Hamilton, instead sucking up to No. 1 driver Vettel—switching to survival mode instantly.
Cowardly, but impressive adaptability. Unfortunately, in the face of capital and power, it was useless.
Of course, some disagreed. Kai's season was excellent. Ferrari and Arrivabene wouldn't be stupid enough to discard him for personal reasons. Ferrari still had a shot at both titles. Kai might not be purged.
First, the Tifosi wouldn't agree!
After years of drifting, Kai lit a beacon of hope for Ferrari. He was carrying the Prancing Horse flag. How could Tifosi let the team release this genius? With every race, Tifosi gratitude to Marchionne grew.
Tifosi wouldn't watch Ferrari self-destruct.
Also, Arrivabene's own position wasn't great. Corporate power struggles are whale fights; Arrivabene was a shrimp. Plus, Marchionne was only in a coma. Until the final verdict, his influence couldn't be ignored.
How things would develop was too early to say.
Onlookers enjoyed the drama. Whether Arrivabene left or Kai was purged, it was a good show.
Summer break was coming. Best time for cleaning house.
So, the paddock placed bets—Arrivabene or Kai? Who survives? Or do they both go?
Would the summer break bring the first wave of purges?
Should Kai, like Rosberg, turn and leave while on top?
Wind and rain, world spinning.
The racing world was engulfed in a storm. Force India and Ferrari in trouble.
Everyone was restless. Marchionne's condition was unclear. Rumors of Force India being bought were rampant.
Amidst chaos, life went on.
So, what about Kai?
If anyone thought Kai would be anxious, sleepless, unable to eat, crushed by pressure... they were destined for disappointment.
Steady, calm, focused, immersed. In Lorenzo's view, Kai was firmer than ever.
From the three-month Academy trial to the one-year GP3 limit to the sudden F1 entry, Kai always held an attitude of "I can leave anytime without taking a cloud."
Compared to victory, prize money was more attractive. Compared to championships, chasing speed limits was the real goal. So neither Arrivabene nor Vettel could control Kai.
The Ferrari seat, priceless to others, was just a challenge opportunity to Kai.
But now, Lorenzo saw a burning fighting spirit in Kai's eyes.
Since they met on the street, this was the first time Lorenzo saw this Kai. The sharpness and edge were restrained, but firmer, more condensed, stronger. As if, for the first time, he saw a target beyond the limit of speed at the end of the track—a tangible dream.
British GP ended. One week gap before Germany. A full week of rest.
However, Kai followed his training plan strictly. Meticulous, fully invested. Every day's schedule was full.
Leclerc, frustrated by his Silverstone DNF, planned to train hard to bounce back. But dragged along by Kai, he was speechless from exhaustion after two days.
Although Leclerc gritted his teeth and followed Kai, by the end of the day, his eyes were soulless.
Forget sadness or anxiety; he didn't even have time to breathe.
Time flew. Silverstone felt like yesterday, but they arrived at Hockenheim. The German Grand Prix began.
"Haaa—"
A yawn, uncontrollable. Lorenzo thought it was small, but it turned into a hippo yawn. He could swallow a cow.
Then, the door opened. Lorenzo looked over with his mouth wide open, seeing a refreshed Kai. He almost choked on his saliva.
Kai's eyes smiled. "Spectators don't need to be in the paddock so early. You can sleep in."
Glancing at Lorenzo looking at the sky to hide his embarrassment, Kai chuckled.
Actually, from his toes, he could guess Lu Cheng (Dad) was behind this.
Normally, Lorenzo reported Kai's status to Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo. With Marchionne's coma, the parents were worried. Worried about Marchionne, about Kai, and about the predatory media.
The nasty comments online were suffocating.
Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo had work. Kai didn't want them dropping everything to circle him. Lu Cheng probably helplessly asked Lorenzo to watch Kai this weekend, not letting him face the bombardment alone.
Kai shook his head gently. "Don't worry. The media can't hurt me."
Lorenzo finished his yawn, wiping tears from his eyes. "I'm not worried about you. I'm worried you'll hurt them. Blood rivers, not good."
"Relax, Sir is still in the hospital. I won't go on a killing spree. Buddhism teaches accumulating virtue." Kai spouted nonsense with a straight face.
Lorenzo couldn't help twitching his lips. He scrutinized Kai. He couldn't judge. Outwardly, Kai was fine. But reality?
It was 7 AM. Kai was heading to the paddock. Even the most fanatical fans hadn't arrived yet.
"Kai, are you... okay?" Lorenzo asked directly.
Kai walked on. "Good condition today. Slept eight hours. Why ask?"
Lorenzo sighed. "You know what I mean."
Kai smiled. "You can say it. You aren't Voldemort. Sergio Marchionne is in a coma on life support. Situation critical. See? Said it. Nothing happened."
Lorenzo choked. "So, aren't you worried?"
"Worried," Kai said crisply. "But I'm not a doctor. I can't help. The only thing I can do is fulfill our agreement."
"Last time in Milan, Sir promised me. We go to Monza, return to the top step of the podium, and admire the Tifosi's red ocean."
"I believe Sir will appear at Monza to witness me fulfill the promise. So, I'm heading to Monza now. Race by race, all out. Lorenzo. If I can win from Hockenheim all the way to Monza, will a miracle happen?"
Lorenzo froze, nose stinging—
They really hadn't seen that dazzling red ocean at Monza for a long, long time.
Bittersweet taste spread on his tongue. Lorenzo took a deep breath, forcing back the moisture in his eyes, straightening his back. "Of course. I believe."
Miracles are never easy.
But if you don't believe, they never happen. Believing is the first step to possibility.
Lorenzo looked over. Kai was striding forward. "Where's your skateboard?"
Kai's voice came back. "Jogging to the paddock today. Warm up."
Lorenzo wailed. "Ha? What?"
The doubtful tone drifted forward, making Kai laugh heartily. "Lorenzo, bet on who gets to the paddock first?"
"No" was on his tongue—why accept a lost bet?—but Lorenzo saw Kai sprinting. He swallowed the words, ignored everything else, and sprinted after him—what was he doing!
Running all the way. Not just jogging, but interval running. Fast, slow, controlling rhythm. The Mercedes garage at the head of the pit lane appeared.
Last fifty meters. Full sprint. Entering the paddock in one breath.
Finally, Kai stopped, turning to find Lorenzo, adjusting his breathing. He looked up and saw a familiar face standing there, stunned.
Kai's eyes filled with surprise too, his voice rising uncontrollably. "Pierre?"