The air seemed to freeze for a split second before the corners of Kai's mouth curled up.
"Okay, Toto. Sorry, I'm a bit tied up right now. I'll call you back in five minutes, alright?"
There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line, the caller clearly unprepared for such a dismissal. "Of course, no pro—"
Click.
Kai hung up, cutting the connection with decisive finality.
Through the gaming headset, Lando Norris's cackle erupted. "Toto? The Toto we know?"
Kai kept his voice deadpan. "Yes, that Toto. He was sincerely inviting me to join Mercedes. Gentlemen, don't be jealous. Jealousy is a sign of weakness."
As the words left his mouth, a pixelated Toad driving a kart flattened Kai's Yoshi on the screen.
Splat.
The little dinosaur was reduced to a green pancake.
There was a beat of silence, then the voice chat exploded. The young drivers roared with laughter.
"Max!" Kai groaned, staring at the screen.
Verstappen's flat, unbothered voice came through the headset. "What? Don't tell me you're going to use the phone call as an excuse for your lack of pace? You answered it."
His tone was incredibly punchable.
While they bickered, Charles Leclerc, who had been silent, quietly drove his character up the track and launched an item. A bubble encased the mushroom-headed Toad, lifting him helplessly into the air.
Without needing a prompt, Kai seized the opportunity, drifted past, and reclaimed the lead.
"Lando! Lando, Lando, Lando!" Verstappen grumbled, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
Norris, however, was laughing too hard to be of any assistance.
Kai had returned to China for a week during the summer break.
Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a break. Between magazine interviews, commercial shoots, variety show tapings, and a roadshow organized by Five Star Sports to interact with fans, his schedule was packed. He had only been "home" in the literal sense during the evenings, and even his sleep was restless.
Seeing his son so exhausted, Jiang Mo ordered him back to Monaco. In China, Kai was mobbed everywhere he went; in Monaco, he could at least pretend to have a normal holiday.
So, Kai returned to the principality. He spent his days lying on the deck, soaking up the Mediterranean sun, doing absolutely nothing. But a racer's definition of "rest" is relative.
Kai and Leclerc had installed two high-end sim rigs in their apartment. While the FIA prohibited wind tunnel and factory work during the shutdown, drivers training on simulators at home was a loophole everyone exploited.
Initially, it was just a roommate rivalry between Kai and Charles. Later, their other flatmates, Anthoine Hubert and Pierre Gasly, joined in. When Norris and Verstappen—the "Sim Racing gremlins"—joined via the internet, things spiraled. It wasn't just hot-lapping anymore; it was team battles in shooters, fighting games, and currently, Mario Kart.
Leclerc and Verstappen had grown up together on the karting tracks. They had raced in every category, fought, argued, and crashed into each other. But ultimately, they had few friends outside the paddock. Their circle was small, bonded by speed and shared trauma.
Despite the on-track tension between Kai and Verstappen, the group dynamic, balanced by the chaotic energy of Norris and the earnestness of Leclerc, worked. Whether it was sim racing or arcade games, one rule remained: someone had to win.
Right now, nothing mattered more than beating the mushroom.
As for "Toto Wolff"?
Kai assumed it was a prank. Probably Gasly's idea. The German accent was decent, but Kai wasn't born yesterday.
"Oh yeah!"
Leclerc crossed the finish line first, throwing his hands up in victory. Behind him, the Toad and the Yoshi, locked in a death spiral, crossed the line almost simultaneously. The screen flashed: Toad 2nd, Yoshi 3rd.
Verstappen's roar of approval deafened them through the headset. "Good job!"
A second later, Max realized it was a team mode. "Lando? Lando, where are you?"
On the Monaco end, Kai and Charles were dissolving into laughter, high-fiving. "Lando definitely fell off Rainbow Road," Leclerc gasped, clutching his stomach.
Buzz. Buzz.
Kai's phone vibrated again. He glanced at the caller ID. It was the same number.
Leclerc looked over.
"Pierre's prank," Kai explained. "I saw through it, but he's calling back. Who do you think it is this time? Christian Horner?"
Leclerc leaned back, grinning. "He should try Cyril Abiteboul. The French accent is much easier."
"No, no," Kai shook his head. "The French accent is too easy to spot. That's why he went for the German approach."
Leclerc's eyes went wide with mock surprise. "Our Pierre is growing up. He's learning to use his brain."
Somewhere in France, Gasly sneezed.
Still chuckling, Kai picked up the phone. "Hey, Kai speaking."
"I thought you said you'd call me back in five minutes."
The voice didn't need a face to convey its power. There was a hint of threat, a touch of displeasure, and a dry, sharp edge.
The tone was wrong for a prank.
Kai's smile faltered. He had been too focused on the game earlier to really listen. Now, in the quiet of the room, he processed the audio signature.
Could it really be... Toto Wolff?
But why would Wolff call him during the summer break?
In a split second, Kai switched gears. His voice remained relaxed, but his posture straightened.
"I am honored to learn that Mr. Wolff is so punctual. How about this? Give me one more chance. I will call you back in five minutes, and I promise, this time I won't disappoint you."
Leclerc beamed. Kai's teasing was lethal; Gasly was about to get roasted again.
On the other end of the line, Toto Wolff realized what was happening.
But Wolff didn't get angry. "So, you are the kind of driver who maintains consistency on and off the track? Just as sharp and aggressive in real life?"
Kai froze. That definitely wasn't Gasly.
Kai stood up and walked toward the living room balcony. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the deep blue Mediterranean shimmered under the sun.
"In Mr. Wolff's opinion, is it better to be consistent, or to have a different persona on and off the track?"
A trap.
Wolff heard the subtext immediately. The young man wasn't hiding his dissatisfaction with the recent media war between Mercedes and Ferrari. But to Wolff, this was good. A driver who wore his emotions on his sleeve was a driver who could be manipulated. It was a weakness.
The conversation hadn't even properly begun, and Wolff was already pleased. The irritation of being hung up on vanished.
This was indeed a baby.
A smile crept onto Wolff's face. He didn't answer the question directly; he wasn't foolish enough to walk into a binary trap.
"Toto. Just call me Toto." A low chuckle. "Whichever it is, the driver who wins the championship is the good driver. Sorry to interrupt your summer break, but there are things I believe we should discuss. Perhaps one day, we can find a breezy afternoon to chat under the sun. With a cocktail, preferably."
Calm. Collected. Like a blade wrapped in cashmere.
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Can I request dessert?"
Wolff laughed out loud. "Of course. What is your preference?" He played along effortlessly.
"Tiramisu."
"I see your diet isn't too strict. That's good news for the nutritionists. I want to invite you to drive for us in the 2019 season. I believe our partnership would be the start of a great journey."
...What?
It was a blitzkrieg. A casual chat about desserts instantly pivoting to a career-defining offer. Wolff's delivery was designed for maximum shock value.
Mercedes? 2019 seat?
Kai had to give Wolff a point for that. He hadn't expected the conversation to go there.
What was Wolff plotting?
Silence stretched on the line. Wolff waited, satisfied. He had stunned the kid.
"I must admit, you are a surprise," Wolff continued, his voice smooth. "A positive surprise. The paddock didn't expect the first half of this season. You've proven your ability. You deserve the applause."
He spoke like a king bestowing knighthood.
"Four wins. Carrying the team at critical moments. I know the strategies in Shanghai, Monaco, and Austria were your calls. You are the reason Ferrari has transformed this season. Not the car, not the team, but you."
"Even in the chaos of Hockenheim, you remained calm enough to surprise even me."
"Without you, Ferrari wouldn't be competitive."
"It's a pity..."
Wolff stopped abruptly. The silence hung there, heavy with implication.
A pity that Arrivabene doesn't value you? A pity that Marchionne is dead? A pity that Ferrari will inevitably fail you?
The blank space was more effective than any words.
Wolff listened intently for a reaction.
"Toto," Kai finally spoke, his voice void of the awe Wolff expected. "Have you ever considered what you could achieve if you joined a team that truly exists to win championships?"
The blade came out.
"Second place in every race?" Kai suggested.
Wolff paused.
The kid had teeth.
"Ha. As expected," Wolff chuckled, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "Valtteri is excellent. Trust me, I admire his ability. But Valtteri is not you."
"We need the strongest combination to dominate the grid. Kai, Mercedes' goal isn't just one championship. We are looking at the next five years. We want to be the greatest team in F1 history."
"Top engineers, top resources, a culture of winning. The puzzle is missing one last piece."
"That is why I am calling. Standing at the crossroads of history, offering you an invitation."
It was a magnificent painting. Last year, Cyril Abiteboul had tried something similar, but Wolff was a grandmaster compared to the Renault principal.
However, compared to Marchionne's raw honesty, Wolff felt slippery. The beautiful blueprint ignored the elephant in the room.
Lewis Hamilton.
"So," Kai cut through the rhetoric. "Do you want me to be Nico Rosberg, or Valtteri Bottas?"
Straight to the jugular.
Wolff went on alert. "No. You are neither. You are you."
"You should be a champion. You are the future of Mercedes. Lewis is not young anymore. How long will his peak last? We are looking at the future. Eventually, everything will be yours."
"Eventually?" Kai asked dryly. "One year? Two?"
"Toto, if you are looking for the perfect wingman, I am not your best option."
A brief silence.
Then, Wolff laughed. "Smart kid. You know, most drivers in the paddock would be breathless hearing this offer. Just the fantasy of wearing the Silver Arrows suit is enough."
"Mercedes has the fastest car," Kai admitted. "But you can't win everything, right? The car is important, but the driver steering it matters."
"Toto, I need to prove myself. But if you want to realize that five-year blueprint, I think you have some things to prove right now, too."
Check.
Outside, the seagulls cried over the peaceful sea. Inside, the air was electric.
Kai's confidence surprised Wolff again. He remembered the rumors that Kai had initially rejected the Ferrari Academy, only staying because of Marchionne's personal intervention. Wolff had dismissed it as a myth. No one rejects Ferrari.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
"Ha," Wolff relaxed, shifting tactics. "True. The climb is fun, but staying at the peak is the hard part. We have won four doubles in a row. That is not luck."
"You will see, Kai. We will beat Ferrari again."
"And not just this year. Next year, and the year after. We have the best culture. We value talent."
He lowered his voice, sharing a secret.
"Hamilton and Zhizhou. Just imagine it. That is a Prost/Senna level combination. With you two and our car, we would own the next decade."
"The decision is in your hands."
Prost and Senna. The ultimate compliment.
But Kai replied instantly. "Prost and Senna were only teammates for two years."
1988 to 1989. Implosion. War.
Wolff choked slightly.
"Oh, so you are afraid of facing Lewis?" Wolff pivoted, his tone light. "You can be honest. Lewis looks intimidating, but he's quite nice privately."
"Honestly? I am afraid," Kai laughed. "I'm afraid of hearing 'Kai, it's James' on the radio. I'm not sure Lewis's ego could handle the humiliation if the roles were reversed."
Wolff grinned. "You should try harder to annoy Sebastian first. Lewis has much thicker skin than Vettel."
"It was a pleasure, Kai. I look forward to our next talk. It won't be long. But don't make me wait next time. Racing is about speed, and I am not a patient man."
Click.
Wolff tapped his fingers on his desk, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression.
"How did it go?"
Susie Wolff walked into the room.
"A little surprise, but he took the bait," Wolff said, eyes gleaming.
"If it's possible, would you really replace Valtteri with him?" Susie asked.
"Yes. Why not? Him, or Max. We can observe. But not for next year." Wolff reverted to the businessman. "We will delay signing Valtteri's extension. Keep the rumors floating. Let the baby driver have some hope."
"Poor Valtteri," Susie shook her head.
In Monaco, Kai stared at the phone.
Leclerc was sitting on the floor, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
"Uh... I... room..." Charles stammered. He felt like he had overheard state secrets.
"Relax," Kai grinned. "It's not corporate espionage. Sit down."
"Kai... was that..."
"Toto Wolff."
Leclerc's eyes bulged. "What... what does he want?"
"Haha!" Seeing Charles look like Little Red Riding Hood spotting the Big Bad Wolf, Kai burst out laughing. "Charles, relax. He's not going to eat me."
"But... it's Mercedes!"
To Leclerc, a Ferrari loyalist by blood, receiving a call from Wolff felt like treason.
"He is free to ask. I am free to answer." Kai was much calmer.
He needed time to digest the information. Going toe-to-toe with a shark like Wolff was draining. But seeing Leclerc's panic helped ground him.
"You aren't going to say yes, are you?" Leclerc jumped up, then his legs gave out from squatting too long, and he flopped back down.
Kai laughed. "You should be happy! If I leave, my seat opens up. You can take over."
Leclerc flipped him the bird. "I want to win the seat on merit! I'm worried about you! No, about the team!"
"Don't worry. I'm waiting for you to join Ferrari so we can be teammates."
"Replacing Seb won't be easy... wait, stop changing the subject!"
Kai's eyes twinkled, but his tone turned serious. "Charles, I don't think Toto's call was that simple."
"What do you mean?"
"The timing is too perfect."
Kai began to dissect the situation.
"Mr. Marchionne passed away. The management is in chaos. We are vulnerable. Mercedes just won a crucial race before the break. Everyone is focused on Force India, wondering where Ocon and Perez will go. And suddenly, Toto calls me?"
"It's not just about me. He wants to disrupt the entire paddock."
"Is it a coincidence, or a calculation?"
Wolff was an opportunist. He saw the chaos at Ferrari and decided to throw a grenade into the mix.
"If I show interest, he wins. He can use me to squeeze Bottas. Or actually sign me. It's a win-win for him."
Leclerc's jaw dropped.
"Charles, watch out," Kai swatted at the air.
Leclerc shut his mouth, realized it was a joke, but ignored it. "You mean... he's doing this to mess with your head?"
"If rumors start flying that Mercedes is talking to me, I wouldn't be surprised," Kai shrugged. "He needs to make it big. He wants to disturb the Ferrari garage."
"Think about it. If I leave Ferrari, who takes the seat? Valtteri? Checo? Esteban? Fernando? Maybe even you."
"Then you have Russell, Albon, Norris, Jack Aitken in F2... everyone gets dragged in."
"He wants Ferrari to spend the summer break paranoid."
Leclerc stared at Kai. "No way... Toto isn't that kind of person, is he? Christian Horner, maybe. But Toto?"
"Haha." Kai laughed. "Toto is just better at marketing. Horner plays the villain."
"Charles, deep down, they are all the same. Fred, Maurizio, Toto, Christian. They will do anything to win. The paddock isn't a fairytale."
"Mercedes is on the back foot. Toto sees a chance to twist the knife. Do you think he'd hesitate?"