Dense! Overwhelming!
Faces overlapping faces, bodies pressing against bodies. The vast sea of red morphed into a rolling heatwave, igniting like a true inferno. Even from a distance, the scorching heat radiating from the crowd was palpable.
A crisis was brewing!
Out of the corner of his eye, Kai saw Vettel preparing to step out of his car. The German's appearance would whip the crowd into an even higher frenzy.
At that exact moment, the white-haired elderly man with the cane lost control. His feet left the ground as he was jostled by the surging tide of people. Before Kai could even shout a warning, the man was squeezed out of the pack and sent tumbling forward.
"Calm down!"
Kai yelled, but his voice was instantly swallowed by the deafening roar. Even the security team standing inches away couldn't hear him.
There was no time to hesitate. Kai lunged forward, opening his arms to catch the falling man. He didn't try to play the hero and stand his ground; instead, he used his momentum to fall backward, rolling onto the pavement to absorb the impact and dissipate the kinetic energy, minimizing the risk of injury for both of them.
Kai quickly pushed himself up onto his elbows, checking on the bewildered and shaken old man. "Are you okay?"
His voice couldn't cut through the noise.
But the old man seemed to read Kai's expression. He patted Kai's arm and mouthed, "I'm fine."
Kai nodded, scrambling to his feet and signaling for the security team. Their first instinct was to grab Kai and drag him into the safety of the flagship store. Under normal circumstances, Kai would have agreed. But with the old man on the ground, the crowd unaware of what had happened, and Vettel about to emerge, retreating would only trigger a panic. They needed to control the situation.
Otherwise, a stampede was imminent.
Ferrari and Monza had suffered enough tragedy lately. A PR event couldn't become a disaster.
Kai didn't have time to explain. He stood up and locked eyes with a few Tifosi in the front row. They had witnessed the fall from inches away, and the shock in their eyes was genuine. They would be his deputies.
A crisis is always an opportunity.
Rocco Cesari was panicking. He had seen the old man fall and tried to help, but he felt utterly powerless against the crushing weight of the crowd.
It looked like another disaster was about to strike Ferrari. But then Rocco saw Kai stand up. The young driver's bright eyes weren't filled with fear or panic; they were locked onto Rocco with absolute focus, instantly anchoring Rocco's chaotic thoughts.
"I need help. Control the crowd." Kai communicated through gestures and intense eye contact.
Rocco nodded dumbly.
Before he fully processed what he was doing, Rocco was mirroring Kai's "step back" hand gestures. Shouting "calm down" was useless here. They had to use body language to create space and tell the people behind them to stop pushing. That was the only way.
It wasn't just Rocco. The security team, realizing Kai wasn't going inside, fanned out on either side of him, facing the crowd and pushing back with their arms, forming a human dam against the tide.
One, two, five people in the front row caught on. They instinctively mimicked the motion. Like a prairie fire, the physical cue spread backward through the ranks, temporarily halting the forward crush.
But Kai knew this was just a stopgap. The people in the back didn't know why they had stopped, and the confusion could quickly curdle into a secondary surge.
They could retreat into the store now, solving the immediate physical danger. But the emotional damage would be severe. The event would be ruined, and the morale of the Tifosi—already fragile—would shatter. It would be another blow to a team already reeling.
Solve one crisis, create another.
Kai looked down at the old man.
His cap was gone, his thinning hair a mess. His clothes were dirty, his cane lost in the shuffle. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.
He had narrowly escaped serious injury and looked thoroughly battered.
But he didn't curl up and cry. He squared his shoulders, straightened his back, and looked up at Kai with clear, defiant eyes.
"I'm fine," he said.
It was exactly like Marchionne. They might face setbacks, they might face defeat, but they refused to be broken. They would not bow their heads.
For the past two months, everyone had been mourning Marchionne privately, but no one spoke his name publicly. He was the elephant in the room; speaking of him meant accepting the harsh reality of his absence.
It was time to face the truth. Just as he would have wanted.
"Sergio."
Kai shouted it. Not "Mr. Marchionne," but Sergio. The man who fought alongside them.
The old man stared at Kai, stunned. Then, his eyes reddened. He didn't fully understand, but he followed the young driver's lead. "Sergio."
Rocco heard it. He turned and saw the young driver and the old man, battered but unbowed, shouting the name.
Without thinking, Rocco straightened his own back. He rubbed his eyes, smiled fiercely, and screamed the name with all the air in his lungs.
One by one. Voice by voice.
It wasn't just a chant; it was a release. It was longing, remembrance, and tribute. The surging crowd slowly calmed, their physical pushing replaced by an emotional outpouring. Hands went to their chests, feeling their hearts beat as they screamed his name, tears streaming down their faces. They felt a profound resonance deep in their souls.
When Sebastian Vettel finally stepped into the piazza, this was the scene that greeted him. He had been terrified of a riot, but instead, he felt a powerful, mournful, yet unyielding energy vibrating in the air. A will forged in suffering and despair.
Kai saw Vettel and waved him over, inviting him to join the line.
They might have differences. They might be fighting a brutal internal war for supremacy on the track this weekend. But right here, right now, they were all Tifosi. They were Ferrari. Mourning together, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the storm.
You'll never walk alone.
Vettel looked at Kai, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before nodding. He joined the line, stepping forward.
Miraculously, the crowd settled. They were still cheering, still roaring, but the dangerous pushing had stopped. An invisible force bound them together, organized and unified.
People on the streets, in the buildings, and at the cafes stopped what they were doing and pulled out their phones to record the moment.
Within hours, the footage swept across social media, causing a sensation. The Tifosi were deeply moved. La Gazzetta dello Sport called the moment:
"A Miracle."
Marchionne's spirit had manifested; the Tifosi had awakened.
The noise, the heat, the overwhelming emotion of the morning—hours later, the memories were still vivid. Even as night fell, Kai could close his eyes and feel the rolling heatwave of the crowd, now condensed into a resilient belief.
It was growing wildly within him.
"Can't sleep?"
A voice came from behind. Kai didn't need to turn to know it was Jiang Mo. "If you don't rest, you won't survive the media tomorrow."
It was rare for his mother to make a joke.
Kai smiled. "If it gets too bad, I'll just say 'no comment'. What can they do?"
Jiang Mo walked out onto the balcony, standing beside her son. The night breeze caught her hair. Her eyes were full of concern. "Still thinking about this morning? Thank goodness no one was hurt and it was resolved smoothly."
Kai murmured an agreement, knowing she was worried.
When Marchionne died, Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo had been deeply saddened. They knew exactly how important the man was to Kai. They could feel the immense pressure stacking up on their son's shoulders, even from halfway across the world.
The Marchionne family and Ferrari had announced a public memorial service in Milan after the Italian Grand Prix. Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo had flown in to lay flowers and to support Kai during his second "home" race.
However, reality didn't match their expectations. Between Spa and Monza, Kai was so busy he barely touched the ground. They only caught glimpses of him between meetings and media sessions. There was no time to sit down and talk.
Tomorrow was Thursday, the official media day. The bombardment would begin anew.
Kai felt the gentle but unyielding strength in his mother's gaze. He held up a cap. "Mom, do you know the story behind this hat?"
"A fan named Rocco Cesari gave it to me this morning at the Duomo."
Jiang Mo looked surprised. "Shouldn't you be giving them gifts? Why the other way around?"
Kai chuckled. "That's exactly what I said. But he told me it's a very meaningful cap for him. It's a physical reminder of the darkest, most difficult time for the team, when the Tifosi stood by them at Monza without abandoning them."
Jiang Mo took the hat. "Did Ferrari win that race?"
"No. Their best finish was ninth." Kai saw his mother's surprise.
He smiled, taking the heavy, ten-year-old memento back. "Mom, it wasn't supposed to be like this in the beginning. I just wanted to try driving an F1 car. If I could make a good living out of it, even better. Which team I drove for, or winning a championship... it didn't really matter."
Jiang Mo laughed softly. "Really? You wouldn't cry if you lost? I wonder who, at seven years old, lost a karting race to a twelve-year-old, refused to get out of the kart, and sat there hugging his helmet, crying his eyes out?"
"Mom!" Kai groaned, mortified. "I was seven! I was just mad at myself because I hit the brakes too late and ruined my own race."
"Someone remembers it very clearly," she teased.
Kai sighed. "My point is... I don't know when, but things changed."
"When I discuss tactics and tech with Jock Clear, I lose track of time. When we retired in Baku and Barcelona, we stayed up all night analyzing the data together. When we won Monaco, I saw mechanics crying by the pool."
The memories were vivid.
"Did you know? The Boss was building a team specifically for me. He wanted to see us reach the peak together."
"And today..."
He paused, looking down at the cap, emotions swirling.
"I don't know when, but things changed."
Jiang Mo looked at her son, feeling a swell of complex emotions. The little boy crying in the go-kart had finally grown up.
Kai was smart. He had street smarts and deep wisdom. He seemed complicated, but was actually simple: if you plotted against him, he would ruthlessly plot back. But if you treated him with sincerity, he would give you his heart.
Jiang Mo patted the back of his head—he was getting so tall she could barely reach. "Xiao Zhou, that's called a team."
"Remember what you said? Racing is a team sport. From now on, remember that you are not fighting alone."
Kai had always known the logic, but it had never felt this heavy in his chest.
He looked at the Number 7 cap. "Mom, aren't you scared?"
Jiang Mo was always tense watching him race. Spa had been the first time she witnessed a massive F1 crash live. Even though Charles walked away, it looked like a near-death experience on TV. It was a major reason they had flown to Milan so quickly.
She never said it, but Kai knew she was terrified.
Yet, here she was, encouraging him instead of telling him to quit.
Jiang Mo looked at him steadily. "I am," she admitted. "Watching Charles's crash doesn't get easier. I'm terrified."
She took a deep breath. "But Xiao Zhou, that is the team. You face the challenges. I do the worrying. Your dad does the cheering."
"I know Mr. Marchionne saw something special in you. He said he didn't project his dreams onto you; rather, you awakened his hope and dreams. He was willing to support you unconditionally to break limits. And we will be your strongest backup."
"To me, win or lose, you are Kai Zhizhou. Mom will always stand behind you. So, go out there, take risks, and fight."
Kai looked at her. "Is that what the Boss said when he came to Shanghai to convince you to sign the F1 contract?"
Jiang Mo nodded. Marchionne had been gambling on Kai even back then.
Classic Marchionne. The more Kai learned, the more he admired the man. No wonder Ferrari was in chaos without him.
So...
Did the visionary, calculating Marchionne foresee this day? Did he leave a hidden piece on the board? Who could save Ferrari now?
Kai smiled. He placed the red Number 7 cap firmly on his head.
"Then let's see what the scenery looks like at the end of this adventure. The Boss saw it. Now it's my turn to prove it."
Red. Bright and intense.
It spread endlessly under the clear blue sky. The rolling heatwave of passion ignited the air. Just standing there made your blood boil, drawing you into the carnival.
The noise of Silverstone, the energy of the Red Bull Ring, the brilliance of Hockenheim... they were all magnificent home races. But compared to the raw passion of Monza, they paled. Standing here felt like being at the center of the motorsport universe, swimming freely in a vast ocean.
Unified, passionate singing echoed from the crowd. Prancing Horse flags fluttered in the sunlight.
Thump, thump. Kai's heart beat wildly. He couldn't help but raise his hands and shout, a massive grin on his face.
This was Monza. Home.
It was overwhelming. But amidst the sensory overload, Lu Cheng noticed the anxiety on Jiang Mo's face.
He grabbed her hand. Her fingers were ice cold. "Jiang Mo?" he asked worriedly.
She turned, pulling her hands back and shoving them into her jacket pockets. "I'm fine."
Lu Cheng understood. It was only her second live race, just four days after witnessing the horrific Spa crash. The fear was fresh. Lu Cheng himself was terrified.
Jiang Mo exhaled. "It's just... the pressure. Everyone is expecting Xiao Zhou to turn the team's situation around. But F1 isn't like that, is it? If the car isn't good, even a god-tier driver can't fix it."
Lu Cheng knew that perfectly well. He smiled. "Didn't you hear his interview? He's not anxious. The others should be nervous. I think he's right. He needs that mindset. Like you, the bigger the stage, the calmer he gets."
Jiang Mo managed a faint smile. She pictured Kai's back—straight as a pine tree. The little boy could hold up the sky now.
Unconsciously, Jiang Mo squared her shoulders. Whatever challenges came, they would face them together.
Since they chose this path, there would be no regrets.
Jiang Mo's feelings were entirely accurate: the pressure was mounting exponentially.
Since Thursday's media day, the press had been pouring gasoline on the fire. They relentlessly hounded Ferrari about their current crisis. While Vettel was a major target, the focus was increasingly on whether the young, inexperienced Kai could handle the pressure.
The media played a cat-and-mouse game, pushing harder and harder, waiting to see when Kai would crack.
The absolute focal point was the Pole Position.
One narrative claimed Kai's consistency and durability, aided by Ferrari's brilliant strategy, were the only reasons for his four wins. His raw one-lap pace, they argued, had a low ceiling, which was why he had zero pole positions.
Conclusion: The hype around Kai was unjustified. His wins were team efforts, and his talent was overrated. Vettel was the true king, fighting alone despite the team's strategic bias toward the rookie. The team needed to realize who their true leader was and stop sacrificing the present for a hypothetical future.
Anyone with eyes could see it was a biased, narrative-driven hit piece. But it spread like wildfire on social media. The casual fans asked the ultimate question: When will Kai get his first pole?
The media loved it. They threw the question at Kai constantly, hoping to see him squirm.
Four wins, but no poles? He must be doubting himself. That doubt would lead to overdriving, which would ruin his qualifying, creating a vicious cycle.
However, the media and the trolls were destined for disappointment. Surrounded by pressure, Kai remained relaxed, smiling easily.
"Haha, no, I'm not in a hurry at all. Every time I don't get pole, the guys starting ahead of me should get nervous, because I've won all my races from behind."
"If I don't get pole this weekend, it just means another chance to win from the back. I'll make sure the guys in front feel the crisis."
Wait, is Kai threatening the other drivers?
Conveniently, Hamilton was asked about it. "No, I just focus on myself. I don't have a specific rival. I know my car's potential. All I have to do is get on track, extract the maximum, and control the race."
So, Hamilton doesn't consider Kai a threat? And Kai is warning Hamilton?
The media set another trap: "Lewis, aside from Mercedes, who do you think is the biggest threat for pole this weekend?"
"Verstappen. Red Bull has been excellent recently," Hamilton answered.
Instantly, the headlines screamed: Hamilton dismisses Kai as Pole contender! Hamilton rates Verstappen higher than Kai!
They fanned the flames, trying to provoke a war. The tension between Mercedes and Ferrari was already at a boiling point.
And judging by Friday practice... Ferrari was indeed struggling.
In FP1, the top three teams kept a low profile, with Force India topping the timing sheets. It was obvious the big teams were sandbagging. But while Mercedes and Red Bull were comfortably hiding their pace, Ferrari was genuinely lost. Vettel and Kai spent most of the session in the garage, grappling with the same instability that had plagued them since the summer break.
It looked like a repeat of Spa.
In FP2, Mercedes and Red Bull showed their teeth. Hamilton easily set the fastest time.
In FP3, as teams finalized their strategies, Hamilton only ran six laps and parked the car, ending up P9. He clearly didn't care. Only then did Ferrari finally top the timesheets, going 1-2.
But it felt hollow. Going 1-2 when the main rival wasn't even trying felt foolish. Was Ferrari so desperate for confidence that they were doing glory runs in FP3 instead of focusing on race pace? Had they fallen that far?
"No. Zero chance. 0%. Absolutely impossible. I'm not cursing him, I'm just helping you face reality. There's no point in having false hope."
"Pole? Impossible! Wake up. I'm telling you right now, we have nothing to do with pole position today."
Matteo Vitale was dead serious.
A year had passed, but Matteo still couldn't digest the reality.
That arrogant, wet-behind-the-ears kid was driving a Ferrari? And not only that, but he was being hailed as the future leader, carrying the weight of the team's renaissance?
Absurd!
Matteo loved Ferrari. He would give his life for the team. And because of that love, he felt obligated to wake people up, to burst their unrealistic bubbles, and to stop the team from sliding down a path to ruin.
That baby driver was not Ferrari's future.
The proof? Even in the first half of the season, when the car was dominant, Kai couldn't secure a single pole. And now, with the team struggling post-summer break, how could a rookie possibly save them?
Matteo wanted to see Ferrari win at Monza more than anything. But he had to be grounded. He knew that false hope was far more painful than despair.
He remembered exactly a year ago, standing here at Monza, when Ferrari announced Kai's signing. That was the start of the nightmare. Now they were back, and they had a chance to wake up and cut their losses.
Yes, Kai had four wins. Matteo hadn't forgotten. But precisely because he remembered, everything felt like a fever dream. He couldn't tell if it was a sweet dream or a nightmare. The hope was there, flickering, but the brighter it burned, the more terrified he became of waking up to a crushing reality.
"So, do you want to make a bet?" a drawling voice came from beside him.
Matteo didn't even need to turn his head; his fists clenched automatically.
He forced a smile and turned to the impeccably dressed Lorenzo Moretti. "What, the humiliation of three practice sessions wasn't enough? Young Master Moretti wants to continue making a fool of himself?"
Lorenzo was unfazed. "What, no confidence? I thought you said you were 100% sure."
"Hah." Matteo laughed, fueled by anger. "If someone wants to hand me free money, who am I to refuse? What's the bet? A hundred thousand Euros?"
"Wow! Vitale plays big," Lorenzo whistled. "How about this: if I lose, I'll give you that Mini Cooper..."
Matteo's face changed. "You!"
Back in Rome, Kai had humiliated him using that exact Mini Cooper. Since then, Lorenzo had loved driving it around the city, specifically to annoy Matteo. Matteo despised that car and wanted to scrap it.
"Deal!" Matteo agreed instantly.
But Lorenzo wagged a finger. "Don't rush. You need to hear your side of the bet. What if you lose?"
"Impossible!" Matteo sneered.
"Maybe. But a bet goes both ways. I don't care about a hundred grand. How about this: if you lose, you have to hold up a giant cutout of Kai's face, walk a lap around the Monza fan zone, and scream 'Kai Zhizhou is the best driver in the world!' How about that?"
Matteo gasped. He heard the crowd around them erupt in laughter. He looked around wildly, realizing he was cornered.
Damn it!
"Fine. You're on." Matteo gritted his teeth, glaring at Lorenzo. "You better have that Mini Cooper ready. I'm driving it straight to the junkyard. Do you want to come watch me crush it?"
"I drove it to Monza today. It's ready and waiting," Lorenzo smiled easily.
Amidst the cheers and jeers, Lorenzo turned his gaze back to the track, exhaling softly. Brother, this is all I can do for you. The rest is up to you.
Lorenzo wasn't certain Kai could win. He saw Ferrari's struggles clearly. But the negative public pressure was becoming toxic, hurting the Tifosi and the garage.
The "no pole" narrative had been dragged out since Monaco. Lorenzo had ignored it until today, when he felt he had to step in.
This was Monza. Their home. They needed to unite and push the team forward, not become a stumbling block.
So, he made Matteo the sacrificial lamb.
They needed confidence. They needed a signal that this season wasn't a repeat of last year's collapse. They needed a ray of light to pierce the summer gloom.
However, the situation was grim. Cheering wouldn't fix the car.
Despite the brilliant first half of the season, the post-summer slump had awakened the ghosts of the past. Combined with Marchionne's death, the anxiety was far worse than the previous year.
Lorenzo felt frustrated he couldn't do more. But regardless, he would stand his ground.
Win or lose, they faced it together. That was what being a team meant!
Inside the garage, Pierre Borreipaire felt the crushing weight of the anxiety. The air was thick. As Qualifying approached, the tension was suffocating.
F1 was truly a different beast.
Pierre wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. "Kai, step by step. Just like Melbourne."
"Ha, you actually re-watched Melbourne Qualifying? I'm a little touched. Did you ever expect back then that you'd be sitting on the pit wall? F1 is a bit more fun than GP3, isn't it?"
Relaxed. Casual. Bantering.
Classic Kai.
Pierre's nerves eased slightly. "Yeah, mate. My promotion and raise entirely depend on you today."
Beside him, Arrivabene shot Pierre a blank, confused look.
Pierre ignored him. "Let's see what the team leader can do."
Kai's booming, carefree laugh came over the radio.
The SF71H was still incredibly difficult to drive. The window to fix the issues between Spa and Monza had been too narrow. Despite the team working around the clock, both Vettel and Kai were struggling with the same problems.
Free Practice had basically been a live testing session.
Without time for new parts, they could only play with the setup. This made the car terrifyingly sensitive. A slight miscalculation led to severe understeer or snap oversteer. The brake overheating issue was unresolved. Sacrificing downforce for straight-line speed made the front wing hypersensitive, drastically increasing the risk of locking up.
It was a nightmare to drive.
Even a seasoned veteran like Vettel was deeply frustrated, suffering through three miserable practice sessions.
The car felt like it could fall apart at any moment.
It wasn't that Ferrari didn't want to finalize a strategy; it was that there were too many variables to account for. They couldn't commit to one plan. They had to improvise.
Qualifying would be the same: adapting on the fly. From top to bottom, the entire team was strung as tight as a bowstring.
Except, perhaps, for Kai.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, green light! Qualifying for the 2018 Italian Grand Prix is officially underway!"
"Esteban Ocon in the Force India is the first out. After the team's summer turmoil, Ocon is desperate to prove himself. He qualified an incredible P3 last week at Spa and finished P6."
One by one, the cars roared onto the track. The temperature spiked, and the battle began.
And when the Number 22 Ferrari rolled out of the garage, the energy in the grandstands exploded!