Thump. Thump!
Matteo's heart hammered against his ribs. He stood rooted to the spot, dazed. He should be furious. He should be in despair. But he couldn't suppress the genuine thrill vibrating through him. Was this normal?
He had lost the bet. He had been slapped in the face with reality. He should be dying of shame and exploding with frustration. Yet, blooming amidst the pain was an undeniable, overwhelming sense of joy and excitement that left him completely disoriented.
From Budapest to the summer break, and then to Spa, the depression and agony had compounded. Arriving at Monza, the struggles in Free Practice had only deepened the despair. But this sudden, unpredicted miracle had incinerated all that misery. The hope was burning fiercely.
Even if it was just one pole position, even if it was just a front-row lockout, they desperately needed this rain after the drought.
Matteo included.
He stared blankly at the surging carnival around him. The crowd was singing, dancing, boiling over. All of Monza was caught in the hurricane, but Matteo had lost the ability to react.
Damn it!
He was surrounded. There was no escape!
"Olé, olé, olé! Oooooooh-lé! Oooooooh-lé! Olé, olé, olé!"
The passionate singing washed over the grandstands. Down in the packed crowd, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, and the other FDA kids shuffled forward, trying to get a better view.
The shorter Antonelli had his vision completely blocked. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck, desperately trying to see.
"Ollie! Ollie!" Kimi hissed.
Bearman, being taller, had a much better vantage point. "He's doing the interview. God, there are so many reporters. It looks like an army!"
Kimi couldn't see a thing, but it didn't dampen his excitement. He practically screamed, "Of course! He's the youngest pole sitter in F1 history! And the youngest race winner! Can you imagine?"
Bearman wasn't really listening; he was also on his tiptoes. "He said something. The reporters are all laughing."
Kimi finally just crouched down, peering through the gaps in the legs of the adults, and finally caught sight of the Number 22 Ferrari suit.
A sea of humanity. Layers upon layers of people pressed together, fighting to get closer to the man who had just made history at Monza. Behind him was the main grandstand, a boiling cauldron of Ferrari red. Faces distorted by adrenaline blurred into a continuous, roaring heatwave.
Everything converged on Number 22. It was as if a natural spotlight had found him.
The sole focus.
Everything else faded out of focus, irrelevant.
"Kai Zhizhou, congratulations! You've finally secured your first career pole position, and you did it here at Monza by breaking the track record. How do you feel right now?"
It was the most basic, standard question, but you could feel the entire crowd, including Kimi in the back, hold their breath to listen.
Kai shrugged lightly. "It was an accident. Obviously, our rivals have looked stronger than us here. We didn't expect this result. I just hope this wasn't a deal with the devil. We still have the race tomorrow, and I don't want to lose the watermelon just to pick up a sesame seed."
His casual delivery held a touch of self-deprecation, but also a sharp, undeniable confidence.
Bearman was the first to let out a whoop of laughter. A second later, adults turned to look at the kids. Bearman ducked his head, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Kimi as they muffled their giggles. Outside, the reporters also erupted in laughter.
The interview couldn't last long; the post-qualifying Pirelli award ceremony was waiting. Silvia Frangipane grabbed Kai and hurried him to his mark.
Along the way, people shouted his name from every direction, desperate to grab a piece of the historic moment.
Rushing to the Pirelli backdrop, Kai saw a middle-aged man in a sharp suit. He had an oval face and messy, curly hair that hadn't been tamed, contrasting sharply with his tailored clothes.
The curly-haired man flashed a bright smile, revealing perfectly white teeth, and extended his right hand. "Fantastic qualifying. An unbelievable lap."
Honestly, Kai had no idea who the man was. Silvia had seemingly forgotten to introduce him. But anyone handing out the Pirelli Pole Position Award wasn't a nobody. Kai just noted that the man didn't have an Italian accent; his English was standard and fluent.
Handshake. Greeting. Photo op. Bathed in the flashbulbs, there was no time to linger. Silvia was already pushing Kai toward his next obligation.
After a whirlwind of media duties, Kai finally returned to the Ferrari garage. He immediately spotted the flock of FDA kids. The long wait had worn away their patience, and they were reverting to their true natures—some were noisy, some were joking around, others were exhausted and hiding in corners. It was a chaotic mess, and no one knew how to restore order.
Silvia signaled Kai to wait. She stepped forward, clapping her hands and raising her voice, trying to corral the kids. They gathered in twos and threes, but the scene was still a headache. Other mechanics tried to help, but their interference only made the kids more mischievous.
Kai stood there, a smile in his eyes. He hadn't stopped moving since Q3 ended; he hadn't even had time for a sip of water. He took the opportunity to simply sit cross-legged on the floor near the garage exit and raised his voice.
"Who knows which tire this is?"
The Pole Position Award is a small replica of a Pirelli tire. Despite being a trophy, it's crafted with high precision, accurately modeling a real racing tire.
With that one sentence, the kids instantly swarmed him.
Kimi Antonelli stared wide-eyed. Kai, who had seemed like an untouchable giant just moments ago, was now sitting at eye level, instantly closing the distance between them.
Kimi thought he wouldn't be nervous. After all, Kai was a new face, not an established legend like Hamilton, Alonso, or Vettel. But standing right in front of him, the excitement and nerves tangled together, making the young Italian suddenly shy.
Beside him, Bearman boldly reached out and squeezed the trophy tire, tilting his head to examine it before shooting his hand into the air like an eager student. "Medium! Medium tire!"
That opened the floodgates.
"Soft!"
"Ultrasoft!"
"Hardest compound!"
The voices overlapped, filling Kai's ears.
Silvia stood frozen in surprise. All the kids had gathered around Kai naturally, offering their opinions without hesitation. Not a single one was left out.
She smiled, struck by the absurd harmony of the scene. Her smile widened. "What is this, The Sound of Music?"
Looking at the eager, collagen-filled faces radiating hope and carrying the weight of dreams, Kai felt a pang.
If he could, he would tell them: Don't race. The paddock is a tiny, cutthroat world that eats people alive. Don't bother joining this mess.
But looking into those eyes reflecting his own face, feeling their unwavering gaze filled with expectation and longing, Kai deeply felt the warmth of their dreams. Dreams are worth having. What if they come true?
A smile crept onto his face. He looked at the curly-haired puppy staring at him with total devotion, looking slightly goofy. "What about you? What tire do you think it is?"
Kimi, still not quite believing his eyes, giggled nervously and poked the tire. "S-soft!"
As soon as he spoke, Kai realized the kid had a slight lisp. He was literally an adorable, curly-haired puppy. "Ha, are you sure?"
Kai turned to the handsome, sharp-featured kid beside him. "And what did you say?"
Bearman puffed out his chest. "Medium!"
Kai snapped his fingers. "Correct answer! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
Bearman jumped up, pumping his fist. "Oh yeah!"
But Kimi wasn't discouraged. He grinned, scratched his head, and looked up at Kai. "How did you do it?"
Bearman quickly crouched back down, staring intently at Kai. The other kids also leaned in.
Unlike the reporters and the camera flashes, these eyes were innocent and full of hope. They were still curious, still dreaming, not yet bruised by the walls of reality.
Kai thought for a moment. "Believe in yourself. A gentleman once told me that I should stick to my guns and believe in myself, and then the dream can come true."
"I think he was right."
Kai gently patted the Pirelli tire. A pole was just a pole, but this one was different.
Bearman leaned closer. "But how did you do it? You've only been driving formula cars for a year, and you've created so many miracles?"
Kai paused, a wide smile breaking across his face. He didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "How long have you been driving karts?"
Bearman knelt upright and actually started counting on his fingers. "One, two, three, four, five, six... Seven years! I started when I was six!"
Immediately, the other kids clamored to show off. Five years, six years... the lengths varied, but none of them were rookies.
Kai shrugged lightly. "Then you are all already better than me! I didn't have the chance to accumulate that experience. I stumbled in by accident. A complete outsider. So, when you grow up, it's entirely possible you'll surpass me. To make sure I don't get beaten by you guys, it looks like I need to work harder..."
The kids erupted in giggles and laughter.
The event went smoothly, but Silvia eventually had to step in. Kai had other obligations; the mini meet-and-greet had to end.
But before they left, each kid received a Ferrari cap. Kai asked each of their names and signed them all.
Looking at his hat, Kimi couldn't hold back a squeal. "Kai Zhizhou asked my name! He asked my name! AHHHH!"
Bearman was jumping around too. "Me too, me too! He asked mine! And my name is right here!"
Kimi jammed the hat onto his head and ran out of the garage, eager to show it off. But Bearman stood still, watching Kai's retreating back. He thought to himself that when he grew up, he wanted to be a driver exactly like that—unstoppable on the track, and shining just as brightly off it.
For the first time, he truly realized how beautiful Ferrari red was. Starting today, he had a goal!
The frenzy swept the world.
It wasn't just the kids; the entire social media sphere erupted.
After the long torture of the summer break, culminating in the disaster at Spa, no one had expected a rebound a mere week later at Monza. A pole was a surprise; a front-row lockout was a miracle. Crushing Mercedes to shine at Monza had instantly reignited the beacon of hope.
Surprise! 100% surprise!
However, beneath the joy and the fervor lurked an uncontrollable anxiety. They were terrified this was all a dream, that they would wake up to nothing.
Worse, the higher the hope, the harder the fall. The painful memory of Spa was fresh. If they repeated that failure at Monza...
The consequences would be unthinkable.
Joy and anxiety, hope and fear, all tangled together. Saturday night was destined to be sleepless for countless Tifosi.
Matteo included.
Torment. Agony. Tossing and turning.
On one hand, he hated Kai. Every time that guy succeeded, it felt like a resounding slap to Matteo's face, a constant reminder of his own embarrassment and misjudgment. He refused to believe Kai could be the savior of Ferrari.
On the other hand, Kai was now a part of Ferrari. If Matteo wanted Ferrari back on top of the world, he had to pray for Kai. Like all Tifosi, he had suffered through the struggles and disappointments of the summer break.
These conflicting, complex emotions tore at him. He spent the entire night flipping like a pancake, unable to sleep.
He was awake before the sun rose, lying there staring blankly, feeling like a zombie. His mind was a chaotic void. He got up, washed, ate breakfast, and mindlessly followed the crowd toward the circuit. But when he saw the boundless ocean of fanatical red, he slammed on the brakes. Those faces, radiating hope and passion, stabbed at his fragile nerves. He couldn't handle it. He turned and fled.
Matteo never made it to the track. He wasted his VIP pass and ran to a bar instead.
Even early in the morning, the bar was packed. The words "Ferrari" and "Kai Zhizhou" filled the air. Everyone was excitedly discussing Kai's historic "God Lap" from yesterday. It wasn't just a pole; it awakened memories of Schumacher's glory days. In their desperation, they were clinging to this straw, as if they had finally found their messiah.
Matteo wanted to speak, but swallowed his words. He ordered a whiskey, downed it in one gulp, and washed down the arguments hovering in his throat. He stared intently at the TV screen, unsure of what he was actually hoping for. Ferrari's victory? Kai's failure? Or something else entirely?
The eyes of the world converged on Monza. It wasn't just the fans at the track; the Tifosi across the Apennine Peninsula were glued to their TVs. Hours before the race, local bars were already packed. Heartbeats accelerated like drumbeats, and the air began to burn.
Then, the formation lap began.
Ahhhhhhh! The energy detonated instantly.
Car Number 22 led the pack. For the first time in his career, Kai led the field away for the formation lap. A race of immense significance was about to begin.
The formation lap was just a warm-up, but the race strategy had actually begun in Q2 yesterday. Kai had consciously managed his tire wear. Ferrari's tire degradation on long runs would be the critical factor today.
So, Kai controlled the pace on the formation lap. On the surface, he looked conservative and cautious, perhaps slightly nervous about his first pole position start. But internally, he was already in race mode.
It was his first F1 pole, but he had started from pole here in GP3 last year. He wasn't unfamiliar with the territory.
Starting from pole meant dealing with the pressure from Vettel and Hamilton behind him. But Kai needed to focus on himself. He had to dictate the start, grab hold of the race, and establish the pace. Monza's speed was the key.
The formation lap ended. The cars lined up on the grid, waiting for the lights.
"Kai, Ricciardo at the back of the grid is delaying. Red Bull might be trying an aggressive start strategy."
Pierre's voice crackled over the radio. He had instantly noticed the shift in the track dynamic.
They needed to watch out for Red Bull.
After qualifying, Ricciardo was hit with a grid penalty for an engine change. Hulkenberg also had penalties from Spa and an engine change here.
So, Ricciardo was starting P19, and Hulkenberg P20.
Red Bull had been strong at a high-speed track like Spa, and Horner had high hopes for Monza. But qualifying had been a massive disappointment. They were far behind Ferrari and Mercedes.
However, precisely because of this, Red Bull often resorted to risky, aggressive strategies, showcasing the gambler's spirit that permeated the team.
According to the rules, there is a minimum speed limit for the formation lap, and the lead and tail cars must be in position within a certain time frame. But without breaking the rules, a driver can intentionally slow down to create space and buy themselves more time to warm their tires.
Starting from the back, Ricciardo's Red Bull had a massive performance advantage over the backmarkers and midfield cars. Monza was a track built for overtaking. It was highly likely that Ricciardo, with perfectly prepped tires, was planning to go on an overtaking rampage, causing chaos on lap one.
The same applied to Verstappen starting in P5.
If Verstappen launched an attack at the start, his direct targets were Hamilton in P3 and Kai on pole.
So, Pierre issued the warning immediately.
Kai wasn't worried about Hamilton. Whatever Verstappen did, Hamilton would not be soft at the start. The real danger of Verstappen's aggressive strategy was the chain reaction it could cause with Vettel.
Originally, Ferrari had agreed on a launch strategy: Kai guards the outside line, Vettel guards the inside line. Both cars squeeze slightly toward the middle, but without compromising their own track position.
By doing this, both drivers ensure they command the entry to Turn 1, blocking the center while leaving the extreme outside edges open. This invites rivals to try around the outside—a lower percentage move—securing the 1-2 advantage for Ferrari and boxing Mercedes behind them.
But now, a variable had been introduced.
If Vettel abandoned the plan and immediately attacked Kai off the line, Kai wouldn't be surprised.
On the surface, Pierre was warning Kai about Red Bull. In reality, under Arrivabene's watchful eye, Pierre was hinting that Kai should be on high alert.
"Copy," Kai replied crisply.
There was no time for detailed communication. The red lights were coming on.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
"It's lights out, and away we go!"
The engines screamed as the cars launched.
0.18 seconds.
Kai executed the best start of his career. Under immense pressure, his reaction time was perfect.
Amidst the rising roar, Kai followed the team strategy. A slight flick of the steering wheel. He hugged the right side, squeezing the middle.
As expected, a flash of silver tucked in right behind Kai, aiming for the inside line. But starting from the second row meant Car 44 was a beat too slow.
Hamilton lost the initiative!
Almost simultaneously, the silver in Kai's right rearview mirror was pushed back, replaced by a flash of Ferrari red.
The red car closed in fast. It didn't hesitate. It moved from the side, cut in, and completely occupied the center, instantly filling Kai's mirrors.
Vettel had attacked.
It happened in a flash!
Kai reacted instantly. He continued his slight drift toward the middle. Using the advantage he gained from his perfect reaction time, he claimed the track position, cutting diagonally across the center line.
Boom! The tension exploded!
"Kai gets a perfect start! He holds the advantage and commands the line!"
"Sebastian Vettel attacks! He successfully blocks Lewis Hamilton in the middle!"
"Vettel is in the slipstream! He pulls out! He goes to the outside!"
"Kai cuts to the inside to cover!"
"Number 22 and Number 5 execute a crossover! The two Ferraris swap positions seamlessly, completely boxing out the two Mercedes! Verstappen tries to attack, but the middle is totally blocked!"
"Turn 1 is approaching!"
Starting from pole on the right (outside for Turn 1), the standard racing line is out-in-out. But by cutting to the inside early to cover Vettel, Kai completely changed the geometry of Turn 1.
Furthermore, Kai realized immediately that he had unintentionally given Vettel a massive tow. Vettel reacted sharply, grabbing the slipstream. Before Kai could break the tow, Vettel pulled out and aggressively claimed the outside line. With the speed advantage from the draft, Vettel had the upper hand for the braking zone.
Crisis!
Kai's foot hovered over the brake pedal, but he forced himself to hold off.
He kept pushing. He used his peripheral vision to track Bottas, Hamilton, and Vettel. In the chaotic, rapidly changing flow, he searched for the exact moment.
Maximum late braking!
Kai defended his position aggressively, stubbornly forcing Vettel to stay wide on the outside line until the absolute limit, and only then did he slam on the brakes.
Damn it! Front right lock-up!
The tires, not fully up to temperature from the start, failed the severe test of the Variante del Rettifilo. In the millisecond sequence of inputs, the Ferrari couldn't find enough grip. The tire locked instantly.
A puff of white smoke! The screech of tearing rubber pierced the eardrums!
"Kai locks up! Extreme defense!"
"Not just Kai!"
"Hartley! Sainz! Multiple lock-ups!"
White smoke billowed. At the back of the grid, carbon fiber shards flew into the air, but in the chaos, it was impossible to tell who had collided.
Kai's car juddered violently. The vibrations traveled from the suspension up his arms. The G-forces threatened to crush his chest. He felt like a kite about to be shredded in a hurricane.
In that brief moment of chaos and crisis, Kai demonstrated his absolute feel for the car. Even with the front wheels locked and the initiative lost, he didn't panic. He gripped the wheel tightly and miraculously regained control. He caught the apex, held his position, and executed a flurry of micro-adjustments with the steering, brakes, and throttle in a matter of milliseconds. He coaxed the car along the S-curve, carving a fluid, rounded line.
Before they even reached Turn 2, he had completely blocked the overtaking lines of both Vettel and Hamilton, sliding out of the chicane smoothly and in the lead.
It happened so fast, in the blink of an eye, they were already out of the first chicane.
"Kai and Vettel almost collide, but Kai holds his position and blocks Vettel's first aggressive attack!"
"Verstappen! Beautiful!"
"Max Verstappen sees an opportunity and seizes it! He passes Bottas and is right on Hamilton's gearbox! The brutal dogfight from the first chicane continues!"
Everything unfolded exactly as anticipated—a chain reaction.
Red Bull's risky start strategy created ripples, and both Ferrari and Mercedes had to react. Now, it was impossible to tell if Horner had used Ricciardo as a smokescreen to intentionally disrupt the front two rows so Verstappen could capitalize on the chaos.
If Ricciardo was just a decoy, Horner's calculation was brilliant.
But that didn't matter now, because the brutal combat continued. Exiting the first chicane, Hamilton immediately launched his offensive.
Curva Grande. Mercedes' advantage in high-speed corners was on full display.
Before the summer break, Ferrari and Mercedes were closely matched on straights and high-speed corners, with Ferrari even holding a slight edge. But after the Spa upgrades, Mercedes had taken the lead.
Hamilton was clearly exploiting the brief window where the Ferrari's tires lacked grip, using the W09's superior aerodynamics to bully the Ferrari through the high-speed arc.
Hamilton ducked out from behind Vettel, moving from left to right. He hugged the apex of Curva Grande, throttle pinned, unleashing his full speed.
Kai, ahead of Vettel, could clearly feel the pressure Hamilton was exerting. The Mercedes' performance had definitely taken a step up.
There was no time to breathe. The Variante della Roggia (Turns 4 & 5) was approaching rapidly. The danger was clawing at the back of his neck.
Decisive action!
Kai abandoned his original plan. He didn't take a gentle approach to the second chicane. Instead, braving the risk of snap oversteer, he drifted slightly to the outside, squeezing Hamilton's racing line.
He braked at the absolute limit. Through the steering wheel, he could feel the faint, tenuous grip from the suspension. The front end was far more sensitive than expected. It felt floaty, on the verge of sliding out.
In that split second, his mind was crystal clear. He proactively applied opposite lock early. Before he even finished navigating Turn 4, he was already setting up for Turn 5 along the S-curve. The car slithered through like a snake.
Front right tire loses grip—hits the curb—off the track—violent bouncing!
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel, stubbornly holding his line through the violent storm of vibrations. He fed the throttle in delicately but firmly. The bouncing, shuddering Ferrari rocketed out of the chicane like a tamed wild horse.
Extreme. Dangerous. But he had controlled it.
More importantly, Kai had successfully squeezed, disrupted, and blocked Hamilton's racing line!
It was a perfect piece of Ferrari teamwork.
Even though Vettel had tried to attack Kai at the start, Hamilton was now the immediate, aggressive threat. If Hamilton passed Vettel, Kai would be next.
So, helping Vettel defend against Hamilton was actually helping himself. He needed to keep Vettel between himself and the Mercedes.
What happened next?
Hamilton was wheel-to-wheel with Vettel, just a nose behind. But in the low- and medium-speed corners, Mercedes had the rhythm advantage. Hamilton could feel Vettel struggling, and he was slowly eating away at the deficit.
Just then, Hamilton noticed Kai's racing line ahead. He was clearly setting up a pincer movement to help Vettel.
Damn it!
Hamilton hadn't expected Kai to cooperate with Vettel. He was now caught in a dilemma, with nowhere to go.
What should he do?
Brake? Lift? Control his speed?
In the split second Hamilton hesitated, trying to make a decision, Vettel moved.
Everything was improvised. Vettel and Kai hadn't communicated at all. But Vettel didn't believe Kai was helping him. He firmly believed he was fighting a lone battle. He had to rely on himself.
On the opening lap, the Ferrari's grip was a joke. Its performance in the low- and medium-speed corners was atrocious. Vettel watched Hamilton close in, knowing an overtake was inevitable.
He had two choices:
First, be patient. Let Hamilton go for now, and launch a counterattack once the Ferrari's tires were in the optimal window. After all, Ferrari's front-row lockout yesterday proved they had the pace.
But that felt too cowardly. Too passive.
Which left the second choice.
Vettel wasn't sure if it was decisiveness or impulse. With adrenaline pumping, he flicked the steering wheel to the right in the middle of the S-curve between Turn 4 and 5, leaning into Hamilton.
His intention was to squeeze Hamilton's line and show strength in the wheel-to-wheel battle. But in reality, the car, lacking grip, suffered from snap oversteer. The movement was much larger than intended. Vettel's front right tire slammed hard into Hamilton's front left.
And just like that, it happened.
"Side-by-side! Wheel-to-wheel! Hamilton and Vettel are too close!" Brundle shouted.
A second later, Croft screamed, "CONTACT!"
"Vettel hits Hamilton! He spins! Vettel loses control of the car!"
"A disastrous start for Sebastian Vettel! Under pressure, he collides with Hamilton! Hamilton continues unaffected, but Vettel has spun around and is tumbling down the order!"
"Good God!"
"Vettel drops to P18! For the second time since Hockenheim, he ruins his own race with an unforced error! I can't believe my eyes!"
The entire Monza crowd was stunned, clutching their heads in disbelief, unable to even make a sound.
Brundle was equally confused. "Vettel had the position! He had the line! He had the absolute advantage! But after the contact, it's Vettel who spins and loses out! Ferrari's Monza weekend seemed to have found a ray of hope, but in the blink of an eye, they are plunged back into the abyss!"
Chaos. Before anyone could catch their breath, the race descended into total anarchy.
Yellow flags waved. No overtaking. Speed limits enforced.
Only then did the broadcast have time to replay the start.
The front of the grid was chaotic, but the back was even worse.
Keyword: Red Bull!
As expected, Ricciardo had launched a ferocious attack right off the line. But this time, it wasn't just the front-runners who were alert; the drivers immediately ahead of Ricciardo—Raikkonen (Sauber) and Vandoorne (McLaren)—were also on edge.
The result!
A three-car collision. Carbon fiber flew. The innocent Toro Rosso of Hartley was caught in the crossfire, suffering a puncture and retiring on the spot. Hulkenberg, starting last, capitalized on the chaos to climb the order. The ambitious Ricciardo suffered front wing damage and would undoubtedly have to pit early.
Meanwhile, Vettel tumbled all the way down to P18, right behind Ricciardo. The top three were now Kai, Hamilton, and Verstappen.
The order was completely scrambled!
The entire start—front, middle, and back—was a mess of conflicting strategies and calculations, detonating Monza from the first second!
The atmosphere on the Ferrari pit wall was grim.
Anyone with eyes could see that Kai had put aside internal differences to help his teammate. But Vettel clearly wasn't on the same wavelength, ruining a perfect setup with his own recklessness.
Now what?
What was supposed to be a team effort was instantly reduced to a solo battle.
Pierre immediately recognized Kai's plight. "Still no grip?"
The Ferrari was incredibly temperamental right now. It had no grip early on, but once the tires reached operating temperature, they degraded too quickly. Simply put: slow to warm up and overly sensitive. Driving on a knife-edge didn't even begin to describe it.
Behind him, the experienced Hamilton instantly noticed Kai's struggle. He didn't hesitate. He closed in immediately, completely ignoring the dirty air. A suffocating pressure slammed into Kai's back.
The bayonets were drawn.
Pierre had no time to worry about Vettel's mess. They had to deal with the immediate crisis: Lewis Hamilton.