The air was practically stagnant.
Layers of pressure continued to mount. The humid, suffocating wave of heat pressed heavily against their chests, making it hard to breathe. The entire Ferrari garage was dead silent.
Although Kai was continuously setting fastest laps, Hamilton's full Wets were turning the tide, and his single-lap pace was catching up bit by bit.
In other words, Kai's advantage wouldn't last long. The stage was set for Hamilton's full-speed pursuit. No one could ignore the constantly beating heart of a champion in Hamilton's chest!
"Purple! Fastest lap!"
"Unbelievable! Kai updates the fastest lap for the twelfth time! Incredible! 1:20.892! He is the first driver to break into the 1 minute 20 seconds!"
"God! How is he doing this?!"
Ah! Ahhhhh!
The entire Ferrari garage turned into a sea of carnival. The fanaticism and joy radiating from their faces burned wildly.
Perhaps Hamilton possessed experience and pride. But the young and vigorous Kai had a heart full of hot blood, burning constantly, ready to fight to the bitter end, pushing himself to the absolute limit, leaving no regrets.
And then—a slide!
Gasp!
In an instant, the entire stadium fell dead silent. Nappi's heart clenched tight, stopping its beat. He forgot to breathe, his whole body stiffened, standing blankly in place.
Lap 61, Turn 8. Standing water, sharp corner. Kai's Intermediate tires finally succumbed. Failing to grip the track, the front tires locked up instantly. The car slid sideways across the corner, heading straight off the track, seemingly helpless as it slid toward the wet gravel trap.
Without warning. Out of nowhere.
So, was this the end? All the effort, all the fighting, only to fall just before the finish line?
Kai said no.
At this critical, hair-raising moment, there was no panic. His instantly explosive reaction speed pulled the reins tight on the edge of the cliff—a light tap on the throttle. He couldn't be forceful; he couldn't be reckless. He had to use the throttle, bit by bit, to find grip for the rear wheels.
Simultaneously, he applied opposite lock.
Humid, suffocating, crowded, oppressive. Messy, dizzying, stiff, heavy. The overwhelming G-forces all pressed down on his heart. His hands gripping the steering wheel exerted maximum force, knuckles turning white. With that breath stuck in his chest, he completely forgot to breathe.
No thinking, purely instinct.
Delicate and compact coordination incredibly managed to control the situation at the moment of losing control. Watching Car 22 leave the track and ride the kerb, about to plunge into the gravel trap in the next second, he accurately applied a burst of throttle. The car hugged the edge of the kerb and pierced straight onto the straight.
Boom! Boom boom boom!
The roar of the engine poured out like a tidal wave, turning the tide, a narrow escape from death.
A tingling sensation shot from the soles of Nappi's feet to his scalp. He trembled uncontrollably. Nappi felt his knees go weak, his calves shaking, barely able to stand. But his throat was tightly choked; he couldn't make a sound. His entire back was instantly covered in cold sweat. He gritted his teeth and stared at the live broadcast screen.
He saw that flash of Ferrari red, neither anxious nor panicked. He slightly widened the entry angle for Turn 9, hugging the crest and gently passing through the corner. Coordinating with the throttle, maintaining rhythm and continuing forward. In a flash, he left the minor incident at Turn 8 behind, continuing his wild sprint.
Truly a big heart, born specifically for moments like this!
Radiant! Dazzling!
However, the crisis still loomed before their eyes. With ten full laps left in the race, the rain was still falling steadily. Interlagos was completely soaked in rainwater. But Kai's Intermediates were nearing their limit, precarious, on the verge of collapse, seemingly ready to give up and refuse to respond to any commands in the next second.
Those accumulated scars were the merit of fighting a bloody battle to the end! Also an unyielding will! Even more, the thorns and challenges on the road to the championship!
This was the price of challenging the Mercedes throne. Challengers came wave after wave, one after another, but all were defeated. Ultimately, no one had been able to withstand the heavy pressure to complete such a feat. Until now, Ferrari, led by Kai, was so close.
Just the last two steps, but they had to burn all the energy in their souls. Yet even that didn't seem like enough, as they watched him about to fall just before the finish line.
So, what should they do?
Nappi straightened his knees, straightened his back, clenched his fists to cheer himself up. He held his head high and puffed out his chest, staring at the live screen, fighting side-by-side—
Kai had said it: even if they weren't on the track, they were always fighting together.
Then.
One. Two. Three, four, five. Everyone straightened their backs, stubbornly and firmly raising their chins, holding onto their pride, awakening the bloodlust deep in Ferrari's bones!
Championships are not won through the courtesy and charity of others. They must fight to the end, giving it their all, winning it with their own hands.
Now, it was time to stand up.
Mekies was a beat slow to notice the change in atmosphere. Looking around, he realized that the pit lane had completely united, including the Garage 5 crew next door.
No exceptions.
They stood hand-in-hand behind Car 22. Even if they had to push the car with their own hands and feet, even if they had to kneel until their knees were crushed, they would follow Kai and fight unyieldingly to the end, until all energy was burned out, leaving no regrets.
Involuntarily, Mekies also straightened his back and slightly puffed out his chest.
At this moment, Tifosi all over the world stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Those firm and eager gazes followed Car 22 as it sped around the track.
Lap 62, Lap 63... The numbers don't lie. The gap between Hamilton and Kai was shrinking. From ten seconds, to nine seconds, to eight seconds.
The spotlight was now on Hamilton. Although he wasn't constantly setting fastest laps, Hamilton was indeed steadily and solidly launching a full pursuit.
The battle for the World Championship, quite literally, was unfolding before their eyes!
Watching the numbers gradually shrink, that anxiety and tension churned in their stomachs, making them almost want to vomit. Their hearts were on the verge of collapse under the pressure.
On one side was Hamilton's fierce, relentless pursuit. On the other side was the countdown of laps slowly approaching the end of the race.
The tug-of-war and deadlock between the two were playing out right in front of them. Breathless. Even the fanatic Brazilian fans in the main grandstand forgot to cheer.
Lap 67, Lap 68... Hamilton was closing in entirely, trailing by only three seconds!
With 71 laps in the entire race, there were very few laps left. Kai had already entered Hamilton's attacking range, especially in rainy conditions.
Hamilton, tested by countless wet races throughout his career, had drawn his long sword, pointing it at Kai.
The battle was imminent!
However, just at this moment, Kai's single-lap pace slowly began to climb again. After maintaining a steady state for so long, Kai re-entered push mode. Standing on the extreme edge of the tightrope, squeezing the little remaining energy from the tires, searching for that invisible yet truly existing "dry line" in the rain. Performing a ballet on the knife's edge, dragging a long trail of water mist, piercing through Interlagos.
When Hamilton was applying full pressure on Kai, a slight increase in Kai's rhythm could become the variable that breaks the balance.
Because Hamilton believed he could launch an attack on Lap 70, but now Kai was widening the gap again. The plan was overthrown.
And with the end of the race approaching so quickly, the space left for Hamilton to adjust was limited. The pressure poured down!
Lap 69, "2.5 seconds! Hamilton's pace catching Kai is slowing down. He might not be able to catch up!"
Lap 70, "Hamilton! Closing in! 1.7 seconds! The defending champion is going all-in, preparing to give it his all on the final lap. The championship rests on this single move!"
The air was stagnant. Only the sound of the continuous drizzle spread through the air.
Until a roar tore through the sky.
"Kai Zhizhou! The checkered flag!"
"Jesus Christ, Kai won! Kai refused to bow to fate. He fought back, forcefully snatching the victory at Interlagos from the Goddess of Victory! My God, what am I witnessing?"
Thump. Thump.
The world was so quiet. Over the radio, Pierre hadn't constantly reminded Kai of Hamilton's shrinking gap. He simply trusted Kai, giving him free rein to push according to his own rhythm, squeezing out the little remaining grip in the tires, running wildly in the rain to his heart's content.
Everything quieted down. Only the sounds of heartbeats and engines remained. Gradually, gradually, the two blended together, beating to the same rhythm.
In a certain moment, he felt as if he was chasing time. Not time, but light. A streak of golden light flying ahead, continuously challenging the limits of the car.
He knew Hamilton was right behind him, tenaciously and stubbornly following his footsteps, squeezing into his rearview mirrors. But at this moment, Hamilton was completely unimportant. The whole world consisted only of him and his car, running wildly in the rain at Interlagos, chasing the footsteps Senna once left behind.
Passing Turn 11, he already felt the limit of the tires. There was absolutely no grip to speak of. Any slight, overly aggressive, or unnecessary operation could lead to a loss of control, failing just before the finish line.
But there was no panic. Hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, every muscle in his body tensed to the absolute limit. Utilizing the track width to the maximum, stretching the cornering arc as wide as possible. Like a butterfly, light and agile, fluttering through the rain mist, speeding along the parabola. The scenery of Turns 12, 13, and 14 turned into a streak of light rapidly receding backwards.
Slip!
Another slide. Exiting Turn 15, the rear wing wobbled. In a sea of cyan rain, that Ferrari seemed to have been pushed to its absolute limit, ready to fall apart at any moment.
In the nick of time, the throttle was released, then released again, and then applied once more. After continuous steering corrections to find the straight line, it pierced straight out. The vibrant, bright red, like a ball of fire, burned fiercely in the continuous rain, pouring all its strength into a final strike toward the finish line.
Burning out entirely, leaving no regrets.
Whoosh!
A flash of Ferrari red crossed the line first.
Whoosh!
0.833 seconds later, a flash of Mercedes silver followed closely.
The world quieted down, absolutely silent, not a sound.
That Ferrari had indeed exhausted all its energy. Entering the Senna S again, it had completely slowed down. The Mercedes easily overtook it. Red and silver crossed paths, like lightning splitting the cyan rain mist, illuminating the whole world.
Then, as if it were a lie, the rain stopped.
Everything, absolutely everything, hit the pause button. Losing the ability to react, deeply sunk in shock, unable to distinguish reality from a dream.
"P1..." Pierre finally broke the silence. But the words had barely rushed out of his throat before they got stuck. A wave of choking sobs, a surge of emotion hard to control.
Even witnessing it with his own eyes, experiencing it firsthand, he still couldn't believe it. A miracle was unfolding!
From pole position, to P18, and back to the champion's throne. Full of twists and turns, soul-stirring. No one knew exactly how Kai had completed this race!
When Car 5 crashed into Car 22, the Ferrari pit wall, like everyone else, genuinely believed the race was over. Perhaps the season wasn't over, Abu Dhabi still held a glimmer of hope, but Interlagos was hopeless. However, Kai saw it differently.
Taking risks, gambling, showing courage and boldness in unpredictable weather. Showcasing his racing intelligence and competitive ability to the fullest in a roller-coaster race. In the extreme of dancing wildly on the edge of a knife, forcefully carving a bloody path, grasping a ray of dawn in endless despair.
And then, cashing it in!
Hearts surging, blood boiling.
Pierre thought he knew Kai well enough, long accustomed to the surprises this young man constantly brought. But at this moment, he was still filled with emotion.
His voice caught in his throat.
Kai's voice came over the radio. "Pierre, I've held nothing back, I've given it my all. Whatever the result, I can face it calmly."
Exhausted, but bright.
Pierre's nose couldn't help but sting. He forced a huge smile. "Yes, I know. P1, Kai, we are P1."
"..." A pause on the radio. "What? Didn't Hamilton overtake at the finish line?"
Pierre rarely saw Kai confused. It was both funny and heartbreaking. "Kai, you won! You won Interlagos!"
"Ah!" Kai cheered, his undisguised joy instantly erupting. "Ahhh! Good job, good job, good job! Pierre, we won!"
"Yes, we did it..." Pierre's voice caught suddenly, unable to continue.
Kai laughed out loud without mercy. "Pierre, hahaha, are you wiping away tears right now? We still have one last race. The season isn't over, remember? I said, the season isn't over! If you want to cry, wait until Abu Dhabi is over."
Pierre, "I am not..."
Unfortunately, his defense couldn't be finished. The Ferrari pit lane instantly exploded with unbelievable energy, like a volcanic eruption, sweeping across mightily. Countless hands ruthlessly patted Pierre's back, happily and ecstatically interrupting the rest of his words.
Having been tense, anxious, hands clasped tightly in silent prayer. The moment Car 22 crossed the finish line first, a sudden emptiness washed over them. Their bodies could no longer hold up. One by one, they slumped to the ground, sitting down, drenched in sweat, as if they had just been fished out of the rain.
Only now did the delayed fear set in. If any single detail had gone wrong, the result of this race could have been completely different.
But they had fought through it, keeping the hopeful dawn of the 2018 season alive, putting all their chips on the table for the final showdown at the summit of Abu Dhabi.
Looking at each other, seeing each other's disheveled state, they couldn't help but laugh at each other. Yet, after a hearty laugh, they stood up with heroic spirit, swarming out of the pit lane together, cheering, jumping, screaming, recklessly celebrating the victory.
At this moment, Ferrari was the focus.
From the peak to the valley and then completing self-redemption to return to the peak, Ferrari staged the most important battle of the season at Interlagos, making the entire paddock take notice.
When the accident between Vettel and Kai happened, bystanders remained calm. Similar incidents had played out time and again in the paddock—
Senna and Prost, Vettel and Webber, Alonso and Hamilton, Piquet and Mansell, Button and Villeneuve, Hamilton and Rosberg, and so on.
History repeating itself, an old tune played again. Nothing to be surprised about.
However, the people waiting to watch a joke suddenly realized: this time, they miscalculated!
Ferrari staged a return of the king! Regardless of how the championship battle ends this season, it seems Marchionne really did find a future leader for the Prancing Horse!
So, will next season's Ferrari truly have the strength to challenge Mercedes?
Wait, the Tifosi clearly refused to wait until next season to fight again, because Ferrari had already grasped an excellent opportunity this season. Their fighting spirit was fully awakened!
Bathed in the scrutinizing and speculative gazes of the entire paddock, the Ferrari pit lane abandoned themselves to celebration mode. They hadn't found this passion and hot blood in a long, long time. The soaring fighting spirit hidden within the Prancing Horse red seemed to roar over the skies of Interlagos.
It wasn't just Ferrari. The audience in the Interlagos grandstands finally reacted, realizing what they had witnessed. One by one, they couldn't hold back anymore—
Pouring out! Emptying the streets!
Tense, deadlocked, thrilling, dangerous. The suspense lasted until the very last moment of crossing the line. All of Interlagos, without exception, was swept into this storm, staring unblinkingly, holding their breath, watching the confrontation on the track, mesmerized, captivated.
Finally, witnessing a miracle.
Buzz, buzz. The roar in their eardrums continued to reverberate. The fanatic Brazilian fans collectively fell into shock, completely losing their ability to react—
Since the "God of Racing" Senna shone like a meteor in the night sky and then fell and disappeared, this land, crazy for football, had been bitterly searching for the next peak driver. Over the years, Brazilian drivers have come and gone, but none have been able to conquer these fanatic fans. Perhaps Hamilton is the only exception.
In 2008, Hamilton snatched the Drivers' World Championship from local hope Massa at Interlagos, becoming Brazil's public enemy number one, facing a siege.
However, ten years passed in the blink of an eye. Over these years, Hamilton stated more than once or twice that Senna was his idol and that he tried to follow in Senna's footsteps. In 2016, in a tense and thrilling race, Hamilton won the championship, slowly changing his image among Brazilian fans.
This year, Hamilton even had a special yellow helmet made for Interlagos to pay tribute to Senna.
After Massa's retirement, there are currently no Brazilian drivers in the paddock. Hamilton, the man who personally snuffed out Brazil's hopes of a Drivers' World Championship, has ironically become the closest inheritor of the "Brazilian Spirit." Undoubtedly, he is becoming the favorite driver of Brazilian fans in the paddock.
Another year at Interlagos, another battle for the World Championship, Hamilton again. Everything felt familiar. Massa from back then evolved into Hamilton today. The regrets of Brazilian motorsport seemed to be passed down just like that.
Bitterness, regret, sighs, bewilderment. Various emotions choked their throats. That sense of loss and weariness caused the minds of the home crowd to briefly stall.
However! But! Yet!
The one who defeated Hamilton... was it Senna?
No, no, no, impossible. Twenty-four years have passed. Brazilians have never given up searching for Senna's successor, but inheriting greatness is no easy task.
After going round and round, searching high and low, Brazilians still hadn't fully accepted that Hamilton was the closest existence to Senna. But now, a dark horse had suddenly emerged?
But if it wasn't, how else to explain it—
The race that just ended, full of twists and turns. A classic wet race, a typical Interlagos. Challenging the limits amidst chaos and turmoil. Performing a tango on the edge of a cliff. Completing an impossible mission. Staging a miracle in front of Brazilian fans.
Whether it was the pole position that broke the Interlagos record in qualifying, or the Ferrari collision that awakened bad memories of Senna and Prost for Brazilian fans. Most importantly, it was the willpower to refuse to retire and continue fighting with an unyielding spirit even after front wing damage and a front tire blowout.
All of this, all of this... was just too familiar for the fanatic Brazilian fans. Slumbering memories instantly came alive, surging in like a tidal wave.
Thinking back on this rookie's journey: emerging from nowhere, facing opposition from his family, jumping three grades in just two years, joining the fight for the Drivers' World Championship in his rookie season. From Monaco to Hockenheim to Singapore, and now to Interlagos. Turning the impossible into reality, turning the tide. Inconceivably mastering the car, carving a bloody path through thorns and thistles, roaring with destructive force in the bayonet-drawn paddock.
I came, I saw, I conquered!
So—could it be—really?
Various thoughts surged in their minds. The gazes that had fallen on Kai because of Hamilton could no longer be controlled, burning fiercely.
Clearly, their brains couldn't provide an answer, but their bodies instinctively left their seats, running wildly towards the podium regardless of anything else.
Whoosh. Like a waterfall pouring down. Brazilian fans from all directions swarmed in grandly. That swath of bright yellow crowded together, breaking through the cyan mist, layer upon layer surrounding the small patch of Ferrari red near the podium. Colors clashed—BOOM!
Evolving into a heatwave, a full-blown explosion.
All of Interlagos completely boiled over. One by one, without clearing their minds, they couldn't control their anticipation and admiration, waiting restlessly, looking towards the end of the road, waiting for that figure to appear.
Car 77—No!
Car 44—a brief boil, but then it subsided. Hearts surging, they continued to look into the distance. This feeling, this sensation, was definitely long lost. Their hearts couldn't help but pound wildly.
In 1989, in Japan, at the Suzuka Circuit. Senna and Prost, both driving for McLaren, were battling for the World Championship. Unless Senna could win the championship, under any other circumstances, Prost would be crowned World Champion.
On Lap 47, at the final chicane, Senna lunged to the inside. Collision. Both cars went off the track and into the gravel.
Prost immediately got out of the car and retired. Senna, however, asked the marshals for a push-start to continue the race.
Although Senna's front wing was damaged and he needed to pit for repairs, after exiting the pits, Senna still activated "God of Racing" mode, crossing the finish line first to win the championship.
However, after the race, the FIA stewards discussed and concluded that when Senna returned to the track, he received assistance to restart the engine, which was a violation. He was disqualified, and Alessandro Nannini eventually inherited the victory for that race.
Undoubtedly, this was one of the classic battles in the careers of Senna and Prost, still talked about with great enthusiasm to this day.
Ultimately, Prost won the World Championship that year, and the following year he moved to Ferrari.
Nearly thirty years later, Brazilian fans once again witnessed such a dramatic, roller-coaster race. But this time it was different—he took back the championship that rightfully belonged to him! The regret of 1990 seemed finally fulfilled at this moment.
Then, Car 22 appeared. The crowd could no longer control their excitement and joy. Cheers burst from their throats, gathering bit by bit, continually rising as the car slowly approached. You could distinctly feel the temperature rising and the heatwaves rolling. Even the track marshals all gathered, forcefully slapping any nearby objects to make noise.
Until that figure wearing the red racing suit left the cockpit, standing on the car, as if standing on top of the world. At the moment when all cheers and shouts were about to be released and explode, a ray of golden sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell upon that figure.
Holy! Dazzling!
Like a god descending.
Although the rain had stopped, cyan clouds still covered the sky. The sun had been invisible throughout, the whole world shrouded in a hazy glimmer. Until now, tearing through the haze, the golden sunlight dispelled all gloom and sorrow. It seemed they had finally ushered in the long-awaited new era.
The whole world fell into shock, losing the ability to speak amidst astonishment and amazement. Dead silence. Only the sound of hearts pounding against chests continued to roar in their eardrums, reminding them of what they were witnessing. Using all their strength, they couldn't suppress the urge to worship deep within their souls.
Everything around faded into shadow. Those sounds, those movements, those figures—none of it mattered anymore. That ray of skylight gathered the focus of the whole world. The face hidden inside the helmet couldn't be seen clearly, making people feel dazed, as if in a dream, hard to distinguish whether they were witnessing a mirage or a miracle.
One second, two seconds, three seconds. Not a single sound, not a single movement.
Until Kai raised his arms high, his whole body leaping into the air. He punched his fists hard towards the sky. That ray of skylight shone behind him like a halo. This instantly broke the restraints, igniting the entire venue. The shouts that had been swirling in their throats could no longer be controlled and rushed out. Evolving into a surging force that erupted.
Ah!
Heaven and earth shattered! The sun and moon lost their light!
The world, frozen at this moment, instantly turning into eternity.
Ah! Ahhhhhh—AHHHHHHHHHH!
Continuously rising! Fully released!
Frantic. All reason burned to ashes in that ray of skylight. Surging passion continuously erupted. It seemed the energy deep within their souls had also awakened, bursting forth with a fanaticism they hadn't even realized they possessed. That vast expanse of bright yellow finally awakened its vitality.
Everything, because of that flash of red!
Ahhhh! Ahhhhh!
Kai was shouting and roaring. As a result, he was startled by the surging yellow ocean before him. Rolling airwaves rushed at his face, so much so that he felt he was almost being lifted into the air to fly. He couldn't help but be slightly stunned—what's going on?
This is Interlagos, right? His first time arriving in this land in his life. So, what was happening before his eyes?
But, what did it matter?
An unfamiliar space, a familiar world. Because of racing, their blood was closely connected, finding emotional resonance in hot blood and passion.
In a daze, somewhat bewildered. Kai rushed toward the crowd, extending his right hand to high-five them one by one. The human wave surged. This vast yellow ocean was given new life because of Kai. The ocean that had been silent for years after Senna bid farewell to the world, had once again appeared at Interlagos!
Magnificent!
The surging crowd fell into fanaticism because of Kai's simplest action. You could see the massive sea of humanity boiling over, wave after wave.
Kai ran wildly all the way, high-fiving along the way, rolling with the heatwaves, continuing forward, until he reached the spot where the Ferrari staff were bustling and crowded together.
One by one, they could no longer control their excitement. The fanaticism in their minds poured out completely, cheering, screaming, jumping.
"Good job!"
"Champion ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Unparalleled! Unparalleled!"
Even Arrivabene was no exception, temporarily setting aside differences and conflicts, opening his arms to give Kai a hug. Using all his strength to control it, he still couldn't help but tremble slightly, filled with emotion, his blood boiling.
He couldn't help but recall Marchionne's words from a year ago: In the future, you will start to rely on him.
Never mind a year ago, even a month ago he still refused to believe that his career fate could be held in the hands of this young man.
"An epic victory." Arrivabene patted Kai's helmet, offering rare praise.
Not just Ferrari, media reporters also continuously thanked Kai—thanked Kai for keeping the championship suspense alive with a tide-turning performance. For the media, this season simply couldn't be more exciting, more thrilling.
The 2018 Brazilian Grand Prix completely concluded. Kai, Hamilton, Bottas occupied the top three spots, stepping onto the podium together.
Mercedes... still formidable. In such adversity, such chaos, still finding their footing. If not for Kai's divinely inspired performance, the race result might have been different. Both drivers stepping onto the podium also meant they widened the gap again in the Constructors' Championship standings.
Currently, Hamilton leads Kai by 3 points. Mercedes leads Ferrari by 12 points.
In other words, anything is possible.
Everything, absolutely everything, will be decided in Abu Dhabi.
Behind them, Verstappen fourth, Ricciardo fifth, Leclerc sixth. Although Leclerc regrettably missed the podium, his performance—second only to the Big Three, continuing to refresh Sauber's best result of the season—once again proved his talent and brilliance. In this year's rookie frenzy, he steadily occupied the second seat.
Facing such a situation, how could the media not go crazy?
At the front, a bayonet-drawn battle for the championship. Behind, the chaos of driver seats pushed to a new peak. Nearing the end of the season, this grand drama was finally about to usher in a thrilling finale. Media reporters were all rubbing their hands together, impatiently preparing to welcome the season-ending showdown at Mount Hua.
For everything, they must thank Kai!
Finishing a series of post-race procedures, Kai was holding a water bottle, gulping down water. The physical toll at Interlagos was no less than Singapore. The intermittent heavy rain posed a dual test for body and mind. He once again experienced the feeling of completely draining his primordial energy.
Unexpected but reasonable, the drivers also approached him one by one—
Without a doubt, Kai was the shining focus of Interlagos this afternoon.
Immediately, Leclerc came up and gave Kai a huge hug, patting Kai's back heavily, unable to resist sighing repeatedly.
"Madman. You are a madman."
Kai flashed a huge smile. "Thanks for the compliment."
Leclerc rolled his eyes, utterly speechless. Just as he was about to roast him, he noticed Mekies popping out from behind.
Mekies happened to make eye contact with Leclerc and smoothly cut into the conversation. "Do you mind if I borrow Kai for a moment?"
Leclerc nodded. "Remember to sort him after use. This is non-recyclable trash."
A bit of banter instantly lightened the mood.
Kai spread his hands. "Charles, exposing my identity as a perpetual motion machine... that's not friendly. Not friendly at all."
Alonso, who was drinking water nearby, couldn't hold it back and did a spit-take. The other drivers all burst into laughter. The atmosphere was very lively.
Mekies pulled Kai out of sight, returning to the Ferrari hospitality area.
Along the way, the crowd cheering, celebrating, and congratulating was endless. Mekies didn't interrupt, standing aside with a gratified expression, appreciating all of this. Until they entered the hospitality area, leaving all the noise and clamor behind. When Kai saw their destination, a trace of surprise appeared in his eyes.
It was Arrivabene's office.
Kai could anticipate that before entering the mixed interview zone, the team would need to give him a few instructions. He thought that was why Mekies was looking for him.
But now it seemed Arrivabene was preparing to take charge personally.
Mekies looked at Kai's half-smiling expression, hesitating to speak. A thousand words spun in his throat, but he surprisingly didn't know how to express them—
Too much, far too much had happened today. Even Mekies was finding it a bit hard to digest.
Finally, it was Kai who patted Mekies's shoulder, looking calm. "Relax, I'll be gentle."
Mekies looked speechless, which made the corners of Kai's mouth turn up. With light steps, he pushed open the door and entered the office.
Mekies watched Kai's straight back and unhurried steps. His knees, which had just seemed slightly fatigued, were now straight again, as if preparing for battle. Mekies's highly suspended heart relaxed slightly.
However, Mekies still didn't leave. He stayed at the office door, arms crossed, expression solemn, seemingly ready to rush in at any moment.
At this time, Silvia Frangipane approached from the other side. The two exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. Silvia also leaned against the wall, falling silent, silently guarding the door.
Pushing the door and entering the office, Kai didn't notice the movements behind him. His footsteps noticeably paused—the scene before him was different from what he imagined.
Vettel was there too.
So, what did this mean? Was Arrivabene preparing to have them shake hands and make peace? Or was he preparing to give them both fifty lashes to smooth things over and let it pass?
Kai smiled. No, impossible. If Arrivabene really harbored such an idea, then one could only say he was still too naive.
Clearly, Kai wasn't the only one surprised.
Vettel, who was originally talking to Arrivabene, heard the knock, turned to look at the door, his eyes full of shock, especially the moment he saw Kai.
Anger. Annoyance. Shame. Unease. Depression. Frustration. Various emotions swarmed up all at once. A few words simply couldn't describe it.
In that brief moment, swords were drawn, ready to trigger. The air noticeably stagnated for a second.
Then, Vettel spoke—
"Damn it! Do you not know how to drive?! If you don't, go back to F2 and polish your skills for two years!"