The air was taut, the atmosphere tense and sticky with anticipation—
Although it felt entirely different from the grandstands, the sheer volume of noise and chaotic energy buzzing inside the pit lane was equally overwhelming. A massive torrent of data and telemetry cascaded down the monitors. Eyes and ears simply weren't enough to process it all. Hearts pounded violently against chests, continuously pumping adrenaline into their veins, making the world seem to spin rapidly amidst the deafening roar.
Yet, Kai appeared exceptionally calm. Like an unshakeable anchor, he stabilized the center of gravity, ensuring the frantic pit garage maintained a sense of unhurried, methodical order despite the surrounding chaos.
Clear didn't question him. After an entire season of working together, he trusted Kai's judgment implicitly. There was no need to worry. However, there was one critical point he needed to clarify: "Same plan for Q2?"
Test first, push second?
Advancing to Q3 remained the absolute primary objective, but their top priority was still continuing to deconstruct the circuit, relentlessly searching for the optimal way to engage the asphalt.
Wasn't that taking too massive a risk? If he screwed up and got eliminated in Q2, the catastrophic chain reaction it would cause for the Race tomorrow would make this gamble entirely worthless.
So, was this sheer madness, or... absolute confidence?
Kai's face remained hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet, obscuring his expression. But the unwavering confidence radiating from his voice easily cut through the noise, anchoring their shared conviction.
"Precisely because it's Q2, it's even more crucial that we stick to the plan."
Q2 required the use of the Red Soft tires—the exact compound they would be starting the Race on tomorrow.
Every single calculation, every single tactical layout executed during Qualifying was ultimately just one piece of the puzzle designed to maximize their competitiveness for the actual Race. Without a doubt, Kai was going to rigorously execute that philosophy throughout Q2.
Even if it meant risking elimination.
"Jock... wow. So you really have that little faith in me? Honestly, I'm a bit hurt." In the very next breath, Kai casually roasted Clear.
It didn't matter that they couldn't see his face. The easy, teasing banter hidden within his words instantly ignited the garage, prompting a chorus of hoots and jeers from the surrounding mechanics.
"Jock. Jock. Jock." The low, rhythmic chanting spread through the garage, neither excessively loud nor overly dramatic, echoing gently like a recurring nightmare. Clear's planned defense died on his lips. He looked around helplessly, ultimately throwing his hands up in surrender.
"Alright, alright, bring it on. Fire at will. If sacrificing me to the racing gods is what it takes to beat Mercedes-Benz, then I gladly offer myself as tribute."
As he spoke, he spread his arms wide, striking the pose of a martyred saint.
In an instant, the entire garage erupted into genuine laughter. The suffocating, skin-tight tension evaporated.
Borreipaire couldn't help but glance sideways at Binotto. He knew perfectly well that Binotto wasn't Maurizio Arrivabene; Binotto simply wasn't the type of person who naturally engaged in casual banter or lighthearted joking.
To his absolute shock, Binotto seemed to sense the gaze and looked back. Over the open radio channel, he casually remarked, "What was that phrase you guys always use to describe this? 'Dancing on the razor's edge'?"
"...A Tango," Kai corrected smoothly.
"Wow, that sounds infinitely more stylish." Binotto's thick eyebrows shot up. He then switched channels. "Kai. Let's hope this is a truly spectacular Tango."
Laughter, teasing, and playful banter filled the air. The atmosphere became entirely joyous and relaxed. It was so noticeable that even the neighboring Red Bull and Mercedes-Benz garages couldn't help but cast curious glances in their direction—
The Ferrari team standing before them today was undeniably, fundamentally different.
So, was this yet another elaborate smokescreen?
Q2 officially began.
On his first flying lap, Kai executed absolutely zero flashy or exaggerated maneuvers. His braking points were slightly earlier than Leclerc's, his steering inputs were significantly shallower, and his racing lines were so clean they bordered on overly conservative.
Unlike previous sessions where he would violently exploit every single millimeter of the track width to compensate for a lack of mechanical grip, Kai consciously shifted his racing line slightly closer to the center of the track. Relying on incredibly complex, nuanced throttle and steering modulation, he maintained a delicate dynamic balance as he transitioned between corners and straights. Ironically, by doing so, he silently sheathed his razor-sharp edge.
It was baffling to watch.
Yet, when the SF90 rocketed out of the final corner, the sound of the engine was noticeably smoother and far more cohesive.
On his second flying lap, Kai took it a step further. He continued to aggressively micro-adjust his corner-entry timing and entry angles, relentlessly searching for the exact trajectory through the corners that allowed the airflow to adhere most perfectly to the car's aerodynamics. By finding that sweet spot, he guaranteed a significantly faster, much cleaner corner exit, allowing him to maximally exploit Ferrari's massive straight-line speed and raw engine power. He laid down an incredibly clean, fluid lap.
Perhaps, in the context of Qualifying, it lacked the blinding, limit-pushing flashiness that usually grabbed headlines. But simultaneously, the SF90 was actively minimizing its weaknesses and maximizing its strengths, rapidly adapting to the unique demands of the Shanghai circuit.
Sixth!
When the Number 22 car crossed the finish line, the timing screens flickered and updated. The spectators, who had been holding their breath in agonizing suspense, finally exhaled a massive, collective sigh of relief.
At that moment, only four drivers remained out on the track executing their final flying laps. This mathematically guaranteed that Kai would safely advance to Q3.
"Wow, that was terrifying. Whenever I watched this on TV, just seeing them driving around in circles, I used to get so bored I'd almost fall asleep. I had absolutely no idea this sport was actually this insanely stressful!"
Gasps of awe and shock tumbled out in a chaotic rush, mixing seamlessly with cheers and applause, rolling across the grandstands like a sudden, torrential summer downpour.
Li Lingyu turned her head, looking at the flushed, excited faces surrounding her. She flashed a massive, brilliant smile. "The most tense, absolute most thrilling part is just about to start."
The people around her stared back, dumbfounded. "You're telling me this wasn't thrilling enough?!"
Li Lingyu opened her palms, revealing them slick with nervous sweat, and quickly wiped them dry on her jeans. "We need to get ready for the final showdown."
Exactly as expected, Kai smoothly advanced to Q3.
Everyone thought they could finally relax their shoulders and simply enjoy the spectacle of the shootout. Absolutely no one anticipated that even before Q3 officially commenced, their violently hammering hearts would feel like they were on the verge of exploding.
Because this was the ultimate, bayonet-fighting, winner-takes-all clash between the top ten drivers. But more importantly, based on everything they had witnessed in Q1 and Q2, the sheer intensity and ferocity of the competition had far exceeded everyone's wildest imaginations. The invisible, crushing pressure continued to accumulate and stack, layer upon heavy layer. By the time anyone realized what was happening, they had completely forgotten how to breathe.
Clearly, Qualifying at the Shanghai Grand Prix was going to be significantly tighter, far more thrilling, and infinitely more agonizingly close than anyone had predicted. Lactic acid and adrenaline flooded their systems, fusing perfectly with the boiling heat of the afternoon.
Toro Rosso's Pierre Gasly had suffered a heavy crash during Free Practice 3. The mechanics ultimately ran out of time to rebuild the car, tragically forcing him to miss Qualifying entirely.
Alfa Romeo's Antonio Giovinazzi, shortly after Q1 began, lost control, speared off the track, flew through the gravel trap, and ultimately slammed into the wall, failing to set a valid lap time.
Both young drivers were now officially guaranteed to start tomorrow's Race from the pit lane.
Gasly and Giovinazzi were essentially brothers in misery. Although they were young, they were no longer raw rookies; they had both been bouncing around the fringes of the paddock for a while now. Yet, they had consistently failed to definitively prove their worth. The Sword of Damocles hung perpetually over their heads, constantly threatening to sever their F1 careers.
However, the start of the 2019 season had absolutely not unfolded according to their desperate hopes. It was entirely unclear how long this chaotic, turbulent nightmare would continue to drag on.
Or rather, how much longer they would be allowed to perform like this before being replaced.
The two Williams cars, in an utterly unsurprising development, once again anchored the absolute bottom of the Q1 timing sheets. But the fact that Lance Stroll, driving the Racing Point, had also been eliminated in Q1 caused countless jaws to hit the floor.
A massive avalanche of mockery and relentless criticism was just about to crash down on Stroll's head, but before it could fully detonate, the results of Q2 violently smashed into their faces—
McLaren: Both cars eliminated.
Alfa Romeo's Kimi Räikkönen, Racing Point's Sebastian Vettel, and Toro Rosso's Daniil Kvyat were also eliminated. This meant that three entire teams had been completely wiped out before Q3.
It wasn't until people turned their gaze toward the final Q3 lineup that they realized a crucial truth: perhaps it wasn't that Stroll was driving terribly, but rather that the chaotic, completely scrambled hierarchy of the midfield was finally beginning to reveal its true shape.
Alfa Romeo, Racing Point, Toro Rosso, and McLaren had all fallen slightly off the pace. They could only watch helplessly as Renault and Haas pulled a visible gap, achieving a sudden, massive surge in performance to separate themselves from the rest of the midfield pack. They joined the 'Big Three' to claim all the available spots in Q3. Exactly five teams, occupying exactly ten spots.
Since the beginning of the 2019 season, this was the very first time such a stark, rigidly defined hierarchy had emerged. The highly technical, demanding layout of the Shanghai circuit was aggressively reshuffling the deck, slowly exposing the true, underlying caliber of the teams' engineering.
So, did this mean—
The battle in Q3 was going to be even more brutal and unforgiving? Could Kai, who had narrowly survived Q1 and scraped through Q2 by the skin of his teeth, truly display enough raw pace to be competitive in Q3?
Most critically, the threat wasn't just coming from their rivals; it was also coming from within. Leclerc was lurking hungrily right next door. Was this finally the golden opportunity for Leclerc to secure his first-ever victory over Kai this season?
Wave after wave of relentless drama crashed down. The spectators, who had only just managed to catch a single breath of air, were instantly dragged back into the bloody, cutthroat climax of Q3. Their hearts instantly detonated.
...
"Ladies and gentlemen, Daniel Ricciardo!"
"Wow, absolutely unbelievable! Ricciardo just executed a flawless, magnificent lap in the Renault, striking first in Q3 to claim the provisional pole position!"
"It all feels incredibly familiar, doesn't it? We are instantly transported back to 2018, right here at the Shanghai circuit, witnessing Daniel Ricciardo claim that spectacular Grand Prix victory. In the blink of an eye, an entire year has passed. But this time, Ricciardo is sitting in a Renault. Can Ricciardo truly find redemption and resurrect his career here in Shanghai?"
Awe and profound sighs echoed through the broadcast. A mere twelve months, yet everything had changed completely. The world had turned upside down.
However, before anyone could fully exhale and process that nostalgic emotion, the relentless, escalating climax of Qualifying dragged every single viewer violently back into the hurricane.
Following the live broadcast camera feed, Croft's shocked gasp ripped out of his throat.
"Turn 16! He's using absolutely every millimeter of the kerb! The Number 44 car is practically completely off the track!"
"BUT!"
"He holds it—"
"Lewis Hamilton crosses the line! 1:31.570!"
"This..."
He cut himself off mid-sentence. Because Hamilton's time had absolutely obliterated Ricciardo's benchmark by a staggering 2.7 seconds. Any poetic musings he was preparing to offer were violently shoved right back down his throat.
In a Q3 shootout, a two-second gap isn't just a margin; it's a completely insurmountable, unbridgeable chasm. Mercedes-Benz had once again displayed terrifying, unparalleled dominance.
At the previous race in Bahrain, Ferrari had locked out the front row in Qualifying, continuing the trend started in Australia of violently disrupting Mercedes-Benz's attempts to terrorize the paddock.
Subsequently, Mercedes-Benz delivered a flawless tactical masterclass during the Race to completely reverse the situation. The intense, back-and-forth warfare had now spilled over into the third race of the season.
Right now, the battle between Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari was escalating rapidly, burning with increasing ferocity—
Mercedes-Benz was desperately trying to build momentum, aiming to showcase the absolute, tyrannical dominance of the W10 and strike sheer terror into the hearts of every rival in the paddock. They needed to counteract the negative PR backlash from their failure to completely dominate Melbourne.
Ferrari, despite struggling immensely and facing a mountain of technical hurdles, was desperately trying to shatter that deadlock. They were fighting tooth and nail just to keep pace with Mercedes-Benz, determined to prove that their ambition to fight for the World Championship was real.
Everything started right here in Qualifying. It wasn't just about fighting for pole position; the psychological warfare and the battle for dominant momentum off the track were equally stretched to the absolute breaking point.
"Valtteri Bottas is navigating the final corner! Mercedes-Benz continues to flaunt their massive performance advantage this Grand Prix weekend. They are actively attempting to re-establish their total dominance. Bottas is sprinting flat-out toward the finish line."
"Purple in Sector 1! Purple in Sector 2! A brand new season, a brand new Bottas! So, can Bottas actually dethrone Hamilton?"
"HE CAN!"
"Bottas overtakes his teammate Hamilton to claim provisional pole! 0.007 seconds! A margin of seven-thousandths of a second! Unbelievable! Bottas continues to prove his fierce competitiveness. This year's Mercedes-Benz is truly, incredibly dangerous. They are a massive step ahead of the entire paddock. So, how exactly is Ferrari going to respond?"
Instantly, the live broadcast feed cut—
Focusing directly on the Ferrari pit wall.
The technical team's expressions were grim, their brows furrowed in deep concentration. You didn't need to hear a single word to feel the heavy, oppressive seriousness permeating the air. Your own nerves involuntarily pulled tight in response.
Even though they were facing severe challenges and endless difficulties, there was absolutely no denying that Ferrari currently possessed the only car capable of even remotely approaching Mercedes-Benz. Not even Red Bull currently possessed that capability. If anyone wanted the 2019 season to be thrilling and competitive—if they didn't want the W10 'rocket ship' to simply fly off into the distance and extinguish all championship suspense by mid-season—then all hopes and pressure rested entirely on Ferrari's shoulders.
At the previous race in Bahrain, Ferrari had successfully defeated Mercedes-Benz in Qualifying.
So, what about here in Shanghai?
Needle against awl. The air instantly ignited, bursting into flames.
Tense, thrilling. Deadlocked, fiery.
Q3 had only just begun, yet it was already delivering relentless climaxes and spectacular drama.
After the first run of flying laps concluded, Bottas led Hamilton by a microscopic 0.007 seconds to hold provisional pole. Leclerc led Kai by 0.101 seconds, sitting temporarily in third. And Verstappen, squeezing himself right between the two Ferraris with a minuscule 0.013-second advantage over Kai, sat temporarily in fourth.
Kai was fifth. Albon was sitting in sixth, but his gap to Kai had ballooned to a massive 0.828 seconds.
Bottas leading Hamilton; Leclerc leading Kai. At the start of the 2019 season, the internal power dynamics between the Number One and Number Two drivers at the top teams were proving to be incredibly fascinating.
Albon was still clearly chaotic and wildly inconsistent, but he had quietly, successfully clawed his way out of the brutal midfield scrap. Even though the gap to the leaders was massive, the true significance was that he had finally reclaimed a position befitting the 'Big Three.' Seeing the 'Big Three' fully lock out the top six positions felt like a long-lost friend returning; it brought a strange sense of nostalgic satisfaction.
Furthermore, the fact that this was happening immediately following the massive, traffic-shattering explosion of the Fan Festival roadshow undeniably amplified the commercial value and overall hype of the event.
Of course!
The absolute, undisputed focus of every single local fan remained entirely locked onto Kai. From Q1 to Q2 to Q3, step by careful step, he was steadily climbing the order. Although he was currently trailing Leclerc, the gap had shrunk to a mere tenth of a second. What exactly did that signify?
The broadcast booth was no exception. Everyone was watching closely, intensely monitoring the intricate dynamics unfolding between the 'Big Three.'
Beyond the battle between the teams themselves, the vicious internal rivalries between teammates were equally rich with drama. Absolutely no one wanted to miss it—
Bottas had already defeated Hamilton once in Melbourne, and now he was aggressively aiming for a second victory. The internal atmosphere at Mercedes-Benz this new season was delivering massive surprises.
Leclerc, facing off against Kai, showed absolutely zero fear. But the brilliant young genius was still desperately hunting for his very first victory over Kai. Could it happen here at the Shanghai circuit?
Verstappen obviously didn't want to, and absolutely wasn't planning to, lose to Albon. Had Albon, after stumbling and struggling so much initially, finally managed to firmly plant his feet on Asian soil?
On the surface, the team battle in Qualifying was paramount, tugging at the nerves of every single spectator.
But beneath the surface, the vicious internal competition between teammates was playing out simultaneously. The surging, hidden undercurrents were engaging in an open, honorable, head-to-head duel on the grand stage of Qualifying. This was a war being waged on absolutely every conceivable front.
Buzz-buzz-buzz— VROOM-VROOM-VROOM—
The chaotic noise and deafening roars tangled and overlapped, mutating into a massive tornado. It swept forward with devastating momentum, using the Shanghai circuit as its epicenter to violently drag the entire expanse of mainland China into its vortex. Mouths were completely dry; hearts hammered like war drums. People subconsciously clenched their fists, only realizing moments later that their palms had long since been drenched in cold sweat.
However, the entire Ferrari garage seemed to have been compressed into a vacuum chamber. The raging storm stopped completely at the threshold.
The sensational success of the Fan Festival, the deafening roar of the home crowd, the eager, predatory circling of corporate sponsors... all the massive, overwhelming tidal waves of hype generated by that intense scrutiny were completely, utterly abandoned. A single helmet sealed out all the boiling, chaotic noise of the world. It felt exactly like diving deep underwater; the entire universe fell absolutely, perfectly silent.
He closed his eyes, meticulously capturing the subtle nuances of the engine note vibrating in the air, tracking the airflow, feeling the rolling heatwaves, mentally flying down the straights and carving through the corners of the Shanghai circuit.
It felt as though his soul had left his body. He constructed a flawless 3D model of the Shanghai circuit within his mind. He used his own feet to feel the undulations and curves of the asphalt. He sprinted at the terrifying velocity of a race car. His fingertips, the soles of his feet, his very skin seemed to clearly, tangibly feel the exact trajectory of the air rushing past him. In the seamless transitions between high speed and low speed, between straights and corners, he comprehensively, totally absorbed the essence of this incredibly special, highly significant track.
He shed all his baggage; he dropped every single burden. All those hidden undercurrents, all that crushing pressure, all those towering expectations—he cast them all aside.
Everything, absolutely everything, was purely about the joy of the drive.
"Kai, you're up." Borreipaire's voice crackled over the radio. Their window had arrived.
The Number 22 car rolled out of the garage and re-entered the track.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could clearly see the vast, endless ocean of red cascading down like a torrential summer rainstorm. Even though he couldn't distinguish individual faces or hear specific voices, the vibrant, living, brilliant colors seemed to possess their own beating heart, vividly painting a masterpiece of pure passion and boiling blood.
He pushed all of that temporarily to the back of his mind. During the out-lap, Kai consciously managed his speed, carefully coaxing the front tires into their ideal temperature window through the final two corners. The endless, sprawling brilliance in the grandstands slowly blurred, merging with the blue sky, the golden sunlight, and the surrounding architecture into a single, vibrant, arrogant halo of light.
The world fell completely silent, fading into absolute nothingness.
Turn 16. He utilized the right-side kerb to the absolute, bleeding limit. The moment the chassis straightened out even slightly, it speared dead straight onto the main straight. His corner-exit speed was pushed to the absolute maximum in this singular instant.
Throttle. Engine. Maximum velocity—
The flying lap had officially begun.
The radio fell dead silent. The only remaining sounds were the rhythmic rasp of his own breathing and the low-frequency vibration of the engine, acting like a shot of pure adrenaline injected directly into his heart.
Kai forced every single distracting thought down deep into his chest. The entire world was compressed down to the rapidly spooling, grey ribbon of asphalt directly in front of him, leading straight toward the end of the universe.
Exiting Turn 16, he made microscopic steering adjustments, stabilizing the rear end. He didn't frantically, impulsively smash the throttle. His nerve endings meticulously felt the car's presence on the track. He waited until that fleeting, microscopic fraction of a second when the airflow perfectly, completely adhered to the aerodynamic surfaces of the chassis—
Throttle, pinned to the floor.
Clean, decisive, a single, flawless motion.
The SF90 was violently catapulted down the main straight. Eighth gear engaged. The engine screamed relentlessly at the absolute top of its rev range. The wind noise abruptly intensified. Maximum speed was fully unlocked.
Sprint. Charge. Flat out.
Ferrari's overwhelming engine advantage on the straights was unleashed to its absolute fullest potential. The light and shadows on both sides of the track blurred backward like a cascading waterfall. The deafening roar sounded exactly like a majestic symphony.
Turn 1 was rapidly approaching.
Kai didn't attempt an extreme, do-or-die late-braking maneuver. Instead, he meticulously felt the flow of the air. Not with his eyes, but with his body, with the chassis, with his very heart.
Right at the critical juncture where the straight seamlessly transitioned into the corner, feeling the asphalt, feeling the airflow—
Brake!
The brake pressure spiked instantly. The load on the front axle skyrocketed.
His steering input was clean, decisive, and utterly ruthless. In the gap of a thousandth of a second, he perfectly, flawlessly clipped the apex. Light, surgical, and precise. It felt as though the car was gently, carefully 'placed' directly onto the apex, rocketing effortlessly along the corner's arc.
There was absolutely zero time to breathe. The continuous, tightening spiral of Turns 2, 3, and 4 was already unfurling before him.
Kai didn't chase maximum corner-entry speed. Instead, he forced the nose of the car to glide continuously along the absolute ideal radius. His steering angle was restricted to the absolute minimum possible range. The front tire temperatures were absolutely perfect. The inherent understeer was violently suppressed right on the ragged edge of control. He looked exactly like a legendary matador dancing flawlessly right next to the horns of an enraged bull, executing a breathtaking waltz in the microscopic gap between valor and certain death.
That incredibly perilous, seemingly fragile silhouette was actively gambling with the grim reaper. It caused the spectators' hearts to instantly rocket into their throats. They wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Their bodies, tense to the absolute breaking point, trembled uncontrollably. Yet, they refused to blink, their eyes locked unblinkingly onto the track, terrified of missing a single, microscopic detail.
And then—
At the exit of Turn 2, he applied the throttle slightly earlier than usual, pushing gently. Kai relied heavily on throttle modulation to control the rear end. He didn't smash it flat to the floor in one violent motion; he rolled onto it linearly, progressively increasing the power. The incredibly delicate, hyper-precise input allowed the car to perfectly ride the aerodynamic currents generated by the corner.
Turn 3! Turn 4!
The spiral continued to tighten viciously. This was the exact sector of the Shanghai circuit most notorious for brutally "murdering a lap."
Yet, the silhouette of the Number 22 car remained incredibly light, impossibly fluid. He stabilized the rhythm. The car's speed naturally bled off, perfectly mirroring the tightening radius of the spiral curve, leaving behind a brilliant streak of residual light.
Everything looked utterly effortless.
Great skill appears clumsy; a heavy sword has no edge. Judging purely by the naked eye, it was impossible to detect any flashy, spectacular technique. Yet, the car appeared so unbelievably light, so phenomenally fluid.
In a daze, it felt as though it wasn't Kai driving the car, but the air itself. Like a solitary flower petal floating down a babbling brook, dancing effortlessly past jagged rocks, tangled branches, and swirling eddies, caught in the sunbeams and flowing inevitably forward. Its graceful, mesmerizing posture made it physically impossible to look away.
Turns 2, 3, and 4 can be viewed as a complex sequence of distinct corners, but they can also be treated as one massive, continuous, single-breath curve. Kai didn't make a series of choppy, continuous steering corrections. Instead, he accurately diagnosed every single undulation, every single arc of the corner. Moving in perfect harmony with the curvature, he executed the entire sequence flawlessly in a single, unbroken motion, allowing the car to naturally rotate within the airflow itself.
Like mercury spilling across glass!
This was not a battle against his rivals, nor was it a battle against the circuit.
This was a battle entirely against himself. Only by achieving a state of absolute, total inner tranquility could one truly feel the microscopic fluctuations in the airflow. Only by remaining completely composed could one execute flawless, surgical steering inputs within margins of a thousandth of a second. Even the slightest hint of impatience or a microsecond of hesitation would spell disaster.
The corner gradually narrowed, becoming increasingly sharp and unforgiving. Kai didn't choose to fight the car; he chose to adapt and flow with it. His steady, incredibly delicate steering inputs flawlessly traced the corner's arc, perfectly riding the turbulent airflow. In this specific moment, there was absolutely no sign of the SF90's usual, agonizing struggle to maintain mid-corner rhythm. Instead, he had miraculously discovered a perfect center of gravity amidst the raging hurricane.
And then!
He snapped the steering wheel back to center. In that fleeting, lightning-fast microsecond, the throttle was smashed flat to the floor—
WHOOSH!
The SF90 shot out of the corner like it had been fired from a catapult, completely and utterly unleashed.
The hearts that had been lodged painfully in everyone's throats instantly detonated. They stared in absolute disbelief at the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. The scream of the engine lengthened in pitch, the terminal velocity stacked higher and higher, and the deafening wind noise violently drowned out everything else. That brilliant, dazzling streak of Ferrari red radiantly ignited the grey asphalt beneath its tires, a rolling, unstoppable heatwave tearing through the air and rocketing relentlessly forward.
VROOM-VROOM-VROOM— VROOM-VROOM-VROOM—
The speed continued to build exponentially. Seeing the high-speed Turn 5 rushing up to meet him, he didn't lift off the throttle for a fraction of a second. Absolute maximum firepower.
The red afterimage tore through the corner while balancing on a razor's edge at 300 kilometers per hour. The corner itself was like the sharpened tip of a blade; the slightest lapse in concentration, and it would instantly slice the car to ribbons.
But the Number 22 car didn't waver in the slightest. Maintaining incredible velocity, relying entirely on microscopic, hyper-delicate steering adjustments, he skimmed effortlessly over the tip of the blade and rocketed away into the distance.
The longsword was unsheathed! Utterly unstoppable!
"Sector 1! Purple!"
Hearts instantly shattered. Cheers and screams surged all the way to the tip of their tongues, ready to explode outward, but were violently choked off in the very next second. They stared, completely dumbfounded, at the scene playing out on the monitors.
Turn 6, the hairpin. Conventionally, this was the ultimate, brutal test of a driver's braking point. Speed plummeted from the absolute peak straight down to the absolute valley. It was undeniably one of the slowest, tightest corners on the entire Shanghai circuit.
Simultaneously, for Ferrari, this was an agonizingly severe trial. Whether it was the complex transition from the straight into the braking zone, or maintaining a stable mid-corner speed through the apex, it presented a massive, multi-layered challenge.
Based on everyone's understanding of Kai's driving style, he was absolutely guaranteed to challenge the ultimate limit. He would wring every last drop of performance out of both the car and the track, snatching chestnuts directly from the fire!
However, he didn't.
Kai actually lifted off the throttle slightly earlier than the standard, conventional braking point—
LiCo?!
That cursed, nightmare-inducing acronym instantly flashed through the minds of the Tifosi. From Bahrain to Shanghai, was that unkillable ghost still haunting them?!
"Wait, no! That's not right!"
Li Lingyu was the very first to realize something was off. LiCo was a technique used exclusively during the Race to manage temperatures and fuel. It was fundamentally impossible for a driver to use LiCo during a Qualifying flying lap. So, what exactly was going on?
Clearly, this wasn't a LiCo maneuver.
By lifting off the throttle early, Kai deliberately allowed the car's chassis posture to stabilize before initiating the turn. During corner entry, his steering angle was significantly shallower than usual. The nose of the car sliced cleanly and decisively toward the inside of the hairpin.
Immediately following that, a rapid-fire sequence of actions executed in perfect synchronization: braking, steering. Inside the hairpin, the Number 22 Ferrari displayed a level of fluidity that the SF90 had literally never demonstrated before. Even though he had deliberately sacrificed speed on entry, the car's fluidity and lightness through the actual corner miraculously, faintly echoed the seamless continuity of the W10. Was such an illusion even possible?!
In the blink of an eye, corner exit.
He applied a minor steering correction. The angle he unwound the wheel was noticeably shallower than standard. This resulted in the car tracking dead straight out of the corner. The front-left tire was the first to aggressively bite into the exit kerb lining the straight.
Then, the rear-left tire followed, slamming onto the kerb as well.
At this exact moment, Kai had utilized the absolute maximum available track width to the extreme. But amidst the microscopic steering corrections, the throttle was instantly pinned. It transformed into a raging torrent, rocketing violently forward.
The roar of the engine rivaled the deafening thunder of a massive waterfall. The streak of red lightning crashed down, blanketing the entire width of the circuit, looking as if it intended to paint the entirety of Sector 2 completely red.
Turn 7, Turn 8. A sequence of high-speed sweepers. He violently snapped the steering wheel left, then right. His rhythm was crisp and decisive. The rear of the car danced right on the ragged edge of the absolute limit of control, sliding slightly but visibly. Yet, there was zero hesitation. He kept the throttle pinned flat to the floor through the entire sequence. The airflow hugged the contours of the chassis perfectly. In the high-speed sectors, Ferrari was finally beginning to flex its terrifying muscles.
Involuntarily, deeply buried memories were violently resurrected—
Why do we love Formula 1? Why do we love Ferrari? Why do we love motorsport? It's about shattering the absolute, physical limits of the human body through the ultimate, purest expression of speed.
In that fleeting, transcendent moment, the person sitting inside the cockpit isn't just a man. He's exactly like Superman, riding the wind, ascending to the heavens, transcending his mortal flesh to become a god.
Right now, at the Shanghai circuit—a highly complex, comprehensive track that emphatically does not favor raw speed or rhythm—people were actively witnessing the absolute, theoretical ceiling of the Ferrari chassis in Sector 2.
Blistering speed. Flawless fluidity. Effortless swagger. It was an experience of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Visually, auditorily, and even tactilely... goosebumps erupted across their entire bodies, shooting from the soles of their feet straight to the tops of their skulls.
Right up until Turn 9. Sector 2 was rapidly approaching its conclusion. The brutal transition from a long straight directly into a tight corner once again violently choked off the car's speed!
GASP!
Li Lingyu's heart instantly launched out of her chest and firmly lodged itself in her throat. She stared dumbfounded at the scene unfolding before her, an unbelievable, mesmerizing brilliance exploding in her eyes.
Look!
A light tap on the brakes. He pinned the load onto the front axle. His overall racing line was visibly rougher, significantly wilder. The gentle breeze and nurturing rain seemed to be rapidly mutating into a violent, ferocious storm.
Facing the nearly 90-degree, medium-speed Turn 9, Kai seemed to be aggressively squeezing the physical space of the track, yet he wasn't completely unleashing the car's performance potential.
But... why?
Before she could even begin to process the thought, in a flash of lightning, the significantly sharper, textbook-90-degree Turn 10 was already waiting ominously at the end of the short straight.
Heavy braking!
Kai spiked the braking force to the absolute maximum peak. The car's speed was violently, instantly killed. Shifting from aggressively exploiting the track to aggressively exploiting the car, the violent hurricane finally unleashed its full, terrifying energy. But this time, Kai drastically altered his racing line. His corner entry wasn't deep. Instead, he carved a significantly wider, much more rounded trajectory, smoothly skimming past the outer edge of the apex.
His target wasn't the Turn 10 apex. His entire focus was locked onto Turn 11—
The very microsecond the steering wheel snapped back to center, the throttle was already pinned to the floor. Like an arrow fired from a perfectly drawn bow, he violently pierced through the entire short straight, sprinting at absolute maximum velocity toward the beginning of Sector 3.
This... "Sector 2! Purple!"
Li Lingyu didn't even have time to cheer. She didn't even possess the spare mental bandwidth for a fleeting second of distraction. Her eyes remained locked, unblinking, onto that soul-stirring, breathtaking flash of Ferrari red.
Although Li Lingyu wasn't a seasoned professional, and her tenure as a motorsport fan was relatively brief, preventing her from analyzing the deep, underlying technical nuances... she knew one thing with absolute, unshakeable certainty:
Kai absolutely never did anything without a specific, highly calculated purpose!
He might be young, but the wildly imaginative, unconstrained creativity Kai constantly displayed on the asphalt repeatedly shattered all conventional expectations and authored genuine miracles.
And the reality of the situation perfectly confirmed her belief—
A race track must be treated as a single, cohesive entity. Every single corner is intrinsically linked to the next. They form an unbreakable chain. If you make a mistake in one section, you absolutely must compensate and recover in the subsequent section; and vice versa. If you intend to seamlessly string together the high-speed and low-speed sections of a circuit into a single, flawless lap, then your overall, holistic approach to the track layout absolutely must be fundamentally adjusted.
Turn 9. That was Step One.
Turn 10. That was Step Two.
The instant he exited the corner, he immediately began rolling onto the throttle. Not a violent, explosive spike, but a smooth, calculated application designed to preemptively establish crucial mechanical traction. His ultimate target was aimed squarely at the massive, spiraling sequence of corners looming ahead. That was Step Three.
From exploiting the track width, to exploiting the car's mechanical limits, and finally to achieving total, transcendent synchronization between man and machine on the absolute ragged edge. The speed continued to climb exponentially, yet his steering angles grew increasingly shallow. The massive advantage he had meticulously built during the first half of the sequence allowed the SF90 to enter its stable aerodynamic window significantly earlier during the latter half of the long, continuous corners. The nose of the car looked as if it were being violently, forcefully pinned to the asphalt by an invisible, giant hand.
High-speed. Stable. Fluid.
Where was the agonizing, struggling Ferrari from Melbourne and Bahrain?
Forget about the previous two races; Brundle squinted his eyes, staring with hyper-focused intensity. His brain was rapidly replaying Leclerc's first flying lap from just moments ago. He could faintly, almost imperceptibly, detect the subtle, microscopic differences between the two Ferraris. A bold, audacious hypothesis suddenly seized his mind.
Kai was utilizing a completely, fundamentally different methodology to entirely deconstruct the Shanghai circuit!
Exiting Turn 12, the throttle was already pinned to 100%!
Turn 13. He hugged the white line tightly. He viciously attacked the kerb, the tires lightly skimming the very edge of the track limits. There were absolutely no unnecessary, frantic steering corrections.
And then—
The longest straight on the entire Shanghai circuit. The field of vision violently expanded, opening up completely.
DRS, activated.
Eighth gear!
Throttle, buried into the floorboards.
The SF90's massive, overwhelming power advantage was unleashed entirely, holding absolutely nothing back. The engine's deafening roar inside the helmet stretched into a smooth, continuous, piercingly high-frequency scream. The brutal, violent wind pressure pinned Kai firmly, inescapably into his seat. Yet, he displayed zero hesitation, zero fear. The speed, pushed to its absolute, terrifying zenith, visually warped the world around him, dragging it out into long, blurry streaks of light.
Absolute chaos!
This was the absolute pinnacle of speed at the Shanghai circuit. It was also Ferrari's ultimate, lethal weapon against Mercedes-Benz. Kai had successfully excavated every single ounce of potential hidden within the machine beneath him, putting it on full, glorious display. He was genuinely, authentically utilizing pure, unadulterated driving technique to flawlessly tame the race car, showcasing unparalleled, transcendent capability.
Speed and passion collided here with devastating, explosive force.
Hearts beat faster and faster, slamming more and more violently against ribs. Boiling adrenaline flooded into their bloodstreams, surging through their entire bodies. The continuous, concussive roar hammered viciously against their eardrums. Climbing higher and higher, pushing toward the absolute peak, toward the ultimate extreme. It felt like they were going to literally explode, yet they were violently suspended at that exact, agonizing precipice. A wave of numbness washed over them; their bodies tensed to the absolute breaking point, completely paralyzed.
Directly ahead, Turn 14. The Hairpin. Looming like a massive, impenetrable fortress wall!
This was the absolute slowest section of the entire Shanghai circuit. It was sharper and infinitely more congested than Turn 6. Plunging from the absolute peak of speed straight down into the deepest valley. Transitioning violently from one extreme directly to another. It felt exactly like driving straight off a cliff.
This was Ferrari's most severe, agonizing trial. The SF90 always found a way to wring out speed in Sector 1 and Sector 2. But the brutal, unforgiving gauntlet of Sector 3 had consistently, mercilessly choked them out. Whether it was Kai or Leclerc, from Friday all the way through Saturday, neither had managed to successfully shatter the shackles binding them here.
So, what about now?
This time, Kai's reaction was fundamentally different. He was waiting. But he wasn't waiting for the airflow; he was entirely, utterly immersed within the race car, physically feeling the track beneath him.
Patience—just a little more patience—
Every other driver on the grid had already hit the brakes at this exact point. Whether it was Mercedes-Benz, Leclerc, or even Verstappen—there were absolutely no exceptions.
Yet, Kai still hadn't touched the brake pedal.
He was preparing to take a massive gamble. He was going to take a wildly unorthodox, dangerously erratic path to shatter his own ceiling.
He knew perfectly well that the SF90 was likely physically incapable of truly conquering Turn 14. Based on its current setup, a hard performance ceiling was blocking his path. If the car physically couldn't do it, it just couldn't do it. Even if he chose to take a massive risk, the inherent performance limitations of the car meant he would still face a mountain of severe crises and terrifying challenges. But he was determined to throw caution to the wind and try it anyway.
The meticulous, calculated buildup in Sector 1 and Sector 2 was specifically designed to enable this exact, desperate gamble in Sector 3.
Having carefully laid the trap starting from Turn 9, and having secured absolute maximum velocity exiting the spiral combination corners, there was absolutely no logical reason to revert to a conservative, by-the-book approach now.
The braking point. Later. Even later. Significantly later than every single other driver on the grid. Frantically probing the absolute ragged edge between survival and a catastrophic crash. He pushed the braking point forward just a tiny fraction more.
Two meters!
It was only two miserable meters!
Brakes! Steering!
In the space of a single heartbeat, with the car teetering violently on the very edge of an uncontrollable understeer slide... operating within a microscopic margin of error... he seized the opening. A violent flick of the steering wheel. He sliced aggressively, almost perpendicularly, into the Turn 14 hairpin.
Massive, sweeping movements! Arrogant and utterly dominant!
The rear of the car violently snapped out. It looked exactly like a paper kite caught in a Category 5 hurricane. The string was pulled taut to the absolute breaking point. The kite thrashed wildly, out of control. Two hands desperately gripped the spool, trying to save the situation, but the storm continued to violently yank the spool outward. Just as it looked certain to be ripped to shreds and completely destroyed... in that life-or-death microsecond, he applied a smooth, impossibly precise stab of throttle.
A brutal, awakening strike!
The throttle application violently forced the rear end to squat and bite into the tarmac. He made only the most minute, microscopic steering corrections. He completely, totally abandoned any attempt to trace the traditional, curved arc of the hairpin. With a harsh, angular, violently aggressive line, he brutally forced the car through the corner. It was an extreme hairpin, yet he had miraculously, forcefully created the visual illusion of navigating a 90-degree right angle. The front and rear tires on the left side of the car had already completely, entirely left the racing surface.
And it wasn't just the left side. Even the two tires on the right side were terrifyingly, infinitely close to crossing the solid white line!
Instantly, breathing ceased entirely—
If the two right-side tires also completely crossed that white line, it meant he had exceeded track limits. This entire, magnificent flying lap would be instantly invalidated!
The entire venue froze solid, turning to ice. They stared, completely dumbstruck, at that singular flash of red. This was the truest, most literal interpretation of dancing wildly on the absolute edge of a cliff.
But before anyone even had time to blink, the continuously applied throttle was already violently dragging the Number 22 car through the high-speed Turn 15.
Brief! Laser-precise!
Executed in a single, flawless breath.
The spectators in the main grandstand, having just endured a terrifying, heart-stopping rollercoaster ride, couldn't contain themselves any longer. Mouths hanging slightly open, they eagerly looked down the track toward the end of the straight.
VROOM-VROOM-VROOM— VROOM-VROOM-VROOM—
From far to near, from low pitch to a deafening scream. The roar of the engine operating at absolute maximum RPM echoed from the very edge of the horizon.
Turn 16. The absolute final corner of the entire circuit. This was the ultimate, decisive hurdle that would determine the success or failure of the entire lap. It was the absolute climax of Qualifying for the Shanghai Grand Prix.
Kai didn't get greedy. He didn't attempt another extreme, do-or-die late braking maneuver. He knew the SF90 had already reached its absolute, physical performance ceiling. He couldn't squeeze another drop of performance out of the car.
Instead, he squeezed the track. Relying purely on his own individual brilliance to navigate the final corner. Exactly according to plan, he executed a perfectly timed, textbook braking entry. He deliberately left the car a massive, wide-open angle for the corner exit. Relying entirely on flawless steering modulation to maintain fluidity and unbroken momentum through the apex, his ultimate, singular focus was locked entirely on corner-exit speed.
The exact millisecond the steering wheel snapped back to center, the throttle was smashed flat to the floor. The engine detonated. The turbo spooled violently. You could almost visualize a massive, invisible hand violently shoving the red Number 22 car forward, cutting through the wind and riding the waves, hurling it toward the finish line in a single, explosive breath.
The straight unspooled rapidly beneath his tires.