"Oh, shit!"
His heart violently contracted. That was the only coherent thought screaming in Hamilton's brain.
Understeer. He was actually understeering!
Driven entirely by pure, terrified reflex, he violently stomped the brake pedal all the way to the floor. The front-left tire locked up instantly, sending a massive plume of acrid white smoke billowing into the air!
It was the second time on this exact lap that the Number 44 car had suffered a front-left lockup. But this time, it was glaringly obvious the situation was significantly more catastrophic. The thick cloud of smoke simply refused to dissipate.
Hamilton frantically checked his left-side mirror. If he was suffering from massive understeer, Kai's trajectory couldn't possibly be much better. At this exact moment, Kai's theoretical racing line was being violently compressed toward the outside. It was highly probable the two cars were going to collide again exiting Turn 14. But this time, the crash would undeniably, 100% be Kai's fault.
However... nothing!
The left mirror was completely empty. He couldn't see a single trace of that familiar scarlet blur. Hamilton didn't panic. He instantly snapped his gaze to the right-side mirror.
Exactly as he feared!
"Damn it! That kid!"
Let's rewind the clock by one single, agonizing second.
While Hamilton had been maintaining absolute vigilance over Kai, Kai had been equally obsessed with monitoring Hamilton. Kai possessed a terrifying, hyper-sensitive intuition. He could distinctly feel that Hamilton was operating at a significantly higher level of psychological tension today compared to any other race in recent memory. Even though he didn't know the exact reason why, the raw, undeniable reality was laid bare before him.
When a driver's nerves are stretched to their absolute breaking point, they frequently become hyper-fixated and inevitably overlook critical micro-details. This wasn't just true for Hamilton; it was true for Kai himself, and it was true for every single driver on the grid. This was the fundamental, terrifying allure of Formula 1: the ability to process a massive, chaotic influx of sensory data and execute flawless tactical judgments in the span of a microsecond. Absolutely no one was capable of maintaining total, perfect control over the entire board.
Currently, Kai was trapped in a highly passive, disadvantageous position. He absolutely had to take a massive risk. Otherwise, his already microscopic window of opportunity would vanish completely.
Therefore, Kai deliberately chose to poke the enraged bull. He delayed his braking point—even though it was entirely unnecessary—specifically to violently shatter the equilibrium.
Scenario A: If Hamilton didn't bite, Kai would simply ride the momentum, utilizing the delayed braking point to carve a massive, sweeping arc around the outside of the Turn 14 hairpin.
Scenario B: If Hamilton took the bait... well, that would be absolutely perfect.
Kai heavily leaned toward the second scenario. He knew perfectly well that throughout the entire weekend—from Free Practice through Qualifying and into the Race—he had very rarely resorted to extreme late-braking maneuvers. His driving style had appeared almost unnervingly compliant and smooth. It was a massive, elaborate deception. Now, in this ultra-high-stakes, close-quarters dogfight, suddenly deploying a drastic late-braking maneuver possessed an exceptionally high probability of forcing Hamilton into a critical misjudgment.
Everything unfolded exactly as Kai had engineered.
Kai lightly tapped the brakes. Out of the corner of his eye, he monitored the Number 44 car plunging aggressively forward. Then, he violently stomped the brake pedal all the way to the floor. Right now, he couldn't afford to care about whether he was flat-spotting the tires. He snapped the steering wheel sharply to the right, released the brake pressure, and let the front wing of the SF90 gracefully slice past the rear wing of the Mercedes. In a blindingly fast, fluid motion, he carved from the outside line directly across to the inside line, sliding flawlessly onto Hamilton's right flank—
He hugged the apex!
"Another switchback!"
At this exact moment, Kai, having brilliantly reclaimed the positional advantage, completely defied all logical expectations. He didn't simply hug the apex and smoothly track out. Instead, he maintained a stiff, almost rigid trajectory, artificially simulating massive understeer. He stubbornly pushed wide upon exiting the Turn 14 hairpin, flatly refusing to execute a standard, compliant corner exit. Combining this rigid posture with microscopic, hyper-precise steering inputs, he forced the SF90 to stubbornly ride the very edge of the hairpin's outer arc, sketching a highly unorthodox, aggressive curve.
First, this guaranteed his own mid-corner rhythm and prioritized his ultimate exit speed.
Second, it brutally, ruthlessly crowded Hamilton off the track.
Hamilton: ???
Hamilton, who had already been forced onto the outer curbs and was teetering dangerously close to flying completely off the track due to his own genuine understeer, suddenly realized his available racing line had been violently, aggressively severed by Kai. He had absolutely no choice but to continue drifting wider, forcing his trajectory into an even more massive, agonizingly slow arc. Just like at Turn 3, the left-side tires of the Mercedes scrubbed entirely past the white line, performing a desperate, wobbly dance completely outside the designated track limits.
His racing line was destroyed. His track position was lost. Even his chassis balance and crucial exit speed were violently sucked into the vortex and completely obliterated.
And then... there was no 'and then'.
"Hamilton! He launches the attack!"
"Brilliant! An absolutely unparalleled choice of timing! Unbelievable control over the racing line! Hamilton completes the overtake and aggressively snatches back the race lead!"
"The two cars are wheel-to-wheel through Turn 14! Neither man is yielding a single inch! Sparks are flying!"
"Lockup!"
A wave of static electricity washed over the crowd, shooting straight from the soles of their feet to the top of their skulls.
"Hamilton locks up! Kai utilizes a flawless switchback maneuver to transition from defense to offense! He relentlessly launches an immediate counter-attack and reclaims the position! But this wheel-to-wheel dogfight is absolutely not over! Kai's defense is unbelievably aggressive! The Number 44 car has been forced completely off the track limits! Good god! The dirt is flying everywhere!"
"Kai! Hamilton!"
"Hamilton! Kai!"
The live feed clearly showed that Hamilton absolutely refused to wave the white flag. Despite suffering through the nightmare of understeer, a massive lockup, and being shoved entirely off the track limits, the Mercedes driver weathered the relentless barrage of impacts. He stayed glued to Kai's gearbox. If he could just survive the upcoming short straight, the next corner—Turn 16—was a sharp, 90-degree left-hander. If he made it there, Hamilton could once again deploy a desperate late-braking maneuver, aggressively hug the apex, and violently reclaim the optimal racing line.
"They are still fighting! They are still going at it!"
"Side-by-side! Neck-and-neck! Neither man is backing down!"
"But! Oh, good lord!"
"Kai! What an unbelievable display of car control! Kai completely refuses to follow the standard protocol! He doesn't instinctively dive for the inside line to protect the apex! He deliberately leaves the door wide open for Hamilton!"
An open door is sweet honey, but it is also lethal arsenic. It was an incredibly sweet, irresistible trap.
When Hamilton inevitably chose to unleash another massive late-braking maneuver, desperately lunging to snatch the apex... he realized a microsecond too late that the nose of Kai's Ferrari had subtly, almost imperceptibly drifted to the left. Kai was aggressively compressing the racing line. For the second consecutive corner, he violently forced the left-side tires of the Mercedes completely off the curbs and straight into the dirt and grass—
Continuous, brutal scrubbing. Catastrophic tire degradation.
Simultaneously, within the suffocating, claustrophobic tension of this close-quarters brawl, Kai carved a flawless arc around the outside of the 90-degree corner. Utilizing perfectly calculated entry timing and a flawless entry angle, he beautifully sketched a sharp, 60-degree trajectory, effortlessly slicing through the 90-degree turn. Upon exiting, the SF90 drifted naturally toward the right-side outer edge of the track. He required absolutely zero frantic steering corrections. He simply fed the throttle, instantly snapping the violently twitching, unstable rear wing back into line. The explosive, visceral roar of the Ferrari engine completely swallowed Hamilton whole.
He blasted off into the distance, leaving Hamilton in the dust.
Li Lingyu had been holding her breath the entire time. Wave after wave of electric tingles shot up from her feet straight into her brain. Her eyes were obsessively locked onto the asphalt. Through the chaotic, shimmering haze of heat waves and exhaust fumes, she faintly registered a blur of light tearing through the air with terrifying, majestic momentum. However, due to the angle and the sheer distance, the blur seemed to perfectly blend into the horizon, making it impossible to distinguish its color.
Involuntarily, Li Lingyu stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck, desperately peering into the distance.
Closer.
Just a little bit closer.
That blur... it was undeniably... red.
The exact second her eyes processed the color, the world was violently swallowed by the deafening, earth-shattering roar of an engine. That iconic, legendary splash of Ferrari red blasted majestically down the main straight. The silver Mercedes, desperately trying to give chase, had already fallen a massive three car lengths behind. The gap had been violently, instantly ripped open.
So, what exactly did this mean?
Her brain completely stopped processing information. Li Lingyu stood frozen, utterly incapable of reacting to the reality unfolding before her eyes.
"Unbelievable!"
"Good god! Absolutely unbelievable!"
"Kai and Hamilton just authored an absolute masterclass in offensive and defensive racecraft! From offense, to defense, and violently back to offense! The two World Champions just delivered a legendary, instantly iconic duel right here at the Shanghai circuit! They perfectly recreated the sheer brilliance of the legendary Schumacher vs. Alonso dogfight, but they somehow pushed it to an entirely new, even more terrifying level!"
"And the result! Ultimately!"
"Kai! The absolutely unparalleled Kai! The breathtakingly brilliant Kai! He has once again forced the entire world to its knees with an utterly incomprehensible display of raw talent! He has flawlessly defended his crown as the reigning World Champion!"
"Lap 50 of the Shanghai Grand Prix! Kai has officially taken the lead!"
A ceaseless, roaring torrent of pure passion. Crofty's manic, ecstatic voice acted as the final spark, instantly, violently detonating the entire Shanghai International Circuit. Absolutely no one was spared.
AH!
Li Lingyu finally screamed.
AH!
The Ferrari pit garage erupted. Mechanics threw their arms into the air, screaming themselves hoarse. They tackled each other into massive bear hugs, frantically exchanging high-fives, and pumping their fists with reckless abandon. The meticulous, agonizingly slow strategic layout. The heart-stopping, soul-crushing offensive and defensive brawls. Kai had finally, miraculously transformed all their pre-race plotting into a genuine, undeniable reality. He had violently overturned the board, stepping directly on Mercedes-Benz's shoulders to seize the lead.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The earth shook, and the mountains trembled. The oceans boiled over. Every single spectator currently watching the live broadcast across the massive expanse of mainland China erupted simultaneously. The entire world was sucked into a deafening, chaotic frenzy. It was exactly like a massive tsunami. It was equivalent to a Category 5 hurricane.
"Classic Kai! Absolutely epic! Epic!" Borreipaire's rigidly tense body finally, blessedly relaxed. The rapid accumulation of lactic acid caused his muscles to ache fiercely, but the sheer, unadulterated joy and wild exhilaration simply couldn't be suppressed. He couldn't help but clench his fist and violently pump it into the air. And then he pumped it again.
During that brief, fleeting lull in the chaos, Binotto's voice crackled over the radio. "An absolutely unparalleled drive. Kai, you have once again conclusively proven exactly how foolish we are."
Obviously, it was meant as a small, self-deprecating joke—
Immediately following the catastrophic Australian Grand Prix, Kai had engaged in a massive, brutal, face-to-face confrontation with the technical department back at Maranello.
Although Binotto had forcefully intervened and temporarily suppressed the conflict, a systemic disease is called a systemic disease precisely because it is the accumulated result of half a century—or more—of deeply ingrained bad habits. It was a toxic culture, a flawed cognitive framework, a massive, immovable inertia. It was mathematically impossible for a single driver like Kai to completely eradicate that toxic culture and execute a flawless 180-degree turnaround in the span of a single month. It was wildly unrealistic, even with Binotto throwing his full weight behind the effort.
Curing the disease required time, and it required immense patience.
During the build-up to the Shanghai Grand Prix, when Kai presented his grand, overarching strategic blueprint, he had faced a massive barrage of skepticism and direct challenges. Some of the pushback consisted of genuine, professional engineering concerns. But a significant portion of it was fueled entirely by petty personal grudges—people opposing the plan simply for the sake of opposing Kai. Others were acting out of pure, stubborn resistance, deliberately throwing wrenches into the gears. The internal politics were incredibly complex and messy.
However, now... Bahrain and Shanghai. One glaringly obvious negative example, and one brilliant, undeniable positive case study. The results definitively, conclusively validated Kai's perspective. Those stubborn engineers back at Maranello desperately needed to wake up and face reality. Because if they continued to blindly cling to their toxic stubbornness... there probably wouldn't be a place for them at Maranello much longer.
Here in Shanghai, this was the second time Binotto had publicly, explicitly voiced his support for Kai. But rather than simply supporting the driver, it was more accurately a very public, very direct warning shot fired squarely at the engineering team—
Binotto had planted his flag and definitively chosen his side. The rest was entirely up to them.
And then, Kai's bright, genuine laughter echoed over the radio.
"Haha! Mattia, please don't tell me you're already satisfied with this? I was under the impression we still had an incredibly long, agonizingly difficult championship campaign waiting for us?"
There was no biting sarcasm. He didn't kick them while they were down. He didn't even deploy his usual brand of mocking, playful banter.
Presented with this golden opportunity, Kai chose not to continue aggressively suppressing the engineering team. The immense pressure he had exerted over the past month was more than sufficient. Right now, it was time to distribute praise and issue rewards—
Especially when the entire team had genuinely pulled together and delivered a phenomenal result. This was a moment for celebration. They needed to genuinely celebrate, publicly acknowledging and validating everyone's agonizing hard work.
With that single, simple sentence, every single person in the pit garage, the strategy room, and the massive operations center back at the Maranello base turned their heads, their chests swelling with hot, burning pride.
"Furthermore, this race isn't actually over yet. Please don't distract me. I still have a job to finish. All of you, shut up."
The gentle, teasing banter successfully triggered a massive, collective roar of laughter that echoed throughout the entire Ferrari organization. Even the specific individuals who had been actively, bitterly feuding with Kai over the past few weeks couldn't help but crack a smile.
Especially when Borreipaire smoothly chimed in, "So, do you still require my telemetry updates, or...?"
"Pierre, are you actively trying to sabotage me right now?" Kai replied, his tone dripping with helpless exasperation.
At that point, absolutely no one could maintain their composure. The entire channel dissolved into a fit of uproarious, uncontrollable laughter.
Jokes aside, Kai wasn't spouting nonsense. He undeniably still had a massive job to finish.
Mercedes-Benz was absolutely not going to simply roll over and die. Kai had once again violently shattered Wolff's meticulously crafted master plan. Regardless of the current running order, they were never going to just sit there and accept defeat. Whether it was Hamilton or Bottas, for the remainder of the race, they would undoubtedly unleash everything they had, going entirely flat-out to force Kai back under immense, crushing pressure.
If Kai proved incapable of handling that pressure and made a catastrophic driving error... or if he simply DNF'd... or if he continuously encountered disastrous backmarker traffic that crippled his pace and exposed a vulnerability... or if a Safety Car was suddenly deployed, gifting Hamilton a golden opportunity to launch a close-quarters assault... Mercedes-Benz would absolutely not miss the chance.
If presented with even the most microscopic sliver of an opening, Mercedes-Benz would be more than happy to violently snatch the victory right back.
Formula 1 is a brutal sport where the battle is waged within the microscopic margins of a thousandth of a second. Until you physically cross the finish line, absolutely everything is possible. Catastrophic errors and bizarre accidents are always lurking just around the next corner.
Everything unfolded exactly as anticipated.
The FIA officially announced that the contact between the Number 22 and Number 44 cars at Turn 4 required no further investigation. This meant neither driver was deemed at fault. The race was fully green!
After a brief, microscopic moment of stunned silence, Mercedes-Benz realized their hopes of reclaiming the initiative via a penalty against Kai had been completely extinguished. They immediately steadied their footing and launched a relentless counter-attack without a second of hesitation.
Lap 50: Bottas sets the fastest lap.
Lap 51: Hamilton sets the fastest lap.
Aggressive. Relentless. Going entirely flat-out. The dominant positions Mercedes and Ferrari had held during the first two stints were now completely, violently inverted. The crushing, suffocating pressure exerted by Mercedes-Benz bore down on Kai like a collapsing mountain. They were actively, continuously threatening him. The highly unstable degradation curve of the SF90's tires remained a ticking time bomb.
Lap 52: Albon sets the fastest lap.
The entire paddock: ???
Right in the middle of a brutal, bayonets-drawn deathmatch between Mercedes and Ferrari, why the hell was Red Bull suddenly crashing the party? Albon, a driver who had essentially been a ghost for the entire race, suddenly materialized out of thin air?
However, this was simply the chaotic reality of modern Formula 1. As the race neared its conclusion, fuel loads plummeted, tires were perfectly baked into their optimal temperature windows, and the terrifying specter of another pit stop vanished. The drivers, one by one, took off the training wheels and unleashed their cars, sprinting wildly toward the finish line. The single-lap pace across the entire grid was escalating at a terrifying rate.
More importantly, the newly introduced rule awarding a World Championship point for the fastest lap fundamentally altered the dynamic. Even if it was only a single point, it was incredibly precious to every single team and every single driver. If an opportunity arose to snatch an extra point, absolutely no one was going to politely decline.
And thus, the current bizarre scenario unfolded.
It wasn't just Mercedes-Benz. Every other team on the grid began indirectly applying pressure to Ferrari. Sitting completely exposed in the race lead, Kai could almost physically feel the massive, surging wave of nineteen drivers frantically accelerating behind him. And the terrifying, un-killable ghost of Lewis Hamilton continued to relentlessly stalk his gearbox, absolutely refusing to miss a single, microscopic opportunity.
The air grew suffocatingly tight once again. Until the checkered flag officially waved, no one's heart rate was going to drop back to normal.
But Bono quickly noticed a glaring discrepancy.
The trailing pack was sprinting wildly, frantically chasing lap times. The average single-lap pace had dropped from the 1:36s down into the 1:35s. Albon's newly minted fastest lap had even broken into the 1:34s. It was glaringly obvious that the entire grid was dramatically elevating their pace.
Logically speaking, the gap between Hamilton and Kai should have been steadily, methodically shrinking. But in reality, it wasn't. The gap between the two cars stubbornly hovered around 1.3 seconds. It fluctuated slightly, shrinking and expanding by fractions, but the fundamental distance was never truly breached.
This was a terrifying testament to Kai's absolute, icy composure. While the rest of the grid was frantically losing their minds trying to set purple sectors, Kai intimately understood the absolute, physical limits of his chassis, and he perfectly understood the immense pressure he was under. Therefore, he methodically, stubbornly escalated his own rhythm step-by-step. He continuously adjusted his pace based entirely on the telemetry updates fed to him by his race engineer, ensuring his single-lap speed steadily increased even while navigating the chaotic process of lapping backmarkers.
Although Kai wasn't actively setting purple sectors, he was never left significantly behind by the drivers who were. He flawlessly neutralized the time lost to backmarkers, meticulously matching Hamilton's escalating rhythm, perfectly sustaining the crucial gap between them.
He wasn't just calm and hyper-focused; he was displaying an elite, terrifying level of ultimate pace control.
It was enough to make your blood run cold.
And then, Lap 54. Amidst the chaotic, constantly rotating carousel of drivers desperately fighting for the fastest lap, the record was violently shattered once again.
1:34.836!
"The fastest lap is shattered once again! By Kai!"
A massive, heavy boulder was violently dropped into a tranquil lake. The entire pit lane was sucked into the ensuing hurricane.
Bono let out a quiet, slow exhale. He knew the race was officially over. Kai hadn't relaxed his vigilance for a single microsecond. The strategic layout for the entire third stint remained flawlessly, terrifyingly airtight.
This time, Ferrari's strategic master plan had achieved a total, flawless victory.
Bono knew it, and Hamilton knew it too. Under normal circumstances, in the past, Hamilton would have likely called off the dogs. There was no point, no logical reason to continue burning precious engine life and energy. But today was entirely different. Hamilton stubbornly continued trying to extract the absolute maximum single-lap pace. Even if catching Kai was a mathematical impossibility, he absolutely refused to swallow this bitter pill and quietly concede defeat.
Bono opened his mouth to speak, but ultimately decided against trying to talk him down. Letting Hamilton vent this boiling frustration on the track was probably for the best.
Immediately following that, Crofty's manic, roaring voice crackled through the airwaves once again.
"1:34.742!"
"It's Kai again! He shatters his own fastest lap!"
The race was officially over. Every last shred of suspense was violently incinerated in that exact moment, vanishing without a single trace.
The only thing left to do was...
Wait. And bear witness.
...
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Li Lingyu's entire universe shrank until it contained nothing but the sound of her own heart violently slamming against her ribs. Language was genuinely, fundamentally incapable of accurately describing the emotional hurricane raging inside her right now.
Happiness? Joy? Hype?
Perhaps it was a mixture of all three, but it was also so much vastly more profound than that. A vastly more complex, incredibly violent emotion was shattering its restraints, bursting fiercely from the depths of her soul.
From Shanghai last year to Shanghai this year. Li Lingyu still vividly remembered. Because of a catastrophic strategic blunder by Ferrari, Kai had essentially been left completely isolated, fighting a desperate, agonizingly lonely war. He had burned through his energy, fighting tooth and nail until the absolute bitter end, only to cross the finish line agonizingly, heartbreakingly close behind Ricciardo. The profound regret, the suffocating powerlessness, the bitter, agonizing taste of that defeat all came rushing back.
Li Lingyu would absolutely never forget the long, heavy silence Kai had maintained while standing in front of the microphones that day. She would never forget the fierce, unyielding stubbornness radiating from his perfectly straight spine as he turned and walked away. And she would certainly never forget the brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability he had finally allowed himself to show while standing in front of his parents after the media circus had finally concluded.
She would never forget it, and she actively refused to forget it.
This year, the narrative was even more agonizing. From Melbourne to Bahrain, and now to Shanghai. Mercedes-Benz was a massive, insurmountable mountain violently blocking the path of every single team on the grid. Even though Ferrari was technically the closest challenger, the terrifying performance gap between the SF90 and the W10 was glaringly obvious even to a casual observer.
They had entered the new season brimming with massive ambition and towering confidence, completely exposed to the blinding glare of the spotlight, surrounded by crushing pressure and the relentless scrutiny of every other team and driver. And yet, their highly anticipated chassis had immediately encountered massive, catastrophic flaws. The rumors of vicious, escalating internal conflicts tearing Maranello apart were spreading like wildfire. This season was undeniably, objectively far more difficult than the last.
Even the most fiercely loyal, unshakeably confident Tifosi found themselves constantly repeating the exact same desperate mantra:
"We need to practice patience. The team desperately needs time. The only thing we can realistically do is act as an unbreakable shield, standing firmly by the team as they weather this massive storm."
They obsessively refreshed their news feeds every single day, desperately waiting for Ferrari to announce the schedule for their crucial aerodynamic upgrades. They prayed those updates would miraculously rescue the SF90 from its current nightmare.
The absolute earliest possible timeline for a major upgrade package was Barcelona. A far more realistic, pragmatic projection was Monaco or Montreal.
However, right now...
Shanghai!
The third Grand Prix of the season. Kai's ultimate home turf. After enduring the agonizing heartbreak of last season, and the suffocating frustrations of the current campaign... they had finally authored a massive, impossible breakthrough right here in Shanghai!
A race defined by meticulous, cutthroat strategic calculation. An incredibly grueling, physically and mentally exhausting battle. A victory violently, brutally snatched from the jaws of a vastly superior predator through sheer, unyielding willpower. Kai had once again used undeniable, irrefutable actions to put his absolute brilliance on full display. His completely incomprehensible, terrifying talent had perfectly showcased the ultimate, transcendent allure of motorsport.
Currently, on the entire Formula 1 grid, there was absolutely no other driver capable of operating like Kai. He consistently, repeatedly explored the infinite realm of possibilities that existed entirely outside the physical limitations of the chassis. He single-handedly dragged the ultimate appeal of Formula 1 away from the engineers and firmly back onto the shoulders of the drivers. He transformed the sport into a genuine, visceral display of "driver mastery and head-to-head combat," actively challenging the absolute, theoretical limits of human capability.
It was exactly like manned flight. Violently breaking free from gravity and the established laws of physics, exploring the infinite, boundless possibilities that exist just beyond the edge of human comprehension.
Language was simply too fragile, too pale to carry the immense weight of this specific experience and emotion.
Li Lingyu took a deep, shuddering breath. She stood up perfectly straight, channeling every ounce of her strength into maintaining a rigid spine. She lifted her chin high into the air.
There was no need for profound, emotional sighs. Because this was Kai. Even if the road ahead was littered with massive, terrifying obstacles... even if the future was entirely shrouded in dark, unpredictable chaos... he would absolutely, definitively never stop his relentless forward march.
He would fight until the absolute end of time.
She turned her head, staring intently down the right side of the track. Li Lingyu held her breath, waiting with agonizing patience. She was the first to feel the subtle, concussive vibration in the air, rippling violently against her skin.
VROOM. VROOM.
A wave of electric static washed over her. Every single hair on her body stood rigidly on end.
And then, a blur of light violently materialized on the edge of the horizon. It looked exactly like a scene straight out of the apocalyptic wasteland of 'Mad Max.' At the absolute edge of an endless, desolate desert, a single, blinding ray of hope finally pierced the suffocating silence, violently shattering the chaos and the void. A brilliant, undeniable splash of color instantly ignited the entire dust-choked world.
It was red.
"AH—"
A piercing scream shattered the agonizing silence.
Li Lingyu jolted. She completely lost all control, screaming with wild, reckless abandon. As she screamed, hot, heavy tears began streaming uncontrollably down her face. But she didn't care. She knew perfectly well these were tears of absolute, unadulterated happiness.
"AHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The entire Shanghai International Circuit instantly erupted into a massive, roaring sea of fire. The heavens fractured, and the earth split open.
Borreipaire took a deep, ragged breath. "Kai, P1. P1!"
The exact moment the words left his mouth, a massive wave of exhaustion crushed him. Maintaining absolute, terrifying focus for the entire duration of the race had pushed him to the absolute physical and mental limit. Now, he could finally, completely collapse.
It wasn't even joy he was feeling; it was profound, utter relief. Pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
"A grueling, incredibly difficult race. Completely burned out. We left absolutely everything out there on the asphalt. No regrets. However—" Kai's voice crackled over the radio.
It sounded subtly, undeniably different than usual. His typically carefree, perfectly relaxed tone was laced with heavy, undeniable tension. You could practically feel the massive, suffocating emotions threatening to violently overflow.
"...Pierre, thank you. Thank you for willingly taking this insane gamble with me. Mattia, I'm not entirely sure if you're listening right now, but... thank you. Thank you for actually believing in me."
Despite his desperate attempts to maintain control, the subtle, agonizing tremor in Kai's voice was impossible to hide. A faint, undeniable choke.
Even when he was crowned World Champion at Yas Marina, Kai hadn't lost his composure to this extent. But this was his home race. It was fundamentally, profoundly different.
Inside the Ferrari garage, Clear completely lost his battle for composure. He violently spun around, facing the wall like a child in a timeout, desperately trying to hide the tears streaming down his face and the snot running from his nose. Even Mekies looked visibly wrecked, lowering his head and sinking into profound, heavy silence.
The silence held until someone finally shattered it. "I vividly recall a certain someone explicitly stating they absolutely despised people who sobbed and got emotional." It was undeniably Binotto. "I have officially secured the audio recording. Thank God. My retirement fund is completely sorted."
No one saw that coming. Absolutely no one had anticipated that specific joke.
Pfft!
Borreipaire couldn't hold it back. He burst into a loud, sharp bark of laughter. "Kai, you are the Champion! We are the Champions of the Shanghai Grand Prix! To hell with the home-race curse!"
BOOM.
The smoldering passion within the Ferrari garage instantly detonated. Clear was the first to react, violently clenching his fists and leaping high into the air. He bolted out of the garage and literally started breakdancing in the pit lane.
"CHAMPIONS! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! CHAMPIONS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Next door, the Mercedes-Benz pit garage was deathly silent. Not a single sound. Every single person stood entirely frozen in place, seemingly completely stripped of their basic ability to process reality.
In Melbourne, Kai had violently suppressed Hamilton to snatch P2.
In Bahrain, Kai and Leclerc had monopolized the front row, locking out P1 and P2 in Qualifying.
In Shanghai, Kai had finally taken the ultimate step. He had stepped directly on Mercedes-Benz's shoulders to claim the absolute summit.
The terrifying performance of the W10 was entirely beyond dispute. It was massively, astronomically far ahead of the rest of the grid. It wasn't just the only true "alien-tier" chassis on the grid; its ultimate performance advantage was arguably significantly more terrifying than it had been last season. Combine that with two elite drivers—both Hamilton and Bottas undeniably possessed the raw ability to secure the championship—and a strategy team that was arguably the best in the business, all operating under Wolff's absolute, tyrannical command. They fundamentally possessed every single necessary component required to completely, brutally monopolize the 2019 season.
So, how in the name of God had this exact scenario just played out?
Everything had supposedly proceeded flawlessly according to the master plan. The chassis, the drivers, the strategy... they had everything. So why had the actual trajectory of the season violently derailed from its predetermined course?
Exactly where did the plan suffer a catastrophic failure?
This wasn't just about losing a single Grand Prix. Vastly more critical was the fact that their absolute conviction and core team morale had just suffered a massive, blunt-force trauma to the skull. The entire Mercedes-Benz organization was currently trapped in a state of profound shock.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't frustration. It wasn't even irritation. It was pure, unadulterated bewilderment.
And then, the Shanghai International Circuit could no longer suppress its energy. It instantly, violently unleashed an unimaginable, terrifying volume of noise. The entire world was instantly sucked into a violently spinning, chaotic hurricane. A massive, endless ocean of scarlet completely flooded their vision, instantly, violently devouring the entire Mercedes-Benz pit box. It wasn't just sight and sound; even their sense of smell and touch felt completely besieged. That iconic, brilliant splash of silver vanished completely without a trace within the rolling red tsunami. They didn't even need to look out the garage monitors to know exactly what was happening.
The Number 22 car had completed its cool-down lap and returned triumphant!
...
AH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Pure, chaotic, unhinged screaming. Slogans and organized chants were completely abandoned. They simply emptied their lungs completely, roaring into the void. That simple, primal, unadulterated scream was more than sufficient to violently release all the suffocating emotion and profound awe buried deep within their souls. It was enough to physically shake the entire motorsport world.
As all the cars finally filtered back into the pit lane, the track was officially opened to the public. It was exactly like a massive dam bursting. Absolutely no one could maintain control over their actions anymore. A massive, chaotic sea of humanity surged forward, pouring directly onto the asphalt. A terrifying, unstoppable red tsunami entirely flooded the venue. The entire Shanghai circuit was instantly dyed a brilliant, unyielding scarlet.
The Mercedes-Benz garage remained deathly silent, radiating a heavy, suffocating aura of death. Having absorbed a massive, critical strike, they had completely lost their bearings, entirely stripped of their ability to mount a counter-offensive.
Watching this exact scene unfold, Wolff felt a sharp, agonizing pain twist his gut.
Wolff knew the reality of the situation. Everything was in complete chaos. His grand, overarching strategic layout had been violently, completely shattered. This wasn't about losing a single Grand Prix trophy. This wasn't about the current point standings in either the Drivers' or Constructors' Championships. This was entirely about momentum, dominance, and the power of pure, psychological terror. His original master plan had been to methodically establish an aura of terrifying, suffocating dominance right from the opening race, systematically, brutally crushing the fighting spirit of every single rival on the grid. He firmly believed the W10 possessed the raw strength to execute that plan. But now, that master plan had been violently torn to shreds, left in absolute ruins.
From the exact moment Hamilton failed to secure the Grand Slam in Melbourne, the entire trajectory had violently derailed. After Shanghai, that original master plan was officially entirely meaningless.
KAI!
It was Kai again. It was always Kai.
Since the year before last, Wolff had absolutely no idea how many countless times he had muttered that specific name under his breath. It started as an unfamiliar, awkward cluster of Chinese syllables that felt strange on his tongue. But now, the pronunciation had perfectly, flawlessly integrated with his vocal cords. He could articulate it with terrifying clarity even in his sleep.
Given the current reality, Wolff internally admitted that the entire off-season contract negotiation had been nothing but an elaborate, cynical performance. From the very beginning, Mercedes-Benz had absolutely zero intention of offering Kai a genuine seat.
On one hand, his sole objective was to aggressively disrupt the psychological equilibrium of both Kai and Ferrari. He actively wanted to plant a lethal, highly toxic seed of mutual distrust squarely between John Elkann and Kai.
On the other hand, he genuinely enjoyed watching the media scramble like headless chickens, frantically overreacting to the slightest breeze and chasing every single, microscopic rumor.
Orchestrating that entire circus gave Wolff a profound, god-like complex. He enjoyed hovering high above the fray, casually manipulating the destinies of others. Whether it was Kai, Bottas, Russell, or even Vettel... their ultimate fates rested entirely in the palm of his hand. With a simple flick of his wrist, he could conjure clouds; with a downward sweep, he could summon rain. He could effortlessly dictate the life trajectories of an entire group of elite individuals.
Even Kai—a terrifying, world-breaking super-genius who had violently upended the entire paddock and physically shaken the foundations of corporate capital—was ultimately just another pawn to be manipulated on the board.
And naturally, the rabid media and the chaotic swarms of netizens on social media were exactly the same. Nothing but a colony of insignificant ants.
Starting from the very first day of the off-season, Wolff had begun meticulously laying the groundwork for the new campaign.
However, right now, Wolff couldn't stop an intrusive thought from worming its way into his brain. What if... what if he had actually, genuinely convinced Kai to join Mercedes-Benz during the off-season? What kind of terrifying, world-ending chemical reaction would a Hamilton-Kai pairing have produced?
The thought lingered for barely a fraction of a second.
Regret?
That was an emotion reserved entirely for pathetic losers.
If Mercedes-Benz truly, desperately desired Kai's services, they would simply wait until next season. Wolff fundamentally refused to believe that anyone could genuinely reject Mercedes-Benz forever. Not even Ferrari could prevent it. Were they seriously going to rely on the pathetic, disastrous performance of that absolute garbage truck known as the SF90 to keep him loyal?
As for the immediate future, he needed to maintain absolute focus. The 2019 season undeniably, inevitably belonged to Mercedes-Benz. All Wolff needed to do was draft a brand-new master plan. The first path had been blocked, but it didn't matter. They were only three races into the calendar. The ultimate Drivers' and Constructors' crowns would undeniably, inevitably end up securely locked inside the Mercedes trophy cabinet.
Straightening his spine slightly, Wolff actively initiated a round of applause, violently shattering the suffocating silence.
"Excellent work! A truly spectacular race!"
"Lewis, P2. It's a second-place finish, but it was another absolutely phenomenal drive."
"Valtteri, P3. Absolutely unparalleled! I must personally thank you for your immense effort. This was an incredibly memorable weekend, and we are eagerly anticipating your continued performance!"
Mercedes-Benz was still Mercedes-Benz. Wolff's operational philosophy had always been remarkably consistent. They did not obsessively demand absolute perfection at every single Grand Prix. Failing to secure the victory was absolutely not the end of the world. They prioritized continuous, ultra-stable, high-end performance. Exactly like the W10 chassis itself—
Perhaps the ultimate victory wasn't theirs today, but Mercedes-Benz had still put both cars firmly on the podium, locking out second and third. They continued to methodically, relentlessly expand their points advantage in the Constructors' Championship.
This was Wolff's absolute, defining operational code. It was the precise, calculating philosophy that had allowed Mercedes-Benz to secure five consecutive World Championships.
Therefore, there was absolutely zero need for regret regarding the Shanghai Grand Prix, and there was certainly no need for depression. They had still flawlessly executed their primary objectives. They merely needed to dynamically adjust their overarching strategy.
In a certain, highly pragmatic sense, Wolff was entirely correct. Kai had won the battle, but Mercedes-Benz remained the ultimate, undisputed victors of the Shanghai Grand Prix.
The race officially concluded. Kai, Hamilton, and Bottas locked out the top three positions.
For the third consecutive race this season, the exact same three drivers monopolized the podium. And for the third consecutive race, they had completely rotated their finishing positions. All three drivers now possessed exactly one victory, one second-place finish, and one third-place finish. Because Kai and Bottas each possessed one fastest lap point, and Hamilton possessed none—the fastest lap in Bahrain belonged to Leclerc—the current Drivers' Championship standings saw Kai and Bottas tied for absolute first, with Hamilton trailing by a single, agonizing point in third.
Brilliant! Utterly, breathtakingly brilliant!
It had to be said, the opening phase of the 2019 season had completely, violently defied every single pre-season projection. This was especially true for the Drivers' Championship standings.
Trailing behind the three elite musketeers were the familiar faces: Verstappen in fourth, and Leclerc in fifth.
Their positions had finally swapped. Although Leclerc had occupied fourth place for the majority of the race, during the crucial third stint, the SF90's catastrophic long-run tire degradation issues reared their ugly head once again. One only needed to look at Kai—who had meticulously engineered every single variable but still couldn't afford to relax until the absolute final corner—to understand the severity of the problem. Leclerc simply couldn't hold on. Verstappen completed a brutal overtake with only five laps remaining, forcing the two young phenoms to trade places.
The truly fascinating detail was this: Verstappen had finished fourth in three consecutive races. Leclerc had finished fifth in three consecutive races.
Absolutely, rigidly immovable.
Critics could argue that the 2019 season was incredibly boring. Three races down, and the top five finishers had offered zero surprises. However, viewed from a different angle, it was fascinating on an entirely different level.
While the top five remained rigidly consistent, the sixth position had rotated for the third consecutive time. This time, Red Bull's Albon claimed the spot, arriving in this position for the very first time this season.
Albon, who had been parachuted into the Red Bull seat under massive, crushing pressure, finally seemed to have found his rhythm at the Shanghai Grand Prix. This was undeniably a massive positive for the young driver. Simultaneously, it clearly highlighted the massive, terrifying performance delta possessed by the 'Big Three' teams. Both Albon and Leclerc were facing their own brutal, individualized struggles, but as a collective, their teams remained astronomically far ahead of the rest of the midfield.
Ricciardo in seventh. Vettel in eighth. Raikkonen in ninth. Gasly in tenth.
Absolute, chaotic bedlam.
Following Qualifying, everyone assumed Renault and Haas had definitively broken away from the pack. But the actual race pace proved the midfield brawl was still incredibly fierce and wildly unpredictable.
Renault, Racing Point, Alfa Romeo, and Toro Rosso each managed to claw their way into the points. However, Haas and McLaren—both of whom had displayed highly competitive pace since the season opener—were brutally shut out of the top ten. It was highly likely the vicious, chaotic dogfight among the six midfield teams would continue raging for the foreseeable future.
Judging the pure strength of the engine suppliers based on midfield performance, Ferrari, Mercedes, Renault, and Honda remained locked in a terrifyingly tight, entirely unpredictable stalemate.
Therefore, Wolff's icy confidence was absolutely not unfounded.
It was undeniably true that Mercedes-Benz's grand master plan for the opening phase of the season had been completely, violently derailed. But they still maintained a vice-like grip on both the Constructors' and Drivers' Championships. Mercedes-Benz remained the terrifying, dominant overlords that every other team on the grid was forced to look up to and desperately try to catch. They had every right to hold their heads high.
However!
When the Mercedes-Benz personnel finally exited the suffocating confines of their garage and genuinely looked around with their own eyes... only then did they truly, viscerally feel the overwhelming, suffocating physical presence of Ferrari.
Or, to be vastly more accurate... the presence of Kai!
The entire world was currently kneeling at Kai's feet.