Reckless, yet delicate. Adventurous, yet steady.
Although Sector 1 was traditionally Ferrari's strong suit, everyone believed they had reached their absolute limit. Kai and Vettel had wrung the neck of Sector 1, finding a ceiling that Mercedes and Red Bull couldn't break through.
Yet, pushing against that limit, Kai pulled a secret weapon from an empty hat like a magician. He broke the Sector 1 record again, sending the entire Interlagos circuit into a frenzy.
Gasps, praise, and screams rolled like thunder. The dark clouds pressing down on the circuit seemed to tremble, as if ready to collapse at any moment.
DRS enabled.
The rear wing flap opened. The air cut past the helmet like a blade. Flying against the wind.
Entering Sector 2. The winding, complex infield section. This was the domain of Mercedes and Red Bull. Ferrari had struggled here during all three practice sessions. Clearly, this was where the battle would be won or lost.
Turn 4, a sharp left-hander.
Kai's entry angle was deeper than usual, drifting half a car width outside the ideal racing line, flying through at high speed. He knew the risk.
But it also meant freedom.
The nose bit in. The front tires sliced perfectly toward the apex. He lifted the throttle slightly. Then, less than 0.15 seconds earlier than normal, he got back on the power. The rear wheels immediately started pushing. 0.15 seconds.
A microscopic difference, invisible to the naked eye, relying purely on instinct and courage. Yet this insignificant deviation was a tango with the devil.
The engine revs climbed. Amidst the roaring V6, you could feel the car trembling. The steering wheel vibrated violently in his palms, as if the car would vibrate itself to pieces in the next second.
The sensation was wilder than any street circuit.
This was Interlagos.
Just then, a gust of wind swept up from the valley, snatching a sliver of downforce from the rear wing. The steering wheel was pushed off-center by the wind. Without thinking, acting purely on reflex, Kai applied opposite lock, using the car's inertia to press it back onto its trajectory. Relying on muscle memory and instinct, he found his footing just as Turn 5 appeared.
Hyper-focused, he even forgot to breathe.
Turn 5 was an acute left-hander, but because it was downhill and bumpy, drivers had to be incredibly precise with the throttle and brake. Taken almost flat-out, one wrong step on the bumps meant taking flight.
Brake?
No. Kai maintained speed and focus. His braking point was two meters later than normal.
Playing with fire.
The heavy braking threw the car's weight forward against the layers of inertia. The front suspension compressed to the limit. The rear end lifted slightly. The rear tires let out a piercing screech, white smoke billowing into the air.
The crowd gasped. Almost everyone thought Kai had pushed beyond the car's absolute limit. To go beyond is as wrong as to fall short. This flying lap was surely ruined.
But no!
Kai slightly lifted his foot, instantly reducing brake pressure, allowing the rear axle to bite the track again. Simultaneously, a slight opposite lock. The rear end swept through the apex in a brief drift.
Drift?
No, no, no. This was millimeter-perfect slip angle control.
But to the layman, it looked exactly like a drift. It made the audience's scalps tingle with fear, doubting their own eyes.
In Q3! At a critical moment! In a Formula 1 car! The unruly street racer in Kai's blood surfaced again, deconstructing the track and the car in his own unique way.
This wasn't showing off or putting on a performance. It was a flash of inspiration, finding a different kind of balance at the absolute limit. He deconstructed Turn 5 in an alternative way, fully exploiting the characteristics of Interlagos, pushing the limit of the corner, flying through at full speed in a controlled slide.
Then, they saw the Number 22 Ferrari rocket through Turn 5, stabbing straight onto the short straight before it even fully straightened up.
The explosive engine roar filled the track again, charging without hesitation into the tight, twisting sequence of corners. Every eye in the stadium converged, scalps tingling, hearts in throats, as the car entered the most congested, technical section of the track.
Kai had no room to breathe—
Tire temperatures spiked; grip fluctuated. There was no straight-line acceleration here, only rhythm and flow. Kai swayed with the car's beat. This tango was sometimes turbulent, sometimes gentle, freely transitioning between violent and calm, transforming into a streak of light.
Graceful as a diving swan.
Steering angle, throttle application, brake pressure—delicate and precise, allowing zero deviation. This was the ultimate crucible of feel, instinct, and reaction.
Turn 6, Ferradura (the horseshoe), a double-apex right-hander. Lift off early, let the front tires gently bite the arc. The smooth, flowing motion was like a sharp blade slicing silk, linking seamlessly into the left-hand Turn 7.
Turn 8, Laranjinha, an uphill right-hander that severely tests weight transfer. He used a tiny dab of brake to manage the load transfer, pushing the weight forward. The instant the front tires compressed fully, he was back on the throttle.
The rear tires almost started to slide, but his perfectly judged, slight throttle lift controlled the situation. In the midst of bumps and instability, he miraculously maintained balance.
Power, weight, friction—perfectly overlapped.
Weight transfer! Fluid and precise!
Turn 9, Pinheirinho. The car shook slightly, but Kai applied just the right amount of opposite lock. His throttle control was surgically precise, using the rear-axle drive to push the car out of the apex. In this medium-speed corner that relies entirely on mechanical grip, he inconceivably squeezed out a drop of speed beyond the theoretical limit.
Silence. Suffocation. Blood-pumping excitement. The entire track lost its voice. The engine roar completely flooded the valley. Even the heavy, dark sky seemed to pause, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly.
Everything happened too fast. Constantly changing, completed in one breath.
On the pit wall, Pierre stared at the rev curves on the telemetry, forgetting to breathe, forgetting his heartbeat. He felt the speed and passion alongside Kai in the cockpit.
Turn 10, Bico de Pato (Duck's Bill), was rapidly approaching.
This hairpin is nearly 180 degrees, folding the track back on itself. This was usually where Ferrari suffered the most at Interlagos—
Their medium-speed traction was inferior to Mercedes; the power delivery was half a beat slower.
Pierre knew this better than anyone. On the first flying lap, Kai had squeezed the car to the limit and performed perfectly. What about this time?
Kai didn't stick to the script of his previous lap. He began pre-loading the throttle halfway through the corner. This meant that before the steering wheel was straight, the rear wheels were already deploying power.
The car slid sideways. He didn't rush to correct it. Instead, he used a microscopic amount of opposite lock to maintain the slide.
Then, everyone could clearly see it:
The tail of Car 22 stepped out, almost losing control. But at the critical moment, at the exact right spot, a lift of the throttle instantly "snapped" the nose out. The car turned into a red arrow, piercing the heavy, hot air, launching forward like a slingshot.
The timing of that throttle application was exquisite.
This wasn't something you could train. It was talent, instinct, inspiration, an innate ability. A pure, ultimate perception that turned a thousandth-of-a-second window on the track into a spectacular performance. Even gasps and cheers seemed to pale in comparison.
Breathtaking!
Corner exit. Straight. Flowing like spilled mercury. Sweeping through Turn 11, smooth and seamless. Speed pushed to the absolute maximum on the following straight. The oncoming roar crushed forward like a tidal wave. The hearts of the audience were ripped from their chests. A shiver shot from their feet to their scalps, making them tremble uncontrollably.
"Sector 2! Green!"
Unbelievable! Inconceivable!
The crowd gasped, forgetting to breathe.
Green! Kai actually set a personal best in Sector 2! How did he do it?!
Although it wasn't purple (overall fastest), there was a real performance gap between Ferrari and Mercedes/Red Bull in the low/medium-speed corners. But after a perfect first lap, Kai had miraculously squeezed out more time beyond the car's limit, improving his personal best.
The air froze. Wait, could Kai really...?
NO WAY!
This meant everything came down to the final sprint in Sector 3!
Not far ahead, the two Red Bulls crossed the line one after the other, finishing their final flying laps.
Verstappen: 1:07.778, P5.
Ricciardo: 1:07.780, P6.
Shocking!
Neither Red Bull managed to beat Kai's first Q3 run. This meant Kai was guaranteed at least a second-row start.
A tiny margin of 0.002 seconds put Verstappen ahead of Ricciardo.
The crowd murmured in surprise.
But even more shocking was that Verstappen was 0.497 seconds behind Hamilton!
What was going on?
Verstappen had topped Q1 and FP1. Red Bull had shown excellent pace at Interlagos. But as qualifying ended, the result was jaw-dropping. No one expected Red Bull to be in this position, let alone with such a massive gap.
So, Mercedes was this fast, completely leaving Red Bull in the dust. Had they been sandbagging in practice?
And what about Ferrari? Vettel had burned his cosmos to beat Bottas and take P2. People had been feeling sorry for Vettel, but if Mercedes was sandbagging, then losing to Hamilton wasn't a disgrace.
Did this mean Kai's chances were also... slim?
In a flash, thoughts surged. All eyes converged on the last car completing a flying lap on the track.
The pit lane was no exception. Even Toto Wolff held his breath and clenched his fists. He looked unbothered and confident on the surface, but his tense muscles betrayed his true emotions.
Perhaps Kai was the only exception.
Nothing mattered. No noise could shake his focus at this moment. His eyes and mind were entirely on Turn 12 ahead—
By now, the tire temperatures were soaring. After the continuous technical corners, the front tire temperatures must have exceeded 120 degrees Celsius. If he continued to push hard, the slightest mistake would cause a slide. But what followed was the full-throttle, high-speed corner sprint to the finish line. Exit speed was paramount.
If he wanted to break the car's limit, he couldn't be conservative here.
Actually, there was no time to think, because Turn 11 and Turn 12 are connected by a short straight. He had just escaped the dense corner attack of Sector 2. No time to breathe. The thick dark clouds were blocking the sky behind Turn 12, cutting off the path ahead.
However, Kai didn't brake—
He passed the braking point and still didn't brake. Patient. Calm. It looked like he had braked so late that he would understeer straight into the runoff area. The car seemed on the verge of losing control, but then they saw Kai finally brake.
Screech!
Brake, turn.
The steering input was noticeably larger. He devoured the 90-degree corner in a state of oversteer.
Aggressive. Light. Decisive.
But was this too rash? The audience's hearts leaped into their throats. They could clearly see the entire tail of the car whip out, seemingly losing contact with the ground, looking like it was about to take flight—Gasp!
At that moment, a light tap on the throttle. Not to accelerate, but to "plant" the car.
Amidst the chaos and instability, the car's weight rapidly transferred backward. The tires instantly bit the ground again, like a beast digging its claws in.
The steering correction was completed simultaneously. Wasting no time, he buried the throttle. The car hugged the outside white line of the corner exit, cutting seamlessly into the left-hand Turn 13. Hugging the arc, flying at full speed. Facing this sweeping, fishing-line-like sequence—
Turns 13, 14, and 15 form a continuous, opening curve. The full-throttle acceleration got faster and fiercer.
Using the tiny sliver of extra speed gained from the Turn 12 exit, Car 22 unleashed everything without hesitation or reservation.
Vroom, vroom. The engine roared, bringing a howling gale with it.
At that moment, the sky could no longer bear the pressure. The thick clouds broke apart, and the rainstorm on the horizon poured down all at once.
It was still a distance from the track, but looking back, one could clearly see the dense, massive downpour, a wall of black. The stagnant air was thrown into chaos. A gale rushed forward, carrying an apocalyptic impact that shook the world. Everything began to sway slightly. It was as if you could "hear" the roar just by looking at it.
The rainstorm approached at full speed.
F1 cars challenge human limits, but 300 km/h is nothing to Mother Nature. The storm was closing in faster and fiercer.
Pierre's palms sweated. He didn't even realize he was clenching his fists. He realized the storm was chasing Kai, and the gap was visibly shrinking.
The crisis pierced the skin, like a disaster movie.
Pierre had to use all his strength to stop himself from warning Kai. Kai on the track definitely knew the situation better than he did. He couldn't be a distraction. He held his breath, terrified that his tension and panic might affect Kai and ruin this final sprint.
He completely forgot that he just needed to leave the radio button unpressed. He just sat frozen, staring breathlessly at the screen, as if waiting quietly for the footsteps of the apocalypse to draw closer.
The whole world watched. The storm was chasing the last flying car on the track, getting closer and faster.
That Ferrari red was so bright, so resolute. Amidst the howling wind and crushing clouds, it turned into a streak of light, tearing through the storm at full speed.
The sound of the wind filled the helmet. Breathing was torn away by the storm. But Kai's eyes were firm and bright, sprinting with all his might, like Icarus embracing the sun.
Giving it his all.
Flying through Turn 13, smoothly gliding past Turn 14. By now, the heavy rain had reached Turn 12.
Flat out through Turn 15, maximizing the track width. In the chaos and blur of the storm, speed and inertia were the only weapons to break through. The storm roared past, engulfing Turns 13 and 14.
The world roared, as if the sky was shattering and falling apart.
Whoosh, whoosh. For a moment, it was hard to tell if it was the engine or the wind. It looked like the rain would swallow Car 22 whole. But at the critical, life-and-death moment, that flash of red thrillingly burst out, piercing the gloom and darkness, dragging a long trail of afterimages, sprinting across the finish line.
Even the storm couldn't catch him.
BOOM! The world was completely swallowed by the deluge.
Sector 3, Green.
1:07.278.
Time froze. The rain-battered grandstands and pit wall didn't react until the heavy raindrops hitting their foreheads started to hurt. They hurriedly put on raincoats, ignoring their disheveled state, immediately wiping away the water to look at the display screens. Red text was flashing.
The big screen had just refreshed. The name in P1 was—Kai Zhizhou.
Blood rushed to hearts instantly. Wait, this meant...
"POLE!"
Pierre held his breath, forgetting his heartbeat for a full second. Even as the torrential rain poured down, he stared unblinkingly at the screen.
Before his brain could even process it, his voice broke free. The heart that had been floating in the stormy air slammed hard into the ground. Gravity returned to his limbs. He couldn't control it anymore. He clenched both fists, stood up, and roared.
"POLE! THE UNRIVALED, OMNIPOTENT KAI ZHIZHOU! POLE!"
"POLE! AHHHHHHHHH!"
He couldn't suppress it, couldn't control it. 0.003 seconds. That was the gap between Kai and Hamilton on that single lap. This microscopic difference determined the pole position.
It was an impossible mission. Mathematically impossible. Mechanically impossible to rewrite.
Yet, by 0.003 seconds, Kai did it. He stole time from the Interlagos circuit and the Ferrari car. Beating Hamilton by a hair's breadth, he secured his third pole of the season—and the most crucial pole in the championship fight between Ferrari and Mercedes.
Pierre didn't want to hold back. As he yelled, tears welled up. He quickly plunged headfirst into the rainstorm to hide his loss of composure.
"Ahhh! Beautiful! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!"
The Ferrari garage went completely crazy. Mechanics clutched their heads, unable to believe their eyes. Even they didn't know how Kai had pulled it off.
Clear even forgot to cheer. He looked at Mekies dumbfounded. "...How?"
He managed to squeeze out one word before losing his voice entirely, scalp tingling, body shaking.
Mekies couldn't answer. He just felt weak in the knees, barely able to stand. Finally, his nerves lost control, and he started laughing inexplicably. Looking down, he realized his hands were shaking uncontrollably. In an instant, they were engulfed by cheers and the rainstorm.
BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM!
The storm finally caught up with Kai, swallowing him instantly. The cockpit was drenched inside and out. The radio crackled with static.
He didn't forget he was on slicks. He needed to be extremely careful in the rain. He slowed down, the surging hot blood still roaring in his eardrums.
His heartbeat was still synced with the engine, pounding, exploding.
Sweat, rain, breath, engine, cheers, gasps—everything mixed together. He felt completely fused with the car, running barefoot in the storm. That lap had transcended driving itself. He felt something different, as if he had broken the chains of speed and was flying freely. That exhilaration filled his heart. With every beat, he felt pure happiness. The world burst into brilliant colors.
Phew. He wanted to experience it again.
The car finally returned to the pit lane. Kai climbed out. He had barely taken off his helmet when he saw Clear leading the entire team through the rainstorm, bringing a wave of red heat with them. They danced and cheered in the rain, ecstatically surrounding Kai.
"Pole! Pole! Pole!"
Only then did reality sink in. A smile blossomed on Kai's face as he hugged everyone in the garage one by one.
Then, standing in front of Pierre, he said, "Looks like half a glass of water was enough."
That sentence made Pierre laugh out loud, cleanly admitting his mistake. "An afternoon that changed my outlook on life."
It wasn't just the Ferrari garage.
The FIA sent a dedicated team to hold an umbrella for Kai and escort him to the mixed interview zone. That red umbrella cut through the overwhelming gloom. Before he even got close, the reporters pushed to the front, screaming his name.
Even the end of the world couldn't stop them. Throughout the Brazilian Grand Prix weekend, Mercedes had held the advantage while Ferrari struggled. The pressure of the championship fight seemed to be crushing Ferrari bit by bit.
But out of nowhere, Kai and Vettel had carved a bloody path. Pole position and P3. They had completely ruined Mercedes' plans.
Less than two months ago, after Singapore, rumors of a rift between Kai and Vettel made headlines. Everyone thought their irreconcilable conflict would destroy their championship hopes. Who would have thought that would be the turning point?
The two drivers, their fighting spirit ignited, burned their cosmos. In adversity, they exploded with energy in their own ways, joining hands to overturn the situation.
Things suddenly got interesting. The championship fight between Ferrari and Mercedes was getting better and better, full of suspense.
The latest rumor was that Mercedes had already filed a protest, asking the FIA to review the data. A gap of 0.003 seconds was indeed absurd. Rather than a protest, it was more of a demand for confirmation. Wolff couldn't believe Hamilton's pole had flown away again.
Even if they couldn't overturn the result, Wolff could thoroughly disgust Ferrari, preventing them from fully celebrating the pole and dealing a blow to their morale.
Gunsmoke filled the air. Ferrari was no stranger to these Mercedes tactics. The battle between the two teams was definitely not limited to the track.
Of course, the most important focus was Kai.
Pole position. 0.003 seconds. The undeniable center of attention. Everyone was waiting for Kai, wondering how this young man had managed that lap.
Seeing Kai finally arrive under the escort of FIA staff, the restless reporters couldn't hold back anymore.
Unexpectedly, someone stepped out to intercept him—
Max Verstappen. "Congratulations. Unbelievable lap."
Rivalry is rivalry, respect is respect. This was something Verstappen had learned from Kai.
Jos had only taught him to do whatever it takes to win. He never taught him that respecting and acknowledging opponents is also a way to understand oneself. He was still a kid, having just turned 21, spending his entire life revolving around racing, entirely ignorant of social nuances and life experiences.
Until Kai appeared. He proved with actions that while they might fight to the death on track, it didn't mean they had to belittle each other.
In fact, respecting the opponent is respecting oneself.
After years in the paddock, Verstappen was just beginning to learn this. He still didn't like Kai, but it didn't stop him from acknowledging him.
Kai grinned. "Thanks. Honestly, I don't even know how I pulled that lap off."
Then, the two stood there complaining about the unpredictable weather. Like a child's mood swings, it had almost ruined their final flying laps. And the cool-down lap was a nightmare. Verstappen had spun once; luckily, he didn't hit the wall, or the mechanics would be pulling an all-nighter. Hearing Verstappen's vivid storytelling, Kai laughed so hard he bent over.
Nearby, the completely ignored reporters were speechless. Since when did these two start chatting? Didn't they want to punch each other before? They were blabbering away in Mexico last week, and we thought it was a one-off. But here they go again in Brazil, totally forgetting we exist.
So, what happened to the bitter enmity?
No, no, no, that wasn't the point. The point was work! The reporters were being completely ignored!
Ahem!
A reporter couldn't hold back and coughed loudly as a reminder.
Ineffective.
The sound of the torrential rain was too loud. Kai and Verstappen were chatting and laughing, completely immersed. How could they hear a cough?
"Kai!"
With no other choice, they had to shout. "We need you!"
Kai patted Verstappen's shoulder and turned to the reporters. "Sorry, it's a bit chaotic. I'm still trying to process everything."
One reporter couldn't resist asking, "You and Max...?"
Kai looked back. "Ah, Max. We aren't friends. Don't misunderstand. I still don't know him."
Pfft.
Kai's answer was so absurd it was comical.
But Kai looked dead serious. He wasn't lying. He and Verstappen were indeed not friends. They were rivals and colleagues, but not friends.
Enemies?
Thinking about it, not really. What happens on the track stays on the track. Off the track, there's no need to obsess over work.
Hubert and Leclerc were right. Verstappen was just... an animal. Jos's parenting was clearly a failure. Besides winning and racing, Verstappen saw nothing else. His emotional intelligence was basically zero. He might be 21, but he acted like a 12-year-old.
Competitive, aggressive, willful, impulsive, hot-tempered—these were facts. But having no schemes, no hidden depths, simple-minded—these were also facts.
Although not 100% the same, Verstappen reminded Kai of Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. Was he a nuisance? Absolutely. Was he a bad person? Not necessarily.
Then, Kai discovered that if you talked to Verstappen about racing, things got simple, and he wouldn't shut up. It didn't matter who he was talking to. One second he's a hostile enemy, the next he's chattering away. The mood swings were faster than Sichuan face-changing.
Who would have believed that the terrifying "Torpedo" of the paddock was actually a chatterbox?
Thinking about it, with a terrible father like Jos—arrogant, controlling, prone to physical and verbal violence, the embodiment of impotent rage—it was a mystery how Verstappen hadn't turned out completely twisted, or at least turned into the Hulk.
Clearly, the reporters still weren't used to the scene they had just witnessed. Two people who should be fighting to the death were chatting and laughing in front of them?
Hearing Kai say, "I don't know him," made much more sense.
However, Verstappen wasn't the main focus right now. A new episode of "Kai vs. Hamilton" was about to begin.
"...Did you anticipate pole position?"
Blah, blah, blah. The reporter's question was convoluted, touching on Free Practice, the qualifying progression, and the last-minute rainstorm. It was a mess. They beat around the bush before finally dropping the core question.
Precisely because of all that, Kai's pole was an absolute shock.
"No, I didn't." Kai smiled and waved his hands repeatedly.
That was the truth.
He really hadn't predicted it. Giving it his all, a desperate gamble—that was it. Until crossing the line, no one knew the outcome.
However, from another angle, even if he had predicted it, he couldn't admit it.
Qualifying was over; next was the race strategy. He needed to paralyze Mercedes. He needed Wolff to truly believe this pole was luck and an accident, gaining a slight advantage in their race strategy duel.
He could imagine Wolff muttering to himself right now: A 0.003-second pole margin... how will that translate to long-run race pace?
Smart people overthink. Kai's job was to make Wolff overthink even more. Since Wolff and Horner always used the media to play games, Kai had to learn to use the media to counter-attack.
"Honestly, I don't know where this pole came from," Kai appeared very candid. "We've been struggling all weekend, facing many difficulties. This pole position practically popped out of a rock. Maybe it's a revelation from God."
"We need to have more faith in the car. Even if it's unstable, we can still squeeze out some potential. Our race pace has been more stable and better all season, so I hope it's the same here at Interlagos."
"Since we have pole now, I'll do my best to fight for the win."
Casual, conversational. Humble words, confident attitude. A hint of sharpness hidden within calmness. This subtle difference was exactly what Kai needed to make Wolff overthink.
Then, a reporter immediately asked, "Max said he'll do everything to fight for the podium or even the win. He's not afraid because he has nothing to lose. What are your thoughts on that?"
Kai spread his hands. "Why, do you think I have something to lose?"
The reporter was stunned and blurted out, "How could you not? Aren't you fighting for the championship?"
Kai's smile bloomed fully. "Right."
However, he left it at that. The reporters watched helplessly as Kai turned and walked away with light steps toward Leclerc and Ricciardo.
A beat later, they finally realized. As a baby driver, a rookie, everyone was debating whether Kai could make history and accomplish the legendary feat Hamilton had failed to achieve. The pressure of history and records was unprecedentedly high.
However, looking at it from another angle... when the season began, did anyone foresee this? Where did all the mockery, disdain, discrimination, and insults go? Now everyone was bowing in worship, full of praise. The fact that the 2018 championship suspense had lasted this long was entirely thanks to this rookie. Regardless of the season's outcome, Kai was undoubtedly the biggest winner of the year.
So, what did he have to lose?
If he won, it was history. If he lost, it was still history.
Entering the formula world for just two years, skipping straight from GP3 to F1 in his rookie season, he had pushed four-time World Champions to the brink. Not just Hamilton, but Vettel too. The 2018 season was supposed to be a direct duel between those two, but this baby driver had stolen the show. There was no need to wait for the season finale; Kai was unyieldingly the biggest winner of the year.
While pressure compounded and everyone inside and out of the paddock was practically suffocating from excitement, Kai remained clear-headed and unburdened.
The reporters present couldn't help but shiver. Only now did they truly realize: this rookie was absolutely not someone to mess with. To the core.
The final two races were going to be a spectacular show. Here at Interlagos, Kai had already snatched the pole right from Hamilton's jaws. Who knows what would happen in tomorrow's race? The World Championship battle unfolding before them was getting better and better.
The ending is the essence.
While the paddock boiled over with uncontrollable excitement, the garages had to calm down. All positive and negative emotions were shut out. They needed to focus entirely on strategy for the upcoming race.
And not just the championship contenders.
As mentioned before, a single point can alter the final standings. The difference in team prize money at the end of the season can be up to 15 million dollars. So, midfield and backmarker teams were no exception. They had to fight for points, for rankings, for their jobs and livelihoods.
However, teams whose rankings were already settled had nothing to lose—like Williams, or Red Bull.
Therefore, they could become the spoilers in the championship fight. It all depended on their mood, whether they wanted to be the key that changed history.
Yet, most of the focus remained on Ferrari and Mercedes.
Right now, the Ferrari meeting room doors were tightly shut, deep in tactical discussions.
The air was slightly tense, somewhat anxious.
"...Kai, what do you think?" Arrivabene asked directly.
Instantly, all eyes focused on that single figure. Just like those reporters, everyone couldn't help but look to Kai for cues.
~~----------------------
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