Chaos. Turbulence. Roaring sound.
Dizziness.
The world began to blur and distort as his inner ear struggled to cope with the simulated forces. And yet, Kai only grew calmer, becoming completely immersed.
He was lost in the moment, forgetting the trial, forgetting Maranello, forgetting everyone else in the room.
Right here, right now, in the cockpit of the simulator, there was only him.
This wasn't about passing a test or proving himself. It was about the pure joy of driving, of exploring the car and the track. It was only ever about the racing. It was like a complex math problem had been placed before him, and he was eagerly, methodically, beginning to solve it at his own pace.
Monfardini's expression had returned to a professional calm. A rookie was a rookie. The little incident at the start now seemed like a lucky fluke. After that one spectacular save, the kid had become as tame as a declawed cat, no different from any other beginner.
That flash of brilliance had just been an accident.
Inwardly, Monfardini glanced at Todt. People always said Todt's eye for talent was unerring, and he had always believed it. But was it possible that Todt was getting older? That with age, his once-legendary instincts had begun to dull?
He said nothing, returning his gaze to the screen, maintaining his professionalism and carrying out his duties.
And yet…
Slowly, gradually, Monfardini's expert eye began to notice a change. Things were starting to get interesting.
Kai was constantly testing, constantly probing. His driving seemed chaotic, a series of random, lurching movements. But out of that chaos, he was somehow finding a pattern, a logic.
Without realizing it, Monfardini's heart began to beat faster. Bit by bit, he became completely engrossed, eagerly joining in on the process of solving this mathematical puzzle.
It was as if they were at a real racetrack. The simulator roared, and though there was no wind, you could almost feel the air itself begin to vibrate.
Kai was in a state of total concentration, his entire being absorbed by the simulation.
On the surface, his actions were erratic—sometimes aggressive, sometimes hesitant, the rhythm constantly shifting. He seemed to have no plan at all.
But Monfardini was beginning to see the method in the madness. This wasn't reckless driving. This was a test. More than that, it was a deconstruction.
This was a driver using his most primal instincts and senses to dissect the operational logic of an unfamiliar machine. He didn't care about lap times; he wasn't even looking at the clock. He was immersing himself in his mistakes, even intentionally creating problems to find their solutions.
"Is he… trial-and-erroring?" Leclerc frowned. The words left his mouth, but he still couldn't believe his own judgment.
Why would anyone do that?
Monfardini didn't answer, just gave Leclerc a knowing look.
This crop of drivers in the Ferrari Academy was full of promising talent. Every single one of them was gifted. But their understanding of racing was too standard, too textbook.
Perhaps, he thought, they could all learn something from this outsider.
Monfardini glanced toward the entrance, briefly considering whether he should call the other academy drivers over. After a moment, he decided against it.
He could see that Kai was in the middle of solving a problem—a math problem with no standard answer.
One lap, one mistake. One lap, one solution.
Understeer, oversteer, late braking, early throttle, sliding, locking up…
Normally, a rookie would drive cautiously, trying to avoid mistakes and hide their weaknesses. But Kai was doing the exact opposite. He had no fear of looking foolish. He was using his errors to build a mental map that was uniquely his own, like exploring a new level in a video game.
Every mistake, every deviation, was a coordinate. When connected, they would form a blueprint in his mind.
There's a saying: you might forget the questions you get right, but you'll remember the ones you get wrong for the rest of your life.
That's what Kai was doing.
But theory was one thing. The real question was…
What kind of madman would dare to try something like this during a once-in-a-lifetime trial opportunity with Ferrari?
Monfardini had no answer.
Inside the simulator, Kai was having the time of his life.
This wasn't a trial. It was an adventure, an exploration. A journey that was all his.
As his test continued, his mistakes began to decrease. His turn-in points became earlier, his corner exits smoother. The tires were no longer screaming in protest but were gently kissing the tarmac. He wasn't conquering the machine with brute force; he was making it an extension of his own body, and they were dancing together.
Lap ten. Turn four.
It was a classic technical corner with a narrow inside line and a blind exit—the place where all rookies made mistakes.
But Kai didn't choose the traditional braking point. Instead, he…
Delayed.
He pushed the car deep into the corner's narrowest margin for error.
Leclerc's fingers and toes twitched as if he were in the simulator himself. He instantly recognized that Kai had braked too late. His heart leaped into his throat as he reflexively imagined the corrections he would make.
The simulator rig shook violently.
The rear of the car slid out for a split second, but in the next, Kai had already shifted his body weight in anticipation. A slight flick of counter-steer, a gentle application of the throttle, and the tail swung out at a precise angle before being instantly pulled back in line. The virtual car on the screen seemed to be perfectly in sync with Kai's body.
The slide was a transition, not a loss of control.
A perfect entry, a perfect exit.
Monfardini sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide. He had to use all his willpower to stop himself from physically leaning forward.
So, was this just luck again?
No. It wasn't.
Kai hadn't panicked. It was all part of his plan.
He had been waiting for it. He knew the tail would step out, and he had already prepared for it. He was using his own intuition to solve Turn 4.
It was pure instinct.
Starting from zero, in just ten laps, Kai had already grasped the fundamental logic of the steering and throttle. More importantly, his understanding of the car's spatial awareness and dynamic balance was rapidly becoming clearer, more vivid.
Monfardini had a feeling that the kid was about to start pushing for speed.
And yet…
He was wrong.
Kai didn't start gunning for a fast lap. He didn't recklessly push the car. Instead, he entered a kind of meditative rhythm.
He wasn't in a hurry to find the limit. It wasn't because he couldn't, but because he was developing his own unique way of approaching it.
His throttle inputs were no longer sharp, but delicate, like a musician fine-tuning a note. His steering inputs were no longer wild, but precise, as if he were painting the perfect racing line onto the track.
What was unfolding before them was like witnessing Beethoven compose his Ninth Symphony.
From a blank page, a chaos of seemingly random scribbles and notes began to connect, bit by bit, until they transformed into a magnificent masterpiece.
They were witnessing the construction of a skyscraper from flat ground, a sight so profound and awe-inspiring it resonated deep within their souls.
Lap fourteen.
Just before entering the high-speed S-curve, without any warning, Kai lifted off the throttle half a beat early.
There was no data to tell him to do this, no warning from the simulator. It was pure instinct. By lifting off fractionally early, the car's center of gravity would shift forward, generating extra front-end downforce and allowing for a more precise turn-in.
It was a decision born entirely from the feeling of the car and the track, a direct communication between man and machine.