Gowns rustled, diamonds sparkled, and the spotlight shone down on Monaco's grandest stage.
Yet, the "lost lamb" who had arrived late showed not a hint of nervousness. From the moment he stepped out, he effortlessly commanded the room.
The F1TV cameraman sensed the shift immediately. The live feed locked onto the young man—still drenched in sweat, face flushed with exertion, but radiating an unstoppable energy.
Wide shot. Medium shot. Close-up. The lens zoomed in, step by step, like Icarus flying toward the sun.
Kai, lost in the moment, suddenly realized how close the camera was. He turned his head sharply—
Eye contact.
You look at me, I look at you. A brief pause. The cameraman froze, captivated, losing his professional detachment for a split second. Then, he saw a brilliant, youthful smile bloom on Kai's face as he looked directly into the lens.
"Sorry to disappoint you."
One sentence. Casual, almost throwaway. But it hit like a hammer.
One stone, a thousand ripples!
Boom!
Instantly, the media center and social media exploded. Everyone knew who he was talking to. This was Kai's direct response to the critics.
The trolls who had salivated at the prospect of a third consecutive failure, hoping to see him sink further into the mire, were in for a miserable weekend.
It wasn't a provocation; it was a proclamation. It wasn't a counterattack; it was a manifesto. In Monaco, the most unique race of the year, Kai had announced his arrival with a flawless performance. He had staked his claim in the paddock.
He came to win!
Cheers erupted. Worship began!
Watching from his TV screen, Lorenzo Moretti saw the transformation. Kai had evolved from an intruder enjoying the ride into a predator hunting for championships. A new, fierce fighting spirit was emerging.
The haters would never know what they had awakened in Monaco.
Rosanna Stapleton couldn't hold back anymore. She threw her arms up and screamed until her throat was raw, releasing all the pent-up passion in her chest. Her thunderous cheer ignited the crowd around the Golden Terrace, and the fire spread throughout Monaco—
"Baby!"
"Baby!"
The earth-shaking chants pushed the atmosphere to its peak. Amidst the clamor, Kai ascended the top step of the podium. The national anthem played over the skies of Monaco.
Grand. Stirring. Emotional.
The crowd witnessed the coronation.
After the ceremony, amidst the chaos and jubilation, Jock Clear, Laurent Mekies, and the rest of the team surrounded Kai, shepherding him toward the pool area opposite the Golden Terrace.
Kai, caught in the whirlwind, looked skeptical. "Wait, seriously? Is this a prank?"
Clear looked dead serious. "Usually, you're the one pranking us. Now that it's finally our turn, shouldn't you play along?"
In Monaco, jumping into the pool is a traditional celebration for the winner, though not mandatory.
Before Kai could protest, he was at the pool's edge.
Looking up, he saw the balcony packed. Photographers, film crews, and the entire Ferrari garage were crammed in, holding champagne bottles aloft, chanting low and rhythmic—
A bunch of troublemakers.
Someone had even dragged Maurizio Arrivabene up there.
The Team Principal stood stiffly, his expression serious, looking out of place in the raucous atmosphere. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed by Kai's insubordination with "Plan E" or disappointed that Vettel hadn't capitalized on Ricciardo's failure.
Probably both.
A thought flashed through Kai's mind. He stopped protesting. It was just a jump into the water. No difficulty there. He started hyping up the crowd, clapping his hands over his head like a high jumper asking for rhythm.
"Come on, give me some space! I'll do a flip!"
The crowd roared, whistles blowing.
Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!
Kai took two steps back, exaggerating his warm-up, rolling his wrists and ankles. Out of the corner of his eye, he was tracking Arrivabene.
Then—launch! He stepped forward, grabbed Arrivabene's right hand, and shouted, "Boss, let's party!"
Arrivabene: ?
You could see the shock on Arrivabene's face, the horror on Mekies', the schadenfreude on Clear's, and the sheer terror on Greenwood's. It was a freeze-frame moment worthy of a "To Be Continued" screen.
Game over!
Arrivabene couldn't resist the momentum. He stumbled two steps and plunged into the blue water.
Splash!
The sound was incredibly loud. The entire pool deck froze. The cheers died in throats. People stared, mouths open, looking at each other in disbelief.
Next second, Kai used his momentum. Like a diver, he performed a perfect front flip over Arrivabene's head.
Crowd: Gasp!
Collective shock.
A 360-degree flip. Splash! He hit the water!
Spray everywhere! The spell broke, and the cheers exploded!
Jock Clear took a half-step back, trying to push Mekies in, but Mekies was ready and grabbed Clear.
One by one, like frogs, they jumped. Splash, splash, splash.
Kai surfaced, wiped the water from his eyes, and scanned the crowd. He found his target, climbed out, snuck up behind him, and shoved hard—
Francesco Napi, completely unprepared, toppled into the pool. Everyone nearby started splashing him, blurring his vision.
Kai jumped back in, swam over, and patted Napi's shoulder. "Don't stay down. Next race, I need you focused."
Napi was speechless.
Kai grinned. "We are a team. We face difficulties together, we embrace victory together. Your mistake is our mistake."
"But try to avoid it next time, yeah? Do you know how hard I had to drive out there?"
At the joke, everyone started splashing Napi again, yelling "Punishment!", and Napi's guilt was washed away in the laughter.
Mekies watched this scene with admiration.
Kai had an aura. He could bind a team together, twisting them into a single rope. It was leadership, visible in the smallest gestures.
Even while celebrating, Kai was looking ahead.
At Mekies' signal, the entire engineering team jumped in. They crammed together in the water for a group photo.
It was an unforgettable weekend.
Then, Kai found Arrivabene. The Team Principal had relaxed slightly, his expression less severe.
But seeing Kai, the fire in Arrivabene's eyes rekindled. "You know, no one has ever dared to push me into a pool."
His voice was cold enough to freeze the water.
Arrivabene stared straight at Kai. He radiated authority naturally.
He hadn't figured out how to handle the insubordination yet, and now Kai was challenging his authority publicly?
Amidst the joy, Arrivabene's low pressure system returned.
Kai looked relaxed. "There's a first time for everything. It's my honor to be the first. Should we look forward to a second and third time?"
Arrivabene narrowed his eyes, disbelieving. "Are you joking? Do you know what happened in the race today?"
Obviously, a pool wasn't the place for a debrief, but Kai's attitude provoked him.
It was a rare loss of composure.
Mekies noticed the tension immediately. He had panicked when Kai dragged Arrivabene in—no one treated "The Iron Mauri" like that.
Kai was in trouble!
Mekies prayed Arrivabene would keep his cool in public. But seeing the boss lose control, Mekies rushed over to mediate before a public argument broke out.
He wasn't fast enough.
Kai met Arrivabene's gaze squarely. "I know. I won."
Arrivabene choked.
Kai didn't flinch. "If I had to do it again, I'd make the same choice."
Double meaning. The victory, and the disobedience.
Before Arrivabene could explode, Kai took the lead. "Boss, do you want victory? Or do you want Vettel's victory?"
The words were on the tip of Arrivabene's tongue, but Kai forced them back. He refused to yield. "That isn't for you to worry about..."
"Of course," Kai cut him off. "My job is to drive. I finished my job. So, I want to celebrate with my team."
He paused. "Including my Team Principal."
Neither humble nor arrogant, just open and candid. The strength radiating from Kai forced Arrivabene's cluttered thoughts to recede.
Arrivabene trusted Vettel, backed him unconditionally, not because he liked him—their relationship wasn't actually that warm—but because he believed Vettel was Ferrari's best hope. The team couldn't be divided.
But now?
Maybe he should give this kid a little more trust?
Kai flashed a big smile, dissolving the tension instantly. He shouted, "Monaco!"
Mekies, watching closely, let out a breath and quickly raised his arms, covering the moment before the press noticed.
Next second, everyone in and out of the pool raised their hands and shouted in unison, "CHAMPION!"
Kai looked at Arrivabene, smiled, then turned to high-five Mekies and rejoined the party.
Arrivabene's gaze lingered on Kai. He watched him high-five every single mechanic. Vettel or Raikkonen would never do that. But this vibrant young man was knitting the team together.
For the first time, Arrivabene wavered. Was he trapped by his own pride and prejudice?
Passion burned in the air.
It lasted until nightfall!
Lights came on, illuminating the homes of Monaco. The carnival atmosphere lingered in the streets.
Six races down in 2018. Kai joined Hamilton as a two-time winner. A scenario no one predicted a week ago.
Even the most die-hard Tifosi had only hoped for a rebound.
But a win?
That was a surprise!
Especially in Monaco, where Red Bull had been dominant. Kai had beaten the best car with an inferior one, performing a miracle. The Tifosi were ecstatic.
Ferrari was back in the fight.
Championship Standings:
Hamilton: 104 ptsKai: 86 pts (tied for 2nd)Vettel: 86 pts (tied for 2nd)Bottas: 68 pts
Constructors:
Ferrari: 172 ptsMercedes: 172 pts
Dead heat.
For the Tifosi, Ferrari's resilience was the real victory. Unlike last year's collapse, they had bounced back.
The neutral fans were happy too. The "Big Three" battle was intense. Midfield fights were fierce. Even Williams... well, Williams was there.
Hoo hoo hoo! Ahhh!
Fans celebrated the weekend.
Rosanna Stapleton was trapped in the crowd, trying to spot Kai. She failed, but then she saw the Scottish fans with "44" on their faces.
She ran over, hands high.
"THE BABY DRIVER HAS ARRIVED!"
Groans ensued. Rosanna beamed. Rubbing salt in the wound felt great!
But where was the star of the night?
"Champion! Champion!"
"Drive of the season!"
"Kai! Kai! Kai!"
Cheers followed a young figure skateboarding through the streets.
It was the King of Monaco, Kai.
Locals knew he lived here now. It was a home win of sorts. They cheered him on.
Kai smiled back, gliding through the heat.
He wasn't stopping. He was chasing Leclerc.
After the race, Leclerc had congratulated him, then disappeared after his media duties.
Kai was worried. He knew the pain of a home race disaster.
Up ahead, a small group turned to look at him.
A five-year-old boy broke free from his father's hand, running into the street, arms raised, face glowing.
"Number 22!"
His voice was lost in the noise, his eyes only on Kai.
But Kai saw a car coming from the other direction. Traffic was chaos post-race.
Kai's face went pale. "Watch out!"
He kicked the skateboard, accelerating, waving his arms at the car, shouting, "Brake! Brake!"
He slid sideways, scooping the kid up, and carried him to the other side of the road—
Safe!
Other people rushed out too, waving the Bentley down. The driver stopped, looking shaken.
"Is everything okay?"
A close call.
Applause erupted.
Kai ignored it. He loosened his grip, looking at the child. In his limited French: "Are you okay?"
The boy wasn't scared. He stared at Kai with wide eyes.
Then, he held up one finger. "Champion!"
Kai: ...
"Haha." Kai laughed. "Champion!"
Jan Plas fell to his knees, hugging his son, unable to speak.
Another figure slammed into Kai.
Kai fell back onto his butt, holding the little one tight to cushion the impact.
Maria Plas gasped. "Oh God!"
Kai thought she was worried about the kid. "He's fine! He's fine!"
"Kai, are you okay? What happened?" Leclerc arrived on his skateboard, breathless.
Kai sat up. "Charles, I need a translator. Tell them the kids are fine."
Leclerc: "What about you?"
Kai: "I'm fine."
Chaos subsided. The Bentley moved on.
Maria apologized profusely. Leclerc translated: "She says her son loves you. It's his first F1 race. He tried to get your autograph but couldn't get close. He saw you and lost control."
Kai waved it off. He squatted down to eye level with the kids.
He took off his cap and jacket. Borrowed a marker. Asked their names. Signed the items.
Put the cap on the younger one (Rocco). Draped the jacket over the older one (Marco).
"Marco. Rocco."
"Merci. See you tomorrow?"
Kai looked at Leclerc.
Leclerc smiled. "See you next year. He hopes to see you next year."
Kai patted their heads. "Sorry for my French. I'll keep working on it."
The Plas family stood in a daze as Kai and Leclerc skated away.
"Mom! Look! Number 22's autograph!"
Maria looked at Jan. He was staring at the sunset, hiding his tears.
Maria smiled. It felt like a dream. Kai had descended like a superhero to light up their lives.
The sunset was brilliant orange. Hope remained.
"...Thanks for the help! Without you, I'd be lost. My Italian isn't perfect, now I need French. After exams, I need lessons."
Kai patted Leclerc's shoulder. "So, how are you feeling? Or do you want to be alone?"
Leclerc gasped. "So direct? No warmup? Comfort or secondary damage?"
Kai was serious. "Want me to try again? Politely?"
"Fuck off!" Leclerc swore in French.
Kai smirked. "Hiding it doesn't make it better."
"Trust me, I know how it feels. Pascal and your brothers are worried about you."
Leclerc's home race had been a nightmare. The crash on lap 72 destroyed a potential points finish.
Which is worse? Almost winning (Shanghai) or almost scoring points at home (Monaco)?
Both suck.
Leclerc skated on. He had left the garage because his head was exploding.
Finally, he spoke. "I hate it."
"I hate this feeling. I gave everything. I left my soul on the track. And it failed me. Did I fail Dad? Or did racing fail me?"
"I question every choice. Was I too aggressive with Hartley? My braking point? My line? Do I really know this track?"
He stopped, shouting not at Kai, but at himself.
"Jesus Christ, am I even cut out for F1?"
He couldn't tell his mom this.
Kai listened.
When Leclerc finished, Kai shrugged. "I know. It's not easy, right?"
Silence.
Leclerc: "And?"
Kai: "And what?"
Leclerc: "Aren't you going to give me chicken soup for the soul? Tell me to keep fighting?"
Kai: "No. You know my philosophy. Life has infinite possibilities. Don't hang yourself on one tree. Maybe you stop racing and become an astronaut. Or a singer."
Leclerc: "No. You don't want to hear me sing."
"Hahaha." Kai laughed.
Leclerc: "Are you telling me to quit?"
Kai: "If I told you to quit, would you?"
Leclerc choked.
Kai stopped smiling. "We know it's hard. Herve, Lolo, my dad... they all tried and failed. Arthur is struggling too."
"Even the guys in the paddock—Max, Daniel, Pierre, Lewis, Seb. They all chase the ghost of Senna and Schumacher. It's not easy."
"We chose this path because it's hard. We challenge limits."
"Frustration is inevitable. What matters is the response."
"So, Charles. What is your response?"
Calm. Confident. Just like back in the Academy.
Leclerc looked at Kai. His turmoil settled. He smiled. "Are you waiting for me to worship you? Back-to-back DNFs, then a Monaco win?"
"Thanks, Charles. You're a good friend." Kai patted his shoulder, feigning modesty.
Leclerc: "Wow. You're just rubbing salt in the wound, aren't you?"
Kai nodded gravely. "Charles, work hard. Trust me, one day, you too can stand on the Monaco podium." He made a "fighting" fist gesture.
Then he skated away.
Leaving Leclerc standing there, dumbfounded.
Wait... did I just get played?