A grab. A grapple.
Kai hadn't expected his subconscious reflex to actually catch something. He was startled. In his grasp was a hairy arm, neither gentle nor beautiful.
Kai's eyes met the woman in the black dress head-on. Her pretty face was radiating a blooming smile, seemingly entirely unaware of the crisis.
The moment their eyes met, she offered a sly, charming grin and purposefully fell backward, crashing into Kai's arms. A captivating perfume wafted over him. But at that exact moment, she used her body weight to bear down on him, intending to use brute force to break his balance and catch him off guard.
Crap!
It all happened in a flash. Kai was caught in a pincer attack.
Decisive action!
Kai didn't hesitate. He went with her momentum and fell backward. Not only did this nullify the woman's weight, but he used his own body weight to crush the person behind him. Keeping a death grip on the hand reaching into his pocket, he dropped like a stone, using gravity and his mass to slam the person into the ground.
Then, with a hard yank and twist of his right hand, he dropped to one knee, spinning counter-clockwise. He twisted the captured arm like a pretzel, applying force until it bent unnaturally.
"Ahhh!"
The owner of the hairy arm let out a bloodcurdling scream, writhing and rolling on the ground, desperately trying to break free.
Kai only had time to shout, "Pierre! Charles!"
Gasly: ...Huh?
Leclerc blinked, completely confused. He instinctively yelled, "Help! Help!"
He shouted twice in Spanish before realizing the surrounding crowd was staring at him coldly. Only then did he remember Brazil speaks Portuguese. Those disgusted looks were a protest.
In that brief moment, a dark figure lunged at Kai from a diagonal angle in a tackling posture, looking ready for mutual destruction.
Kai instantly went on alert. He sidestepped, dodging the attack, and the dark figure flew past him.
But simultaneously, Kai let go, unable to maintain his grip on the hairy arm. "Damn it!"
As the words left his mouth, the hairy arm, the dark figure, and the black dress quickly scrambled up. They bolted in three different directions, disappearing into the sea of people in the blink of an eye.
Clearly, they were professionals.
Only then did Leclerc and Gasly finally snap back to reality. "Kai, what happened? Are you okay?"
Leclerc looked him up and down with deep concern. This was the most critical moment of the World Championship battle. If Kai got hurt...
The consequences would be unimaginable.
Kai dusted off his hands. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
He checked himself over; indeed, he was fine. Not even a scrape.
Gasly was dumbfounded. "What just happened?"
Kai looked at him, utterly exasperated, and couldn't help but laugh helplessly. "Pickpockets. Pierre, haven't you figured it out yet? Don't you need to check your backpack? Charles, you should check too."
The woman in the black dress was the distraction, the hairy arm was the thief, and the dark figure was the lookout and muscle.
Division of labor, comprehensive planning, and clear escape routes. These weren't petty, amateur thieves.
Perhaps they had targeted these three rookies from the start, clearly sensing they hadn't experienced the flavor of the Brazilian streets. Just look at Gasly now.
"What? Pickpockets?!" Gasly hurriedly swung his backpack around. Sure enough, there was a neat slit cut into the back. "My wallet!"
Leclerc also looked distressed, pulling at his jeans pocket—
A skylight had been opened.
"Charles, did you lose anything?" Kai asked.
Leclerc waved his hand. He hadn't brought a bag today, traveling light. His phone and keys were in his hands. The only thing in his pocket was a pack of candies.
"Just the pocket..." Leclerc pulled at the torn fabric, looking speechless.
Kai laughed heartlessly. "Fashion, Charles. Fashion!"
Leclerc rolled his eyes. "These are skinny jeans. Ripped skinny jeans aren't fashion."
Kai casually roasted him. "Relax, skinny jeans were never fashion to begin with."
Leclerc shot him a look of absolute despair.
Next to them, a wail erupted from Gasly—
It wasn't just his wallet. His paddock pass and phone were all gone.
In just a short while, the news of the three rookie drivers' authentic São Paulo experience had spread throughout the entire paddock.
Ricciardo wasn't surprised. This was just petty theft. He recounted stories of thieves breaking into hotel rooms, or smashing car windows for armed robbery in broad daylight. Almost every driver had experienced something similar. They had complained to the FIA and local police countless times.
Actually, it was much better now than it used to be.
"Are you guys okay? As long as you're not hurt, that's what matters. Pierre has to file a police report, but don't get your hopes up. Getting it back is basically impossible."
It wasn't just Ricciardo. When Kai faced the reporters, the first wave of questions was all about the incident.
However, the version of events was slightly different.
In the blink of an eye, Kai had morphed into a "Chinese Kung Fu Master." Phrases like "outsmarting thieves," "grappling techniques," and "saving fans fighting one against three" were thrown around.
The stories got more and more absurd, leaving Kai dumbfounded. "While I don't mind being painted as Spider-Man, I have to clarify: not every Chinese person knows Kung Fu. Let's not tarnish our profound martial arts with my flashy but useless moves, otherwise, challengers will come knocking, and that would be terrible."
"After all, we play with steering wheels, not fists, right?"
As he spoke, he rolled his wrists and ankles, putting on the act of a master itching for a fight. It successfully made the reporters roar with laughter.
Then, the real questions came—
"Kai, will this incident affect your race weekend? Has your mindset fluctuated?"
"With the upcoming qualifying and race potentially deciding the championship, are you ready for the challenge?"
"Do you think Mercedes and Red Bull will seize these opportunities to gain an advantage? Do you feel their aggressive, suffocating pressure, like a dagger against your back?"
The undertones of every question were designed to unsettle Kai, plucking at his nerves. The subtext seemed to imply a dark conspiracy behind the pickpockets.
Taking it a step further into darkness: maybe the thieves' goal wasn't theft, but to physically harm Kai.
Finally, the paddock was revealing its true, distorted, and vicious face to Kai, holding nothing back.
Everything could be a conspiracy. Even a minor incident was twisted into a tool to spread rumors, confuse the public, and create distractions and talking points at every turn.
Kai wasn't angry. Not only was he not angry, but the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. He looked toward the source of the voice. "I'm not sure. Why don't you tell me?"
Ah, of course! Seeing the familiar figure, Kai's eyes lit up, his words becoming even more unhurried.
"As far as I know, all of you seem to know my psychological state, my physical condition, and my race preparations better than I do. The absolute certainty in your social media posts makes it seem like you've seen the absolute truth. Even I, the person involved, have to read those posts to have an epiphany and think, 'Oh, so that's how it is'."
"..."
"So, why don't you tell me how much pressure I'm under? Am I on the verge of a breakdown? When am I planning to hit the wall or cause a pile-up this weekend? Oh, right, and do I need to talk to a psychologist to resolve my childhood trauma?"
"I am open to all possibilities and willing to accept all suggestions."
"Look, I'm just a rookie. I don't know anything. I know even less about fighting for a World Championship. I have absolutely no idea what to do or how to prepare at a juncture like this. I guess this is where experience comes in. Why don't you paddock veterans teach me a thing or two?"
"I'm standing right here, all ears, waiting for some professional insight."
Calm, composed, modest, polite.
Everything seemed normal. Kai was still the familiar Kai, a slight smile on his lips, remaining steady and composed in the face of any storm. From the track to the paddock, the championship aura this baby driver had displayed all season was undoubtedly a beautiful sight.
However, it was this very Kai whose unhurried, neither haughty nor humble words wove a tight, suffocating net beneath a placid surface. It rushed aggressively forward. Before they even realized it, they were cornered, with nowhere to run, and that smiling face suddenly looked terrifying.
The pressure crashed down layer by layer, almost suffocating Will Buxton.
In an interview, the reporter is supposed to be the hunter, and the driver the prey. That's the correct dynamic. But why had the roles been reversed?
Buxton stood his ground, refusing to cooperate. "I am asking the questions right now. You should answer them."
"Oh, sorry." Kai smiled, looking genuinely apologetic. "It's just that I often see news published by you guys without a single quote from me. So I assumed you could write your reports without me. It seems I misunderstood journalists."
Buxton: ...
Endure! Endure! Endure!
Buxton deliberately ignored the sarcasm and jumped straight to the conclusion. "It seems those incidents haven't affected you."
Kai spread his hands, looking helpless. "If you say it hasn't affected me, then it probably really hasn't." The reporter was making up answers for him again.
Buxton froze. He could clearly hear the rustling and stifled laughter from his peers around him. "I mean, you look to be in good shape right now."
Kai put on an expression of serious study. "So you already had the answers before the interview started, right? If Kai looks nervous, sweating, and stiff-faced, he must be troubled by pressure. Or, if Kai looks relaxed, resigned to fate, and ready to surrender, he must have given up the fight..."
"Stop!" Buxton refused to be pushed further into a passive position. "I understand your point, but you must understand us. You refuse interviews, so we have to interpret the paddock from the audience's perspective."
Kai spread his hands magnanimously. "Then just continue interpreting. I think you are excellent at your jobs. Why waste time and energy interviewing me? After all, my answers might not be the result you want."
With that, Kai looked around, nodded politely, turned, and gracefully walked away.
Finally, someone in the crowd snapped back to reality and shouted, "Kai, what is your goal this week in Brazil?"
Kai didn't turn around. He just dropped a single word that floated back on the breeze.
"Victory."
That was all.
Pressure. The omnipresent pressure continued to skyrocket.
Not just because of the life-and-death championship battle between Mercedes and Ferrari, but also because of the intense discussions surrounding driver seats within both teams.
The fates of Bottas, Vettel, and Kai were all undecided.
Of course, it was absolutely impossible for there to be no inclinations, discussions, or power struggles within the teams. Various rumors were endless.
Some rumors said Vettel was planning to leave Ferrari, and his negotiations with Mercedes had reached the specific contract clauses. Bottas would be the sacrificial lamb.
Other rumors said Ferrari was trying to keep Vettel, but his demands, aside from salary, included replacing Kai.
Still other rumors said Ferrari was preparing to build a brand new team around Kai.
Rumors about Red Bull and McLaren pursuing Kai were also rampant, described with vivid detail. Especially McLaren: Zak Brown had already confirmed Alonso would retire at the end of the season, so he was now freeing his hands to build a driver lineup according to his own wishes.
Anyway, the rumors were escalating wildly and wouldn't stop. Coupled with the intensity of the championship fight, all the media were hyped up on adrenaline.
The pressure inside and outside the track continued to rise. The paddock was now a pressure cooker.
The media was incredibly annoying, creating trouble everywhere. Even the most trivial matters could become excuses to make a fuss. Kai had had enough.
So, he chose to counter-attack in this manner.
Buxton stood dumbfounded for a moment. Although he had many, many curses he wanted to unleash, he ultimately swallowed them all and just whispered one sentence.
"Hamilton is the champion."
Then, he turned and left. Although they couldn't find a breakthrough with Kai, the reporters found their explosive quotes with other drivers.
"If I have to slit my opponent's throat to reach the top and win the championship, I'm ready to do it." Hamilton dropped his championship declaration in a lighthearted manner. His gentle tone, as if discussing the weekend weather, clearly showed the defending champion had completed his mental preparation.
Instantly, social media exploded.
"Lewis, go easy on the baby!"
"Oh no, the baby is probably going to cry from fear now. What about his nightmares tonight?"
"Run, baby, run! Lewis is coming!"
All sorts of jokes and teasing spread like wildfire. Like a serial killer preparing for a massacre, not even sparing a baby.
People believed Hamilton meant what he said. In the 2016 season, Nico Rosberg had defeated Hamilton for the championship in exactly this manner. That marked the complete severing of ties between Hamilton and his childhood friend who had grown up and fought alongside him. To this day, the two refuse to speak. Hamilton had truly evolved into an iron-blooded god of war.
So, when Hamilton said he was ready, netizens genuinely believed he would show no mercy. Even facing a rookie, even if he had to make Kai experience the heartbreak he once felt in his own rookie season, even if he had to personally shatter Kai's dream of writing history—he wouldn't hesitate for a second.
These remarks were adding fuel to the fire. Although Kai hadn't satisfied the reporters' desires, Hamilton's cooperation allowed them to succeed.
The new vs. old duel of "Hamilton vs. Kai" had fully entered the phase of close-quarters, bayonet-to-bayonet combat.
Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to oneself.
However, amidst this rolling heatwave, others who had long lost hope for the Drivers' World Championship were not content to be lonely and tried to crash the party.
"Yes. I will do my best. From qualifying to the race, I will do everything I can to win the Brazilian Grand Prix," Verstappen said in an interview.
"I have nothing to lose, but they do."
That casual tone revealed the threat of someone with nothing to lose facing those who have everything at stake, making people shudder.
Did anyone still remember the "Torpedo" threat?
If Verstappen really just put his head down and crashed, causing someone to retire or triggering a pile-up, he could truly rewrite the 2018 championship outcome single-handedly.
Such things had happened more than once in F1 history. Senna had done it; Schumacher had done it. To fight for a championship, one had to show a ruthless, do-or-die bloodlust.
With Verstappen's reminder, other drivers in the paddock were instantly pushed to the forefront, standing under the spotlight.
Especially guys like Grosjean, Magnussen, Stroll, and Hartley, who often caused crashes. A Hamilton ready for a massacre was tricky enough, but add a group of guys recklessly driving bumper cars, and the track could turn into an absolute mess.
Was Kai really ready?
Who knows? Perhaps history was held in the hands of these guys "outside the spotlight."
Now, things were getting exciting.
"P2. Kai, P2."
Pierre's voice came over the radio, reminding Kai of his position after the first flying lap in Q3. He was temporarily behind Hamilton in second place.
"Gap?" Kai asked immediately.
"0.073," Pierre said.
"Pierre, where can I improve?" Kai was clearly unsatisfied with this position. He had one more flying lap. He—
Had to give it his all.
Pierre felt a throb in his temples. He took a deep breath. "Kai, your performance was already perfect." He paused and added, "Sorry."
That was the truth.
On the first flying lap of Q3, Kai's performance was flawless. Yet, he still trailed Hamilton.
To be precise, it was Ferrari trailing Mercedes.
The Brazilian Grand Prix had kicked off, and all eyes were focused on the championship battle. The 2018 season couldn't be more exciting.
Reality proved this point once again.
Mercedes' performance in the three Free Practice sessions was excellent, displaying the dominance of the defending champions. They were ready for any situation.
Ferrari, however, looked slightly struggling. They couldn't establish an advantage over an aggressive Red Bull, and both teams were slightly inferior to Mercedes.
The difference in car performance was becoming a chasm in front of the drivers. This is F1. If the car isn't good enough, the driver is powerless. Even if Senna were reborn or Schumacher were in his prime, they would be equally helpless. A driver's ability and talent must rely on an excellent car.
This was also the fundamental reason why Mercedes had been able to dominate the paddock for four consecutive years. Hamilton might be excellent, but the real key was a car that was far ahead of the rest of the field. This season, the pressure Ferrari put on Mercedes had reached the limit. However, at the decisive moment determining the championship, Ferrari's old problems resurfaced, and the Mercedes car had already secured an advantageous position.
Moreover, Interlagos seemed to side with Mercedes. At this critical moment in the championship sprint, God seemed to show favoritism—
Dark clouds gathered, strong winds blew, and a rainstorm was imminent.
Qualifying started under these weather conditions. From the beginning, it was gray and dark. Thick cumulonimbus clouds hung right overhead, seeming touchable just by raising a hand. During Q2, light rain even fell on parts of the track, acting as a disruptive factor.
Under these circumstances, the drivers had to race against time and the rain. Once the heavy rain fell, the lap times on wet tires could never beat those on dry tires. In other words, drivers who set a time on dry tires early could lock in the top positions before the rain.
Every second counted!
Because of this, the pit lane was racing against the clock.
Vettel was also unusually impatient. After Q2 ended, before Q3 began, the FIA required Vettel to wait in a designated area in the pit lane. But Vettel desperately wanted to return to the garage to change tires. Sitting in the cockpit, he kept gesturing to the FIA officials, like driving a donkey, "Quick, quick, quick!"
This interlude, along with Leclerc executing an extreme flying lap as the light rain started, setting a perfect time to scrape into Q3 in his Sauber, were undoubtedly the highlights of Q2. Leclerc proved his unparalleled talent for the 101st time this season, delivering a perfect answer sheet.
Fortunately, the light rain in Q2 didn't last long. The sun even tore through the dense rain clouds, cautiously poking its head out from a hole like a donut, casting a ray of golden sunlight that brightened the world like a divine light. This bought a brief window of respite for Q3, allowing the drivers to continue flying.
Just like at Hockenheim, in a hot and dry environment, the Ferrari car had a slight advantage. But under cold and damp conditions, Mercedes had the upper hand. The same was true here at Interlagos. Mercedes carried their Free Practice advantage into qualifying.
Just now, on the first flying lap of Q3, Kai had completed an unbelievable lap, squeezing the car's performance to the absolute limit. Everything was perfect. He surpassed Bottas, but still couldn't beat Hamilton. 0.073 seconds. Less than a tenth of a second, yet it felt like a chasm.
Furthermore, Hamilton still had a second flying lap. With the championship battle so intense, Kai believed Hamilton would burn his cosmos, firmly grasp every opportunity, and continue to defend his lead, continuously piling on invisible pressure.
So, what should they do? Admit defeat?
The car, the weather, the track—timing, geographical advantage, and human harmony all seemed to side with Hamilton. Perhaps it was the truth that they should start preparing for the race now. After all, Kai had launched attacks from non-pole positions more than once or twice this season, having the last laugh in the long-distance battles.
However, Kai didn't think so—
He didn't see "only half a glass of water left," but "there is still half a glass of water."
Ferrari's situation in Free Practice was indeed very, very bad. It wasn't a smokescreen. But they had found a temporary compromise. In qualifying, they closed the gap to Mercedes to within a tenth of a second. This was the closest they had been to Mercedes all weekend.
They needed to further challenge Mercedes' position. They needed to shake Wolff and Hamilton's confidence, seizing every opportunity.
Therefore, Pierre believed this was Ferrari's limit, but the corners of Kai's mouth curled up. "Pierre, there's still half a glass of water."
Pierre froze, a smile gently forming on his lips as he immediately understood Kai's meaning. "Sorry, my mistake." He immediately pulled himself together. "So, what do you need me to do?"
If they couldn't trust the car's performance right now, the only thing they could trust was the driver.
"A window. I need a clean window," Kai said. "The weather forecast doesn't look good. I'm guessing everyone will rush out to set a time. It might be chaotic. I need a clear window."
"Copy that," Pierre replied.
Finishing his first flying lap, Kai returned to the pits. He didn't rush back out onto the track. Instead, he sat in the cockpit, closed his eyes, and rested.
Kai completely emptied his mind, carefully capturing the roar of the engines, the noise of the crowd, the muggy heat of the air, and the damp oppressiveness of the approaching storm. He quieted down little by little, completely merging with his Number 22 car, seemingly able to feel the car's breathing and heartbeat.
As expected, traffic on the track was a mess—
Hamilton was suspected of a foul. He had entered his cool-down lap but hadn't cleared the racing line, causing Sauber's Leclerc, who was on a flying lap, to almost fly off the track. The two cars nearly collided.
The air instantly tightened. Ferrari, Red Bull, and Sauber immediately demanded the FIA penalize Hamilton with a grid drop. But clearly, Mercedes wouldn't allow that to happen, immediately protesting that it was an accident and Hamilton hadn't broken any rules.
Pierre secretly broke a sweat, trying to control his pounding heart and stay calm.
Pierre knew the FIA wouldn't touch Mercedes. Hamilton's foul would likely be ignored and wouldn't affect his starting position.
In other words, Ferrari still had to rely on themselves.
The track conditions remained terrible. Hamilton, Bottas, and Vettel had all started their second flying laps one after another. But Pierre didn't rush. Stretched to the limit, he became completely calm. His mind was crystal clear. He constantly monitored the track conditions and weather, holding his ground.
Seeing that the two Red Bulls had also taken to the track and were preparing to start their flying laps, Pierre finally gave the green light. Car 22 finally headed out.
The engine roared, like a beast growling, vibrating in his chest.
The air was damp and heavy, mixed with the smell of gasoline, rubber, and semi-damp, semi-dry dust, rolling in with a heatwave. The dense sea of people in the grandstands filled his vision. Their shouts turned into waves, crashing against the valley. The low-hanging clouds compressed the space at the end of his sight line, like a cage descending from the sky, firmly trapping everyone.
It felt like the end of the world.
Kai adjusted his breathing and heartbeat. Thump! Thump! Thump!
The engine: Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!
The rhythm was perfectly synchronized. The impacts from the track's undulations transmitted clearly through his arms and body. He felt completely fused with the car.
The paddock was noisy, reaching climax after climax.
Bottas finished his second flying lap first, successfully surpassing Kai, sitting just behind Hamilton. Mercedes locked out the front row!
Next, Hamilton crossed the line, living up to expectations by improving his fastest lap. With actual performance, he proved his determination for both World Championships: 1:07.281.
His second flying lap was incredibly an improvement over the first. Hamilton set an insurmountable new benchmark at Interlagos, waiting for challengers, completely turning this qualifying session into a battle against himself.
Cheers! Applause! Whistles!
Wolff beamed. The Mercedes garage raised their arms and cheered collectively, taking a solid step in the brutal, bayonet-to-bayonet championship battle, throwing all the pressure onto their rivals.
Mercedes' dominance during the Brazilian Grand Prix weekend was truly eye-catching. Now it was time to see how Ferrari and Red Bull responded.
"Sebastian Vettel!"
"An unbelievable lap! Vettel once again proves his high fighting spirit with a brilliant performance. Even though he's out of the running for the Drivers' World Championship this season, he remains one of the top drivers in the paddock!"
"Vettel surpasses Bottas, trailing Hamilton by a microscopic 0.063 seconds!"
"Just when Mercedes thought the Brazilian Grand Prix weekend would be their stage, Vettel lets out a roar! Never underestimate the heart of a champion!"
Vettel had truly burned all his energy. His fighting spirit had never been so vigorous, so high. Not just fighting for the Number 1 spot at Ferrari, but fighting for his career. While everyone's eyes were on Kai challenging Hamilton for the championship, this four-time World Champion was fighting for his life.
Right now, in extreme adversity, Vettel made his voice heard—
Roar!
The lion had never slept.
Hamilton, Vettel, Bottas—currently the top three. Mercedes' dream of locking out the front row was shattered. Now, only the two Red Bulls and Kai remained on track. The Brazilian Grand Prix qualifying entered its final sprint!
The qualifying clock entered the final 90 seconds. Other cars were slowly finishing their cool-down laps and returning to the pits. All eyes in the stadium focused on the last three cars entering their flying laps one by one.
Thin air, easterly wind. Temperature 31 degrees Celsius, humidity 78%.
Heavy rain seemed to be stirring on the horizon, approaching Interlagos step by step with the momentum of ten thousand stampeding horses and an earth-shattering force. The drivers on the track were battling their opponents and nature.
However, Kai was completely focused, unmoved, not worried about the rainstorm. Even if it poured, he would focus 100% on this upcoming lap, like racing against the Grim Reaper. He even forgot about Ricciardo and Verstappen flying behind him, forgot about the pit lane watching like a tiger watching its prey. He just focused on himself, completely immersed without any distractions.
At this moment, it wasn't about the championship or pole position. Kai just wanted to see his limit, to see if he could find an extra tenth of a second beyond the car's peak performance.
How interesting. How blood-boiling.
Exit corner, accelerate, enter the main straight.
Seventh gear, throttle pinned. 320 km/h. Speed pushed to the limit. Passing the start/finish line into Turns 1 and 2. This was the classic sweeping chicane known as the "Senna S." It not only severely tested driver technique but was also the first excellent overtaking spot at Interlagos.
Sector 1 only has three corners. This was Ferrari's strong suit. Navigating it smoothly by the book would be fine. But Kai didn't play by the rules—
Conservatism cannot break limits.
The corner rushed at his face. He didn't slow down.
He just tapped the brakes lightly, as if gently patting the car's shoulder, reminding it, "The sun is burning your butt, wake up."
The nose dove sharply. The front left tire bit the ground. The car's tail slid. Steering micro-adjusted, but not precisely on the ideal line. Instead, it was slightly understeered, not fully hugging the apex. He attacked Turn 1 with a rougher, more direct approach. The aggressive entry angle made it look like he was running wildly on the edge of a cliff, about to fall, but he relied on inertia and footwork to find a lifeline on the absolute limit.
The rear slid across the track in an arc of light. The smell of burning rubber rolled in the apocalyptic sunset. The heatwave surged, almost smelling of blood.
Right foot half lifted, then half pressed. Throttle control like plucking strings.
Light, agile, indescribably wonderful. The S-curve flowed like water in one breath.
The car turned into the second right-hander under his command. With reduced steering angle, the racing line that should have formed an S-shape now tucked in its bulging sides, leaving the Senna S behind in a much cleaner, sharper manner.
Dancing away.
The Senna S! Famous and renowned! The classic of classics at Interlagos. People have witnessed countless drivers passing through quickly with their own understanding and style. Kai was no exception, but undoubtedly, Kai's effortless performance was eye-opening. To pass so cleanly and concisely amidst the track's undulations and bumps—
Simplifying the complex, achieving greatness through lack of artifice.
However, before he could exhale, the left-hand Turn 3 was right there.
Before one wave settled, another attacked.
At the apex, the wind surged. The thick layers of dark clouds looked ready to collapse at any moment. The tire temperature was rising rapidly. Drivers usually needed to control it to avoid sliding. But Kai, by taking the Senna S concisely, at the cost of a little exit speed, had bought himself space for Turn 3.
The braking point arrived.
But Kai didn't brake. He delayed it slightly. Just a little, a millimeter's difference, gently throwing the car into the corner.
Nose first, tail following. Half a meter later, braking and steering were completed simultaneously.
This was an anti-intuitive, anti-habitual approach!
Ferrari's aerodynamics had been problematic since the summer break. Despite maintaining competitiveness, both Kai and Vettel faced numerous difficulties driving the car. It easily lost balance. Now, Kai cleverly utilized this instability, turning a weakness into a strength.
A flick of the steering wheel. The rear became instantly light, quickly drilling out of the corner. But before it lost control, the throttle perfectly took over, instantly pulling the rear wing back to the ground, quickly correcting the car under the crushing pressure of G-forces.
Then, throttle pinned. Seamless exit. Exit speed pushed to the maximum.
The straight arrived. The engine roar tore through the overwhelming dark clouds, ripping a shockwave, charging full speed toward the end of the world.
Not only fluid, but agile. Indescribably wonderful. A deep breath taken in and forgotten to be exhaled. Scalps tingled. A purple notification popped up on the live screen: "Sector 1, Kai Zhizhou, Purple!"