The noise was real. The shock and awe were real, too.
In a short time, waves of information came crashing in, leaving no room to breathe. The scorching air seemed to freeze momentarily.
Everyone lost their ability to react.
That was why that voice, so crisp and bright, flowed into their hearts like a clear spring, dispelling the murky, oppressive atmosphere.
"Kai. Zhi. Zhou."
Word by word, struggling to get the pronunciation right but refusing to give up.
"Amazing race!"
Swish. Every eye in the area turned, focusing entirely on Rosanna Stapleton.
Stapleton felt embarrassed and shy. Her instinct was to run away, but she controlled herself, forcing herself to stand her ground.
She admitted it: she had never watched a single one of Kai's races. Not one. Her knowledge of him came entirely from news reports. Those words were stuffed into her head to ensure she could play the role of a qualified fake fan without being exposed, but they were all on paper.
No flesh and blood. Even less soul.
To her, Kai Zhizhou was just a name. A name in the news.
Until this weekend at Silverstone. Until she was there, watching his race with her own eyes.
The explosive finale in qualifying, the dominance in the Feature Race, and of course, the twists and turns of the Sprint Race.
Bit by bit, energy was injected into that name, bringing it to life. The driver wrapped in a helmet and race suit gradually became concrete, gaining a face, an image, and even a soul.
"Kai Zhizhou" was no longer just a hyped-up GP3 rookie with a price tag.
Standing in the paddock, Stapleton could clearly feel the rising temperature. Everyone was discussing "Who can beat Kai?" The pressure piled up layer by layer. It wasn't just support for the local British drivers; it was a siege mentality against the champion, an attempt to drag the high-flying Kai down. It was pure malice.
Now, the result was out. Kai had finally failed to continue his winning streak, and the entire grandstand was cheering and celebrating his "failure."
Stapleton couldn't stand it. She couldn't believe people would be so ecstatic over one person's "failure," especially when that person was a seventeen-year-old. Although she knew this was competitive sports, this was reality cold and ruthless, where even angels couldn't fly she still couldn't bear it.
So, she appeared here. She just wanted to show some support.
However, standing in front of Kai, Stapleton froze. Her mind went blank, having no idea what to say.
She regretted it a little, but thinking of that naked malice, she forced herself to stay, bravely meeting Kai's eyes.
"Beautifully won," she said.
Kai froze, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Are you sure?"
He turned to look at where the cars were parked, suddenly unable to find the "2nd Place" board. Confused, he looked around, not understanding what happened. The teasing response he had planned died awkwardly in his throat.
The bystanders who had witnessed everything burst into laughter, rare to see Kai looking so adorably confused.
Stapleton was no exception; her smile bloomed fully.
"Starting eighth, chasing all the way to second."
"Hit by an opponent, but didn't give up the race."
"Dragging a car with a broken front wing, defending desperately, holding onto your position."
"Finally, finishing second, your sixth consecutive podium of the season."
"In my opinion, this is a victory. A victory no less than any other race this season, because you overcame all odds to get here, didn't you?"
Pausing, Stapleton raised her right hand high. It was an ART team hat, Kai's signature clearly visible on the brim.
"In my heart, you are the champion."
"So, please keep fighting, okay? That way, the value of this hat can double in the future. I'm waiting to get rich overnight."
Stapleton gently put the hat on, pulling it down firmly. Her bright, hearty smile shone in the rising morning sun.
Blood surged in her chest.
Kai's lips curved up, blooming in the dawn light. He said, "It's a deal."
Roar! Roar! Roar!
The ART team staff cheered and hooted, applauding Kai. Standing in the crowd, Borreipaire let out a long breath, finally finding his smile again.
As expected, the news of the GP3 Sprint Race spread through the paddock in an instant. The buzzing discussion reached a new height.
Who would have thought that the one to break Kai's winning streak wasn't ART's Russell, nor Trident's Boccolacci, but Jack Aitken?
The story had taken a sharp turn.
This season, Aitken, who had carried high hopes and was widely considered a title favorite, had performed disappointingly, completely submerged among the drivers. However, when the gaze shifted and expectations fell, when the spotlight was no longer on him, he seized the opportunity for a breakthrough, becoming the first driver this season to stop Kai's winning streak. Instantly, he pulled all the attention back.
And this was Aitken's home race.
The audience was happy; the media was ecstatic. Everyone was hyped up, partying as if Aitken had won more than just a Sprint Race.
Strangely, the paddock scene was different.
Just a Sprint Race. And Aitken had carried countless expectations. Such a victory wasn't worth discussing; wasn't it a matter of course?
The focus remained on Kai.
A second place. A priceless second place. Any professional who understood the race knew the weight of this P2.
This wasn't just a P2 under pressure after five consecutive wins; it was a P2 held with gritted teeth after being hit by a foul defensive move.
On the surface, Kai's winning streak had finally stopped, and Aitken had proven himself. But in the eyes of professionals, the only one worth discussing was still Kai.
In fact, his value was rising. After all, amidst chaos, direct confrontation, and siege, the race temperament Kai displayed was eye-catching.
To be precise, this should be the first time people truly saw Kai the person, stripping away the advantage of the ART car, seeing the driver's own psychological quality and racing ability. Regardless of whether he was driving a fast car or a slow one, the driver's own aura was the truly precious part.
From another angle, Kai should actually thank Alesi. This second place was more valuable than a win.
Sure enough, after the GP3 Sprint Race and before the F2 Sprint Race began, the chain reaction spread out like dominoes.
First up was Christian Horner.
"Not just technique, not just ability, but also psychology and temperament. I see the determination of a champion and the instinct of a killer in him. I would be very happy to see him wearing a Red Bull race suit next season."
A bombshell, dropped lightly.
...
Bang!
The office door was pushed open directly. Horner jumped, looking up to see a furious Jos Verstappen, eyes wide with a death stare.
Horner controlled his emotions, regaining his calm. "Come in."
The subtext was mocking Jos for not knocking, having no manners at all.
However, Jos ignored it, locking onto Horner. "What the hell are you doing? Talking nonsense in front of the media again. Don't think I don't know your tricks."
Horner sat as steady as a mountain, leaning back slightly, looking very relaxed, like a homeroom teacher listening to a parent's complaint. "Jos, accepting media interviews is my job. Just as I can't stop you from accepting interviews, you shouldn't interfere with my work."
In fact, Jos had spoken plenty in front of the media, constantly attacking and belittling Ricciardo, believing Red Bull should tilt resources toward his son. He was constantly fanning the flames through the media, putting pressure on Horner. That big mouth was comparable to Djokovic's father.
"Fuck." Jos cursed directly.
One sentence wasn't enough. He looked into Horner's eyes and added, "Fuck, Christian. You know what I mean. You keep praising that baby driver in front of the media just to put pressure on me, to gain an advantage in Max's contract renewal negotiations. That's all the ability you have."
Mask off. Bayonets drawn.
However, Horner didn't even blink, staring intently at Jos. "Are you scared?"
Jos froze. "What?"
Horner: "I said. So, are you scared?"
Jos: "Get lost!"
Horner: "Jos, Red Bull is a place that values fair competition. If Max is afraid of direct competition, you can say it directly. You're scared. You want to retreat to Toro Rosso. You don't believe Max can become World Champion. Don't worry, there's no one else here, you can say it."
Jos raised his middle finger directly. One hand wasn't enough; he raised both. "Fuck off. Don't use your tricks to guess Max. Let me tell you, Max will prove himself. Bring on any competition!"
After dropping the harsh words, Jos didn't wait for Horner's response. He turned and strode away, but he didn't leave the paddock. Instead, he grabbed someone at random.
"Where's Max?"
Clearly, Jos believed his son needed to be wound up tight. He had to prove his value at Silverstone.
While Red Bull was surging with undercurrents, Mercedes appeared calm, maintaining focus and devoting themselves wholeheartedly to Sunday's race.
Now was the critical moment of close combat in the Driver and Constructor standings. Toto Wolff knew his priorities and wouldn't blur the focus.
It wasn't until the race ended and the weekend concluded that Wolff knocked on the door of Lewis Hamilton's rest room.
"Come in." Hamilton's tired voice came from inside.
Wolff pushed the door open and leaned in. "Lewis, how are you feeling?"
Hamilton shook his head gently, his brow filled with fatigue and irritation. "No, man, I don't feel good. I need to clear my head tonight. No time to breathe before heading to Budapest, right?"
Wolff nodded. "Of course."
Hamilton looked up. "What, something up?"
Wolff waved his hand. "No, I wanted to ask you to dinner, but it seems that's not a good idea."
Hamilton didn't think much of it. "Sorry. Next time, okay?"
After a few simple pleasantries, Wolff said goodbye. Before closing the door, he could see Hamilton sitting in the chair, holding his head in thought. Not only tired but irritable; his frustration was evident.
Closing the door, Wolff exhaled softly. He didn't stay, turning and leaving directly.
Actually, there was a secret inside Mercedes, known to no more than three people, all core members.
Wolff had always been interested in Verstappen and had been trying to talk to him directly.
Verstappen's jump to F1 and his subsequent entry into Red Bull set off a youth storm. One of the people most sensitive to this storm in the paddock was Wolff.
Wolff believed the future should belong to young people and was certain Verstappen could achieve greatness.
This off-season, after being stabbed in the back by Rosberg, Wolff had been thinking about the position of the Mercedes number two driver. Unfortunately, due to the tight time, he couldn't lay out a plan. In a hurry, Wolff chose Bottas as a temporary substitute, but since then, Wolff had been planning.
Undoubtedly, among the younger generation of drivers, Verstappen's talent was unquestionable. But now, Kai had appeared out of nowhere without warning, no less inferior to Verstappen back then, perhaps even better.
Wolff couldn't help but wonder: Would Kai be a more suitable candidate?
To make a long-term plan, he had to include Hamilton's opinion. He had just wanted to test Hamilton's tone, and then plan slowly.
But obviously, the timing was wrong.
Maurizio Arrivabene was also having a bad day.
"...If anyone says 'Baby' again, I'm going to tear their mouth open."
Cursing and irritable, Arrivabene could barely control his anger. He pushed open the meeting room door heavily. The loud bang echoed in the air.
Just like that brainwashing Justin Bieber song. Baby, baby, baby on loop. Extremely stupid.
Entering the meeting room, Arrivabene saw his team waiting, and Sergio Marchionne on the projection screen. The atmosphere instantly tightened.
However, Arrivabene wasn't afraid.
He waved his hand. "Sorry, too many flies. The traffic of the social media era is just annoying. Please forgive my language. I'm ready. We can start now."
Arrivabene sat down, taking control. "Sergio, I know you're worried about the team's current position, but I want to say, don't worry. We know our situation, we still hold the initiative. Our goal remains unchanged."
Marchionne didn't interrupt. He waited patiently, then nodded. "I know. I believe in your work. But that's not why I called this emergency meeting."
Arrivabene froze. "It's not?"
Marchionne smiled. "No."
Arrivabene frowned. He had prepared a defense of Räikkönen, ready for battle. But Marchionne had caught him off guard.
"Kai Zhizhou. We need to talk about Kai Zhizhou," Marchionne said.
The nerve in Arrivabene's brain snapped. "No, Sergio, no. No! No!"
"No, Sergio, even you? It's fine if others follow the trend, but why you?"
"He is a rookie, a complete rookie. He's done two race weekends. Even if he's a genius, he's a rookie with only two races of experience."
"Formula racing requires experience. No one I mean no one can break that rule! We need to stay awake!"
"Look at Verstappen! No brains, just brute force. He caused chaos today and retired. Isn't this a living lesson?"
"The current Verstappen is a ticking time bomb. And you want to bring in another one?"
Arrivabene ranted, letting it all out.
The meeting room was silent.
Marchionne didn't explode. He smiled. "Calm down, Maurizio. I just want to talk about Kai Zhizhou, and Charles Leclerc..."
Arrivabene interrupted again. "Leclerc is the same. He's too young, not ready for F1. I know his results, I know his talent, but my view remains consistent. They need experience."
"That... Baby is like this, and Charles is the same."
Decisively, Arrivabene closed the door.
However, Marchionne wasn't angry. He seized a flaw in Arrivabene's words. "Oh. Baby... seems you're no exception. Maurizio, I never knew you liked Justin Bieber too."
Arrivabene: ...
Marchionne stopped while he was ahead. "My point is, we need to pay attention to young people."
"We have a luxurious lineup, but they are aging. Alonso could retire, Wolff won't let Hamilton go."
"Maurizio, we can't keep relying on the Ferrari checkbook. If Ferrari continues to fail to win championships, how much attraction do you think we still have?"
Arrivabene knew this speech. Marchionne wanted "young blood."
But Arrivabene was stubborn. He had support within Ferrari, and he had Vettel, who wanted Räikkönen to stay.
Marchionne chuckled. "Maurizio, you haven't watched Kai's races, have you?"
Arrivabene was stung.
"But I still bring this up because he is different."
"Aitken. Russell. Alesi. Boccolacci. Experienced drivers. But Kai suppresses them. The maturity and calm he shows, I guarantee, is not an infant."
Arrivabene: "Yes, that's GP3. The next step for him is F2."
Marchionne: "What about Leclerc? If he wins F2, the next step is F1."
Arrivabene: "Wait until he wins. Look at today's Sprint Race; he was too impatient."
Marchionne: "Oh, it seems you did watch Leclerc's race, but not Kai's."
Arrivabene: ...
Marchionne continued. "Yes, exactly."
"So, what I'm discussing is whether we should let them join F1 next year. I'm thinking, Leclerc to Sauber, Kai to Haas."
Arrivabene held his breath. This was the real goal.
He'd been played.
Arrivabene gave a helpless smile. "Are you that impatient? GP3 has only had two races. Even a new product trial should be three months. Being so impatient lacks the dignity of Ferrari."
Marchionne knew he had won the first step. "You should watch his races. He shows more than just talent. Now, it's not just us. Toto Wolff and Christian Horner have noticed him."
"You wouldn't want to see him in a Silver or Blue race suit. That would be a disaster."
Arrivabene countered. "No, it's just appearances. Wolff won't bring in a young rival for Hamilton. Horner won't replace Verstappen."
"Wolff is planning for a successor," Marchionne countered. "Hamilton is 32. Wolff is casting a net now. If we don't signal Kai, we give Wolff an opportunity."
"And Horner... he needs an illusion to pressure Verstappen and curry favor with Thai Red Bull. To Horner, Kai is a pawn. But if we let Horner run wild, how will our academy drivers view Ferrari?"
"So, Maurizio, I am asking for your opinion. What do you think about Leclerc to Sauber and Kai to Haas?"
Arrivabene swallowed his objection. He decided to use the "delaying tactic." Let Kai race a few more times; maybe the halo would fade.
"If they (Sauber/Haas) have no objections, what standing do I have to oppose?"
Marchionne smiled. "Maurizio, we should be partners. If you don't want me to interfere, then let me see results. I don't want to see us in second place."
The call ended.
Arrivabene stormed out.
The staff looked at Mattia Binotto.
"Mattia, what do you think?"
Binotto was silent for a moment. "Why don't we watch the replay of the GP3 race?"
The wind was rising.
Kai, standing in the eye of the storm, was completely unaware.
No one had contacted him.
Early in the morning, Kai woke up and roused Leclerc. They jogged along a familiar path.
After the British GP, both had returned to Maranello to test the 2018 Ferrari F1 car before heading to Budapest.
Neither spoke.
Leclerc snuck a glance at Kai. Kai caught him.
"Charles, don't peek. People will misunderstand."
Leclerc rolled his eyes. "I was just... worried you were anxious about the future."
Kai smiled. "Charles, remember New Year's? I thought I was quitting. Now I have a whole year. This is a bonus. I'm just enjoying the happiness."
"Besides, Charles Leclerc, do you have no faith in me?"
Leclerc looked at Kai. Just as he was about to speak, the phone strapped to Kai's arm buzzed.
"Good morning, this is Kai Zhizhou."
"Good morning. This is Cyril Abiteboul."
~~----------------------
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