Focused. Silent. Immersed.
All eyes were glued to the screen, breaths held. The only sound in the world was the falling rain.
The silence held until Kai's voice crackled over the radio, as calm and steady as ever, as if he had no idea his performance through that last series of corners had been utterly stunning.
"The standing water at Turn 6 is causing steering interference. Advising to avoid that line."
"Next lap, I'll adjust. I'm going to try cutting to the inside, on the part that isn't fully soaked."
He wasn't satisfied.
Who could have imagined it? Their jaws were on the floor, and Kai wasn't satisfied?
This time, Monfardini was the first to recover. "Can you maintain the same entry speed on that new line?"
"Yes," Kai replied. "But I have to cut the line."
Monfardini could feel the ripple of alarm go through the control room. The technicians were looking at each other, stunned.
"Cutting the line" meant abandoning the ideal, pre-set racing line. It meant hunting for grip on an unknown, untested part of the track, which in turn meant taking on a massive, almost reckless risk.
In the rain, you stick to the established line. You do not deviate. A tiny error, a patch of deeper water, and you're in the wall.
And now Kai was proposing to go off-line? On purpose?
This was training, not a demolition derby. Did he have any idea what one of these cars cost? A single "trip to the wall" could be half a million euros!
This was only Kai's third day on a real track, his first time in the rain, and he'd only been in the academy for five weeks!
They had seen bold drivers, but they had never seen one this insane.
Who the hell gave him this much confidence?
Monfardini understood their fears. He understood all of it. But he also understood Kai. The kid didn't do things without a reason.
After a beat, Monfardini said, "Received."
The room went dead silent. Everyone stared at him, completely terrified.
Monfardini ignored them, his attention locked on the monitor. He was more worried about Kai's safety than anyone, and he couldn't afford to be distracted.
The fine rain continued to fall. Visibility was worsening slightly, but the blood in Kai's veins was beginning to sing.
In the span of a single minute—before the shock in the control room had even settled—Kai was already approaching Turn 6 again.
Sight. Sound. Touch. Every pore on his body was open, feeling the mist, the wind, the flow of the water on the track. And then, his "feet" touched the ground. He gripped the tarmac with his "toes," and the car slotted itself into the corner.
He didn't run wide. Just before the exit, he cut slightly to the inside.
The car slid on the water, the center of gravity shifted, and the grip level changed instantly. But instead of aquaplaning, he could feel the water being blasted through the tire's grooves. The tire bit down. The car's center of gravity, which had been light, was suddenly slammed back to the earth. The downforce was immense.
In that instant, he could feel the airflow over the car lift slightly, flowing up and over the chassis.
The rear of the car slid, just slightly, but it was all within his control. Not through electronic aids, but with a micro-correction of the wheel and a precise application of the throttle. His "feet" danced on the slick surface, and the instability vanished. He became one with the storm.
Smooth. Flowing.
He got on the power at the exit, and before you could blink, a rooster tail of water exploded behind him. It was as if his afterimage was still playing in Turn 6, but the real car was already a raging fire approaching Turn 7. He hadn't lost any speed. He had pushed it to a whole new level.
A sharp, collective intake of breath hissed through the control room.
Monfardini's eyes remained glued to the screen. He needed to ensure Kai was safe. But in that moment, the admiration in his gaze was nearly overflowing.
He finally chanced a glance, following the eyes of his technicians to the data screen.
0.4 seconds.
In that one single corner, Kai's new line hadn't just been safe—it had been four-tenths of a second faster.
Unbelievable.
Even seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn't believe it.
A strange, almost absurd thought popped into Monfardini's head. Kai wasn't fighting the rain. He wasn't challenging the rain.
He was reading it.
Yes. Reading. It was like he was reading a dense, 3,000-page classic. Everyone wants to read it, but very, very few can actually understand it.
The drizzle started to get heavier, the sky darkening, the red and white barriers on the side of the track blurring like watercolors.
And yet, the voice on the radio remained perfectly steady.
"Current oil temp is rising. Suggest an in-lap for a cooling cycle. Suspension feedback is good. Overall feel is positive. I've tested three braking curves on the front end. The 'C' curve is the best match for these conditions."
Monfardini replied, "Received."
His own voice, which had been tense, finally relaxed. Sharp, perceptive, articulate. He not only sensed the car's condition, but he could communicate it clearly. This was only his third day on track, and his growth was astounding.
And most importantly, that absolute car feel.
It was only now, in this moment, that Kai was truly, brilliantly, shining.
Monfardini's heart began to pound. Maybe they really had found a treasure. Todt was truly Ferrari's lucky charm.
Then, Kai's voice came over the radio one more time.
"Before the session ends, I request permission to enter push mode."
The words split the silence like a bolt of lightning.
Fiorano was Ferrari's private test track. They did not chase lap records here. It was an unwritten rule. The track was designed specifically for testing, with extreme variations in corner radii (from 370 meters down to just 13.71 meters). It was unsuitable for, and unnecessary for, setting records.
The record, which still stood, was a 0:55.999, set by Michael Schumacher in 2004.
And now?
Monfardini's first instinct was to refuse, but the word got stuck in his throat. A seed of anticipation was about to burst.
He could feel the scorching-hot stares of everyone in the room. They were all buzzing with anticipation.
They weren't waiting to see the F3 car's limit. They were waiting to see Kai's limit.
There was no way he could break Schumacher's F1 record in an F3 car. So... why not let him try?
Monfardini didn't even realize he'd swallowed. Before he could even think, he heard his own voice.
"Received. Permission... granted."
~~----------------------
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