Focused. Calm. Immersed.
A real track and a simulator were, in the end, two different worlds. In "push mode," a driver has to find a way to extract every last drop of potential from the car, but without pushing it so far past the limit that it simply breaks apart. How to dance on that knife's edge without losing control—that was the true art.
And Kai was excited. He channeled that excitement into pure focus, becoming one with the car, feeling the rush of speed.
The wind and the fine, biting rain hit his visor. While his vision wasn't obscured, the track was shrouded in a dream-like mist, and the refraction of the light through the water slightly distorted the world ahead. He would have to rely on instinct, not just his eyes.
He floored the throttle. The red car became a vivid streak of light in the mist, its tires peeling a fine spray from the damp tarmac.
He could feel the tires lightly sliding, and he made a precise correction. He was a dancer, sprinting at full speed on a high wire. The car was wobbling, yet stable. The wire shook violently, pulling at the hearts of everyone watching.
All they could see was an afterimage pulling away. The high wire was still trembling, but the red arrow had already dived into the first corner.
A light tap on the brakes. Here, you could see the growth Kai had achieved in just five weeks. His braking control was exquisite. His old, signature "threshold braking" technique was back, but it had been upgraded.
The car didn't just slow in a straight line. He used a "stepped" braking curve to induce a forward weight transfer, while simultaneously using the car's inertia to create a tiny, controlled slide on entry.
He hugged the apex.
It was a perfect, dynamic balance. His hands and feet worked in unison, showcasing his unparalleled car feel. Before the spectators could even finish inhaling, the red car was already accelerating out, hurtling toward the next high-speed corner, and diving in.
Like a fish leaping into the ocean.
The spray was everywhere. His mirrors were useless, a complete blur.
Vision alone was not enough here. A driver had to use every sense—hearing, touch, instinct—to build a three-dimensional map of the world.
He had to feel his way through.
Lift a little, a stab of the brakes, correct the wheel.
The series of movements was like threading a needle, building a blueprint in his mind. The car flowed through the corner, perfectly tracing its arc—not an inch more, not an inch less. It was as if the flowing water itself was pushing the car forward, all resistance gone, yet never once losing control.
Then, a flick of the wheel to the right, and the car's nose was already pointed, diving fluidly into the S-curves.
But Kai didn't push for more speed. He maintained it, his goal to paint a perfect "S" on the track at the highest possible velocity.
He used two short, sharp braking inputs paired with a moment of "lift and coast," replacing what would have been one single, violent stop. The car's chassis remained perfectly stable. There was no shudder, no deviation. With no visible effort, the red car kissed the left-hand apex, its tail swung around, and it vanished.
Whoosh!
The water, churned up by the tires' grooves, exploded into a two-meter-high curtain. It was a spectacular sight, and everyone in the control room held their breath, completely mesmerized.
Elegant. Fluid. Effortless.
It all looked so simple, so clean. All the difficulty, all the danger, simply dissolved into the mist. It was like a dance, a stunning, heart-stopping performance. That single red car was carving a new world out of the gloom, an act of breathtaking brilliance.
For a brief, fleeting moment, Monfardini forgot to analyze the data. He forgot to even look at the telemetry. He just crossed his arms and... watched.
Next was a series of technical corners, followed by a hairpin.
He cut from the outside, pressed the inside line, but didn't force the shortest route. He wasn't trying to brute-force his way through with speed. He was deftly searching for the perfect balance point between grip and power delivery. Relying on feel and technique, he made constant, tiny corrections, minimizing his speed loss.
Every micro-adjustment of the wheel, every re-balancing of the car, was like a ballet dancer's footstep landing lightly on the surface of Swan Lake.
Before they could even blink, the hairpin was behind him.
He had made the entire complex look like a walk in the park.
In the middle of the water film, the car's tail gave a slight slide. Kai didn't rush to save it with the steering wheel. Instead, he used a boot of throttle to pull the car back in line.
Gasp!
A sharp intake of breath. Throttle steering!
Kai was daring to use such an advanced, precise technique in the rain, and in a hairpin no less. It showed his absolute confidence in the car's balance and the tire's grip. In the tiny seam between the limit and disaster, he had asserted, with bold and decisive control, his mastery over the car, squeezing even more potential from it.
It wasn't just bold. It was calculated.
It was a killer's instinct. Even Monfardini's heart leaped into his throat, but the crash he feared never came. The car was firmly in Kai's control. A wave of adrenaline and dopamine bloomed, and he stared, fixated on that red car, his anticipation rising.
Turn 6.
This time, Kai didn't probe. He decisively took the new inside line he had just tested, his tires practically scraping the inner wall, tracing a ripple through the water. Everyone's breath caught in their throats.
The center of gravity shifted, the water film moved, the tires bit down hard, sending a violent shudder through the car. You could feel the machine struggling. But in Kai's hands, that struggle was transformed into the obedience of a tamed beast. It bared its fangs, roared, and found its grip. The downforce slammed it into the track, and he floored the accelerator.
He had tested the line. He had found the way.
But he didn't just follow the script. He was still challenging the limit, daring to find an even higher ceiling. The tail flicked out for a split second, was instantly gathered back up, and he burst through the mist like a battering ram, unstoppable.
He was a swordsman dancing on the tip of a blade, light as a feather. The high-speed complex of Turns 7, 8, and 9 was an army of thousands, but he plunged his sword straight into their midst. His attack was like thunder, his grace divine, and in a flash, he had carved a path through the chaos, hurtling toward the final high-speed right-hander in one magnificent, unbroken motion.
The finish line was just ahead.
Monfardini could feel his heart rising, blocking his throat, ready to burst with excitement.
But Kai remained calm, focused to the very last fraction of a second.
He "trail-braked" slightly, a 0.2-second input of pure instinct. He took a line half a meter wider than normal, using a long, rounded arc to complete the turn while simultaneously maintaining pressure on the brake to increase downforce.
The tires bit down hard, and the car slotted perfectly into the corner.
Speed, pushed to its absolute limit.
In that instant, the rain spray off his tires created a waterfall of light on either side of the car, a fiery tail chasing the red machine. He crossed the line, bringing the lap to a clean, decisive end, and vanished into the blue-grey mist.
"Perfect!"
Monfardini didn't even realize he'd spoken. He had clenched his fist, squeezing it with all his might, his heart pounding.
1:16.008!
The time was frozen on the screen.
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