"A big team."
Kai's answer was instant, thrown out without a fraction of a second of hesitation. Zhou had barely finished his question, and Leclerc was still processing it.
Zhou was stunned. "But at a big team, all the resources are funneled to that one guy. You're just the wingman. You're the one left standing in the shadows."
Kai just shrugged. "At a big team, at least you get to stand in the shadows. At a small team, you might never even get close enough to see the spotlight."
Zhou was completely dumbstruck.
Kai, however, was perfectly at ease. "Zhou, this is racing. We both know that without a good car, nothing else matters."
"People always say that in motorsport, the car is 70, maybe even 80 percent of the equation. The driver is only the other 20."
"Of course, that doesn't mean the driver is unimportant. Anyone who really understands racing knows that 20% is the essence and soul of the sport. The 80% is the foundation, all the teamwork and money that builds the potential for victory. But it's that 20% that has to actually go out and win the race."
"Even though it's a sport built on machines, at the end of the day, it's a sport about humans. The driver is the one on the battlefield. That 20% is where the real fight happens."
Kai plucked a piece of fresh beef from the pot. The steam rose, making the room feel even warmer against the cold outside.
"If the car is the body, the driver is the soul. It's the driver who brings it to life and unleashes its potential."
"So, I get your point."
"Go to a small team, and even if the car isn't fast, if you can wring 120% out of it, people will see your talent. In fact, it highlights your talent even more."
"At a big team, people say, 'He's only winning because of the car.' At a small team, they say, 'He's a genius.'"
"Schumacher. Senna. They all started at small teams. Trust me, we all have that dream of being the next underdog hero."
In just two short months, Kai had gone from knowing nothing about F1 history to name-dropping legends with confidence.
"But times have changed."
"It used to be that 'good wine needs no bush'—talent would always be found. Now, even the best wine needs marketing."
"Which means, first and foremost, you need a good car."
"Sure, at a big team, you're the sidekick, living in the shadows. But the key is, you're still visible. People are still talking about you, still watching you."
"Think of it this way: would you rather be the star singer in an empty room, or a backup dancer on the world's biggest stage?"
"At a small team, you're fighting for a single point, and even if you're brilliant, you might get nothing. At a big team, you're fighting for the podium. And even if people don't think you're talented, they'll see you on that podium, and that visibility is what matters."
"It's just marketing."
It was a long, articulate speech, but it never felt like a lecture. His playful, self-deprecating tone made it easy to listen to, and before they knew it, both Zhou and Leclerc were smiling.
"Of course, that's just my opinion," Kai finished, shrugging. "I don't think there's a right or wrong answer. A truly great driver will find a way to the top, no matter which path they choose. Just like you."
He looked pointedly at Zhou.
Zhou was stunned by the trust in Kai's eyes, and he smiled shyly.
This was the very problem that had been tormenting him. A year ago, he had won the Italian F4 vice-championship, earning him a spot in F3. He had wanted to join the champion team, Prema, but the rich kid Lance Stroll had "bought" the seat, and all resources were being funneled to him. Zhou had chosen to go to a smaller team, Motopark, to avoid him.
The result? He finished 13th, a total nobody.
Now, it was the off-season, and he was facing the exact same dilemma. Stroll was gone, but now Mick Schumacher—son of the seven-time champion—was joining Prema.
Should he return to Prema and fight in the shadows, or stay at Motopark and try to build something?
This was why he'd cut his holiday short. He couldn't rest, terrified of making the wrong choice again. He had wanted to ask Kai for his opinion, but he hadn't been sure if he should.
And now, Kai's words had cleared his mind. The anxiety and hesitation settled, and he looked at Kai with a new, bright smile.
Kai changed the subject, spreading his hands. "Besides, not everyone gets to choose, Zhou. That's a luxury problem to have."
Though he said it with a tease, there was a hint of melancholy in his voice.
Zhou and Leclerc exchanged a look. Leclerc teased him, "Trust me, with your talent, you're going to have choices, too. Lots of them. You'll be spoiled for choice."
A small, helpless smile touched Kai's lips. "No. I'll be leaving Maranello at the end of February. My mother... she still doesn't approve of me racing."
The air in the room instantly froze. Zhou and Leclerc were stunned. They had never anticipated this.
Kai, however, was perfectly calm, as if he were discussing the weather. "The truth is, I snuck out here to race. Coming to Maranello was a total accident. When my mom found out, she... well, she still hasn't forgiven me."
"And I can't even argue. I was the one who messed up. I don't blame her. I get why she's worried."
"So, when this training contract is up, I'm going home."
Gurgle, gurgle.
The hotpot was still bubbling, but the noisy, cheerful room had fallen silent. You could almost hear the snow falling outside.
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