Kai?
When Alesi saw that red streak of light in his rearview mirror again, closing in and biting at his tail, his pounding heart skipped a beat.
Alesi prided himself on his speed. Racing was about speed; every driver was chasing its absolute limit.
So, when he'd drawn P1, he had been convinced the race was his. He was at the front. He could just go all-out, run at his own pace, and pull away, leaving everyone else in the dust. That "illegitimate son" could eat his exhaust.
As for the tires, Alesi had already done the math. Fiorano was a short track, less than three kilometers. A 20-lap sprint was perfect. The tires would easily last the whole race, so he didn't need to hold back. He could go flat out.
In his mind, this test was tailor-made for him to show off his speed.
And yet…
The reality was completely different.
Kai was a ghost, haunting him. He was just... there, never close enough to be a direct threat, but never far enough away to be ignored. It was as if he were on a stroll, and no matter how hard Alesi pushed, no matter how much he risked, that red shadow would just reappear, like a parasite he couldn't scrape off.
The gap between them hovered at around one second.
Alesi's heart was pounding. He was frustrated, furious. This wasn't the race he had planned.
And now, impossibly, it was getting worse: Kai was closing in.
Damn it!
How? How was that possible?
These were spec cars! The hardware was identical. Was it because he was Jean Todt's son? Did Kai's car have a different engine? But he was Jean Alesi's son! Why didn't he get one? Had he failed the "who has the better dad" contest?
Alesi's rage was simmering. And worse, Kai wasn't even attacking. He was just toying with him, "cat-and-mouse," constantly prodding and provoking.
This was humiliating!
The roar of the engine was a pounding drum inside Alesi's helmet.
All of this was part of Kai's plan.
He had not launched an immediate, all-out assault. There were many ways to attack. You could be a raging bull, or a flowing river, or a counter-puncher. Or you could be an assassin, waiting for the one perfect moment to strike.
And for an enemy like Alesi, you had to use the right strategy.
Alesi was an explosive driver. He was all about the initial burst of energy. You had to weather that first storm.
The keyword was pressure.
Kai began to alter his rhythm. At every braking zone, he would deliberately dive in a little deeper, getting closer to Alesi's gearbox, creating the illusion that he was about to make a move. A few times, he even intentionally stuck his car's nose halfway out, forcing it into Alesi's peripheral vision, a blunt knife jabbing at his nerves.
He was torturing him.
It was an awful feeling. Alesi could feel the shadow looming, but the punch never came. He was forced to be on high alert, his nerves stretched taut, bracing for an attack that never materialized. His rage had no outlet.
He told himself to stay calm, but that red car in his mirrors was as infuriating as Kai's lazy, unbothered smile. The engine's roar was making his blood boil.
If he could, he would have slammed on his brakes, just to get Kai to hit him, just to have a real, physical fight.
But he couldn't.
So, what was he supposed to do?
He pushed harder, accelerating, trying to run away, but his inputs were becoming messy. His driving was full of new flaws.
Turn 3: He braked too early.
Turn 5: He missed his apex, his line too wide.
Turn 8: A slow hairpin. He was so late on entry that he was almost at a crawl, and Kai nearly rear-ended him.
He was falling apart.
Kai knew. Alesi's focus was on him, not on the track. His car control was getting sloppy. The opportunity was here.
But Kai didn't take it.
He hadn't forgotten Turn 1. He knew Alesi was willing to take them both out. He had to be prepared for that. He wasn't going to let his "graduation ceremony" be ruined by an idiot.
But "cautious" didn't mean "timid." He stayed calm, stayed patient, and continued to set the trap, waiting for the one, clean, fatal blow. Against a driver like Alesi, you couldn't give him an inch to breathe, or he'd just go nuclear and take everyone down with him.
The tires were warm now, biting the tarmac, coming into their window. Everything was entering Kai's comfort zone.
He started a new lap and applied more pressure.
Turn 1: He feinted to the inside, forcing Alesi to take a defensive line.
Turn 5: He rushed up on his tail, creating the "illusion of a collision," showing he was just as willing to play rough, and making Alesi break out in a cold sweat.
Turn 7: He jinked left and right on the straight, making it impossible for Alesi to know which side he was planning to attack.
Once. Twice. Five times.
Alesi was forced to react, constantly adjusting his line, constantly checking his mirrors. He was a cornered animal, wounded and panting, his nerves shredded.
He was at his breaking point.
And at Turn 12, the final hairpin, Alesi finally made his mistake.
He tried to brake as late as possible, to hold the inside line, but his tires, which he had been abusing for laps, finally protested. A slight lock-up, a jolt through the chassis, and in a split second, his left-front wheel was on the kerb, and he was running wide, off the track.
Sssshk!
Gravel sprayed into the air. His exit speed plummeted.
Now.
Kai, who had been waiting for this exact moment, didn't hesitate. He took the outside line, kept his foot planted, and sliced past the struggling Alesi, diving into the gap his mistake had created. He was a dolphin, a fluid, agile shape, his rear wing nearly scraping Alesi's nose as he shot past.
Whoosh!
He was swift as an escaping rabbit, seizing the opportunity in a fraction of a second. It was clean, decisive, and lethal.
Kai's right-side tires ran over the kerb, but a series of tiny, precise steering corrections kept the car perfectly stable. He carved a line as clean as a scalpel. He hadn't just maintained his speed; he had increased it, and in the instant he exited the corner, he had already pulled a massive gap, leaving Alesi completely behind.
Kai didn't look back.
He knew he didn't have to.
~~----------------------
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