He was casual, almost breezy.
There were no grand declarations, no emotional speeches. He'd delivered his verdict with the same relaxed air as someone discussing a dinner menu. But in his calm, easygoing manner, he had projected an undeniable air of command, and had, without raising his voice, taken complete control of the situation.
He was standing in front of three of the most powerful men in motorsport—Marchionne, Nicolas Todt, and Vasseur—"old foxes" who had clawed their way to the top of the pyramid.
And they were discussing a race seat at ART, a "hot commodity" that other drivers would kill for.
Yet, all the power, all the focus, was centered on Kai.
His words hung in the air, the silence in the room deafening.
Kai, still perfectly calm, offered a polite, respectful closing. "Regardless, I am truly grateful for your invitation. I hope you enjoyed the race today."
A brief, polite farewell. And then, he just... left. He turned, and, like a poet, "waved his sleeves, not taking a single cloud."
Nicolas Todt and Frédéric Vasseur just stood there, completely stunned.
Marchionne watched them, and he was in an excellent mood. A light, satisfied smile played on his lips.
Finally, Nicolas was the first to regain his composure. He saw the look on Marchionne's face, and the pieces began to click. He didn't know the full backstory, but he could tell Marchionne wasn't surprised at all.
"Sergio," Nicolas said, his voice sharp, "you are not going to let a driver like that walk away."
Marchionne inwardly nodded. Nicolas really was "no fool"; he hadn't gotten to where he was by accident. But outwardly, he just shrugged. "We already have Charles Leclerc."
Leclerc was, without a doubt, the academy's crown jewel.
But Nicolas wasn't falling for it. He shook his head. "You're not satisfied with just one. Otherwise, you would never have convinced Kai to join the academy in the first place."
"So," Nicolas asked, "what did it cost you to get him?"
He had found the key. Before ART, Ferrari must have had their own challenge in recruiting him. If Ferrari had also been shot down, then ART's failure was nothing to be ashamed of.
Thinking this, Nicolas calmed down.
Marchionne didn't play games. Nicolas could just ask his father anyway. "On top of the full scholarship, he gets paid performance bonuses for simulator work and test races."
He paused, enjoying the look of shock on their faces, before delivering the killing blow.
"And, it's only a three-month contract."
Nicolas's jaw dropped.
Vasseur, too, was stunned. But then, a slow grin spread across his face. "Haha." He thought about it, and he could see Marchionne's game. "Hahaha."
He crossed his arms, his smile wide. "So, you called us. You were hoping that by dangling a GP3 seat in front of him, ART could convince him to stay?"
Marchionne wasn't about to admit that. He maintained his cool facade. "You are, of course, free to continue with Fukuzumi."
This was a negotiation. ART would not get the upper hand, and Ferrari would not lose it.
After the initial shock, Nicolas's business instincts took over. He looked at Marchionne. "What's your real play here?"
Sometimes, you had to play games. Other times, you had to be direct.
Marchionne wasn't about to show his full hand, but he was willing to deal.
"Ferrari will pay his full sponsorship fee, same as Leclerc's. But... ART will be responsible for his performance bonuses. A performance-based contract."
He'd laid the bait.
He said no more, taking a step back and gesturing for them to follow him out of the pit garage. He knew they needed time to think. This was not a simple decision.
In the world of Formula racing, money is everything.
A race car is incredibly expensive. A small knock or bump could be tens of thousands of euros. A bit of real damage, twenty or thirty thousand, gone in an instant. A hard crash into the wall? That could be half a million, even a million euros, just like that.
Because of this, from the drivers to the teams, everyone has to bow to capital. In the face of "money-power," "super-power" has to step aside.
Talent? Hard work? The paddock doesn't believe in those things. Capital is the insurmountable wall.
Even at the top, in F1, no team can ignore the power of money. Small and mid-field teams must consider a driver's sponsors.
The entire sport is a construct of capital, a prison that no driver can break out of.
ART was no exception. By choosing Fukuzumi, they got funding from both Red Bull and Honda, which significantly eased their financial burden.
Now, they had the option of Kai. Leaving aside his street-racing background, the real issue was money. Even with Ferrari paying his base sponsorship, they would still have to pay him extra in bonuses?
In the cold, hard light of reality, choosing Fukuzumi was the logical, sensible decision.
But the most bitter irony was that Kai had been right. It was just a money game.
And before ART could even reject him based on finances, Kai had rejected them, "immovable as a mountain," without even a flicker of interest in their offer.
A wry, bitter smile crossed Nicolas's face. He looked at Vasseur for his opinion.
Vasseur just chuckled, looking delighted. "That kid didn't just reject us, he mocked us. If we choose Fukuzumi now, we prove him right. If we choose him, he's the one who wins."
"No matter what we choose, we've already lost. It's fascinating, isn't it? How often do you meet a character like that?"
Nicolas shook his head, unable to smile. He glanced at Marchionne's retreating back and lowered his voice. "Frédéric, now is not the time for jokes."
"Nick," Vasseur said, "you already know your answer. Why are you asking me?"
The words hit Nicolas hard.
He was right. His hesitation was the answer.
For ART, replacing Fukuzumi was a "want," not a "need." Even without him, they had other great drivers. They were determined to defend their championship titles. Kai would just be the cherry on top.
Marchionne's plan was obvious: he wanted Kai to have the best possible conditions to grow. If Kai succeeded, he could be Ferrari's future. But ART had no obligation to build Ferrari's future for them, especially when Kai wasn't their driver.
Choosing Fukuzumi was the right business decision, even if it meant proving Kai right.
And yet... Nicolas was still hesitating.
And hesitation meant desire. It meant the scales were already unfairly tipped.
But was he hesitating because of his pride—because he didn't want to admit to a 17-year-old that he had to "bow to financial pressure"?
Or was it something else entirely?
~~----------------------
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