Logic and emotion were playing tug-of-war.
Logic told Nicolas Todt to choose Fukuzumi; there was no need to be impulsive. But emotion was yanking at his heart, pulling him in Kai's direction.
He didn't even know why. His intuition had just been screaming at him all day.
Vasseur, who had been slouched over and joking, watched his partner, noticing the struggle and indecision in his eyes, as if he were about to split in two.
This time, Vasseur dropped the smile. He offered a piece of genuine advice, cloaked in a joke. "Why don't you just call Old Man Todt and ask him?"
Nicolas froze.
He truly hated talking to his father about work. In his early years in the sport, their different philosophies had led to a lot of friction. And in the paddock, because of his father's reputation, he was always treated differently. The constant, stinging ridicule had made his early career a miserable experience.
Vasseur didn't push. He just shrugged. "From a talent perspective, the answer is simple. Everything else... that's not a racing problem."
With that, Vasseur ambled off to catch up with Marchionne, leaving the entire burden on Nicolas's shoulders. At ART, Vasseur handled the strategy and technical side. Nicolas handled the business and management. Vasseur had given his opinion; the rest was up to his partner.
Nicolas stood in place, took a deep breath, and finally dialed his father's number. After he had explained the situation, Jean Todt was silent for a long moment.
"You're telling me he refused you? Immediately? Without even considering it?"
Nicolas thought back, replaying the scene, and gave a firm, "Yes."
Jean Todt let out a slow breath.
"Calm. Rational. Smart. Mature. He has ambition, but he knows how to control it. He has a perfect understanding of his own situation and won't be easily swayed."
"Nick, not you, not Frédéric, not even me or Sergio... we don't always fully understand our own positions, do we?"
If he did, Nicolas wouldn't have made this call.
"To remain clear-headed in the face of desire, and calm in the face of a crisis... that is the true air of a great general. And he's only seventeen. It seems I underestimated him."
The call didn't last long.
Jean Todt did not tell his son what to do. He didn't say what he would do in his position. He knew exactly what kind of game this was. He simply offered his analysis of Kai's character and then hung up, leaving the decision entirely to Nicolas.
In truth, the answer wasn't complicated.
From ART's perspective, Fukuzumi was the logical choice.
But from a future perspective, from an F1 perspective, from Nicolas's personal perspective as a driver manager... the situation was different. If he considered Kai's potential to reach F1, just like Leclerc...
Everyone knew GP3 was just a stepping stone.
What if he looked at this as an investment?
In F1, such a gamble would be insane; no one would take the risk. But in GP3, where the capital risk was more manageable, didn't that mean the potential for a small bet to yield a massive payoff was that much greater?
The answer was right there.
Nicolas stood in place, running through the entire situation: Jean Todt, Marchionne, ART. The team's goals, his personal goals. GP3, F1. A fanatical, uncontrollable heat began to build in his chest.
For the dream?
No. Nicolas wasn't that romantic. This was for profit. For a grand blueprint.
In a flash, he clenched his fists, a sharp, decisive look in his eyes. He broke into a light jog to catch up with the other two.
"Sergio, perhaps we could discuss the specific bonus structure...?"
Vasseur looked past Marchionne, a long, meaningful glance at his partner. He saw the confidence, and the raw, undisguised ambition, in his friend's face.
The two partners exchanged a look. Vasseur's face split into a wide grin. "Oh, this is going to be a very long, very boring conversation. Sergio, can we get two espressos? And maybe two croissants? Otherwise, I'm worried I might pass out."
All three of them laughed, the tension in the air finally breaking.
...One thousand five hundred euros per point.
Ten thousand euros for a first podium; fifteen thousand for a first win.
If he was leading the championship at the halfway point, all bonuses would be doubled.
An additional bonus of one hundred thousand euros for winning the driver's championship.
After some negotiation, Ferrari and ART reached an agreement. Ferrari would fully sponsor Kai to race for ART in the 2017 GP3 season. In exchange, ART would be responsible for his performance bonuses, ensuring Kai had no financial worries.
So, what did this contract mean?
In GP3, a feature race win was 25 points, with points for the top ten. A sprint race win was 15, with points for the top eight.
Take 2016 as an example: Leclerc won the title with 202 points. His first half of the season was stronger, so he would have earned the bonus multiplier. Under this contract, he would have earned €522,500.
Of course, there is only one champion. But, using Fukuzumi's 2016 performance as a template—he had three podiums but no wins—Kai would still earn €146,500.
The incentive was clear. How much he earned was entirely up to him.
However, that wasn't all.
There was, of course, a catch. ART was not a charity.
The contract included the following clause:
If the driver fails to score points in two consecutive race weekends, ART reserves the right to terminate this contract.
The GP3 calendar was short—only eight race weekends in 2017. The margin for error was non-existent.
As this contract was laid out in front of him, Kai had to admit, it was an incredible opportunity.
Even as he maintained his calm exterior, he knew exactly what this meant. His pounding heart and the blood rushing through his veins were all pointing in one direction—the direction of his dream. The dream he had kept locked away for so long was finally breaking free.
This time, in the tug-of-war between logic and emotion, logic was completely overthrown. It took every last shred of his reason to hold himself in check.
He had not forgotten his mother.
It was one wave after another. His mother still hadn't forgiven him for the Rome incident. He hadn't even had a chance to properly talk to her, and now this new, massive opportunity had just fallen into his lap.
Was this what they called a "privileged problem"?
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