Kai was fully locked in.
Jones Corner came at him fast, and he nailed the late braking point with absolute precision, clipping the apex cleanly and carrying the car forward exactly as planned.
Then everything exploded.
At the exit of Brabham Corner ahead, a violent burst of air erupted. A silver car spun wildly, rotating like a top before slamming hard into the barriers. Tyres, carbon shards, smoke, dirt, and torn grass erupted into the air, forming a chaotic cloud that looked like a miniature tornado.
There was no warning. No time.
In the blink of an eye, Kai adjusted his steering input, shifted his line outward, and threaded his Ferrari along the outside of Brabham Corner, slicing through wreckage and debris. A detached tyre flew overhead, briefly casting a shadow across the cockpit as it sailed past.
In front of the television, Lu Cheng shot to his feet, his mouth open but no sound coming out.
He did not even realize his fists were clenched white, every muscle in his body locked tight. The roar in his ears drowned out all thought, his heart seeming to freeze mid-beat.
Then, on screen, the red Ferrari emerged.
Slower now. No longer in push mode. Calmly turning into Turn Four.
Lu Cheng finally exhaled, his legs nearly giving way beneath him.
Over the radio, Greenwood's voice cut through. "Red flag. Kai, red flag. Are you OK?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Kai replied, steady and composed. "What about Valtteri? Is he alright?"
There was a brief pause as Greenwood checked. "He's OK. He's fine."
Q3 had barely been underway for two minutes. Most drivers had just finished their out-laps and were starting their flying laps when the calm of Albert Park shattered.
Mercedes driver number seventy-seven, Valtteri Bottas, had braked too late into Jones Corner, riding the kerb too aggressively and hitting a hidden trap.
Before qualifying, a brief rain shower had passed over the circuit. It dried quickly and had not affected practice or qualifying, but Albert Park was a semi-street circuit. The surface was uneven, with bumps and hidden imperfections everywhere. At the transition between kerb and grass at Jones Corner, a small puddle had lingered.
Bottas hit it at the worst possible moment.
The Mercedes had just switched into push mode. The rear stepped out instantly, the car slid onto the still-damp grass beyond the kerb, and control was gone. Bottas slammed into the barrier at Turn Two, spinning violently before the car came to rest completely destroyed.
Red flag.
Qualifying was immediately halted. Kai and Hamilton, both already on flying laps, had no choice but to abandon the run and return to the pits.
In Formula One, yellow flags mean caution and reduced speed. Red flags mean the track is closed. Drivers must slow and head straight back to the pit lane.
Bottas' car sat stranded in the middle of the circuit, right in a corner. Race control did not hesitate.
Plans were instantly thrown into chaos.
Once the car and debris were cleared, the session would resume, but the lost time would not be restored. Q3 was now down to ten minutes.
On paper, it was still workable. Albert Park was short. One full cycle of out-lap, flying lap, and in-lap took roughly four and a half minutes. Two windows were still possible.
In reality, it was far more complicated.
With only nine cars left, compressed into less time, traffic became a serious threat. One slow car at the wrong moment could ruin everything. In Q3, a single mistake could destroy an entire strategy.
That was Formula One. Pressure squeezed into seconds.
For veterans like Hamilton and Vettel, this chaos was familiar. Even so, they were not immune to having a flying lap ruined.
For Kai, the least experienced driver remaining, the challenge was even greater.
Among the nine drivers in Q3, he had the least experience by far. Even in GP3, he had only completed eight race weekends in a full season. Now, Ferrari had entrusted him with an aggressive Q3 strategy that demanded absolute commitment and precision.
The situation was delicate.
In the garage, Claire was thinking about how to ease the tension when Mekies spoke first. "Looks like all of us were wrong."
Everyone turned to him.
"We were betting on which rookie would crash first. Plenty of people thought it would be you. Turns out it was Bottas."
A ripple of laughter followed.
"Good thing it's Mercedes," Mekies added lightly. "If that were Haas, Gene Haas would be losing his mind right now."
Kai remained in the cockpit, helmet on, listening over the radio. "Why? What's the story with Haas?"
Mekies smiled. "Nothing special. Just money. Depending on damage, a crash costs anywhere from five hundred thousand to a million euros. Bottas just threw away a million. Haas doesn't have that kind of cash flow."
Kai paused. "So that's why people joke that rookies burn money?"
Laughter erupted across the garage.
Claire patted Kai's helmet. "Relax, kid. That's only your annual salary."
"…More than a year," Kai replied dryly.
The laughter grew even louder.
In Formula One, crashes were part of the sport. One lapse in judgment could trigger a chain reaction. Rookies, naturally, were more prone to mistakes.
Verstappen's nickname was not earned by accident.
The real headache was for Mercedes. They would be working through the night to rebuild a car. If they failed, Bottas might miss the race entirely.
Team principals hated crashes. Always.
Mekies' humor eased the tension. The track was cleared. Q3 resumed.
Cars lined up neatly in the pit lane. Renault and Haas jumped to the front of the queue, eager to get a lap in before time slipped away.
Everyone was worried about the clock.
Big teams were more cautious, engineers scanning data and track position, waiting for the right window.
Ferrari team boss Arrivabene was directing operations from the pit wall. Decisions were made in seconds.
Vettel would go first. Kai would wait.
Let the initial rush pass. One lap first. Then a final push in the last three minutes.
It was partly strategy, partly protection. Kai was experiencing this chaos for the first time.
After the brief turmoil, Kai rolled out once more.
The noise of the engine swallowed everything else. His heartbeat grew louder, then faded, until only the car remained.
He was ready.
The circuit came alive again.
Ricciardo struck first with a stunning lap, igniting the crowd. Then Verstappen answered, breaking into the 1:21s and sending shockwaves through the paddock.
Hamilton and Vettel followed, but neither could beat Verstappen.
Red Bull sat on provisional pole.
Five minutes remained.
Then the cameras caught it.
"Kai is coming through. The only rookie left in Q3 is starting his flying lap."
The pressure was immense, but instead of crushing him, it sharpened his focus.
Adrenaline surged. The tighter it got, the calmer he became.
The lap began.
He braked even later than in Q2, using every inch of track. The stiff suspension transmitted every bump directly into his hands, building a three-dimensional map in his mind. Brake. Turn. Throttle. Every input landed exactly where it needed to.
Brundle stopped breathing.
At the very corner where Bottas had crashed, Kai attacked without hesitation, skimming the kerb and brushing past the lingering damp patch by millimeters.
Bold. Calm. Fearless.
Jones Corner alone made Albert Park gasp.
By now, Brundle could see it clearly. Every session had been planned. Q1 to Q2 to Q3, step by step. Now, Kai was dancing on the knife edge, finally unleashing everything.
Sector one lit up purple.
Fastest overall.
The Ferrari garage froze.
Then disaster struck.
"Damn it, what is he doing?" Kai snapped over the radio.
Turn Seven. A medium-speed corner linking the fast sections.
A car sat directly on the racing line.
Number forty-four.
A slow car.
Hamilton.
The lap was compromised instantly.
The crowd exploded with disbelief.
Kai went around the outside and powered past. Hamilton, realizing too late, apologized over the radio.
The debate ignited worldwide.
Intentional or not?
Ferrari did not care. The only question was what Kai would do next.
Return to the pits and bet everything on one final lap? Or stay out and go again immediately?
Within seconds, Kai made the call.
"This lap is gone. I'm staying out. I'm going again."
Greenwood hesitated. "That might mean no time for another run. And the tyres won't be perfect."
"One chance is enough," Kai replied.
The decision was final.
The second flying lap began.
He attacked Jones Corner again, even later on the brakes, the Ferrari slicing past the puddle that had caused all the chaos.
The car stayed glued to the apex.
Speed built relentlessly.
At Turn Three, he committed fully, cutting in harder than he ever had at Albert Park. The track and the car were both at their limit.
Sector one went purple again.
Mekies leaned forward, fists clenched.
The lap continued.
Through Clark Corner, Kai kept his foot planted, the Ferrari stable and fierce, the SF71H finally showing its full strength. The crowd barely had time to react as the red car tore past, framed by green trees, blue water, and golden sunlight.
Sector two turned purple.
Now it was real.
The final sector demanded everything. Late braking. Perfect exits. No margin for error.
Kai delivered.
Smooth. Ruthless. Precise.
He crossed the line.
"Purple in sector three."
The Ferrari garage erupted.
1:21.728.
Provisional pole.
The crowd fell silent, stunned.
Croft shouted himself hoarse. Brundle stared at the screen in disbelief.
A rookie. First F1 qualifying. Red flag. Traffic. Chaos.
And still, he delivered perfection.
Greenwood's voice trembled. "Kai. P1. Provisional P1."
"Copy," Kai replied calmly.
No celebration. No outburst.
This was not over yet.
Other drivers still had time.
For him, this was just a lap.
And that calm, more than the time itself, sent a chill through the paddock.