"Pure luck. Haas handed it to him on a silver platter. Once wasn't enough, they had to screw up twice. A ghost could have won that race."
"The kid is 100% a pay driver. A 'young master.' Skipping F2 wasn't enough, now Ferrari is sacrificing Vettel's strategy to protect the rookie's overcut. How much is this kid worth compared to Stroll?"
"It's all fiction. If there are similarities, it's pure coincidence. Don't take it seriously. With that car, that strategy, and that dog-shit luck, even I could have won."
The keyboard warriors were out in force. From the safety of their bedrooms, they gazed at the stars, deduced the 'truth,' and typed out their expert analyses.
Ridicule. Attacks. Scorn. Disdain. The noise was deafening.
As these voices swelled into a tidal wave, one fact became undeniable: Kai was viral. His fame was breaking through the niche barrier of motorsport and spilling into the mainstream.
His influence was spreading like wildfire.
Did Kai care?
No. The opinions of armchair experts driving with their thumbs on a smartphone screen held no weight. He wouldn't waste a second on them.
But while Kai remained detached, not everyone could maintain that level of cool rationality.
Song Bo was furious.
The joy of victory was still thrumming in his chest. He had opened social media to share the emotion with thousands of fans, only to be met with a barrage of chirping crickets and venomous trolls. The anger rushed to his head. He wanted to reach through the screen and strangle them.
But he couldn't. Even if he could, he couldn't fight the entire internet alone.
So, what could he do?
Song Bo's mind raced. He found the answer: Video.
He would produce a comprehensive breakdown. Not just a recap of the Australian Grand Prix, but a deep dive into the tactics, the race conditions, the turning points, and the sheer difficulty of what had been achieved.
He would let the facts speak. He needed people to realize that Kai's victory wasn't just luck. It was a miracle born of immense pressure and flawless execution.
Song Bo succeeded.
It became the first video on his channel to break one million views. He rode the wave of traffic perfectly, marking the first major breakthrough of his year-long podcasting career.
In a twenty-three-minute video, he dissected the Melbourne race. He highlighted the challenges Kai faced behind the strategy and luck. He argued that seizing an opportunity created by time and place required genius, not just fortune.
The video hit two million views. The comments section exploded, transforming into a vibrant community hub.
Song Bo had never realized there were so many racing enthusiasts in China. His blood boiled with renewed motivation.
He wasn't alone. Video platforms domestic and abroad, along with professional outlets like Sky Sports and Great Sports, seized the moment. They produced special segments analyzing the truth behind the rookie's debut win.
"An unparalleled victory."
"Between risk and reason, between raw instinct and talent, Kai found the perfect balance. He withstood the pressure to control the race in an unexpected way. From Lap 1 to Lap 58, the race could have flipped at any moment, yet he brought the victory home."
"A debut worth remembering. The paddock should be ready. This outsider crashing the party is prepared to be the protagonist."
Praise. Awe. Surprise.
The more they analyzed, the more impressed they became. Only in the cold light of day did the pundits realize how difficult and precarious Kai's victory had truly been.
Make no mistake, luck was involved. The Safety Car was the turning point that shifted quantity into quality, and Haas's double error was shocking. But luck alone, without Kai's courage and technique, would not have produced the result on the scoreboard.
The internet was melting down.
Someone even created a montage of Kai's defense against Hamilton and his pit exit merge, set to epic orchestral music. It was retweeted by Tifosi accounts worldwide, flooding the timelines of motorsport fans everywhere.
However, none of this concerned Kai.
After the Australian Grand Prix, the Ferrari team returned immediately to Maranello. Kai was with them.
The Bahrain Grand Prix was two weeks away. Technically, there was a week of rest. Vettel hadn't returned to the factory, but for the rookie, there was no downtime.
First, after the debut, he realized his shortcomings. He needed to learn, digest, and summarize the data.
Second, he needed to adapt to the F1 rhythm. In GP3, breaks could last a month. In F1, aside from the summer break, the longest gap was two weeks. Often, there were double-headers or triple-headers. The season was a marathon from March to November.
Third, he had to prepare for Bahrain.
So, no holiday. Kai went straight back to the grind in Maranello.
Frankie Penny had been worried that the noise on social media would affect Kai's focus. The filth of the trolls was one thing, but the excessive praise, treating him like the second coming of Senna, was another. A driver needed distance from the hype.
Especially a young one. The glittering bubbles of the internet were blinding. It was easy to get swept away and lose direction.
But just as Frankie was considering how to limit Kai's phone usage, she found that his phone had already been banished to the cold palace.
Back in Maranello, Kai was either in the simulator, in meetings with the technical team, or doing math problems in his dorm room at night.
Frankie breathed a sigh of relief. This kid was worry-free. Who wouldn't love a driver like this?
Methodical and disciplined, Kai worked with the experienced Jock Clear and the team, putting Australia behind him. They entered "Bahrain Time."
But then, Laurent Mekies arrived with bad news from Arrivabene.
Not a disaster, but definitely bad news.
The FIA had issued a Technical Directive. They were investigating Ferrari, suspecting the rear wing used in Australia did not comply with regulations.
"Hmph. I thought it would be Christian Horner, but I didn't expect Toto Wolff to be so impatient," Arrivabene had scoffed.
It was business as usual in F1.
When Mekies delivered the news, the engineering room was buzzing with discussions about the Sakhir circuit. Kai, who "knew nothing about Bahrain," was listening intently, absorbing information like a sponge.
The moment Mekies spoke, the hot air in the room froze.
Kai broke the silence. "Even the weather in London doesn't change this fast."
The atmosphere relaxed slightly. Kai looked at Mekies. "What's the specific issue?"
Mekies waved his hand. "The specifics don't matter. What matters is the attitude. They are sore losers."
Kai tugged at the corner of his mouth and spread his hands. "So, they can't win on the track, they try to win off it? F1 isn't so different from street racing after all."
"Hahaha." Jock Clear laughed loudly. "Exactly. That's the way it is. If you can't beat them, ban them. The paddock has always been this way."
Clear paused, then added, "Don't misunderstand. If the roles were reversed, we'd do the same thing. The paddock isn't just about the racing line."
"I just didn't expect them to move so fast," Kai noted.
Clear explained. "Usually, a Team Principal waits three or four races to gather evidence for a protest, just to keep up appearances. But to trigger the FIA after just one race? Kid, you really pissed someone off."
Clear looked at Mekies. "So, who filed the complaint? Zak Brown? Christian Horner? Or Cyril Abiteboul?"
"Toto Wolff," Mekies replied.
Whistles echoed around the room. Someone even high-fived. Jealousy and attacks from rivals were the highest form of validation for their work.
Mekies smiled wryly. "It's not Toto's style. He's usually calculated, not impulsive. Maurizio didn't expect it to be him either. It seems they are very, very unhappy about what happened at Albert Park."
Swords drawn in the shadows.
Kai wasn't a stranger to this. On the streets, racing was primal and savage. The tricks were dirty. In the paddock, under the guise of regulations, everyone was more civilized, but the knives were still sharp. It was bloodless, but cold-blooded.
Kai looked at Mekies. "Is our rear wing actually illegal?"
Mekies sat down. "It passed winter testing. It's highly unlikely Mercedes discovered a new continent after one race. The real goal is to annoy us. To mess with your head. To distract you so you crack under the pressure."
Kai pointed at himself. "Oh, so I'm the target. Sorry for the trouble."
His deadpan delivery made everyone chuckle. There was no panic. "Should I be honored? Mercedes is targeting me?"
Clear spoke slowly. "Maybe it's because they didn't get you. If they can't have you, they want to destroy you. Love turns to hate."
Kai shook his head, feigning heartbreak. "Jock, you really need to stop watching Real Housewives."
The room erupted in laughter.
Kai's eyes were smiling too, but he pivoted back to business. "You were saying the Bahrain circuit might not suit our chassis?"
Mekies paused. Kai was already back to work. He won his debut, got targeted by Mercedes politics, and his reaction was... back to the briefing?
"You're not worried?" Mekies asked.
Kai shrugged. "FIA matters are for the professionals. Our job is the track. We need to hit back on the asphalt."
"Besides, you know I love the look on people's faces when they hate me but can't beat me."
Silence filled the room.
Mekies glanced at Clear, but Clear didn't even look up; he was already pulling up telemetry for Kai. Mekies relaxed.
They had high hopes for Kai. But now, it seemed even those expectations might have been too low.
As Kai said, the off-track battle was just noise. The real test was Bahrain.
Like Shanghai, Bahrain joined the calendar in 2004. It was unique, a track in the middle of the desert. No shade. Daytime temperatures were scorching, often exceeding fifty degrees on the track surface. That made daytime racing impossible, so it became a night race.
But the desert has a massive diurnal temperature range. Daytime is a furnace; night is windy and cool. Track temps drop to around twenty degrees. Getting tires into the working window is hard, and as the race progresses and the temperature drops further, maintaining stability becomes a nightmare.
And that wasn't all.
Sand. The wind blew a fine layer of sand onto the asphalt. Like rain, this reduced grip. It destroyed the racing line. It made the cars slide.
Worse, driving at high speed over sand acted like sandpaper. Tire degradation would be brutal.
Pirelli had brought softer compounds this year. In Bahrain, the wear rate would be accelerated.
In Melbourne, Kai's tire management had been better than Hamilton's. But generally, the Mercedes chassis was more balanced and kinder to its rubber. The Ferrari was designed for straight-line speed and high-speed cornering, making it harder on tires. In a rear-limited traction zone like Bahrain, the Ferrari would suffer.
Bahrain is a "stop-start" track. Long straights into heavy braking zones into traction zones. It tests the engine, the brakes, and the rear tires.
Based on Melbourne, Mercedes should have the edge here. Now, it was up to Ferrari to flip the script.
The wind would not cease even if the trees wanted rest.
Although Kai stayed focused in the sanctuary of Maranello, the outside world eventually crashed the gates.
After finishing his morning simulator session, Kai walked out the main entrance and saw Lorenzo and Lucian Lebaque.
Lorenzo spotted Kai. He stood on his tiptoes, beaming in the sunlight, waving frantically to catch his friend's eye.
Kai acted like he was blind. He walked straight past them, leaving Lorenzo and Lebaque hanging in the wind.
Lorenzo shouted, "Hey! Baby... BA! BY! Where are you going?"
The birds in the trees of Maranello took flight in terror.
Click-click-click.
The flashbulbs detonated first. The shutters followed like machine-gun fire. The moment Kai appeared, the ambush was sprung.
Shouts tangled together, filling his ears.
"What do you think of the FIA investigation?"
"Rumor has it the protest came from Mercedes. Is it justified?"
"Is Ferrari cheating?"
The journalists swarming the Ferrari gates were like sardines packing into a tin. Banned from entering, they camped outside. Questions flew like shrapnel. Even though Kai didn't respond, they didn't stop.
The "Ferrari vs. Mercedes" war had spilled out of the paddock. The "Baby Driver" was the catalyst. The media couldn't wait for the press conference in Bahrain. They were prowling the streets of Maranello.
Usually, Ferrari handled this easily. But Kai's silence was frustrating the press. They were desperate to break him.
Seeing Lorenzo appear was like blood in the water. The sharks swarmed.
Lorenzo and Lebaque were startled. Was this a spy movie?
One second, the entrance was peaceful. The next, a waterfall of flashbulbs drowned them.
Lorenzo stumbled back, a string of colorful Italian cursing spilling from his lips.
But the reporters ignored him. A banshee-like shriek pierced the air.
"Baby! Do you think Mercedes is doing this on purpose? Is Toto targeting Ferrari, or is he targeting you?"
Provocation. Instigation. Chaos.
Lorenzo finally realized what was happening. He looked ahead. Kai was still walking, unhurried, calm as a monk.
Kai wasn't ignoring Lorenzo. He was ignoring the sharks.
Lorenzo grabbed Lebaque and sprinted to catch up, following in Kai's slipstream as they escaped.
The screams of the unanswered questions burned behind them. Lorenzo shivered. "Kai, are they always like this? It's like Animal Planet."
Kai's eyes smiled. "They say it only feels like the season has started when the vultures circle. It means we're competitive."
Kai turned to the other side. "Lucian, sorry. I hope I didn't scare you. I was going to launch a rescue mission, but explaining the plan would have taken too long, and running away would have been a headline."
"So, I used the simplest method. Hope you don't mind."
Lebaque's expression cycled through surprise, shock, admiration, and finally, amusement. "You always bring surprises."
They walked into the building. "I'm going to get lunch," Kai said. "Join me? My treat."
Lorenzo muttered, "Doesn't Ferrari pay for the food?"
Kai looked righteous. "Their sponsorship is basically my salary. so, technically, I'm paying. I just don't know if you guys are willing to eat at the canteen."
Lorenzo didn't care. He looked at Lebaque.
Lebaque was stunned. He hadn't expected his high-stakes business visit to turn into a university cafeteria lunch.
They should have been at a Michelin-star restaurant with a private room.
But looking at Kai's open expression, Lebaque relaxed. "Why not?" He smiled. "Do we have to eat the nutrition plan like you?"
"No, of course not," Kai grinned. "If everyone at Ferrari had to eat my diet, they'd go on strike, and the car wouldn't run."
Lorenzo gave Lebaque a sympathetic look. He assumed a high-level executive at Richard Mille had forgotten what a cafeteria looked like.
Lebaque noticed. "Relax. I'm not some out-of-touch aristocrat. I actually miss the school canteen. It's not fancy, but it's life."
Watching Kai interact with the staff, Lebaque noticed something. Kai knew them. Not just polite greetings, but real conversations. He asked about their kids, their health, the small events of the factory.
F1 is a rich man's sport. Most young drivers were sons of billionaires. Drivers like Hamilton, Ocon, and Kai, true grassroots talents, were becoming rare.
Lebaque didn't want to change the world, but he admitted that an anomaly like Kai made things interesting. Just like Richard Mille, the disruptor in the centuries-old watch industry.
Lebaque had expected Kai to ask why they were there. Instead, Lebaque felt the pressure to speak.
Richard Mille is on the back foot, he thought.
Just like the media outside, everyone wanted a piece of Kai now. If they hesitated, they'd be standing in line.
Fortunately, Richard Mille had moved first. To keep the advantage, they had to strike before the dynamic shifted further.
"I came to Maranello today," Lebaque said, a playful glint in his eye, "because Richard Mille wants a long-term cooperation. We want to rip up the old contract and sign a new one. To plan our future together."
Renewal?
Kai was surprised. He thought Lebaque was here to cash in on the viral fame and demand some promotional appearances.
"If I recall correctly, we have two years left. Or rather, 1+1," Kai said. It was his first sponsorship; he remembered the details.
"Correct," Lebaque said. "I'm here to activate the second year."
"But, why don't we turn that one year into three? What do you think?"
F1 driver contracts are usually one year. Sponsorships follow suit to maintain flexibility.
A three-year deal, potentially four if including 2018, was an eternity in F1. It was practically a lifetime contract.
Kai raised an eyebrow. " shouldn't you be discussing this with Nick? If he finds out I'm doing deals without him again, he'll cry."
"Haha." Lebaque laughed. "Of course. That's the agent's job. I'm happy to sit down with Nick."
"But, Kai, I need you to feel our sincerity."
"We aren't just looking for a billboard in the paddock. We don't want to be like moss, clinging to whoever is famous just for exposure. We don't want just anyone wearing our watches."
"We are looking for a driver who truly fits our brand DNA. Someone to climb the peaks and weather the valleys with. Someone to face the difficulties with. Just like Richard Mille's own startup journey, we need a face that represents our spirit."
"I think we found him."
Simple, but firm.
In the noise of the canteen, Lebaque's gaze was steady.
The wind had shifted. In Monaco less than a year ago, Kai was persuading Lebaque. Now, in Maranello, Lebaque was persuading Kai.
Kai felt a flutter in his chest. But he kept his cool.
This was business.
Last September, before Ferrari announced Kai, another sponsor had quietly signed him.
Ray-Ban.
The old fox of the industry had signed a two-year deal. One million dollars a year. It wasn't a huge amount, but Ray-Ban had played the timing perfectly, investing before Kai proved himself to get cheap exposure.
It was pure opportunism.
If Richard Mille was just being opportunistic like Ray-Ban, Kai would treat it as a transaction. No hard feelings.
But this felt different. Richard Mille was his first sponsor. And the blueprint they were offering was grander.
"Why?" Kai asked, a playful look in his eyes.
Lebaque blinked.
"Because of the win in Australia?" Kai asked lightly. "It's just one race. Valuable, yes, but not that valuable. Verstappen won his first race, then waited over a year for the second. Are you jumping to conclusions?"
"No," Lebaque said, admiration coloring his tone.
"The win is a key, yes. But as you said, it's just a trophy."
"It's about the process. The calmness in the face of opportunity. The grace under pressure. Facing a superior Mercedes car and holding off Hamilton? Trust me, very few people in the paddock have that kind of confidence."
"It's also about what happened after. The FIA investigation. The media siege. The chaos of overnight fame. It's a shock to the system. But your temperament tells me you are ready for even more extreme challenges."
"And finally, right now."
Lebaque paused. Kai smiled. "Lucian, my ego is inflating rapidly. Are you sure you want to continue?"
"Haha." Lebaque laughed. "See? That's it. That frank, uninhibited attitude."
"Honestly, most rookies would jump at a renewal. They'd sign the paper immediately."
"But you didn't."
Lebaque's voice turned serious. "The paddock isn't simple. It can be heaven, but it can also be hell."
"Look at Haas. One moment they are heroes, the next it's all ash. Reality is cruel."
"The whole paddock is questioning if you are ready. But in my opinion, you aren't just ready to play; you are ready to lead. If people think this season is just a Hamilton and Vettel party, you're going to disappoint them."
Lebaque sat up straight. "So, Richard Mille wants to seize the opportunity. We want to renew before you become too expensive to touch."
Kai laughed out loud.
Lebaque grinned. "More importantly, we want to grow with you. To build the brand image together. To walk this path together."
"Kai, are you willing to let Richard Mille be your partner and comrade in arms?"
Silence fell over the table. The noise of the canteen seemed to fade, highlighting the invisible tension between the two men.
Then, Kai's lips curled up.
"That depends on Richard Mille's sincerity."
Lebaque's mouth opened slightly in shock, before a genuine smile burst from his chest.
Who would have thought that the pivotal moment for Richard Mille's brand marketing would happen in a cafeteria in Maranello?