Conflict erupted, and the smoke of battle rose. Instantly, the air over Monza began to boil.
Boom!
Max Verstappen exploded. "Fuck!"
Expletives detonated over the radio, sweeping through the airwaves. Even Christian Horner's attempts to calm him down were futile; the Dutchman had lost his mind.
"...I gave him space!"
Followed by a string of furious curses that had to be beeped out.
This incident wouldn't just affect Verstappen's race; it would trigger a chain reaction, altering the order of the top six.
The broadcast immediately replayed the incident. The slow-motion footage was damning: Verstappen had completely occupied the outside racing line, leaving zero space. He had forced Bottas off the track, preventing him from making the corner. Even with a magnifying glass, the so-called "space" Verstappen claimed to have left was invisible.
The FIA's penalty was correct.
But obviously, Mercedes wasn't satisfied. Bottas was still stuck behind the Red Bull. They needed him to clear Verstappen and potentially help Hamilton.
Red Bull was equally unhappy. Verstappen was now likely off the podium, and worse, he had to deal with a charging Vettel behind him.
Frustrated and feeling infinitely wronged, Verstappen went nuclear. "I don't care about Vettel! I just want to make sure Bottas doesn't get past!"
In other words, no one was happy.
As the race neared its end, the friction between Mercedes and Red Bull was heating up.
The battle for the podium was intense, but it was just the appetizer. The main course was the fight for the win. Lap 44. Sector 3. The end was approaching, and the pressure was ratcheting up. The air felt charged.
The pale blue sky pressed down low. Thin, bright sunlight stabbed at their eyes like golden needles. The radio chatter seemed to cut out, leaving the world silent save for the roaring wind and the metallic scream of engines.
Roar—
Again and again, hammering against the eardrums.
Hamilton was coming.
Like a submarine surfacing silently, the silver Mercedes emerged from the Ferrari's slipstream. Its reflection in the mirrors grew larger—calm, precise, exuding an undeniable, immovable determination.
"Kai, DRS zone. 0.7 seconds." Pierre Borreipaire sensed the crisis immediately, his body rigid as he stared at the screens.
Kai didn't respond. Steady. Focused. Resolute. The extreme tension paradoxically relaxed him. His hands and feet moved with fluid control.
He had been waiting for this. His mind was clear, calculating every variable, even his own breathing.
His Soft tires had done 25 laps. Finishing the race wasn't the issue. But defending against Hamilton, whose tires were 8 laps fresher (17 laps old), was the true test.
At the apex, his front tires had almost zero grip.
On the straights, his traction was slightly delayed.
And behind him, the Mercedes was a shadow, waiting for its moment. A cheetah, muscles coiled, ready to strike a fatal blow the moment prey showed weakness.
But if Hamilton thought this pass would be easy, he hadn't studied his opponent well enough.
Whoosh, whoosh. DRS open. Airflow surged.
On the main straight, Hamilton surfed the slipstream perfectly. The rolling air hit like ocean waves, layer upon layer.
The grandstands and pit lane didn't even have time to gasp. Hearts constricted. Everyone stood up. Lorenzo Moretti clenched his fists, staring straight at the screen.
Then—Pull out! Outside line!
Just as Bottas had tried with Verstappen, Hamilton mirrored the strategy against Kai.
The silver flash lunged at the red car like a predator snapping at an antelope. No blood was visible, but the scent of it filled the air. The tension snapped to its limit.
And Kai?
Would he squeeze the opponent's line like Verstappen?
No!
Steady. Firm. Straight ahead.
Kai knew Hamilton was committed. Slipstream, DRS, pull out—it was all in one motion. Hamilton had the speed advantage. If Kai forced him wide, a collision like Verstappen/Bottas was highly probable.
Regardless of a crash, a 5-second penalty from the FIA would hand the win to Hamilton anyway.
Kai refused to give control to his opponent. His race would be decided by his own hands.
So, under Hamilton's full pressure, Kai held his line unmoved. But he delayed his braking.
Transitioning from straight to corner, even without squeezing the opponent, extreme late braking naturally squeezed the entry angle.
Wheel-to-wheel! Shoulder-to-shoulder!
Kai didn't brake. Hamilton couldn't brake. If Hamilton braked now, his DRS advantage would vanish. He had to brake later than Kai. It was the only way to avoid losing the position in the first chicane.
When Hamilton applied pressure on the straight, Kai absorbed it with a hard, resilient stance—
And then, reflected that pressure right back onto Hamilton.
"Oh no!"
It was clear to everyone: both Car 22 and Car 44 had pushed their braking to the absolute limit. The front suspensions screamed under the vibration.
Both cars locked up simultaneously. Both slid. Black smoke rolled off the white lines. It was a gamble on the edge of life and death. The crushing G-force slammed down, choking off breath.
But!
In that split second, Kai, counter-attacking within the duel, seized the initiative. Amidst the chaos and vibration, he miraculously stabilized the front end.
With a delicate, soft adjustment of the steering, he rebalanced the braking load. The tires bit into the asphalt, finding grip in the chicane. Despite the frantic inputs, the red car carved a stunning arc, flowing like a torrent through Turn 1 and into Turn 2.
Elegant. Fluid. A symphony amidst the roar!
When two cars go wheel-to-wheel into a corner, one holding the perfect line spells bad news for the other.
Hamilton felt like a weather vane in a hurricane, spinning helplessly.
Kai hadn't squeezed him, but Hamilton's braking was beyond the limit. His front left tire left the track, bumping over the kerbs. His internal organs felt like they were being shaken loose. The left side of his car was completely off the tarmac, unintentionally cutting the corner straight into Turn 2.
Technically, Hamilton entered the corner ahead of Kai.
But Hamilton couldn't smile. He was two-thirds of a car width off the ideal line. His entry angle was too shallow, making it impossible to get traction on the exit.
Moreover, the car was bouncing violently over the kerbs ("porpoising" before the term became popular again), with zero grip. Hamilton momentarily lost control.
Everything was going according to Kai's plan.
0.3 seconds! 0.5 seconds! 0.7 seconds!
The gap re-established.
I am the knife, you are the meat. Undoubtedly, Hamilton held the initiative. He decided when and how to attack.
Car 22 was the meat on the chopping block.
However, the prey driving Car 22 refused to be slaughtered. Who was the hunter and who was the prey? It was too early to say.
Hamilton, holding the initiative, hadn't escaped the framework Kai had set. The timing and method of the attack were all within Kai's predictions. Kai went with the flow, refusing to panic or react defensively. Instead, he countered with strength.
These greenhouse flowers, accustomed to paddock rules and etiquette, were suddenly facing the brute force and wildness of the streets. Even Hamilton couldn't adapt instantly.
The Mercedes, which held all the advantages, accidentally went off track. So, was this ruthlessness?
In a flash, Kai executed a reverse cutback counter-attack!
No one expected Kai to withstand Hamilton's assault. Even fewer expected him to have a counter-move!
The Ferrari's tail slid out half a car width, almost brushing the kerb at the top of the corner. Amidst the swaying and bumps, relying on precise throttle control, Kai found a miraculous balance. The red blur traced an arc like lightning under the sun, drilling out of the corner instantly.
Exit. Traction. Speed. Throttle pinned to the limit. The engine roar shattered the peace of Curva Grande as he surged ahead.
Gasp!
Shockwaves rippled through the stands. Hamilton, determined and dominant, looked dusty and beaten. The Monza crowd was too stunned to even scream.
The chaotic noise vanished. Collective brain freeze!
Everyone stared dumbfounded at the silver flash of Car 44. No panic, no regret. Hamilton once again showed his composure.
The first attack failed. He genuinely thought he had it, but clearly, he didn't.
Hamilton stabilized immediately. No time for frustration. His eyes were bright, his fighting spirit soaring. He chased even harder.
"Good," he said. His helmet couldn't hide the gleam in his eyes.
If once wasn't enough, then twice, three times. Until he succeeded. If he didn't abuse the tires now, saving them earlier would have been meaningless.
Engine power unleashed. Hamilton didn't hesitate to follow through Curva Grande. Before he could catch his breath, the second chicane (Variante della Roggia) rushed at them.
Boom-boom, boom-boom. The predatory roar from behind seemed to touch the back of Kai's neck. The chilling killing intent cleared his mind instantly.
Chess isn't about looking at one move. If he could calculate Hamilton's next strategy, he could find an opportunity in this extreme defense.
Ahead: the second chicane, two rapid 90-degree corners. No DRS, but Mercedes' high-speed corner advantage allowed them to stick to the Ferrari.
Next: the second DRS zone on the long straight leading to Ascari. That would be the killing zone.
So, non-DRS zones required one defense; DRS zones required another.
Second chicane. Heavy braking, quick direction changes. Kai knew his tires would be tested here, especially the front left.
But he didn't back down.
Trail braking!
Kai utilized the full width of the track, controlling the line with steering to minimize braking pressure. He used the end of the braking phase to maintain downforce, "dragging" the car into the corner. Pushing everything to the limit, tiptoeing on a high-wire while sprinting.
It was an extremely dangerous technique—braking force and lateral G-force overlapping. Any slight deviation could mean a spin.
The car shuddered. The steering wheel kicked. The wind howled like turbulence.
"Steady. Steady!" Pierre almost held his breath.
The entire pit lane was silent, frozen in place. Only pounding hearts remained, on the verge of exploding. No one wanted to look away.
However—
Kai held it. Second chicane. Lesmo 1 and 2. Continuous extreme defense.
Teetering on the edge of disaster, probing the boundaries of life and death, yet he carved a fluid line of light. He steadily left the silver shadow behind in the dirty air. Not only did he not retreat, his exit speed was solid. The gap seemed to widen.
Unbelievable! Inconceivable!
Under the extreme pressure of the relentless Mercedes, the Ferrari controlled the situation with superior skill. Leaving Lesmo 2, the gap opened slightly. The connected train of light was severed.
But the reigning champion was unruffled. He followed closely. Even with a slight gap, the silver car stuck to him like glue.
The straight opened up again.
Hamilton floored it without hesitation. The slipstream sucked the red Ferrari backward, making it tremble. He could clearly see Kai's tires struggling.
The air between them tore open. The wind hit like blades, turning into a storm that threatened to capsize both small boats.
Kai's breathing shortened. Scalding sweat slid down his chin, disappearing instantly, replaced by a rising heat on his skin. The vibration of the steering wheel hit his heart directly. His bones felt like they were shattering from the resonance.
He knew he was dancing on the edge. Any corner, any throttle application could be the end.
But miraculously, there was no fear, no panic. Instead, a hidden excitement bubbled up. The taste of blood in his mouth made his eyes brighter.
Let the storm rage harder!
As expected, Hamilton applied pressure.
On the straight, DRS open. Hamilton feinted right, then immediately returned to the inside line, grabbing the tow, trying to bait Kai into moving early or braking early.
But Kai didn't move. He held the middle-inside line steadily, watching the silver movement in his mirrors.
After the brief feint to the right, Hamilton cut left. Since Turn 8 (Ascari entry) is a left-hander, Hamilton was preparing to dive up the inside.
In the blink of an eye, Kai made a split-second decision. He was about to turn in, but he forced himself to wait three meters.
Then he turned. But his steering angle was slightly shallower than expected. The car cut straight across the middle of the corner, forcibly altering the angle and space of Hamilton's arc.
Hamilton was startled. He refused to lift. So he had to turn early, enter early, and slide up next to Kai.
Side-by-side through the high-speed chicane.
No one lifted. No one backed down. Wheel-to-wheel!
The two cars navigated Turn 8 glued together. But in this comprehensive chess match, Kai was one move ahead.
Hamilton entered too early. His angle was compromised. Turn 8 was fine, but his line for Turn 9 and 10 was ruined.
Kai, meanwhile, traced a smoother, wider arc. He carried momentum, using the slipstream effect in reverse, flowing through Ascari like water.
Exit. Speed. The difference was immediate!
The crowd stared, unblinking, at the tangled silver and red. It looked like silver would swallow red, but red miraculously broke free, speeding away. The gap opened instantly.
Scalps tingled!
"KAI ZHIZHOU!"
"Kai withstands Hamilton's second wave! Unbelievable, peerless performance! Twice in a row, he denies the champion in the DRS zone!"
"Tough! Decisive! Rational! Wise! Total control!"
"Kai holds off Hamilton's storm-like attacks and continues to lead the Italian Grand Prix! This young driver is showing elite defensive skills!"
"Incredible—"
"I mean... God!"
Shockwave after shockwave. Like electricity coursing through him, Croft clutched his head, staring jaw-dropped at the red blur on screen. For once, his mind went blank, lost in the impact and surprise.
Beside him, Brundle was the same.
Since GP3, Brundle had believed in Kai's talent. The facts were there. But today was still a surprise.
Praise erupted like a volcano.
"25-lap old Softs against 17-lap old Softs! Kai is truly using the car and the track to the absolute limit!"
"Don't forget, these tires already fought a round! From Lap 20 to 28, in the remote duel with Hamilton!"
"Kai used these tires to suppress Hamilton's old tires on pace, and now he's using the same tires to suppress Hamilton's new tires on defense!"
"Wow—is this even possible?"
"Except for Ayrton Senna, I can't think of any driver with this ability and courage—"
When the red Ferrari crossed the line to start Lap 46 ahead of the silver Mercedes, the main grandstand went insane.
Almost no one believed Kai could hold off Hamilton. But now, a miracle was unfolding before their eyes.
Waves of heat rolled in. Monza was a sea of fire. People flooded toward the track from all directions.
Matteo noticed it first. The fans in the bar were emptying out.
Whatever reason they had for staying away, they couldn't hold back anymore. They ran like madmen toward the circuit.
Win or lose, they would face it together. For past glory, and for the unyielding pride in their bones.
For a split second, Matteo was tempted. He almost turned to run.
But he controlled himself. He looked back at the TV, staring intently, hands clasped in silent prayer.
He knew the situation was still dire. Hamilton still had the advantage. If Hamilton was easy to beat, he wouldn't be Lewis Hamilton.
He was willing to sacrifice anything to see the Red Sea at Monza again.
This time, Matteo was right.
Kai didn't get complacent. Pierre just told him Hamilton was only 0.9 seconds behind. Still in DRS range.
The crisis wasn't over.
In Melbourne, Kai had experienced Hamilton's ability firsthand. Back then, Hamilton was overconfident and rushed his attacks, making mistakes. Obviously, Hamilton wouldn't repeat that.
So, after two failed attacks on Lap 45, Hamilton would likely control himself and wait for a better opportunity.
However, this also meant that Kai, who had been passively defending and reacting, finally had a chance to switch from defense to offense—
Just because he was defending didn't mean he couldn't attack.
Thump, thump. The world went silent. Only his heartbeat echoed the engine. Kai and the car were one.
For the next two laps, as expected, Hamilton didn't rush. Instead, Kai seemed to waver. He went into tire-saving mode.
Kai relied on positioning to defend, just like Bottas had against him, avoiding mistakes. But the tires seemed to hit the cliff. The front left began to blister. Exiting corners, the rear wing wobbled. Speed dropped.
A flaw finally appeared.
But this time, Hamilton didn't rush. He saw Kai falter three times but remained unmoved. He didn't attack rashly. He stayed focused, following closely, the image of a master in control.
Patience. Calm. Don't strike lightly. But when you strike, make it fatal.
Hamilton was determined to win. Not just for Mercedes, not just for the championship. He wanted to beat Kai. He wanted revenge for Silverstone at Ferrari's home.
The desire for victory was stronger than ever.
Lap 50. After the second chicane, at the first Lesmo (Turn 6), Kai braked early. He didn't trail-brake aggressively like before.
Technically, not a flaw. But to a focused Hamilton, it was readable.
Ferrari's brakes were overheating.Ferrari's front left tire was dead. Grip was gone.
Opportunity.
Decisive. Without hesitation. And without warning. This wasn't a standard overtaking spot. Hamilton believed he could catch Kai off guard. He trusted his instinct.
Steer left. Cut outside. Late braking.
Hamilton attacked again! It was sudden. The broadcast was stunned. Hamilton grabbed the outside line.
Vroom, vroom! Car 44 was charging at Car 22!
The blade was out!
However, seeing it all, a glint appeared deep in Kai's eyes. "Finally!"
It was a surprise. Kai admitted Hamilton's attack was unexpected. It broke the predicted pattern.
But because of that, Hamilton had no DRS. The gap was 0.7 seconds. On other tracks, that might be half a car length. At Monza, speed is king. 0.7 seconds is more than a car length.
In other words, even with extreme late braking around the outside, Hamilton couldn't fully clear Kai by Turn 6. Hamilton's tactical intent was to run side-by-side through Turn 6, use the grip advantage for exit speed, and then eat Kai alive on the straight to Ascari.
Strategy: Clear and defined.
Prerequisite: Kai hadn't set a trap.
Kai had maintained high focus. Selling flaws, waiting patiently like a seasoned hunter. Seeing Hamilton squeeze in from the outside, he didn't panic. He focused entirely on the track undulating beneath his feet.
Three. Two. One!
Now! Throttle. Push. Rear wheels slid instantly, sparks flying.
Kai forced the power down, catching the grip perfectly. Exiting Lesmo 1 (Turn 6), he should have steered right, but he held the wheel slightly tighter, widening his exit arc. Invisibly squeezing Hamilton's outside line.
Then!
Hamilton, fully prepared to use his rhythm advantage to catch Kai, found Kai blocking his path. A narrow path, barely one and a half car widths wide, stretched ahead. Car 44 felt like it had fallen into a box, its limbs constrained.
...A trap!
The air froze. The roaring engines hammered against his heart underwater. The opportunity he had waited for had turned into a cage.
In a flash, Hamilton realized his desire for victory had become bait.
No matter how calm or patient he was, as long as he hungered for the win, Kai's repeated "flaws" would eventually lure him in.
He was too confident. He believed Kai's tires were dead. He believed the flaw was an error, not a trap.
So, what now? Surrender?
No. Of course not.
Yes, Hamilton was blinded by desire. But wasn't Kai the same?
Kai confidently sold flaws, but his battered tires were truly on the limit. He dug a trap, but he might fall into it himself.
Smart people are like that. Thinking they've calculated everything, only to trip over their own pride.
In the nick of time, Hamilton cooled down. He brought out his peak performance—
Ahead: Lesmo 1 (Turn 6) and Lesmo 2 (Turn 7). Two right angles connected by a short straight. Simple on paper, but a severe test of technique.
Key 1: Cornering arc. Key 2: Exit speed. Whoever controlled these controlled Sector 3.
Decisively, Hamilton moved slightly left. He rode the kerb, widening his line. Instead of panicking, he went with the flow, opening up his arc. He squeezed every drop of potential from his fresher tires and the Mercedes' high-speed prowess. He responded instantly.
Heatwave rolling. Boiling. Amidst the clash of engines, two cars flew through Turn 6 nose-to-tail.
The straight was only 100 meters. Blink and you miss it. But soon, something felt wrong.
Neither Car 22 nor Car 44 braked. They seemed to be in a contest of who could brake latest at the cliff edge. Although Kai didn't squeeze Hamilton further left, he only needed to hold his line to compress Hamilton's cornering space.
Just like Lap 45 on the main straight. Identical.
However, the familiar situation played out differently at Turn 7.
Kai lifted.
In the rapidly changing standoff, Hamilton noticed immediately.
As expected, Kai's tires were at the limit, especially the front left. He couldn't brake late and hard anymore. If he did, the tire would die, handing the win to Hamilton.
Because of this, Hamilton postured for an outside overtake with extreme late braking. The bayonet pressed against Kai's back. Kai had to choose between life and death.
To an extent, Hamilton admired Kai. Young drivers often get hot-headed and brake late regardless. But Kai knew his front tires couldn't grip the apex. Amidst the impulse, he kept a sliver of reason, abandoning the stupid braking contest.
Opportunity!
Hamilton focused, hunting for the braking point.
But then he noticed: Kai lifted, slowing down significantly, but didn't turn. He drove straight toward the apex of Turn 7.
Three meters! Five meters!
In that short distance, Kai lifted early, used minimal braking to glide into the apex. The tires gently grabbed the ground. He turned, matching the arc of Turn 7 perfectly. Just the right amount of throttle, precise application. Car 22 seemed to feel the breathing of the corner, slipping through silkily.
Hamilton, however, was pushed to the edge of the cliff.
Because Kai's car ate up the turning angle, Hamilton had to delay his braking point even further. From Turn 6 to 7 is only 100 meters. Hamilton realized Kai had dug a second pit for him.
Understeer.
Damn it! Despite Hamilton's quick reaction and limit handling, the front left locked up. White smoke. Bouncing over the kerbs and gravel.
The world went silent. Frozen.
Heartbeats and breathing vanished. Everything blurred. Only the bright red remained, breaking chains, free and wild. The air tore open. The engine roared past.
Unfreeze!
By the time Hamilton exited Turn 7, he could only see the tail of Car 22. His exit speed was destroyed. He watched helplessly as the Ferrari accelerated, riding the wave of engine noise, roaring away.
In an instant, fates crossed.
"Turn 6! Pull out! Outside!"
"Hamilton attacks!"
"Kai! Position! Throttle! Precise defense! Blocking immediately in the corner, forcing Hamilton wide!"
"Wheel-to-wheel! Mid-corner duel!"
"They are fighting for the braking point! Wow, Kai slows down significantly! Opportunity! Hamilton tries around the outside!"
"LOCK UP!"
"HAMILTON!"
"He almost went off!"
"But Kai is unaffected! Jesus Christ! It was all in Kai's plan! Kai's exit is beautiful!"
"Ladies and Gentlemen! HERE COMES KAI!"
"Leading the way! First out of Turn 7! Kai repels the champion again! Unbelievably, he still leads the Italian Grand Prix!"
"Kai is getting faster! Straight! Ascari! Fluid! Like mercury spilling!"
"Kai seizes the chance to open the gap! God, how does he do it?"
"Hamilton's lock-up cost him massive time! Kai breaks the tow for the first time! He's out of DRS range!"
"The gap is opening! Kai's 35-lap old tires are dropping Hamilton! Jesus Christ! We are witnessing the Miracle of Monza!"
"Unbelievable!"
Buzz—Buzz—
Eardrums shattered.
No one believed Kai could do it. Pitting early into a trap on Lap 20, his battered Soft tires somehow held on. Withstanding wave after wave of Hamilton's attacks. And now, capitalizing on Hamilton's lock-up to pull a 1.2-second gap.
Hearts surged. Blood boiled.
Matteo couldn't control himself anymore. Every thought in his head burned away, leaving only one impulse. He abandoned the bar, joined the surging crowd, and ran toward the track.
He had to go to the track. He had to witness it live. Yes, two laps left. Hamilton wouldn't give up. The suspense remained. But for the first time, he didn't care about winning or losing. He just wanted to be there, to see the end, to fight alongside the Tifosi until the last moment.
Running. Faster. Faster. Matteo burned. Fight. Fight until the end. For victory, for glory, for pride. But most importantly, to challenge his own limits.