The crowd was dense and the sorrow suffocating, yet orderly and solemn. There was no pushing or shoving, just a profound sense of mourning radiating through the air.
Rocco Cesari stood quietly among them. He was waiting, though his thoughts had drifted into the void, making him forget what he was waiting for. Only after truly losing him did they realize what Ferrari had lost—perhaps the sole architect of their return to the throne.
Was this the end? Did even God refuse to see Ferrari's revival?
Then, Rocco saw Kai Zhizhou.
Amidst the boundless sea of red, that single figure in black stood out instantly. Focused and low-key, entirely different from his usual vibrant presence, his quiet demeanor revealed a touch of sorrow. Rocco's gaze locked onto him, following his steps through the sea of humanity.
Suddenly, Kai stopped and turned, walking straight toward him.
Before Rocco could react, Kai was standing right in front of him, initiating a greeting. It caught Rocco completely off guard.
"You remember me?" Rocco blurted out.
A fleeting smile touched Kai's eyes. "Of course. Kimi's Number 7 cap. At the Duomo, right?"
Rocco gasped, his mind buzzing with words he couldn't vocalize.
"Thank you for that cap. I think it was a lucky charm," Kai said, looking at Rocco earnestly. "It reminded us what kind of team Ferrari is."
Only then did Rocco realize Kai was speaking fluent Italian. It wasn't just him; the Tifosi around them were nodding in agreement.
"We aren't just a team that wins easily when everything goes our way. We are a team that fights relentlessly to the last moment when times are tough. The reason we are Ferrari is because we've endured countless trials and tribulations over half a century to become what we are today."
"The dawn hasn't arrived yet, but we are still fighting."
"Aye!"
The hearty, unified response surged through the crowd, weaving through Kai's words. The heavy atmosphere visibly lightened.
"So."
Kai paused, taking a deep breath.
"Thank you for fighting alongside me. I really... really needed that companionship and encouragement."
With that, Kai turned and left, not waiting for Rocco's reply. He just genuinely wanted to say thank you.
Some teams take fan support for granted, treating F1 more like a business than a sport. But the truth is different. Fan support isn't unconditional or worthless. Without them, the business of the team is doomed to fail—both financially and spiritually.
Lorenzo approached Kai, asking softly what happened. Kai explained briefly. Lorenzo patted Kai's shoulder, told him to wait a moment, and jogged off.
When Lorenzo returned, he held a red Ferrari cap. He found Rocco in the crowd and politely handed it to him.
"Rocco, right?"
Upon receiving a nod, Lorenzo smiled politely.
"This is a gift from Kai. A small token of gratitude. He hopes you will continue to fight alongside the team. Next time you come to a race, bring this cap. In times like these, we need to stand united more than ever."
Rocco looked at the Number 22 cap in his hands. It bore Kai's signature and a personalized dedication: To Rocco Cesari.
His heart pounded wildly. He looked up, easily spotting Kai's back in the crowd.
That figure, neither heavily built nor towering, seemed to be quietly shouldering the heavy dreams of Ferrari, stepping forward with unwavering determination.
Rocco always warned himself not to celebrate too early—the higher the hope, the harder the fall. But right now, he couldn't help but wonder.
Is this the final treasure Sergio left for Ferrari?
Entering the cathedral, Kai easily spotted Charles Leclerc sitting quietly in a corner, shoulders slumped. From Jules Bianchi to Anthoine Hubert's father (Hervé), and now Sergio Marchionne, Charles had experienced too much loss and separation at the tail end of his adolescence. Wave after wave of tragedy.
Marchionne wasn't just Kai's patron; he was Charles's too. Even after Kai arrived, Marchionne continued to groom Charles as Ferrari's future hope, finalizing Charles's plan before his surgery.
To Charles, Marchionne was never just a boss.
Kai walked over and sat down beside him, saying nothing. He just offered silent companionship. Any words right now would feel too light, devoid of power.
Charles looked up gloomily, recognized Kai, relaxed slightly, and lowered his head again, speaking in a muffled voice.
"Sometimes, I just hope this is all a dream. A terrible nightmare. I want to open my eyes and find out it was all just my worst imagination."
He stopped there, but the sigh and bitterness in his voice lingered in the air.
Kai thought for a moment. "Charles, there's a saying: a person dies three times."
"The first is biological death. The heart stops, breathing ceases. Biology declares death. It's the most direct end of life."
"The second is social death. When a person passes, a funeral is held, friends and family attend, declaring that this person no longer exists in society."
"And the third... is being forgotten. The moment the last person in the world who remembers you forgets you, that is when all traces of your existence in this universe are completely erased. Wiped clean."
"In life, we always experience the first death, then we face the second together, and finally, we are left alone to deal with the third. But I believe that's the meaning of life too. I'm absolutely certain Jules still lives in the memories of countless fans, just as I still remember Hervé's smile."
Kai turned to Charles. "From now on, I hope we can remember Mr. Marchionne together. I haven't forgotten my promise to him."
Charles buried his head deep, frantically wiping his face. When he looked up again, a smile touched his lips. "Yes. I haven't forgotten either... I haven't..."
He didn't explain what he hadn't forgotten—maybe his promise to Marchionne, maybe Jules, maybe his father. But behind that smile, he seemed to have grown a little more.
Waves of people came to bid Marchionne farewell. Half of Milan was in an uproar. Top executives from the Fiat Group and Ferrari turned out in full force, alongside representatives from Pirelli, the FIA, Mercedes, Red Bull, and more.
Amidst this massive turnout, Kai and his group seemed insignificant.
They obediently followed the crowd, walking along the streets for a symbolic lap. Marchionne had already been buried in his hometown of Toronto, Canada. Today's public memorial was more of a symbolic ceremony.
In the sea of people, a figure quietly slowed his pace, sidling up to Kai with a smile, politely extending his right hand.
"Very nice to meet you, Kai Zhizhou. I don't think we've formally introduced ourselves?"
Tall and thin, but with a prominent beer belly that made his proportions seem slightly awkward. He had curly hair that was somewhat styled, a bright complexion, and a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked unremarkable at first glance, but the calm confidence in his eyes exuded an innate elegance. Nothing could shake that smile.
He met Kai's gaze, unflinching even as Kai sized him up, looking back openly.
After a brief pause, he introduced himself.
"John Elkann. I've been looking for an opportunity to officially meet you."
Kai shook his hand, eyes holding a hint of confusion. He recognized the curly hair—this was the guest who handed him the pole position trophy. Kai had assumed he was a senior executive from Pirelli.
Of course, Pirelli had representatives here today, so seeing "Curly" wasn't entirely surprising.
The real surprise was why Curly had specifically sought him out in this massive crowd. Moreover, Kai noticed the subtle glances darting their way from all directions.
A second ago, he and Charles were invisible. Now, those peripheral glances were practically burning holes in him.
Even Vettel, not far ahead, couldn't help but turn to look.
If there wasn't a catch to this, Kai wouldn't believe it.
"It seems you have an Italian Job that requires my help?" Kai replied.
A smile lit up Elkann's eyes, and he tilted his head with interest. "You've seen that movie too? The 1969 British original, or the 2003 Hollywood remake?"
"The original," Kai lowered his voice. "Honestly, the remake is incredibly boring. Moving the story to Los Angeles completely stripped away the charm of Rome from the original."
The Italian Job—a classic British heist film, legendary for its scenes of Mini Coopers racing through the streets and alleys of Rome.
Elkann nodded repeatedly. "So that's what inspired you to choose a Mini Cooper in Rome?"
Kai looked at him, slightly surprised.
Elkann shrugged lightly. "It's no secret in Italy that the Vitale kid loves racing but has absolutely zero talent."
Ah, so that was it!
Kai twitched his mouth. "No wonder Italian companies had no interest in sponsoring me. Now I finally know why. It seems I offended someone I shouldn't have early on. Pity Mr. Marchionne missed that detail."
Pfft!
Elkann almost broke character. Though he managed to control himself, his eyes were full of laughter. "I finally understand why Sergio thought so highly of you."
Kai met Elkann's gaze. He couldn't be 100% sure of Elkann's identity yet, but he was certain the man had nothing to do with Pirelli. He was almost certainly a high-ranking Ferrari executive.
But why come looking for him specifically?
Not just today, but he had also shown goodwill during the qualifying podium ceremony.
Before Marchionne's surgery, the boss must have laid out his plans. There were definitely different factions within Ferrari. So, was Elkann a Marchionne ally?
Was his visit today a sign that Marchionne's faction had finally won out, or that they were about to be ousted?
"Isn't it because I keep winning?" Kai maintained a calm exterior. In the face of true capital interests, no relationship is unbreakable. He couldn't assume this man was an ally.
"Ha," Elkann chuckled. "Indeed, that is a very important reason."
Sensing Kai's wariness, Elkann's eyes showed a flicker of interest. "Sorry, I forgot to say: congratulations on the victory at Monza. Every Tifosi has been waiting for that day. We really waited a long, long time."
"So, what do you think our chances are of winning the World Championship?"
Kai raised an eyebrow, his mind racing.
How sincere is he? Even if he is sincere, how much courage, determination, power, and ability does he have? Does he just want to hear nice words, or the truth? Should I flatter him, or stick to my guns? Also, how much does he actually know about racing?
Should he play it safe, or take a gamble?
The air grew slightly quiet. The distant tolling of bells and the murmur of the crowd became clear.
In that brief moment, Kai revealed his decisive side.
"10%," he said.
Elkann was clearly surprised. "That low?"
"The facts are right in front of us. Should we trust Spa, or Monza?"
"Actually, we shouldn't just trust any single race. We need to look at the chaos and instability behind the scenes. From the upgrades in May to the ones during the summer break, we've been heading in the wrong direction. Not only have we failed to close the gap to Mercedes, but the gap to Red Bull is also shrinking."
"We can call Spa an accident, but we can also call Monza an accident. Fundamentally, our upgrade direction is flawed, and our car still faces numerous issues. Mercedes is pulling away."
"10%. It's not pessimism, it's rationality."
Honest and direct. Since the man had approached him, Kai had no reason to push the opportunity away. But unsure of how well Elkann understood racing, Kai chose the most straightforward way to explain the difficulties they faced. They couldn't just expect Kai to pull a rabbit out of the hat like in Hockenheim and Monza every time. If he succeeded, it was the team's credit; if he failed, he let the team down?
Didn't everyone say racing is a team sport?
Elkann's expression remained unchanged, masking his thoughts. "10%. That's not a very good probability."
"I thought you guys were supposed to be bad at math," Kai quipped, still finding the mood to joke.
A smile finally broke through in Elkann's eyes.
Kai continued, "The probability is low, but at least there's a chance. The odds could go up, or they could go down."
"Just like last season. We had a 60% chance, and we still ended up with nothing."
Elkann's face instantly cooled. "You really dare to say anything, don't you?"
Kai didn't buy it. "Well, I wasn't the one who squandered those chances. Can't you see I'm trying my hardest to clear my name?"
Pfft.
Elkann laughed again. "I thought you were trying your hardest to fight for that sliver of hope."
Kai nodded. "Of course. Forget 10%, even if there's only a 0.1% chance, I'll fight to the end, right up until the final moment of the season. I promised Mr. Marchionne. I want to see the picture he painted."
Calm and indifferent, yet casually revealing confidence and determination.
Elkann couldn't help but look at Kai again, as if judging whether this was just a PR slogan or a true reflection of his inner resolve. But he didn't press further. Instead, he started making small talk, even chatting briefly with Charles.
It was obvious Elkann was a master of these social situations. He navigated the meaningless banter with ease. After a short exchange, he politely took his leave.
His footsteps... led straight toward Sebastian Vettel.
Vettel had been trying to stay focused, refusing to be distracted by Kai. But he couldn't help glancing back. He didn't even remember how many times he had turned around.
Maybe just once or twice.
Throughout the summer's chaos, Vettel had been on the front lines.
To outsiders, Vettel's position seemed rock solid. Ferrari had no reason to replace him. Marchionne's death primarily affected Kai. Vettel could sit back and comfortably continue leading Ferrari.
However, Vettel knew the truth was different.
He didn't just want to cruise by; he hungered for the championship. Leading Ferrari to the top was his career goal. He genuinely wanted to achieve it—both the Driver's and Constructor's titles.
His loyalty to Ferrari was absolute. It always had been.
But what did his loyalty earn him?
Marchionne had planned to prop up that baby driver as Ferrari's leader, and replace him with Leclerc to form a twin-star lineup.
When he heard the news, Vettel felt betrayed.
Anger, frustration, annoyance, humiliation... and more.
So, what should he do?
On one hand, Vettel thought about flicking his sleeves and walking away, striding proudly to a new beginning. If they were ungrateful first, they couldn't blame him for being disloyal. If he let it be known he was available, other teams would fight tooth and nail for him.
On the other hand, Vettel wanted to stay and prove himself. Prove he could beat anyone, prove he could lead the team to the summit, and use two World Championship trophies to slap them in the face and defend his status.
One moment he wanted to leave, the next he wanted to stay. He was constantly wavering.
Even now, Vettel hadn't figured it out. His mind was full of conflicting thoughts.
It was the same right now. The moment he saw Elkann approach Kai, every nerve in his body tensed up. He completely lost control.
And then, he saw Elkann walking toward him.
His tense nerves relaxed significantly. At least Elkann hadn't ignored his existence.
Involuntarily, Vettel straightened his back, trying to project the aura of a champion.
Kai watched this unfold.
He wasn't surprised. At the very least, it proved one thing: Ferrari's internal chaos was likely coming to an end. The high-level power struggle was concluding, and the internal structure would maintain a short-term balance. The ripple effects would now spread downward, first to the middle management, then the base.
The turbulence wouldn't just affect the drivers; the team management would soon face it too.
Sure enough, Kai's guess was quickly confirmed. He just needed to ask the right person, and the answer surfaced immediately.
"John Elkann. The current head of the Agnelli family," Lorenzo provided the answer, revealing Curly's prominent identity.
Born in 1976, John Elkann is the son of Margherita Agnelli (member of the Agnelli family). As the designated heir of his grandfather, Gianni Agnelli, he gradually took control of the family conglomerate at the turn of the century.
He drove the transformation of the Fiat Group in 2003, and in 2004, strongly advocated for Sergio Marchionne to take over as CEO. Elkann wasn't even thirty at the time.
Lorenzo was intimately familiar with these wealthy family dramas.
"The news hasn't been officially announced yet, but it's basically a done deal."
"John Elkann will be Chairman, and Louis Camilleri will be the new CEO. Camilleri handles the day-to-day, but Elkann controls the big picture."
"Elkann originally didn't plan to step in directly; he has too much on his plate. But Marchionne had everything laid out. Seeing people trying to dismantle Marchionne's hard work for their own selfish interests, Elkann personally stepped down to take charge."
"It's a bloodbath inside the group too."
Rumors, gossip, speculation. The perfect dessert for after-dinner chatter.
Charles, standing beside them, was completely dumbfounded, gulping repeatedly.
Kai's mind raced. "But it's obvious he hasn't fully gained control yet."
"How do you know?" Lorenzo asked.
Kai shrugged lightly. "These massive conglomerates are all about the balance of capital interests. Even when Mr. Marchionne was alive, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. None of these big bosses have clean hands."
"When he left, the balance was broken. Chaos is inevitable. Even if the ultimate boss of the family behind the group steps in, things need to be reorganized."
"It requires an iron fist, but also a system of checks and balances."
Lorenzo's eyes widened in amazement. "Wow!"
Kai patted Lorenzo's shoulder. "You should watch some of our Chinese palace dramas. Once you've seen enough, none of this is surprising."
Lorenzo: ???
Kai tightened his lips, dropping the joke. "Mainly, based on the vibe from our brief interaction, he's also exploring, deducing, pondering. This likely means things are still up in the air."
"Regarding Mr. Marchionne's blueprint for the F1 team—what stays and what changes—they probably want to play it by ear and see how things develop."
Charles, who had been silent, couldn't hold back anymore. "But shouldn't he be actively pushing the Boss's blueprint? I thought he was the Boss's backer."
If the plan moved forward, Charles was a crucial piece of that blueprint.
Since it concerned his own career, Charles couldn't stay quiet.
Kai nodded. "All signs point to yes. But obviously, it's not that simple."
Charles noticed Kai's gaze and followed it. Elkann was standing next to Vettel, smiling, the atmosphere harmonious.
Kai took a deep breath. "In the clash of capital, we don't have the right to speak. At least, not yet. Our battlefield is the race track. That's the only thing we can control."
Just like Esteban Ocon at Force India.
Looking out, the Tifosi were a solemn, orderly sea.
In their daily lives, they were ordinary people, working regular jobs, living normal routines. Ferrari was their hope, their dream. It ignited a ray of light in the repetitive grind of everyday life, injecting passion into their existence.
Competitive sports are about winning and losing, but they are never just about winning and losing.
Kai turned to Charles. "I know you're ready. No matter how many challenges or difficulties, you will cut through the thorns. And not just for yourself."
Jules Bianchi. Hervé Leclerc. Now, add Sergio Marchionne to that list.
Charles offered a smile. "Of course. With you performing so brilliantly, how could I show weakness? Watch out. I'm aiming for your seat."
Kai spread his hands. "Don't worry. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. I'm always waiting."
That calm, confident demeanor made hearts beat faster, piercing the gloom and summoning the dawn to light up tomorrow.
True to his word, Kai acted immediately.
The day the memorial service ended, Lorenzo drove Kai to Maranello.
Earlier, Kai had told Binotto that with a week's gap between Monza and Singapore, they should utilize the time to develop the car.
Now, Kai was making good on his promise, heading straight to Maranello to contribute to the team in whatever way he could.
"...Are you sure you don't need to take them to the airport?" Lorenzo asked, relaxing in the driver's seat as they chatted.
Kai waved a hand. "They knew I was going to Maranello to work, so they kicked me out immediately. They've been to Milan several times anyway; they know their way around."
He was referring to Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo.
Lorenzo chuckled. "They seem more enthusiastic than you."
"Yeah." Kai nodded slightly, pausing. "At Monza, it wasn't just me. When the Tifosi recognized them, they welcomed them just as warmly."
"My mom said a chubby lady hugged her, crying tears of joy. She only spoke Italian, so my mom had no idea what she was saying. But in the end, the lady gave her a whole wheel of aged cheese. My mom didn't know what to do."
"She couldn't exactly say she doesn't eat cheese."
Lorenzo laughed so hard he bent over the steering wheel. "That's Italian passion for you! Actually, our cultures are very similar in that regard. It's like a big family. They probably see you as their own kid, so your mom is like their sister."
"Yeah, I get it. It's like Maranello." Kai smiled. "So my mom always says she never expected me to receive such support and love, and she doesn't know how to repay it. At the very least, I can dedicate myself to the work and play to my strengths."
Lorenzo glanced at Kai through the rearview mirror. "I thought she was always worried about your university plans."
Kai's eyes widened. "You know about that too? Did my dad tell you everything?"
Lorenzo looked calm. "I spend all day with them. I can't exactly tell them about my partying at the clubs, can I?"
"Who knows, you could try it next time." Kai chuckled. He thought for a moment before bringing the topic back. "Actually, my mom isn't worried about university."
"Sure, the silly season is crazy, rumors fly, and I could lose my job at any moment. Look at Ocon. In the face of capital, talent has to step aside."
People might wonder why Perez had financial backing. The answer was simple: just as Kai had the support of the global Chinese community, Perez had the entire Spanish-speaking world behind him. While there were two Spaniards on the grid (Alonso and Sainz), Perez's representation of Mexico and Latin America was unmatched.
In contrast, Ocon was just French. There was no shortage of French teams and drivers in the paddock. Ocon simply didn't stand out financially.
For Ferrari, Kai's market potential hadn't been fully realized yet. How much they were willing to invest to keep him was likely a key factor the board was weighing. Compared to Vettel, Kai's foundation—both in capital and connections—was still shallow.
"But actually, my mom never worried about me finding a job or making a living. We aren't filthy rich, but we never lacked food or clothes. She's never worried about my livelihood. Besides, the income from GP3 and two years of F1 is enough to live comfortably for a while."
"As for studying... high school, university, it's more about the process. Learning how to be a good person, understanding how to view the world and life. It's about staying grounded amidst the dazzling allure of money and fame, avoiding losing yourself."
Jiang Mo never worried about the money. She worried about what lay beyond the money.
Lorenzo lifted his chin slightly. "Well, she should be at ease after Monza. You were fantastic."
Kai exhaled. "Yeah. So we reached an agreement. I'll defer my university enrollment for now. No rush. First, I focus on the championship."
This summer, Kai had taken the Gaokao (Chinese college entrance exam) and, purely on his own merit, was accepted into Shanghai Jiao Tong University. The acceptance letter arrived straight at his home.
The results quickly topped the trending charts. Countless students were thrilled—it wasn't just a PR stunt. Kai had real academic ability. A paragon of talent and virtue both on and off the track, he skyrocketed into a new-generation idol.
Before summer even ended, people were already dreaming: attending classes with Kai, bumping into him on campus, becoming friends. Fan fiction was already brewing.
Unfortunately, they were destined for disappointment.
After a pause, Kai leaned his head back against the seat and looked over. "Lorenzo, thank you."
Lorenzo smiled. "For your parents? No need. They are very friendly. Honestly, in the paddock, they were keeping me company."
"Not just that," Kai said. "I mean... over the past few months, the amount of information has been overwhelming. Social media, team politics, team management... Remember what you told me before? Remembering to say 'Happy Birthday' to everyone on the team? It's really effective."
F1 is a unique sport. It runs year-round. From March onwards, they travel to a new city almost every week or two. In a way, they are closer than family. They are bound together by fate on the track and must trust each other implicitly.
Because of this, team dynamics and atmosphere are crucial.
For Kai, this was all new territory. He had never been part of a professional work environment, so he lacked foresight.
He initially thought they should throw parties to bond and lighten the mood. But Lorenzo shot that down: "When people work overtime until 10 PM, who wants to drink and sing with their boss? I'd rather go back to my room and scroll on my phone. Give the workers some breathing room, okay?"
Furthermore, Europeans value their personal space, strictly separating work from private life.
Lorenzo advised that parties were fine occasionally, but not too often. What truly builds connection isn't group activities, but one-on-one daily interactions.
Like memorizing everyone's name and birthday. Like offering private comfort when someone makes a mistake at work. Like sending a simple congratulatory text when something important happens in their personal lives. Like mediating conflicts.
Of course, the most important thing was still the bonus. Actions speak louder than words, and cash speaks loudest of all.
Thanks to Lorenzo's advice, Kai had bonded well with his team. With Mekies's help, despite the bumps and challenges of the season, the overall situation was far better than expected.
The same applied in Milan. Lorenzo had a deep understanding of the power struggles within Ferrari and the paddock. He was incredibly well-informed, rivaling even Nicolas Todt.
Before, Kai had stumbled into the paddock, charging forward blindly. But now, if he wanted to establish a firm foothold, that approach wouldn't work anymore.
This gave Kai an idea. "I heard there's a role in a driver's team called a manager?"
Lorenzo nodded. "Yeah, a personal manager. Handling schedules, media relations, team coordination, and sometimes psychological counseling and emotional management. They travel the world with the driver all year."
"Some top drivers have had these assistants since their junior days. Sometimes it's their personal trainer, nutritionist, or sports psychologist stepping into the role. It varies. But overall, a personal manager's job is to handle everything else so the driver can focus 100% on racing."
"For a top driver, it's definitely necessary. Why, are you looking for one?"
"Yes," Kai said. "Lorenzo, how about it? Are you interested in the job?"