Milton Keynes.
A town bridging the gap between London and Birmingham, situated eighty kilometers from the former and a hundred kilometers from the latter. It was an entirely artificially planned city, born essentially as a satellite town to alleviate the crushing population density and housing pressure of London.
Consequently, the town was almost entirely residential. Neighborhoods of varying sizes and styles were exclusively dedicated to housing. On the surface, they might have looked distinct, but the underlying structures and layouts were highly uniform. Ultimately, it had evolved into the quintessential "commuter town."
No entertainment. No culture. No history. No spiritual depth. And absolutely no nightlife.
If you were to ask Yuki Tsunoda, the young Red Bull junior driver, where the most boring city in the entire world was located...
The young driver from Japan would answer "Milton Keynes" with one hundred percent certainty. Not just once or twice. Ask him a hundred times, and the answer would still be Milton Keynes.
Perhaps others might offer different answers, but without a doubt, Tsunoda's response would be met with a chorus of agreement, applause, and cheers from anyone who had ever lived there.
Here, everything was stagnant and remarkably tranquil. It was residential block after residential block. Groceries, daily chores, and sleep encompassed the entirety of existence. That is, until Red Bull chose to establish its headquarters here. Aside from the Red Bull Ring in Austria, Milton Keynes became their primary operational base, maintaining a close connection to London.
The technical team. The R&D team. The car factory. The youth academy.
All of them were stationed here year-round, finally injecting a starkly different, vibrant splash of color into the town's otherwise monotonous daily life.
Today, Christian Horner, the Team Principal of Red Bull Racing, had arrived bright and early. He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, quietly gazing out at the scenery.
In truth, it could hardly be called scenery. The sky hung low, as it always did, with leaden, gray clouds draped heavily over the city. Tidy rows of residential buildings stretched outward in orderly lines toward the horizon. Beneath the gloomy sky, the stone-gray facades seemed to bleed together into a single, continuous, drab canvas.
No matter how you looked at it, the dull, gray architecture remained unchanging. There was absolutely nothing visually stimulating to see.
Yet, Horner remained standing there, as if he were admiring the most magnificent, breathtaking vista in the entire world. He held a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
He hadn't taken a single sip, simply letting the condensation on the outside of the mug slowly evaporate between his fingers.
On his desk lay a stack of documents. It wasn't a draft contract, nor was it a highly classified technical report. It was simply the results of every single Grand Prix of the season. It was public data. Anyone could look it up on the official F1 website. It wasn't a secret, and it hardly qualified as an analytical report. Yet, Horner had dug it out anyway.
Following the data on those pages, Horner could comprehensively review Kai's entire season—
The explosive, out-of-nowhere debut in Australia. The dramatic rebound from the back in Monaco. The tactical masterclass in Austria.
And so on, and so forth.
Then.
Starting fifteenth in Singapore and executing an absolute miracle reversal.
The chaotic, torrential rain in Interlagos, navigated with cold, calculated risks.
And finally, Abu Dhabi. Defeating Lewis Hamilton head-to-head in direct combat to claim the World Championship.
This wasn't the first time Horner had read through this data. But every single time he reviewed it, he discovered new details—
It wasn't about raw speed. It was about his decision-making paradigms.
Clearly, every single one of them had entirely misjudged Kai. That included himself, Helmut Marko, and Toto Wolff. In the entire paddock, perhaps Sergio Marchionne was the only person who had made the correct assessment from the very beginning. Even Jean Todt likely hadn't foreseen this specific outcome.
Because all of them were insiders, deeply embedded within the sport. They were blinded by their own institutionalized thinking and habitual biases, leading them to miscalculate time and time again. Marchionne was the sole exception. Standing outside the bubble, unburdened by 'professional' preconceptions, he was able to pierce through the fog and locate the singular spark of inspiration capable of upending the entire paddock within the vast unknown.
Reviewing the season in its entirety, Horner believed that Kai was not the type of driver who was pushed around by external circumstances. He was the type who actively manipulated those circumstances, flipping them to create his own advantage.
This was incredibly important.
Because it meant—
The lever Horner had been desperately searching for might have actually appeared. The master key he needed to combat Max Verstappen, to combat Helmut Marko, and to combat the Austrian faction of Red Bull.
Not only could Kai persuade the Thai faction of Red Bull to delve deeper into the paddock, establishing a true counterbalance to the Austrian side and leveraging the massive Asian market for immense profit...
But crucially, he could also provide Horner with the breathing room he needed to break free from his internal constraints. Perhaps, in the very near future, he could finally become the true, undisputed Team Principal of Red Bull Racing, rather than merely a puppet forced to operate under the suffocating shadow of Helmut Marko.
The exact opportunity Horner had been seeking, the one he had been agonizing over for years, had miraculously materialized.
It wasn't just this year. Last year, the year before that, and even further back—Horner had repeatedly attempted to break the deadlock, shatter the existing balance of power, and seize the initiative. He had failed time and time again. He never could have imagined that after all the twists and turns, after such a violent, stormy season, after the agonizing engine supplier changes and Daniel Ricciardo's sudden defection... the turning point had finally arrived.
Looking back on it now, perhaps it was all predestined. The Goddess of Fate had already written the script. Ricciardo's desperate flight had actually kicked the door wide open.
And then, the superhero appeared, descending from the heavens riding a multi-colored cloud.
All hesitation, all indecision, all wavering evaporated into thin air the moment that Drivers' World Championship trophy was hoisted. It absolutely solidified Horner's resolve.
The opportunity was right in front of him. He wouldn't miss it. He couldn't miss it.
He knew Marko had already been alerted. Attempting to bypass Marko and operate completely in the shadows was no longer possible. The only viable path forward was a brutal, frontal assault.
Kai was the answer to every single one of his problems.
He needed to convince Kai to join. Then, using Kai as his ultimate bargaining chip, he needed to convince the Thai side of Red Bull to fully commit. Finally, with the Thai faction leading the charge, they would openly confront Marko and the Austrian side, drawing a line in the sand, establishing a firm foothold, and officially declaring war on Helmut Marko.
There was no turning back. The arrow was nocked; it had to be fired.
But simultaneously, this also meant—
Conventional bait would be entirely useless against him.
Kai was an incredibly thorny, complex puzzle. The deeper Horner analyzed him, the more certain he became of this fact. He was confident that it wasn't just him; Ferrari, Mercedes, and every other team in the paddock were likely realizing the exact same thing. They all desperately wanted to control Kai, but Kai was fundamentally uncontrollable.
Therefore—
Knock. Knock.
Two soft taps on the office door.
"Come in," Horner called out, not turning away from the window.
Jonathan Wheatley entered. Red Bull's Sporting Director looked as calm and unflappable as ever, his silver hair combed back perfectly.
A seasoned veteran who had started as the Chief Mechanic for the Benetton team, Wheatley had been with Red Bull since 2005. He had witnessed the team's meteoric rise and navigated their current struggles. Without a doubt, he was an indispensable core member of the Red Bull organization, and crucially, one of Horner's very few true allies within the team's internal power structure.
"Toto has made his move," Wheatley stated, getting straight to the point.
Horner chuckled softly, finally turning around. "Where?"
"Details are currently a mystery. We still don't have definitive intelligence," Wheatley replied. "However, yesterday, Toto and his family took a yacht out for a vacation. Simultaneously, a Brembo family yacht also set sail. The passenger manifest is unconfirmed, but I can guarantee Lorenzo Moretti was on board."
In the real world, there are no coincidences. In the F1 paddock, they are even rarer.
Even though these were just fragmented pieces of a puzzle, for these old foxes, it was more than enough to see the whole picture.
"Classic Wolff," Horner chuckled again. He walked over and finally set his cold coffee down on the desk. "He loves to preach the 'Mercedes-Benz Family' philosophy. We are a team. We are a loving family. So, what was the result?"
"Unknown," Wheatley answered crisply. "Nicholas Todt is keeping his mouth completely shut."
Horner raised an eyebrow. "It seems Toto must have presented an offer that is very difficult to refuse. Otherwise, Nicholas would be tripping over himself right now to leak the news to the press, fanning the flames and driving up the price, waiting to see what we and Ferrari would counter-offer. But instead, his mouth is zipped tight—"
Tap. Tap.
Horner steepled his fingers, lightly tapping his index fingers together.
Nicholas's absolute silence strongly suggested he was sitting comfortably, confident in his leverage. Mercedes had undeniably handed Kai an unbelievable, blockbuster proposal.
The situation was not good. For Red Bull, it was very, very bad.
Over at Mercedes-Benz, Toto Wolff operated with total impunity. He could do whatever he pleased, wielding absolute power over life and death within the team. No one could check or balance him.
However, at Red Bull, Horner was constrained at every turn. Helmut Marko alone was enough to suffocate him, and having Jos Verstappen constantly buzzing around like an irritating, unkillable fly was an absolute disaster.
This was precisely why Horner had been entirely unable to offer Ricciardo a contract that satisfied his agent's demands. He had exhausted every avenue, desperately trying to convince Ricciardo to stay and fight alongside him, but his power was too limited. He had completely lost control of the situation.
Right now, the situation remained incredibly difficult.
No, it was worse than difficult. It was like trying to scale the heavens.
In front of them stood Ferrari, the team that had discovered and meticulously cultivated Kai. Behind them loomed Mercedes-Benz, flush with cash and operating with total freedom. Where exactly did Red Bull's advantage lie?
More accurately, it wasn't Red Bull's advantage. Where did his, Christian Horner's, advantage lie?
If he possessed the one hundred percent, unconditional backing of the Thai faction, Horner could also open his jaws wide like a lion. He could unleash Red Bull's massive financial artillery, hurling blank checks at Kai until he was dizzy. But the fatal flaw in the plan was the paradox: he needed Kai to convince the Thai side to step up and fight the Austrians, but he needed the Thai side's backing to convince Kai.
Was this some kind of inescapable death loop?
It was difficult.
Horner was in an incredibly difficult position.
Yet, precisely because of that immense difficulty, a distinct smile surfaced in Horner's eyes.
Wheatley noticed it, looking slightly surprised. "Are you not worried?"
"Worried about what?" Horner shot back.
Wheatley: ... Worried that Red Bull won't be able to match Mercedes' offer, or even Ferrari's offer. But he didn't need to say that out loud. Horner knew the stakes perfectly well. Wheatley slightly altered his phrasing.
"Worried that he might actually be swayed by them."
Horner shook his head. He walked back to his desk, staring down at the season's data. It was as if he were reviewing his own grand blueprint, his confidence surging.
"If he were the type of person to be swayed by that sentimental garbage, he never would have become the Kai we see today."
It was spoken lightly, but with absolute certainty.
"Toto is making his usual mistake," Horner continued. "He assumes that all geniuses are desperate to be accepted, to be cared for, to be treated like 'family.'"
"Lewis loves that act. He genuinely believes a racing team should function like a family. That's exactly how Toto convinced Lewis to join Mercedes in the first place."
"Max loves that act too. Honestly, if I had a father like Jos, I'd probably fall for it as well. He pulls the exact same routine with George Russell, exploiting the young British driver's idolization of Lewis, and then sliding right in to play the surrogate father figure."
Wheatley looked thoughtful.
"But Kai is not that kind of person."
"He is highly individualistic. He's rebellious. He is fundamentally uncontrollable. The desire to shatter constraints and push the absolute limits is baked right into his bones. Furthermore, even if he did crave a 'family' environment, his actual, real-life family already fulfills all his needs and expectations."
"And more importantly—"
Horner paused, the corners of his mouth twitching into a complex, loaded smile.
"There is Sergio Marchionne. Within Ferrari, and honestly, within the entire paddock, absolutely no one can replace the position Marchionne holds in Kai's heart. Regardless of whether Kai stays at Ferrari or moves to another team, Marchionne's influence is irreplaceable."
"Toto clearly played a terrible opening move."
The office fell into a brief silence as Wheatley's brain rapidly processed the analysis.
Ultimately, Wheatley had to admit—
It was an incredibly dangerous, yet incredibly precise assessment.
"So," Wheatley finally spoke again, "what is our strategy?"
Horner didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the whiteboard, picked up a dry-erase marker, and wrote down two names.
Wolff.Horner.
Not Mercedes-Benz and Red Bull.
Then, beneath Wolff's name, he wrote a few key words.
Stability. Order. System. Number One Driver.
Finally, beneath his own name, he wrote exactly one word.
Chaos.
Wheatley stared at the board. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He made no effort to hide his confusion. "Chaos?"
"Yes." Horner turned around. He exuded the bold, sweeping aura of a warlord preparing to conquer the world. "What we are going to offer him is not security."
"Instead, it's—"
Horner paused, looking directly at Wheatley. His eyes were filled with supreme confidence, and hiding just beneath that confidence was a feral, reckless madness. The madness of a degenerate gambler.
"Freedom."
Wheatley's frown deepened significantly. Although he didn't say a word, the skepticism and resistance in his eyes couldn't have been more obvious.
However, whether he simply didn't understand, or whether he actively disagreed—or perhaps a combination of both—Wheatley had no intention of voicing his objections.
Seeing Wheatley's expression, Horner actually laughed out loud.
"Your reaction proves exactly why I am correct. We cannot offer him a rigid system. We need to completely obliterate the system, and then we need to invite Kai to join us in burning it all down."
"Yes, the facts are right in front of us, and everyone knows them. Max is our future. Even Daniel saw the writing on the wall and left. I have been forced to play along with that narrative. Therefore, any driver who joins Red Bull knows exactly what kind of uphill battle they are walking into. But, I will tell Kai: I am not afraid of you seizing power. In fact, I want you to seize power. I encourage it. I will do everything in my power to help you take it. My only concern is that you might not be ruthless enough to pull the trigger."
"Yes, Red Bull is currently less stable than Mercedes. Our car isn't fully ready yet, and it might even be slightly inferior to Ferrari's right now. But I'll tell him: you aren't joining us to reap the rewards of someone else's hard work. We are going to bleed together, fight together, and achieve greatness together. We are going to build a dynasty side-by-side. Until one day, we can proudly say, 'This is Kai's team, built entirely with his own two hands, brick by brick.'"
"At Red Bull, there is no artificial distinction between a Number One and a Number Two driver. Whoever drives the fastest is the Number One driver. We offer completely open competition. You have to earn your position."
"If you join Red Bull today, you are the Number One driver, because you are the reigning World Champion. But be warned: Max is a predator, and he will be hunting you, waiting for any opportunity to overthrow you. If you lose to Max, that is reality. I will not protect you, and I will not speak up for you. I will throw my full support behind Max to win the World Championship."
"At Red Bull, we aren't afraid of being called biased. Because we win specifically by being biased. The only variable is how we are biased, and who we are biased toward. You have to earn that bias yourself. The power to decide rests entirely in your own hands."
"If you fail, the world will curse Red Bull. And trust me, we are exceptionally comfortable playing the bad guys. We are more than happy to be the supervillains of the paddock. But if you succeed, history will only remember you. The generational genius who led both Ferrari and Red Bull to the absolute summit. The driver who proved that he could conquer the world regardless of which team he drove for."
"You, Kai. You will be the one to dictate the future of Red Bull. I am handing you the keys."
As he spoke, Horner extended the dry-erase marker outward.
Wheatley froze, completely caught off guard. Reacting on pure instinct, he reached out and took the marker from Horner's hand.
Horner smiled, a glint of smug triumph flashing in his eyes.
Wheatley instantly realized what had just happened. Even though he wasn't Kai, and even though he knew Horner's impassioned "you" wasn't directed at him... he couldn't stop his blood from boiling with excitement.
This was freedom. This was chaos.
If there was one team in the paddock notorious for being rebellious, unorthodox, and utterly unpredictable, it was undoubtedly Red Bull.
And that was exactly the core essence of Kai's explosive debut in 2018. He shattered the rules, upended conventional wisdom, and manufactured chaos with an almost unreasonable, brutal force.
Now, Horner was extending an olive branch, inviting Kai to perpetuate that exact chaos on an even grander scale. They weren't going to try and tame him; they were going to amplify his wild, feral instincts and elevate him into an entirely unique, untouchable entity within the paddock.
Red Bull already housed the fiercely arrogant, untamed Max Verstappen. If they added the lawless, unpredictable Kai to the mix—with Marko and Horner constantly fanning the flames behind the scenes—next season, they would easily become the most lethal, terrifying challengers on the grid.
Whether it was Mercedes or Ferrari, they all needed to wake up and brace themselves for the incoming hurricane!
Finally, Red Bull could unleash their true, unbridled spirit upon the paddock.
...
Wow.
Wheatley couldn't suppress a quiet sigh of admiration. He stared blankly at Horner, a smile slowly creeping onto his face.
He sighed again.
"Wow. Even though I know you, I still have to say it: you are a complete lunatic."
Horner's expression remained perfectly flat, but that feral madness burned brighter in his eyes. He knew this was nothing. Facing the combined might of Helmut Marko and Jos Verstappen, if he didn't embrace the madness, he would simply be crushed under their heels.
He had had enough!
The counterattack had to happen immediately. He couldn't endure the suffocation for a single day longer.
Therefore, this was all just a meticulously calculated strategy.
After his brief moment of awe, Wheatley also cooled down. He mapped out the blueprint in his head, accurately grasping the critical crux of Horner's impending negotiation with Kai. He then presented the next massive hurdle.
"And what about Max? If he asks what his relationship with Max will be within the team... Teammates? Rivals? Friends? Enemies?"
The corner of Horner's mouth twitched. "Jonathan, what is our relationship with Marko?"
"We are teammates, and we are rivals. We are not friends, and we are not enemies. Kai shouldn't ask such a shallow, amateurish question. Honestly, if he does, I'll be deeply disappointed."
Horner cast a sidelong glance at Wheatley, as if lightly roasting him for even bringing it up.
"His relationship with Max? They are both challengers. They are the ones who are going to turn Lewis and Sebastian into relics of the past. Just like Fernando before them, it is time for Lewis and Sebastian to step aside and retire."
"So, let's see who can actually pull it off: Kai or Max? I know everyone desperately wants to be the chosen genius. Everyone wants to be the savior. But unfortunately, in any given era, only one person can stand at the true, absolute summit and become the singular, universally worshipped superstar."
"One. There can only be one. And I am incredibly eager to see who it will be: Max, or Kai."
The core objective of negotiation is not to blindly capitulate to the other party's demands. It's about establishing the framework on your own terms, dictating the rhythm, and forcibly dragging the opponent into the reality you have constructed.
Horner was clearly a master of this art. He knew exactly how to be aggressive. He knew how to be highly persuasive while simultaneously radiating predatory intent.
And that wasn't even the whole story.
During Horner's formal conversation with Kai, there were two unexpected, massive variables that altered the dynamic.
"Did I hear that correctly? The Thai faction of Red Bull?" Over the multi-line conference call, Lorenzo, who had been listening silently to the debriefing, remained incredibly sharp, absorbing every single detail. "So Horner has actually convinced the Thai owners to enter the game?"
Nicholas shook his head. "Not necessarily. We have absolutely no way to verify that claim. He could easily be lying through his teeth. He sits here and tells us that the Thai faction is throwing their full support behind Kai to conquer the Asian market, essentially promising Kai half the power within the team. But he could turn right around and tell the Thai faction that we've already agreed to sign, presenting it as the golden, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they've been waiting for to seize control, and that they'd be fools to miss it."
"It's a complete juggling act. Even if absolutely nothing tangible has happened behind the scenes, we could still fall for the bluff and ultimately become a pawn in Horner's master plan to seize total control."
As expected, Horner had made the call.
It wasn't a formal, face-to-face meeting. It lacked the theatrical intimacy of Mercedes' approach. But Horner had brought his entire core executive team into the call. The massive show of force right out of the gate was designed to project absolute sincerity and seriousness.
It was professional, comprehensive, and highly formal.
And he meticulously answered every single one of Kai's questions.
The conference call had just ended. It lasted exactly one hour. On the surface, that seemed brief, paling in comparison to the marathon session with Wolff. However, the sheer density and volume of information transmitted in that hour was astronomical. They were going to need significant time to unpack, analyze, and digest it all.
Both Nicholas and Lorenzo were experiencing the same thing: their brains were storming violently, entirely unable to quiet down.
In truth, Red Bull had carefully sidestepped one massive, critical issue—
The salary.
Horner had completely avoided using a massive base salary as his ultimate, killing blow.
Nicholas wasn't surprised in the slightest. You only had to look at Red Bull's disastrous contract negotiations with Ricciardo to understand why. The Austrian faction, led by Marko, had flatly refused to offer a competitive salary increase. Horner was isolated, constantly undermined, and unable to secure the funding. Perhaps Kai's situation was slightly better—a Drivers' World Championship undoubtedly carried immense weight—but the financial reality likely wasn't much better.
Nicholas accurately deduced that the base salary Red Bull could offer was likely inferior to what Renault had given Ricciardo, let alone the astronomical figures being thrown around by McLaren and Mercedes-Benz.
Therefore, Horner spent the entire hour fiercely selling an ideal, a grand blueprint, a core philosophy. He relentlessly emphasized that Red Bull was the only team that would never try to file down Kai's sharp edges or suppress his feral instincts.
Someone with high EQ would call it selling a roadmap to success, akin to an inspiring TED Talk.
Someone with low EQ would call him a cult leader trying to swindle them out of their money with empty promises.
Of course, Horner didn't just rely on empty rhetoric. He had brought out a massive heavy hitter, which was the second major variable—
Adrian Newey.
Red Bull's current Chief Technical Officer, and the only designer in the history of Formula 1 to build championship-winning cars for three entirely different teams: Williams, McLaren, and Red Bull. Active in motorsport since 1980, his resume was a towering monument of unparalleled success and glory.
He was an absolute, unquestionable titan of the sport.
His position within Red Bull was entirely transcendent. Both Marko and Horner treated Newey with profound respect. In reality, Red Bull was a delicate, three-legged stool. Newey simply preferred to focus obsessively on his work and largely ignored the brutal power struggles around him.
The fact that Newey was willing to make an appearance, personally engaging with Kai to discuss car design and technical collaboration, genuinely signaled a shift in the wind within Red Bull—
Horner and Newey, representing two-thirds of the power structure, both desperately wanted Kai to join. This meant that within the three-legged dynamic, Kai essentially already possessed two votes, more than enough to completely counter Helmut Marko's influence.
Nicholas noticed something unusual about Kai's demeanor.
Since the conference call ended, Kai hadn't said a single word. He was deeply immersed in his own thoughts, his face completely unreadable.
Nicholas didn't sit around guessing. He simply asked. "Kai!"
Seeing Kai look up, Nicholas voiced his curiosity. "What are you thinking about? Were you entirely unprepared for Adrian Newey to show up?"
A smile touched Kai's lips. He nodded slightly. "Yes, I honestly didn't see that coming."
Regardless of how the negotiations ultimately ended, having the opportunity to engage in a technical conversation with a race car designer of that legendary caliber was a profoundly rewarding experience.
Lorenzo, brimming with curiosity, chimed in. "Or did you manage to catch a slip of the tongue? Did you extract some classified intel about Red Bull's new car for next season?"
"Ha!" Kai laughed out loud. "That is Adrian Newey. He's fought a thousand wars. Do you honestly think he'd accidentally leak highly classified technical secrets in a casual conversation?"
"Even if he did 'leak' a secret, it was almost certainly deliberate. It was exactly what he wanted me to know. Everything is calculated."
Lorenzo threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "Disappointing."
"I thought you were supposed to be different. A unique firework. You know absolutely nothing about the history of formula racing, so I assumed you wouldn't deify Newey like everyone else does, dropping to their knees to worship him. Newey is brilliant. Incredibly, unbelievably brilliant. But he is not a god. He isn't one now, he never was, and he never will be."
Kai's smile grew even wider. He looked at Lorenzo with a meaningful, teasing glint in his eye. "Accidentally exposed your true Tifoso nature there, didn't you?"
Lorenzo offered a forced, plastic smile. "Hehe." He refused to engage further.
Kai was highly amused. "I'm not deifying him. But we have to remain objective."
"He truly is different."
"You can feel it when he speaks. His absolute focus and pure, unadulterated passion for race cars. It's a very simple, very pure thing. It has absolutely nothing to do with money, politics, or power."
"Lorenzo, believe it or not, that conference room was packed with people, but Newey was the only person in there who had absolutely zero hidden agendas. He was genuinely, sincerely evaluating things from the perspective of the car and the driver, and he genuinely wanted me to join Red Bull to build something incredible together."
So that was what Kai had been pondering so deeply.
Nicholas was genuinely surprised. "Are you absolutely certain about that?"
He remained highly skeptical.
"Perhaps Adrian Newey is just a phenomenal actor. What if that was simply an Oscar-worthy performance?"
Pfft!
Kai couldn't hold it back and laughed out loud. It was clear that, despite having just concluded an incredibly high-stakes negotiation with Red Bull, he was still perfectly relaxed.
The corners of Lorenzo's mouth twitched upwards as he fired off a joke. "Seems like you'd be a much better fit for Hollywood than he is, right?"
Kai spread his hands. "Unfortunately, when it comes to acting, my raw talent definitely falls short of Lewis's."
Haha! Hahahaha!
The tension shattered instantly, and the three of them burst into roaring laughter.
Even Nicholas couldn't help it. His eyes showed a trace of helpless exasperation, but a smile broke through nonetheless.
Once the laughter died down and the atmosphere settled, Nicholas, ever the professional, dragged the focus back to the task at hand.
"Red Bull definitely came heavily prepared today. Not only were they incredibly thorough, but they are acutely aware of their own weaknesses and hid them perfectly. It wasn't until the call was practically over that I realized we hadn't discussed the base salary for a single second."
"The fact that they managed to divert my attention to that extent, keeping me completely locked into their rhythm and making me entirely forget the money... I have to admit, that's impressive."
"At the very least, I respect the hustle."
"So, Newey was definitely part of the master plan. Perhaps Horner knew that technical development is exactly what you're interested in right now, so he brought out Newey to deliver an Academy Award-winning performance to win you over."
Without a doubt, Nicholas trusted Kai's intuition. He also intimately understood Kai's stubbornness and unwavering principles, which was why he was always eager to hear Kai's perspective.
But simultaneously, Nicholas would never shy away from voicing his own strategic analysis. Debating, strategizing, and offering brutal, professional advice—that was exactly what he was paid to do.
"Yes. You're exactly right," Kai said, snapping his fingers.
During the meeting, the sheer volume of information had crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving very little room for immediate analysis. But now that the dust had settled, he had time to catch his breath, organize his thoughts, and piece the puzzle together.
"It was a dizzying, overwhelming sensory overload. I temporarily forgot about the salary myself. They were incredibly well-prepared."
"They meticulously covered every single detail, leaving no corner unpainted, constructing an absolutely flawless, magnificent blueprint. But in my eyes, all that flawless preparation was specifically designed as a smokescreen."
"A smokescreen designed to hide the true, ugly motive lurking beneath that gorgeous exterior."
"Just like a magic trick. The more extravagant, loud, and visually stunning the performance is, the heavier and more significant the secret they are trying to conceal."
"The true secret is almost always hiding in plain sight, executing right alongside the flashy diversion."
Not just Nicholas, but Lorenzo also looked surprised. "What secret?"
Kai tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, solidifying his hypothesis.
"I believe Horner is being completely sincere. I believe he genuinely, desperately wants me to join Red Bull. But not for the reasons he stated. Not to win championships, build a dynasty, upend the paddock, or forge a brand new era. If you strip away all the intoxicating, flowery rhetoric and look at the brutal reality... he's actually just looking for a vanguard. A battering ram."
"He wants someone to charge in alone, riding at the very front of the formation, taking all the incoming fire. He needs a weapon to combat Max, to combat Jos, to combat Marko, and to combat the entire Austrian faction. He wants to use this pawn to violently shatter the existing power structure and plunge the team into chaos. Meanwhile, he stays safely in the back, manipulating the board until he can finally seize total, undisputed control of Red Bull Racing."
"In reality, I'm just the sacrificial pawn meant to charge the enemy lines."
The air went dead silent. Lorenzo and Nicholas both fell into deep thought, rewinding the entire hour-long meeting through the lens of Kai's brutal analysis.
"From every conceivable angle, I am the absolute perfect candidate. Exactly as he said: I'm untamed, undisciplined, highly individualistic, and completely reckless."
"Max can at least be reigned in by Jos and Marko. But me?"
"Think about it carefully. Horner was constantly encouraging me, constantly emphasizing how much he needs my sharp edges. He was actively fanning the flames of conflict. How else are we supposed to interpret that?"
"If I succeed, he becomes the ultimate victor, seizing total control. If I fail and burn out, he loses absolutely nothing. He just turns around, selects his next pawn, and sends them charging into the meat grinder for him."
"I am nothing but a pawn to help him conquer his kingdom."
Everyone had a hidden agenda. Ferrari had one. Mercedes-Benz had one. Naturally, Red Bull had one too.
At Ferrari, the conflict between the management and technical factions was irreconcilable, but at the absolute bare minimum, they were united in wanting to protect Ferrari's overarching interests.
However, at Red Bull, the situation was infinitely more treacherous. Horner and Marko represented two entirely different, actively warring corporate factions.
In a sense, Verstappen was also a weapon wielded by Marko. But the crucial difference was that Marko had personally scouted and elevated Verstappen. Their bond was exceptionally deep, forging a highly unique, symbiotic partnership. With Jos in the mix, their relationship was more akin to 'we rise together, or we fall together.'
Now, Horner was attempting to establish an identical dynamic with Kai. But there was no shared history, no deep-rooted loyalty, no mentor-student dynamic. It was a cold, pure transaction of power. Naturally, the reality was entirely different.
Furthermore, there was one absolutely critical, inescapable detail that could not be overlooked—
Kai was not a product of the Red Bull junior system.
"So, does a possibility exist..." Kai paused slightly.
He wasn't entirely sure himself; it was just a spark of inspiration, a wild leap of logic. But that single, trailing sentence made both Nicholas and Lorenzo snap their heads toward him.
Kai smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting. "He needs a massive, explosive outsider to completely shatter Red Bull's internal management structure, instantly obliterating the delicate balance of power between the Thai and Austrian factions. And then, once I—the disposable pawn—have outlived my usefulness and been destroyed in the crossfire, Horner smoothly steps in and replaces me with a Red Bull academy driver he's been grooming in the shadows?"
"After all, the ultimate future of Red Bull will always lie within their own youth academy. Marko rules the academy with an iron fist, but there's no way Horner hasn't tried to sink his claws in. He definitely wants to cultivate his own loyalist faction within the junior ranks."
He casually tossed out the terrifying hypothesis. Looking up, Kai found Nicholas and Lorenzo staring at him, absolutely dumbstruck. They looked like wooden chickens, having completely lost control of their facial expressions.
Kai, on the other hand, looked incredibly relaxed, letting out a soft chuckle.
"We're just brainstorming freely here. Let's try to be a little bolder with our imaginations, shall we?"
Lorenzo swallowed hard. "That... that can't be right, can it? I know Horner is a lunatic, but there's no way he'd risk gambling with a Drivers' World Champion, right? I mean, look at who you are! The greatest generational talent the paddock has seen in over a decade! The future God of Speed! How could he possibly dare to do something so insane?!"
But the moment the words left his mouth, Lorenzo's voice lost its conviction.
Perhaps it was precisely because of Kai's immense weight and status that Horner dared to take such an apocalyptic gamble. If he used any random, average driver on the grid, how could he possibly hope to shake Helmut Marko and the massive Austrian corporate machine standing behind him?
It was absolute madness. But when you stripped away the emotion and looked at it purely logically... it was terrifyingly plausible.
No wonder Horner was willing to bet the entire house!
Nicholas exhaled a long, heavy breath. "If he were just a lunatic, he probably wouldn't have the guts to pull a stunt like this. But if he's a degenerate gambler... that changes the equation entirely."
And Christian Horner was, without a doubt, a gambler.
Lorenzo thought about it seriously, looking up at Kai. "If that's true, then what about McLaren? At the very least, Mr. Marchionne said Zak Brown possesses both the intellect and the sheer guts to pull something off. Maybe McLaren really can carve out a bloody path and upend the paddock's hierarchy. Plus, Lando is already there. You two could make an incredible partnership."
Haha!
Kai laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound. "Lorenzo, this doesn't sound like you at all. Cowering in fear, second-guessing every shadow? Where did that fearless, lawless street racer go?"
"If they have the guts to scheme against me and try to use me as a pawn... then I have every right to scheme right back and use them."
"This is the paddock. Everything is driven by pure, naked self-interest. And the only place where we hold absolute, undeniable power is on the asphalt. As long as I keep winning, we control our own destiny."
"Conversely, if I stop winning, it doesn't matter which team I drive for. I won't survive in this sport regardless."
"I think we're finally starting to see the real paddock."