"Captain!"
In Li Lingyu's mind, she felt exactly like Gianna Jun in My Sassy Girl, standing on one mountaintop and screaming at the top of her lungs toward another.
It was supposed to be poignant, romantic, and heartbreaking.
But in reality, she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a massive, crushing sea of humanity, expending every last ounce of primordial energy to scream herself hoarse, repeating the cry of her soul over and over again.
One shout, then another.
It felt tiny, weak, and utterly insignificant. Against the overwhelming, earth-shattering wave of madness surrounding her, her voice was trapped, entirely unable to break through the siege.
It was a pathetic, humiliating struggle.
Yet, Li Lingyu refused to give up. She kept screaming. She screamed with unwavering determination, her voice acting like a signal flare cutting through the smoke of a battlefield.
And then, she could distinctly feel it. Scattered across the sprawling expanse of Albert Park, other lost souls seemed to have finally spotted the lighthouse, and their voices began to echo back in response.
They swarmed in from all directions, gathering drop by drop, building a tower from grains of sand. In the blink of an eye, it mutated into a storm, and then rapidly expanded into a Category 5 hurricane.
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
It was vast, magnificent, boundless, and staggeringly powerful.
In an instant, it swept across the park with the unstoppable force of a prairie fire, ultimately mutating into an unbelievable, roaring leviathan that echoed beneath the pale blue sky of Melbourne.
With majestic, overwhelming momentum, it suppressed, drowned out, and devoured the chants of "Lewis!" The reverberating echoes landed gently on the tips of their hearts, sending an uncontrollable, electrifying shiver down their spines.
Toto Wolff's face froze slightly.
The Mercedes-Benz and Hamilton fans panicked. They clearly hadn't anticipated this. The magnificent show they had meticulously planned and brewed for months was actually being hijacked—
Someone had kicked the door down and was crashing their party!
Their hearts clenched. Taking a frantic, deep breath, they burned their remaining energy and poured everything they had into unleashing an even more unbelievable roar, desperately attempting to drown out the rising crimson tide.
"Lewis!"
However, they had barely raised their heads, barely even had time to catch a breath, before they were hit with a devastating, crushing counter-attack.
The echoing roars from the crowd had twisted firmly into a single, unbreakable rope. The volume continued to climb, the fire continued to burn.
"Captain!"
One shout.
"Captain!"
Another shout.
The volume spiked several octaves in a single breath. The mountain-shattering tsunami completely and utterly swallowed the chants of "Lewis!", asserting absolute, tyrannical dominance over heaven and earth.
Buzz, buzz... buzz, buzz... Ear drums and even hearts began to vibrate slightly. Every cell in the body could feel the fanatical power. They felt exactly like tiny, helpless ants standing before a tidal wave, watching in despair as the colossal wall of water crashed down on their heads, completely swallowing them, destroying them, and grinding them into fine dust until they vanished without a trace.
James Gay-Rees immediately barked orders. "Quick, quick! Change the frame rate! Get a wide shot. Send the drone up and capture the entire panorama."
As an elite producer, Gay-Rees's inspiration instantly sparked. He recognized the monumental shift in the atmosphere immediately.
A new season, a new landscape. Netflix had entered the fray with full force. This year, including Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari, they weren't going to miss a single detail.
Without a doubt, Netflix had deployed their heaviest artillery around Mercedes and Ferrari, infiltrating every aspect of their operations, capturing comprehensive footage starting from day one of the new season.
Yet, that still wasn't the whole story.
Surrounding Kai was an entirely separate, dedicated film crew. The sheer number of personnel and the scale of their operation dwarfed everyone else. Even Hamilton didn't receive this level of treatment.
This was because Ferrari, F1, Netflix, and Kai had reached an exclusive agreement: for the new season, they would produce a standalone, dedicated documentary series focusing entirely on Kai.
It wasn't just the team; the official governing body had gone all in.
F1 was determined to seize the opportunity and mold Kai into the brand-new face of the sport. The heavyweight "Hamilton vs. Kai" clash was the central, officially sanctioned narrative for the 2019 season. The tidal wave of the social media era had fully breached the paddock walls, which directly resulted in the spectacular, unprecedented scene unfolding before their eyes.
The film crew swarming around Kai and Leclerc was more than double the size of any other crew. Gay-Rees was personally directing the operation, yet even that didn't feel like enough—
He deployed the drones.
Looking down from the heavens, the drone footage captured a breathtaking sight. Splashes of red were igniting in every single corner. Ferrari red and the brilliant red of the Chinese flag reflected off one another, sweeping across the venue with the unstoppable force of a wildfire. The crimson tide surged magnificently, blanketing the entirety of Albert Park, and it showed no signs of stopping.
Outside the gates of Albert Park, massive crowds of fans who hadn't managed to get inside refused to be left out. Feeling the call of the rolling heatwave emanating from the venue, they pulled out their own red flags and began waving them frantically at the circling drones overhead. The ocean of red shattered the physical boundaries of the park, bleeding out into the surrounding city.
It was magnificent. It was vast. It was burning fiercely.
The silver lights were still stubbornly and desperately flickering, but their survival space was being devoured and encroached upon by the red at a speed visible to the naked eye. Completely powerless to resist, the silver chants were reduced to a pathetic trickle, resembling cracked, ugly fissures within an endless, expanding sea of red magma.
"Captain!"
Li Lingyu was screaming. She could clearly hear the echoes from all directions rebounding beneath the sky, the reverberations lingering in the air long after the shout had ended.
No one should forget that this was Melbourne—one of the cities with the highest density of Chinese residents globally. But it wasn't just the Chinese diaspora living in Australia. Chinese fans from all over the world had converged here. They had seen the rampant, arrogant attacks from the Hamilton fans on social media. They had witnessed the questioning and the vitriol from the Mercedes fans, the Vettel fans, and the casual onlookers.
And so, they used their physical presence to deliver their answer.
Let the storm rage even fiercer! They would not be afraid, and they certainly would not cower. Because Kai possessed the largest, most unyielding vanguard in the entire world.
Her heart was pounding, her emotions surging wildly. Li Lingyu, smiling brightly through her tears, kept screaming his name over and over again.
Looking around, Li Lingyu noticed it wasn't just Asian faces. There were Latin American faces too, fans with curly hair screaming with identical, overflowing passion.
"Captain."
Their zeal and fiery enthusiasm were in no way inferior to her own.
Noticing Li Lingyu's gaze, those fans proudly pointed to the face paint adorning their cheeks—
On the left, the vibrant yellow and green of the Brazilian flag. On the right, two sharp, red lightning bolts.
Lightning bolts. Number 22. This was quietly but rapidly becoming Kai's universally recognized symbol. Clearly, they were Kai fans, just like Li Lingyu.
These Brazilian fans, having personally witnessed the resurrection of the Senna miracle on the asphalt of Interlagos, had unhesitatingly poured all their burning passion into supporting Kai.
Li Lingyu's smile bloomed wildly. She threw both hands high into the air, abandoning herself to the moment, screaming as freely and passionately as if she were at the Rio Carnival.
The massive silver wave that had been acting so arrogant and domineering just moments ago was instantly suppressed until it was practically suffocating. It gasped for air, struggling desperately to survive in the boundless ocean of red. But no matter how hard it thrashed or fought back, it couldn't find a sliver of hope. They screamed themselves hoarse, yet they were still slowly, inevitably devoured.
It was like sinking into quicksand.
Panic and despair began to leak into their eyes, breaking free from the initial rage, frustration, and humiliation, slowly draining away their will to fight.
Toto Wolff's face was dark as thunder. He stared intensely at the scene unfolding before him. He patted Hamilton's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. The violent, surging emotions in his chest threatened to explode, but he forced himself to maintain control. Taking a deep breath, he seared this humiliating moment permanently into his memory.
We'll settle this on the track. Mercedes-Benz would take all this humiliation and exact their revenge, piece by bloody piece, on the asphalt. They would see who had the last laugh when the season was over.
Albert Park had officially fallen. It was utterly transformed into an endless sea of red, stretching magnificently toward the horizon with no end in sight.
Forget about Leclerc; even Kai hadn't anticipated this.
The memory of arriving at Albert Park exactly one year ago was still vivid in his mind. Back then, he was just a raw rookie who had seemingly stumbled into an alien world by accident. Yet, the Chinese community in Melbourne had welcomed him with the utmost warmth and enthusiasm, using their actions to show him the true warmth of the city.
And now, they were using their actions to issue a global declaration: Captain, welcome home.
Following Singapore, Shanghai, Monza, and Interlagos, yet another city had officially transformed into Kai's home turf. His global home-court advantage was slowly but surely taking shape.
So, where was the next one going to be?
...
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
Perfectly synchronized, ear-splittingly loud, one shout following another, locked into a perfect rhythm, merging into a single, unified entity that completely blanketed Albert Park.
There were no unnecessary embellishments. No whistles, no polite applause, no high-pitched shrieks. There was nothing but the pure, unadulterated burning of the energy deep within their souls. They just kept screaming, repeating it over and over. In the continuous, repetitive roar, a rhythmic resonance was born. It made your entire body tremble involuntarily. A jolt of electricity shot from the soles of your feet straight to your scalp, making your skin tingle, ultimately detonating into a pure release of passion that literally ignited the air.
"Captain!"
Faces from Asia. Faces from Latin America. Faces from Italy. Different hair colors, different skin tones, entirely different features. Yet, in this moment, they were all painted red. They were all Tifosi. Fighting side-by-side, reveling in the wild carnival, using their own life force to awaken the fighting spirit.
The world was boiling over.
Jumping figures, waving arms, burning shouts—all erupting with spectacular force, converging entirely upon a single figure.
That power was so immense, so torrential, and so devastating that it possessed apocalyptic energy. With absolute, tyrannical dominance, it swallowed every other sound in existence. All the noise, all the chaos, was wiped perfectly clean. It felt as if there was only one, singular superstar present in the entirety of Albert Park.
Leclerc was stunned.
He had absolutely zero time to react, let alone mount a defense. The power surging toward him from all directions slammed into his heart with unreasonable, absolute force. In an instant, he was swept into the hurricane, entirely losing his bearings. Dizzy and disoriented, unable to catch his breath, his footsteps involuntarily faltered and stopped.
Leclerc had always known about Kai's massive drawing power.
In a way, he understood it even better than Kai did, because Kai didn't play the social media game. But their friend group was extremely active online. Lando Norris was basically the king of Twitter, posting multiple times a day. They stood right on the front lines, feeling the intense heat of Kai's popularity every single day.
Therefore, after the initial ecstatic joy of securing the Ferrari seat faded, Leclerc quickly cooled down. Long before the official announcement was made, he had already started feeling the crushing pressure.
For months, Leclerc believed he had fully mentally prepared himself. At least, he genuinely believed he had.
Yet, the moment he set foot in Albert Park, he was hit with a brutal, visceral reality check. Leclerc's brain instantly crashed, his wildly hammering heart threatening to explode in his chest.
If Leclerc reacted like this, one could only imagine how everyone else felt.
The paddock was a tiny, claustrophobic world. Ten teams, twenty drivers. And yet, all the cheers, all the spotlights, all the rolling heatwaves were aggressively concentrated on exactly one person: Kai. Comparison is the thief of joy, and the brutal contrast left every other driver completely sidelined and ignored. A scenario like this was absolutely unprecedented in the history of the paddock.
Humiliation. Frustration. Disgrace. Bitterness. Irritation.
Every negative emotion imaginable flooded their minds. It was difficult to articulate. George Russell couldn't even accurately describe his own feelings. He felt like a tiny rowboat caught in a Category 5 hurricane; his entire world was spinning violently out of control.
By all rights, he should have been the one wearing the Mercedes-Benz uniform, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hamilton, bathing in the glory of the magnesium flashes. But sadly—there are no 'ifs' in reality.
The breath caught tight in his throat, and Russell found his mind wandering.
When the figure of Hamilton finally swam back into focus, Russell realized with a jolt that he had instinctively been staring at Hamilton the entire time.
Quickly, Russell realized he wasn't the only one. Looking around, almost every single driver on the grid was secretly casting sideways glances at Hamilton and Vettel.
Clearly, this was a rare, historically unprecedented situation.
The grand entrance of two four-time World Champions had essentially been reduced to an opening act, serving merely as the warm-up for Kai.
In this specific moment, even wringing your brain dry and exhausting all your imagination, it was impossible to fathom exactly how Hamilton was feeling. Back when Hamilton brutally overthrew Alonso, how had Alonso viewed the young upstart? Was Hamilton currently experiencing the exact same psychological torment Alonso had endured all those years ago? And how was he preparing to deal with it?
A barrage of stares—schadenfreude, cold detachment, keen interest, deep concern, pity, and sympathy—rained down like a torrential storm, instantly encircling and swallowing Hamilton and Vettel whole. The lingering, unresolved tension from the end of the 2018 season had finally released all its explosive energy in this single moment.
"Lewis— Lewis—"
Those desperate shouts were still trying, screaming themselves hoarse, valiantly attempting to fight the hurricane. But it was a drop in the ocean. They looked exactly like fish thrown onto the riverbank, opening their mouths wide and gasping desperately for air, yet achieving nothing. The harder they tried, the more pathetic they seemed. The more effort they exerted, the sadder it became. Every movement was merely the final, futile struggle before death. Ultimately, they were entirely powerless to stop the torrential flood of destiny.
Vettel, walking slightly ahead, felt the rolling heatwave smash into his face. He paused slightly, casting a highly complex, conflicted glance backward. Finding the figures of Kai and Leclerc in the massive crowd, a bitter taste flooded his tongue. Ultimately, he didn't linger any longer. He turned around and strode away with long, purposeful steps.
Hamilton could acutely feel the heavy, oppressive stares boring into his shoulders from all directions. They were sharp and piercing. The relentless heatwave crashing against his eardrums slammed into his heart again and again, inflicting a sharp, stinging pain.
Almost imperceptibly, Hamilton straightened his spine slightly. Without missing a beat, he continued walking forward. He kept a composed smile on his face, remaining perfectly unhurried. He offered small, polite nods, waving to his own fans, while completely, utterly ignoring the existence of the Tifosi—
It was as if the overwhelming hail of bullets raining down on him simply didn't exist.
A king remains a king!
Witnessing this display, the Mercedes-Benz fans were moved to tears, their hearts swelling with pride. Even though their voices had been completely drowned out and swallowed whole, they continued to scream, burning their very life force. In an instant, they unleashed an even more unbelievable surge of energy. The season opener hadn't even officially begun, yet the fires of war had already reached a white-hot intensity.
Will Buxton's blood began to boil.
During the first season of Drive to Survive, Buxton had participated as the primary journalist representative. His designated role was essentially to stir the pot and fan the flames of drama. The massive, explosive success of the series had completely revitalized Buxton's career, providing him with incredible new opportunities after leaving his previous television network late the previous year.
Buxton was highly encouraged. He was sharpening his knives, fully prepared to roll up his sleeves and orchestrate some truly spectacular drama in the paddock this year.
If Hamilton's reaction was a masterclass in regal composure—proving that even after losing his crown last season, he maintained his fierce pride and was aggressively declaring his intent to reclaim the throne...
Then, what about Kai?
Standing amidst the swarming crowd, Buxton followed the direction of the rolling heatwave. He easily located the two vibrant, youthful figures representing Ferrari.
"Hey, Charles."
Kai raised his hand and waved it directly in front of Leclerc's face.
At that moment, verbal communication was physically impossible. The noise was too deafening. Kai used the physical gesture to grab Leclerc's attention, violently dragging his soul back from its journey through the cosmos down to earth. Then, using exaggerated mouth movements combined with hand gestures, Kai said:
"Missing Sauber yet?"
His eyes were overflowing with amusement and teasing.
Leclerc froze for a second, then immediately understood. Kai was saying: If you're regretting your life choices right now, I'm sure Giovinazzi would be absolutely thrilled to trade places with you.
Scared?
Leclerc opened his mouth wide. "Ha. Ha. Hilarious!" He fired the sarcastic retort back without hesitation, managing to find his courage amidst the overwhelming chaos.
However, his brave expression didn't last long. The very next second, his face stiffened again because of where Kai was walking. "Kai! Over there—"
That wasn't right!
That area wasn't the designated gathering spot for the Tifosi. That was the staging ground for the massive silver wave of Mercedes-Benz fans. They were glaring ferociously, baring their fangs, their massive, blood-soaked jaws wide open.
And Kai was just blindly, obediently walking right into the tiger's den?
Leclerc was just about to shout a warning, desperately trying to pull Kai back from the precipice before things spiraled completely out of control, when he noticed the fleeting, cunning glint that flashed through Kai's eyes. Leclerc stood there, frozen, as if he'd just been struck by lightning.
This... wasn't an accident!
Kai was doing it on purpose. He was deliberately walking into the tiger's den. Deliberately throwing himself into the net. Deliberately seeking a direct confrontation and a frontal assault. He was marching squarely into the teeth of the hurricane.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. Before he could even process the thought, he was swallowed by the sheer shock of it, standing there dumbstruck with his jaw hanging open.
Was this... sheer stupidity, or absolute bravery?
Just look at Hamilton a moment ago. Even a king like Hamilton, when faced with the overwhelming, heaven-shattering aura of the Tifosi, chose to avoid their sharp edges and refused a direct confrontation. Yet, what exactly was Kai doing now? Did he honestly not realize that those Mercedes-Benz fans would happily tear him limb from limb?
It was all too unexpected, too sudden. It completely shattered all expectations, instantly grabbing him by the throat and robbing him of all capacity to react. A gasp of shock was dangerously close to ripping out of his throat.
And then, just like Leclerc, everyone else froze in place, their minds going completely blank.
In that brief, fleeting moment, Kai's elegant, unhurried footsteps had carried him right to the edge. He turned around, standing directly in front of the massive silver-black ocean, face-to-face with the rabid Mercedes-Benz fans.
This scene... it wasn't just Leclerc. Every single person in the vicinity was absolutely stunned.
Binotto standing nearby. Sainz, Norris, and Verstappen standing further back. Todt watching from the VIP suite. Mekies and Clear watching on their televisions.
Even the 'Pitbull,' Will Buxton, was plunged into a state of profound shock. Adrift in the raging storm, he temporarily lost his ability to think, completely failing to comprehend what was happening right in front of his eyes.
Amidst the sprawling sea of humanity, the Mercedes-Benz fans were the sole exception.
Having personally witnessed Kai foolishly march right into the tiger's mouth, how could they possibly miss this golden opportunity? This was the exact definition of:
There is a road to Heaven, yet you refuse to take it; there is no gate to Hell, yet you kick it down.
Perfect timing! Their chests were practically exploding with unvented fury and resentment. The bitter frustration of being completely suppressed and humiliated by the Tifosi had finally found its outlet, and they held absolutely nothing back.
ROAR! ROAR ROAR ROAR!
One by one, they opened their blood-soaked maws, bared their fangs, and surged toward Kai with terrifyingly aggressive, distorted expressions. Their furious, roaring screams instantly ignited the invisible gunpowder in the air.
Yet, Kai walked toward them entirely unhurried. He had a massive smile on his face, looking perfectly calm and entirely composed. He acted as if he wasn't standing in front of the roaring fires of hell, but rather strolling through a sun-drenched meadow blooming with fresh flowers. Walking with elegant, unhurried steps, he waved his hand in greeting, nodded politely, and began actively interacting with the hostile fans.
This...?
The Mercedes-Benz fans had never seen anything like this. The paddock was always filled with hidden blades and covert attacks, but those skirmishes were almost entirely fought from a distance, through the media. Just like Hamilton had done moments ago—responding to the Tifosi's provocation by exclusively acknowledging the Mercedes fans, while strictly refusing direct confrontation.
But Kai completely ignored the established rules of engagement.
So, was this Kai responding to Hamilton? Was this a deliberate provocation?
Trapped in a state of boiling adrenaline, they had absolutely no time for deep, rational analysis. The Mercedes-Benz fans were instantly, violently enraged. The tiny sliver of energy remaining in the depths of their souls was poured out entirely. They shifted tactics, pivoting from aggressive, teeth-baring roars to a torrential downpour of sarcastic, mocking boos, launching an entirely different style of attack.
"Booooooooo..."
The boos cascaded over one another, layer upon layer, blanketing the sky. This had effectively become the signature 'greeting' exclusively reserved for Kai, a defining trademark ever since Hockenheim.
Li Lingyu: Do you guys think we don't exist?
"Captain!"
One shout.
"Captain!"
Another shout.
The Tifosi tightly twisted themselves into a single, unbreakable rope, clinging together and burning absolutely every ounce of their energy without reservation. The perfectly synchronized, unified roar stirred the soul and reached for the heavens. After their continuous, explosive outbursts, their momentum was actually surging back with terrifying force, climbing higher and higher. It blanketed the entire venue with exponentially compounding power, instantly radiating an aura of absolute, tyrannical dominance.
Lando Norris couldn't help himself. He threw his fist high into the air, chanting along, "Captain! Captain!"
Sainz looked at Norris with a head full of question marks: Are you seriously doing this right now?
Norris was grinning from ear to ear, laughing brightly. His expression and his voice couldn't have been more sincere. In a scene this incredibly epic and blood-pumping, who in their right mind would want to miss out?
In the blink of an eye, the East Wind overpowered the West Wind. The chorus of boos from the Mercedes-Benz fans was once again subjected to absolute, crushing suppression. Faced with this mountain-shattering energy, their efforts were fragile and precarious, seemingly ready to disintegrate entirely at any second. Humiliation and deep, bitter frustration filled their chests. When had Mercedes-Benz ever been reduced to such a pathetic, miserable state?
AH!
The power slipped its leash. The Hamilton fans began burning their very life force, recklessly and desperately detonating their remaining energy. It shot straight into the clouds, incredibly managing to form a temporary, precarious stalemate against the Tifosi.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
With massive, rolling momentum, riding the shockwaves of the air, it crashed down brutally. Even though they still couldn't fully match the sheer volume of the Tifosi, that idiot Kai had delivered himself right into their snare. He was standing like an idiot directly in front of the Mercedes-Benz encampment. They easily, effortlessly swallowed Kai whole with their blistering heatwaves and deafening roars.
The ground vibrated gently, shaking slightly, as if the very foundations of the world were being tested.
And what about Kai?
Standing at the absolute apex of the raging tsunami, positioned dead center in the eye of the violent hurricane, Kai appeared incredibly calm, profoundly at ease. He was quietly, genuinely admiring the spectacle unfolding before him.
His expression remained perfectly normal. The corners of his mouth were lifted, carving out a faint, genuine smile. He looked as if he were critically evaluating the wave of verbal attacks crashing against him, thoroughly and contentedly reveling in the experience.
That elegant, unhurried posture felt like a deliberate, calculated insult to the Mercedes-Benz fans—
Is that all the energy you have left? You've got to be kidding me. How incredibly disappointing.
That single look—dismissive, teasing, and utterly fearless—instantly enraged the Mercedes-Benz fans. Like a herd of infuriated bulls, they abandoned all reason and detonated their energy, their eyes glowing blood-red as they blindly charged forward to smash him.
However, Kai simply puffed his chest out slightly. He raised his right hand, pressed his index and middle fingers together, and lightly tapped his ear. The gesture couldn't have been more obvious:
Louder. Let me hear your voices.
Just like a legendary rock star igniting the passion of a massive stadium crowd, all the hidden blades and vitriol directed at him were instantly transformed into his own personal applause and cheers.
That posture, that gesture, that sheer, unapologetic swagger. It was the absolute embodiment of a legendary matador. Elegant, unhurried, with light, dancing footsteps. He twirled and spun flawlessly amidst the brutal, chaotic charges of the raging bull. And the bull, snorting heavily and dripping with sweat, slowly found itself sliced to ribbons, covered in bloody wounds without even realizing what was happening, until it finally collapsed in a heap of bitter, exhausted frustration.
Woooo! WOOOOOOOOO!
The Mercedes-Benz fans were absolutely furious. They emptied out every last drop of their primordial, soul-deep energy, desperately attempting to suppress Kai's overwhelming arrogance.
But their furious actions only served to make the smile on Kai's lips bloom even wider. His eyes were bright and piercing, looking down imperiously to take in the entire magnificent scene.
The matador was quietly evaluating the bloody fruits of his labor.
The louder and more chaotic their screams became, the more it highlighted their pathetic desperation and pale, utter impotence. Screaming until their throats bled wouldn't move Kai a single millimeter.
—The entire venue fell into a state of profound shock, completely paralyzed.
In this battle of pure aura and dominance, it wasn't just the Tifosi suppressing the Mercedes-Benz fans; Kai had effortlessly and single-handedly suppressed Hamilton.
When Hamilton displayed the demeanor of a king, using his elegant, unhurried posture to completely ignore the attacks of the Tifosi, Kai hadn't evaded. He hadn't dodged. He launched a massive, frontal assault. He stared the vicious, brutal ferocity of the Mercedes-Benz fans right in the face, displaying the breathtaking brilliance of a top-tier matador taming a wild beast.
And finally, he delivered a flawless, elegant curtain call.
Absolutely every single spectator who witnessed this scene with their own eyes felt it. Their blood boiled, their emotions surged wildly. The sheer magnitude, the absolute epic grandeur of the moment, ignited all their passion.
As the season opened, everyone had been intensely curious about the current status of Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari. Everyone was curious about the psychological state of Hamilton and Kai. During pre-season testing, everything had seemed perfectly peaceful. Let alone smoke and gunpowder, there wasn't even the slightest ripple on the water. Everyone seemed to have reached a silent consensus—
Keep moving forward. Leave the drama of the 2018 season in 2018. The upcoming 2019 season is the only thing that matters. No one is still holding onto past grudges.
But everyone knew that refusing to talk about something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Failing to show emotion doesn't mean you don't care. That incredibly tense, hostile atmosphere had simply moved from the light into the shadows, hiding deep within their bones, waiting patiently. Waiting for the exact right moment to violently detonate.
The detonation arrived exactly as expected; it just occurred in a manner that utterly shattered every single preconceived expectation.
If anyone believed that the 'young calf' Kai might have lost his razor-sharp edge in this battle of auras, they were clearly wrong. Phenomenally, spectacularly wrong.
Kai was still Kai. Not only had he not become dizzy with success or arrogant enough to lose the hungry, aggressive edge of a rookie after his glorious first season... he had actually become more arrogant. More unrestrained. More audaciously bold. Right out of the gate, he had the sheer, unmitigated gall to launch a frontal counter-attack against a rabid mob of rival fans, single-handedly igniting the gunpowder of the new season.
Hamilton had used the aura of a king to control the field, but Kai's momentum remained entirely undiminished. With a single grand entrance, he had dropped a massive, unequivocal manifesto—
He is not going to stop.
More accurately: he was going to keep moving forward. He was going to keep challenging the established order. He was going to keep scaling new peaks. The aggressive, charging dark horse had officially transformed into the most competitive, highly influential titan in the entire paddock.
So, was Mercedes-Benz truly ready for war?
However, judging by the current display of momentum, a certain someone clearly hadn't had enough time to prepare.
Right now, the Mercedes-Benz fans resembled a dying, exhausted bull. Eyes bloodshot, covered in agonizing wounds, they lay collapsed in a pool of their own blood, gasping heavily for air. Every single cell in their bodies screamed with bitter unwillingness. They thrashed wildly on the ground, struggling desperately, but the harder they fought, the weaker they became. Ultimately, they lacked the strength to mount another charge, to launch another strike. Their harsh, scorching breaths seemed to be slowly draining the last of their life force. They stared fixedly at the figure of the matador, utterly, completely powerless.
The noise gradually, slowly quieted down.
That silver ocean was still struggling. Sporadic, scattered boos and angry shouts continued to pop up. Eyes filled with pure hatred and resentment stared fixedly at Kai, refusing to blink. But ultimately, it was nothing more than the futile, empty posturing of a defeated enemy.
Witnessing this scene, the Tifosi also fell silent. But it wasn't out of pity or mercy. They were absolutely dumbstruck, staring in ecstatic, wild disbelief at the collapsed 'bull.' Even seeing it with their own two eyes, they found it incredibly difficult to believe—
How on earth did this actually happen?!
The Captain. He truly was the Captain.
A short distance ahead, Hamilton stopped walking. He turned around and looked directly at Kai. He felt it. This was a deliberate provocation and a formal declaration of war from Kai. A flash of utter disbelief crossed his eyes. The paddock had never seen a character like this before. Not even Max Verstappen was this arrogantly flamboyant.
Kai seemed to notice. The sharp, piercing edge hidden within his gaze shifted, and he looked back. The two men's eyes briefly collided in the air.
Realizing the owner of the gaze was Hamilton, the corners of Kai's mouth lifted slightly. He raised his right hand and made a tight fist, as if he were actively cheering Hamilton on and offering him encouragement.
Hamilton hadn't expected that at all. He couldn't hold it back and let out a sharp, angry laugh.
This guy was doing this entirely on purpose, wasn't he? Deliberately provoking him, actively trying to infuriate him.
If that was the goal, he had undeniably succeeded. Hamilton was, in a very rare occurrence, genuinely angry. The fury burned fiercely, and his internal organs began to churn.
Buxton looked left at Hamilton, then right at Kai. The intensely hostile, swords-drawn atmosphere had reached its absolute zenith in this specific moment—
Now is the time!
Without a second of hesitation, Buxton raised his voice, violently shattering the brief silence and the tense standoff.
"Kai! How do you respond to the massive controversies surrounding the Yas Marina race? Some people are saying you should return the Drivers' World Championship trophy to Lewis. What are your thoughts on that?"
British journalists will never screw over British drivers. Buxton's loyalties had never wavered.
The air instantly froze solid.
Li Lingyu was instantly furious. If that reporter doesn't know how to speak like a decent human being, he should shut his damn mouth!
But before the Tifosi could even react, Kai beat them to the punch.
"I really wish I could fly. But I suppose we can't all get everything we want in life, can we?"
The smile radiated brilliantly under the bright March sun of Melbourne.
Li Lingyu couldn't control herself any longer. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach—
Haha! HAHAHA!
Buxton stood there, stunned and completely disoriented. It was just a verbal exchange, so why did he feel like he had just been hit with a devastating, lightning-fast combination of brutal punches? His stomach was completely doing flips.
Buxton opened his mouth, preparing to fire off another question, but Kai didn't give him the chance. With a smooth turn, Kai walked away with elegant, effortless strides, leaving Buxton with nothing but a view of his back.
At that moment, Leclerc finally snapped out of his trance. An excitement that language simply couldn't accurately describe began to boil within him. A towering, majestic ambition to conquer the world surged powerfully in his chest.
The surrounding cheers from the Tifosi, mixed with laughter and whistles, began to rise again. This prompted Leclerc to quicken his pace, jogging slightly to catch up to Kai. The two young men walked shoulder-to-shoulder, chatting and laughing effortlessly.
The air in Albert Park was saturated with a deeply joyous, triumphant atmosphere.
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
The fiercely united cheers and shouts rose up once more, echoing endlessly beneath the azure sky. The relentless, endless passion of the Tifosi undeniably became the most spectacular, eye-catching highlight of F1's brand new season opening ceremony. It was impossible to ignore.
As expected, Ferrari was truly Ferrari. The undisputed kings of paddock traffic.
Even before the opening ceremony officially concluded, the tidal wave of social media traffic was already erupting massively. The boundless, sprawling red ocean forcefully hijacked every single timeline. Netizens everywhere were expressing their absolute shock: they never expected to see a scene like this outside of Monza. Had the peak era of Ferrari—where every track felt like a global home race—officially returned?
Countless topics and hashtags, all revolving entirely around Kai, dominated the conversation. Ferrari emerged as the absolute, undisputed victor of the day. Even though Mercedes-Benz had won the Constructors' World Championship last season, there was a profound illusion that the entire world was currently revolving exclusively around Ferrari. It made everyone deeply, viscerally feel Kai's unparalleled drawing power and influence. Without a doubt, he was currently F1's absolute greatest hope for expanding their market and consistently breaking into the mainstream.
According to official F1 data metrics, social media traffic, sponsor revenue, live broadcast viewership, and media attention had all shattered previous records. The 2019 season was definitively the most highly anticipated, intensely scrutinized year in the history of the sport. Under the colliding effects of a destabilized Mercedes-Benz dynasty, the massive pre-season hype generated by Netflix, and Kai's explosive, out-of-nowhere ascension, Formula 1 had reached a historic, monumental turning point. The opportunity for unprecedented, stratospheric growth seemed to be lying right in front of them.
However, what happened next couldn't be accomplished by F1 management alone. Whether the season would actually be spectacular, and whether the suspense of the championship could be maintained until the very end, required the active participation of the entire paddock. Every single team and every single driver had to be fully engaged. Only when every single variable perfectly intertwined in that specific moment could true history be born.
Now, the dice had been rolled. The Wheel of Fate had begun to turn once again. The massive topics ignited at Albert Park were merely the beginning. They acted like a burning fuse, preparing to detonate the entire season—
Could Kai, entering the season as the defending champion, withstand the crushing test of extreme pressure?
Last season, he was a challenger who had absolutely nothing to lose. He popped out of nowhere, a barefoot kid who wasn't afraid of the guys wearing expensive shoes. The paddock wasn't mentally prepared for him; they had no defenses and no specific strategies designed to counter him. Team tactics and responses were highly susceptible to errors and miscalculations. But now, the situation was fundamentally different. He was officially the primary target for everyone's concentrated fire. He was the man everyone desperately wanted to defeat. Add to that the astronomically high expectations placed upon him, and the psychological burden of being the defending champion was going to play an absolutely critical role.
Everything was marked with massive, looming question marks.
Was Mercedes-Benz fully prepared to fight an entirely different kind of season? Could Ferrari's car development actually keep pace and match Mercedes-Benz blow for blow? Was Red Bull ready to take the next massive step and completely shatter the established paddock hierarchy this season? Could the intense rivalry between Kai and Hamilton bear the crushing weight of global expectations? Could Verstappen take the next step and become the definitive third disruptor in the championship fight?
Was the alliance between Vettel and Racing Point truly worth anticipating? After the season where Kai authored a miracle, what kind of answer sheet would the highly hyped rookies of the "F2 Three Musketeers" hand in? What kind of performance would Leclerc deliver in a Ferrari? And what about Ricciardo; was his move to Renault actually worth watching? Could Haas and Williams finally experience a revitalizing new dawn this year?
And on. And on. And on.
Countless storylines, countless focal points, countless burning questions were erupting simultaneously. Once it started, it was never going to stop.
Just looking at the historic, massive opening ceremony at Albert Park, it was blatantly obvious that the anticipation for the 2019 season had skyrocketed to an entirely new dimension. The fanatical supporters and the casual onlookers were all strapped in and ready to go. But the ultimate, most critical, burning question remained:
Could the Mercedes-Benz dynasty survive and continue its reign? Or would Ferrari press their advantage, completely overthrow Mercedes-Benz, and establish a brand new dynasty of their own?
The tension was explosive!
Free Practice 1 of the Formula 1 Australian Grand Prix officially began.