Cloudless and windless. The golden sunlight poured down without obstruction, blanketing Melbourne in an atmosphere of lazy, effortless leisure. The city's residents were seizing the tail end of summer, leaving their homes to soak up the final stretches of warm weather. Heading to Albert Park for a picnic while watching Formula 1 racing was clearly the perfect choice. The easygoing comfort of a Friday morning filled the air with a bright, joyful energy.
Vroom, vroom! VROOOOOOM!
The deafening roar of engines began to rattle the earth. The entire world trembled uncontrollably, and the blood in everyone's veins ignited.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the wait is over!"
"The 2019 Formula 1 season has finally returned. The season-opening Australian Grand Prix is officially underway. We have all been agonizingly waiting for this day to arrive."
"Last season, we collectively witnessed the nineteen-year-old Kai explode onto the scene and completely upend the paddock, closing out a brilliant, magnificent 2018 with a Drivers' World Championship trophy. Without a doubt, this year is going to be incredibly, truly, exceptionally special. Everything is full of infinite possibilities."
On Sky Sports, the veteran duo of David Croft and Martin Brundle were back in the broadcast booth, ready to keep every motorsport fan company for the weekend.
Anyone with eyes could see it: led by the Chinese media, the number of Asian faces in the paddock had drastically multiplied.
Last season, they had merely been testing the waters, showing up to join the spectacle. "The first Chinese driver in history to stand on a Grand Prix podium, and doing it more than once"—that hook had indeed generated significant traffic on social media. But very few genuinely believed Kai could actually shatter the rigid, European-dominated ceiling of the sport. Even those paying attention maintained a highly conservative, guarded emotional distance.
This year, however, was fundamentally different. It wasn't just a 180-degree turn; it was a full 360. After witnessing history unfold in 2018, no one was foolish enough to want to miss out on 2019. The intense focus had been gathering long before the season opener, everyone eagerly rubbing their hands together, anticipating a brand new historic journey—
Kai was about to hit the asphalt as the defending champion!
Overnight, the number of Asian media personnel cramming into the paddock had skyrocketed. This was especially true here in Melbourne, the only race geographically close to Asia, often hailed as Asia's 'good neighbor.'
The atmosphere felt distinctly different.
Consequently, the mindsets of Croft and Brundle had also undergone a subtle shift.
Undoubtedly, as an Englishman, Brundle sincerely hoped to see Hamilton write his name into the history books, elevating himself to the legendary status of Senna and Schumacher. But as a pure motorsport aficionado, Brundle was also wholeheartedly cheering for Kai's unparalleled performances.
In 2018, they had witnessed the birth of history with their own eyes. So, what would 2019 bring?
Honestly, Brundle was open to every single possibility. Whether Hamilton reclaimed the throne, Kai successfully defended his title, Verstappen or Leclerc violently seized power, Vettel staged a triumphant 'return of the king,' or Ricciardo achieved redemption and completely overturned the paddock hierarchy... he welcomed all of it with open arms.
Unpredictability and suspense—that was what made racing so highly anticipated. A paddock where a hundred flowers bloomed and a hundred schools of thought contended was the ultimate key to completely opening up the motorsport market.
For the 2019 season, the FIA had announced a series of significant regulation changes.
The front wings were widened, and the complex aerodynamic vortices generated by the endplates were severely restricted to reduce 'dirty air.' The rear wing dimensions were adjusted upwards, and the DRS opening was made larger, theoretically making following a car significantly easier. Overall downforce was reduced, forcing teams to fundamentally alter how they managed airflow.
In short, teams had been forced to completely overhaul their aerodynamic designs. Changing how a car utilizes airflow was an incredibly painful, foundational restructuring. It meant that every team was reset to the same starting line. They had to design entirely new cars and research completely new systems; all previous designs were effectively reset to zero.
The new season was truly brimming with infinite possibilities.
Winter testing had delivered a mix of surprises, shocks, and lingering suspense.
Renault surprisingly topped the timing sheets for the fastest overall lap. Cyril Abiteboul was using actual on-track performance to make Red Bull regret their 'divorce.'
However, the reality wasn't that simple. The top five fastest lap times did not include a single driver from the 'Big Three' (Mercedes, Ferrari, Red Bull). One look was all it took to realize something was seriously off.
The midfield teams, led by Renault and Toro Rosso, had concentrated their testing runs on the softest tire compounds. Meanwhile, Ferrari, Mercedes-Benz, and Red Bull focused almost entirely on the medium compounds. It was glaringly obvious that they were all holding back, deliberately refusing to show their true, ultimate pace.
Despite this, Ferrari had once again demonstrated terrifying engine power. Their straight-line speed led the entire paddock, leaving a profound impression and drawing highly suspicious glances from their rivals.
Compared to a single fastest lap, the total testing mileage was a far more reliable indicator. Mercedes-Benz ranked first with 610 laps completed, followed closely by Ferrari with 598 laps. Both teams continuously amassed massive amounts of data without ever attempting to set a blistering lap time. Both camps were 'hiding grenades in their pants,' remaining obsessively conservative and low-profile, refusing to show their hands while keeping their true strength hidden in the shadows.
Red Bull was even more secretive. Everyone was intensely curious about their performance after switching to Honda engines, and Red Bull knew they were under the microscope. They logged only 495 laps, lagging significantly behind Ferrari and Mercedes. While the initial integration of the Honda engine appeared surprisingly solid, Red Bull was actively obscuring their data, constantly throwing out smokescreens.
Comparatively, the teams generating genuine concern were Haas, Racing Point, and Williams.
Haas suffered the most mechanical failures of any car during testing. Racing Point triggered a flurry of whispered debates because the design of their new car bore a striking, highly suspicious resemblance to the W09—the exact car Mercedes-Benz had used to win the championship the previous year. This immediately sparked widespread speculation about backroom deals between Mercedes-Benz, Racing Point, and Williams.
Was this Wolff's ultimate bargaining chip? Had Vettel agreed to join Racing Point because Wolff guaranteed him a championship-contending car, effectively meaning Mercedes-Benz was secretly helping Racing Point design their chassis? Was this also the underlying reason Lawrence Stroll had unceremoniously kicked Sergio Perez to the curb?
Wait, wasn't that blatantly illegal?
Yes. To be precise, if Mercedes-Benz was genuinely "helping" Racing Point design their car, it was a 100% violation of the regulations, an offense severe enough to potentially have the team disqualified from the championship.
But the crucial element was evidence!
Both Mercedes-Benz and Racing Point appeared exceptionally calm, standing tall and inviting any and all scrutiny or investigations.
Due to the regulation changes this year, Ferrari/Alfa Romeo and Mercedes-Benz/Red Bull had adopted two fundamentally different front wing design philosophies, sparking intense debate. If Racing Point's aerodynamics had "borrowed" from Mercedes-Benz, then Alfa Romeo wasn't exactly innocent regarding their similarities to Ferrari either.
Furthermore, Mercedes-Benz had undeniable "proof" of their innocence: they hadn't helped Racing Point design their car, and they absolutely hadn't helped Williams design theirs.
Because Williams' car... simply hadn't been built.
Williams had previously canceled their official new car launch event, claiming they were working around the clock to be ready for winter testing. Yet, when testing officially began, their car was still in pieces. It became massive, scandalous news across the paddock; a catastrophic failure of this magnitude hadn't been seen in a decade.
It wasn't until 4:00 AM on the third day of testing that Williams' new car finally arrived in Barcelona. The team mechanics spent another half a day frantically assembling it, and it finally hit the track that afternoon.
Rumors swirled wildly. Some claimed the design blueprints were sent to the parts manufacturers far too late, resulting in a production delay that caused the disaster. Others claimed the team's Technical Director, Paddy Lowe, was already preparing to resign and had simply stopped caring, leading to a catastrophic breakdown in internal management.
While Racing Point's aerodynamic design remained in the realm of unproven, speculative gossip, Williams' headless-chicken-like chaos was an undeniable, humiliating reality.
So, was Mercedes-Benz... innocent?
In summary, during this year's winter testing, the 'Big Three' had rendered themselves perfectly invisible. The midfield teams, led by Renault, violently fought for the spotlight, while Williams and Racing Point generated massive, highly controversial discussions for entirely different reasons.
However, the true, absolute pace of the brand-new 2019 cars remained hidden behind a thick veil of fog. No one could see the complete picture.
It wasn't until the season opener that the veil was finally going to be lifted.
Anyone with eyes could see that the tension and mutual restraint among the 'Big Three' was significantly tighter and more pronounced than in previous years. Kai's explosive arrival had completely shattered the established balance of power. The mindsets and positioning of all three mega-teams had undergone subtle, complex shifts. The information warfare raging before the season even started displayed an unprecedented, suffocating intensity.
Rumors. Insider scoops. Highly classified leaks. A dizzying array of verifiable and unverified intel flooded the airwaves. The season hadn't even started, yet the suffocating smell of gunpowder was already overwhelmingly thick.
Because of this intense suspense, countless theories and fragmented pieces of gossip littered the ground.
And precisely because of that suspense, the moment Free Practice 1 of the Australian Grand Prix officially began, every single eye in the motorsport world instantly locked on. Everyone was desperately trying to pierce the fog, discover the truth, and accurately diagnose the true balance of power at the start of the season. The hype surrounding FP1 of the 2019 season opener shattered all previous records.
Wave after wave of roaring engines echoed through the air. Frantically pounding hearts felt like they were going to explode.
However, Kai currently had zero time to worry about his competitors' lap times. He had to focus every ounce of his energy and mental processing power on his own Number 22 race car.
For Kai, everything was still brand new. From GP3 to F1 rookie, and now F1 sophomore—the beginning of every season was entirely different. He was constantly adapting, constantly adjusting. It felt like he had only just fully mastered the 2018 SF71H, and now he had to instantly adapt to the completely overhauled SF90.
And wouldn't you know it: barely five laps in, the fatal flaws in Ferrari's highly ambitious, radically redesigned SF90 were already glaringly obvious.
Overall, the SF90 felt incredibly sensitive and terrifyingly fragile. Even without pushing to the absolute limit, the uneven, bumpy surface of the Albert Park semi-street circuit was transmitted directly and violently through the steering wheel. At certain moments, it felt absurdly like he was off-roading a Jeep across the Serengeti.
The completely redesigned, wider front wing pushed the airflow further outboard, drastically reducing the familiar "front-end bite" he had relied on last season. This meant the braking point upon corner entry was exponentially more sensitive. When turning the wheel, it felt like stepping into a pocket of disrupted, turbulent air. While being insulated from the road by a layer of unpredictable airflow, the car constantly wandered and floated, making it incredibly difficult to maintain balance. It wasn't simple understeer; it was as if the grip itself was getting lost in the turbulent air.
Braking for Turn 3, the steering wheel shuddered violently, feeling exactly like someone had snuck up in the dark, smashed the car with a bat, and run away. The airflow over the front wing failed to pin the nose down as expected. Mid-corner, the front end suddenly lifted by half an inch, completely shattering the rhythm of the turn—
The turbulence generated by the new, wider front wing was causing the front-end downforce to bleed away far too abruptly.
"The transition from Turn 3 to Turn 4 is highly unstable. The front end won't bite, and we're bleeding grip heavily under mid-corner acceleration." Kai immediately logged a marker and relayed the feedback.
On the pit wall, Pierre Borreipaire was incredibly busy. These were fundamental aerodynamic issues. They had to be fixed, but attempting to solve them could trigger a catastrophic chain reaction across the entire chassis.
The straight-line speed remained spectacular, but the cornering performance was limping and dangerously erratic.
You could see the speed absolutely rocketing. The ERS energy deployment was smooth and incredibly potent. The SF90's top-speed advantage on the straights was still terrifying, perhaps even more brutal than Mercedes-Benz.
But the moment it entered a low or medium-speed corner, it felt like the car was violently yanked backward by the scruff of the neck—
The rear end felt dangerously light and floaty, the front axle lacked mechanical grip, and the steering angle always felt half a beat too slow to respond.
There wasn't just one or two problems.
The first time Leclerc attempted to push near the limit, he nearly flew completely off the track at the apex. "The rear tires are floating. I can't find the track surface."
Even though Leclerc had driven for Sauber for a full year and considered himself highly adaptable to Formula 1 machinery, a Ferrari was fundamentally different.
Not only was it the most iconic car on the grid, it was a top-tier machine fighting at the absolute apex of the sport. The incredibly delicate, granular feedback required to navigate the thousandths-of-a-second margins was an entirely different beast. The situation was proving to be vastly more treacherous than he had imagined.
Riccardo Adami remained fully alert, instantly logging the data. "Copy that."
Adami, a veteran who had worked at Minardi and Toro Rosso, joined Ferrari in 2015, reuniting with Sebastian Vettel, whom he had previously engineered at Toro Rosso.
When Vettel announced his departure, the widespread assumption was that Adami would follow him to Racing Point, given their incredibly close working relationship.
But Adami stayed at Ferrari, becoming Charles Leclerc's race engineer. It wasn't an earth-shattering shock, but it was certainly a mild surprise.
It's worth noting that Adami is Italian, making him exceptionally comfortable navigating the uniquely chaotic, highly politicized 'Italian atmosphere' of Ferrari. The fact that Adami managed to survive the brutal off-season bloodbath between the management and technical factions and remain in his position suggested the situation was likely quite complex.
Throughout the off-season, Adami had been quietly adjusting his mindset and recalibrating his position.
A new Team Principal, a new driver, new upper management, new season objectives. On the surface, it didn't look like Ferrari had undergone a massive, structural purge, but anyone with eyes could sense the profound shift in the atmosphere. He had to carefully consider his attitude and political stance for the new season.
Last season, to a certain extent, Adami had stood in direct opposition to Kai.
But what about this season?
Within Ferrari, Adami was a highly experienced and deeply respected figure. He undeniably possessed significant influence and a strong voice regarding internal team affairs. His position was critical. Putting him aside, what was Leclerc's attitude going to be?
Everything had to start from scratch.
These thoughts lingered briefly in his mind. Then, taking the first step, Adami immediately relayed the data and information he had gathered directly to Laurent Mekies.
The core aerodynamic philosophy of the SF90 had pushed the concepts of the previous year to absolute extremes. In their obsessive pursuit of straight-line explosive power, they had sacrificed significant segments of their cornering stability—
Particularly after the summer break last year, when their updates designed to close the gap in low and medium-speed corners had been forcibly rolled back. Binotto and Kai had seemingly reached a consensus, and that decision became the defining turning point of Ferrari's second half of the season, injecting the technical team with massive confidence.
The initial design philosophy of the SF90 for the first half of the season was already leaning in that direction, but they had pushed it even further. They remained staunchly convinced that attempting to build a perfectly balanced, 'jack-of-all-trades' car like Mercedes-Benz was a dead end. They simply couldn't out-engineer Mercedes at their own game, so they had to take a radically different, highly specialized path and pursue absolute extremes.
Finding a completely different route was the only viable method to defeat Mercedes.
This wasn't just Ferrari's philosophy; Red Bull believed the exact same thing.
And thus, the current car was born. To try and pin the front axle down, the engineers had added two degrees of angle of attack to the front wing endplates. However, the trade-off was severe rear-end instability during high-speed sections. This didn't just hurt their corner exit speeds; it made their mid-corner rhythm dangerously erratic. This wasn't just walking a tightrope anymore; it was practically juggling flaming chainsaws while blindfolded.
After his first stint, returning to the garage, Kai didn't stay in the cockpit. He took off his helmet, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his bright eyes quickly scanning the room.
"The airflow detachment in the low and medium-speed sectors is far worse than last year. I marked three specific drops in downforce. The simulator data is completely out of sync with reality. Who is running the calculations for this front wing aero package?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the air in the garage froze. The engineers exchanged nervous glances. It was glaringly obvious that the technical team was instinctively circling the wagons, trying to protect one another.
However, Jock Clear was watching like a hawk. He swept his gaze across the room. If they continued to stay silent, Clear was probably going to start calling out names directly.
A figure hiding behind a monitor tried to feign perfect composure, casually reviewing the telemetry. "Theoretically, there shouldn't be a problem. We probably just need to run a few more laps to observe—"
Heh.
Kai let out a soft laugh, instantly cutting him off. His words were polite but struck right at the bullseye, seizing the critical flaw immediately. "Yes, exactly. So did you not just see that? I just ran seven laps before coming in to give this feedback. Your 'theories' are incorrect. The time we are bleeding in the low and medium-speed corners is significantly more than 1.5 seconds."
Before winter testing, Binotto had publicly stated that the SF90 was still facing numerous challenges, admitting they might lose up to 1.5 seconds on the straights.
But looking at it now, the SF90's straight-line performance remained at the absolute pinnacle of the paddock. However, the rhythm and time they were hemorrhaging in the low and medium-speed corners far exceeded those estimates.
He was smiling broadly, his tone light and breezy. To an outsider, it looked like he was just casually chatting with his team. But the sharp bones and razor edges hidden within those words were entirely undisguised.
The entire garage was dead silent.
Do you trust the simulator data, or do you trust the driver's intuition?
This was a classic, weekly debate in the paddock. Every technical team had their own deeply entrenched views, making it an unavoidable, perpetual source of conflict. It repeated itself almost every single week, at every single race. They would seemingly resolve it, but fundamentally, the core disagreement never actually ended.
Ferrari was no exception.
Regarding this debate, Kai's stance had always been incredibly firm. It was true last year, and it remained true now. He trusted himself.
The difference was—
Last season, Kai mostly relayed his opinions through Mekies and Clear. It wasn't until after Spa that he finally had a direct, face-to-face confrontation with Binotto.
This season, Kai bypassed the middlemen entirely. He stood directly in front of the engineers, looked them dead in the eye, and articulated his feedback with razor-sharp clarity.
Everything was brand new. A new season, a new operational paradigm.
Because of this, even though this entire conversation could easily have been conducted over the team radio while Kai remained comfortably in the cockpit—saving him the hassle of putting his helmet back on and strapping back in—Kai insisted on doing it this way. They needed to face each other, communicate directly, and establish the fundamental tone and workflow for the entire season.
Especially after truly experiencing the SF90 from Barcelona to Melbourne. The massive flaws staring them in the face were emerging across the board. Kai was acutely aware that this was a monumental challenge. An incredibly, terrifyingly severe challenge. It was a crisis that couldn't be overcome simply by relying on hot-blooded passion and empty motivational speeches.
They needed dialogue. They needed brutal communication. They needed constant friction and collision to shatter the walls and upend the team's entrenched, stubborn mindset.
Just like right now.
Those traditional, deeply rooted mindsets weren't going to be shattered overnight. The engineers were still habituated to blindly trusting the simulator. They trusted the data generated by tens of thousands of virtual test runs. They trusted the results they endlessly calculated and deduced while sitting comfortably behind their monitors. That was how they interacted with the world of motorsport—
Perhaps they would go their entire lives without ever actually strapping into a Formula 1 car and pushing the absolute limits of speed on real asphalt. Naturally, it was impossible for them to truly comprehend what the driver was physically experiencing.
Therefore, they needed time. The season opener had to lay that groundwork.
Kai didn't continue to aggressively press the issue. He had made his point. You couldn't eat an elephant in a single bite. The clock on Free Practice 1 was still ticking. The rest of this conversation could be explored in excruciating detail during the technical debrief tonight. He was fully prepared to verbally battle the entire engineering department if necessary.
He glanced at Mekies and Clear. He was going to need their help to handle the fallout. Before they entered the technical debrief, they needed to facilitate a round of communication and lay some preparatory groundwork.
After a brief pause, Kai climbed back into the car and headed back out onto the track.
The problems facing the SF90 extended far beyond just the front wing. The entire aerodynamic direction of the car was highly questionable. By overly gambling on a low-drag concept, they had sacrificed massive amounts of overall downforce and fundamentally compromised tire management. The car's adaptability across different track layouts was extremely concerning.
Although they had only driven at Barcelona for winter testing and now Albert Park—a mere two circuits—Kai could already distinctly feel the car struggling violently—
And they were entirely different types of problems on each track.
The varying characteristics of different circuits could easily turn into an absolute nightmare for the SF90.
This meant the team was going to be forced to conduct massive amounts of testing and aggressive setup changes at every single race. It would be an endless cycle of trial and error, constantly starting from scratch, trapped in a vicious loop. Furthermore, there was absolutely zero guarantee that all this agonizing hard work would actually translate into strong on-track performance. This was going to be an impossibly grueling psychological test for the entire team.
However, if that was the extent of it, despite the worry, Kai remained confident. Because ultimately, it just meant the driver and the technical team had to invest significantly more time and energy. They could still turn the tide. The driver could still fight with everything they had, and he could still use his raw performance to reverse their fortunes.
The real, terrifying problem was that the flaws in the SF90 were structural. From its foundational design philosophy to its overall chassis framework, massive, inherent risks existed. These weren't issues that could be fixed by simply tweaking a few aerodynamic parts or patching a few software bugs.
However, shipping the cars back to Maranello to completely redesign and build a brand-new chassis in time for the season opener was obviously impossible. Therefore, they had to desperately try to optimize and adjust based on the flawed foundation currently sitting in front of them.
Right now, the most severe, urgently critical crisis staring them in the face was tire management.
"Kai, the tires are overheating rapidly. We need to start managing them," Pierre warned over the radio.
"We're only on lap... sixteen, seventeen?"
"Seventeen. But the degradation curve on the rear left looks absolutely disastrous." Borreipaire's face was grim as he stared at the telemetry showing the tire life practically falling off a cliff.
During the long-run race simulations, the SF90's tire management was an unmitigated disaster, prone to catastrophic collapse.
In other words, even if Kai still possessed the raw ability to push, to ruthlessly extract the absolute limit from himself and the track, the car had already smashed headfirst into its physical ceiling. It simply would not allow Kai to keep pushing. He was trapped inside the machine, forced to adopt highly conservative, lift-and-coast driving just to prevent the tires from completely disintegrating—
Even the greatest chef cannot cook a meal without ingredients.
This is Formula 1. The role the machinery plays cannot be ignored, and its dominance is only becoming more pronounced. The Drivers' World Champion and the Constructors' World Champion almost exclusively drive the fastest car on the grid. The margin for a driver to genuinely make a difference is becoming agonizingly narrow.
Because of this brutal reality, Kai's miraculous, backs-against-the-wall reversal in the 2018 season was infinitely more meaningful and valuable. He had single-handedly dragged the sport back ten, twenty years, reviving the blood-pumping era of a hundred schools of thought contending, where the driver was the true, undisputed superstar on the asphalt.
However, the situation this year... was likely going to be exponentially more difficult.
Last year, the SF71H's primary flaw was that its late-stint tire management tended to fall off, requiring the driver to constantly adapt and adjust their driving style. But at the very least, it still left room for the driver to throw caution to the wind and launch a desperate, limit-pushing attack. The current problem with the SF90 could essentially be summarized as "it literally cannot reach the late stint." There was zero room for tactical gambling. If the tires were dead, they were dead. Even if the driver summoned the strength of a god, it wouldn't change the physics of destroyed rubber.
Difficult! It was truly, agonizingly difficult!
"If we go into the race in this state, we probably won't even survive until the first strategic pit window opens. Qualifying requires the low-drag aero package, but for the race, we desperately need to increase underfloor support and max out the rear wing angle. We have to run a completely split setup strategy."
Calm, lucid, and striking right at the heart of the matter.
Entering his sophomore year, Kai was undeniably evolving. Skipping the tedious phases of mutual probing, testing the waters, and polite guessing, he was driving collaboration forward with brutal, ruthless efficiency. The problems piled up in front of them looked like a literal mountain. Every single second was unimaginably precious. The war for the championship had officially begun this very moment. There was zero time to waste; they had to instantly lock into battle mode.
And then, onlookers watched in confusion as the two young Ferrari drivers constantly zipped in and out of the garage during FP1. Their time spent on the track versus sitting in the pit box was practically a 50/50 split. For a while, no one could figure out what was going on. Was Ferrari truly facing a severe, existential crisis? Or were they just deploying an elaborate smokescreen?
No one had forgotten Melbourne last season. Kai's Free Practice performances had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster, forcing Vettel to single-handedly save Ferrari's face. Yet, it turned out to be a massive smokescreen, and the real surprises were unleashed during Qualifying and the Race.
This year, nobody wanted to fall into the same trap twice. One by one, they all obediently kept their mouths shut.
Right up until the checkered flag fell on Free Practice 1.
Returning to the garage, Leclerc seemed exceptionally quiet.
The crushing pressure from Ferrari and the Tifosi was one thing; the pressure he placed on himself was entirely another. As a lifelong Tifoso himself, his childhood dream had finally come true. He carried the heavy legacy of Jules Bianchi, the dreams of his godfather, and the monumental burden of the Leclerc family name—his mother and brothers had all flown to Melbourne today. Leclerc wanted to deliver a perfect, 100-point performance more desperately than ever before.
Having personally witnessed Kai explode onto the scene here last year, Leclerc couldn't help but elevate his own expectations—
A podium? Or perhaps, going one step further... a victory?
However, all those hopes and all that crushing pressure mutated into an invisible hand choking his throat the moment Free Practice 1 concluded. He couldn't force a single sound out.
Forget about victories or podiums. Simply surviving the race and scrambling for a few points had suddenly become the primary objective. Leclerc absolutely did not want to end up as the laughingstock at the bottom of the 'Big Three,' performing even worse than Albon—
That would be a complete, unmitigated catastrophe.
The dream he had obsessively pursued since childhood had finally been realized. Yet, the deeper the desire, the greater the anxiety of loss; the more profound the happiness, the more terrifying the fear of failure. Ultimately, Leclerc was still just a kid. Crushed beneath layer upon layer of overwhelming pressure, he was plunged into a state of deep confusion. Entering his second year in the paddock, he felt as lost and disoriented as a raw rookie.
Standing silently in the garage, Leclerc stared blankly ahead. His vision slowly lost focus, and his mind went completely blank. Despite being crammed with countless, explosive thoughts threatening to tear his brain apart, they were all hopelessly tangled together, entirely unable to process or function.
Clearly, the sheer difficulty of taming the SF90 had far exceeded his worst nightmares.
Leclerc's driving style leaned heavily toward agile, razor-sharp precision and meticulous control through the medium-speed sectors. But the SF90 felt like an unhinged beagle that might randomly bare its fangs or violently snap its leash at any given second. It was disobedient, incredibly difficult to handle, and flatly refused to follow steering inputs. This car was vastly better suited for an extreme, limit-pushing, aggressive disruptor like Kai, rather than a methodical, textbook-perfect "good boy" like him.
Every race car has its own unique personality and characteristics. Every driver has their own distinct style and habits. Because of this, they must constantly adjust and adapt, searching for that crucial difference of a hundredth, or even a thousandth of a second while riding the absolute limit. This was the fundamental mission of a Formula 1 driver.
Evidently, for Leclerc, he had spawned directly into 'Hell Mode.'
Leclerc felt deeply frustrated.
He had always possessed an incredibly high opinion of himself, brimming with absolute confidence. Claiming he would join Ferrari and stand toe-to-toe with Kai wasn't just empty boasting; he genuinely, sincerely believed he was capable of matching pace with, and ultimately defeating, his young rival.
But the brutal reality staring him in the face was impossible to ignore.
Making matters worse, Leclerc's physical sensations within the car were crystal clear. He knew exactly what he was feeling, but he found it incredibly difficult to accurately articulate those sensations to Adami. He couldn't flawlessly transmit his physical feedback into actionable data. And the engineers—standing around with their arms crossed, projecting an aura of polite listening while fundamentally refusing to engage in a genuine two-way dialogue—were absolutely no help at all.
If communication breaks down completely, how on earth are you supposed to begin adjusting the setup?
During his entire year at Sauber, Leclerc had never once encountered a problem like this.
"Charles!"
A voice called out from ahead. The faint, undeniable amusement hidden within the tone instantly caught Leclerc's ear. He jerked his head up and saw Kai standing there.
"It's only been one Free Practice session and you already look this incredibly depressed. Millions of teenage fangirls are going to have their hearts broken."
"Hey, man. Welcome to Ferrari."
Teasing, joking, and casually roasting him.
The corners of Leclerc's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Ha. Ha. Hilarious."
But it was glaringly obvious that Leclerc was currently trapped in a storm of anxiety and frustration. He didn't have the mental energy to banter with Kai, and the bright, hopeful light that usually filled his eyes had dimmed significantly.
Kai hesitated for a fraction of a second, then walked over and planted himself directly in front of Leclerc.
On the asphalt, they were rivals. But inside the garage, they were teammates.
The SF90's problems were massive and systemic. They desperately needed to work together to find solutions. Furthermore, with the SF90's adaptability being so catastrophically poor, it meant that at every single new circuit they visited, the workload for testing and setup during Free Practice was going to be excruciatingly heavy. They absolutely had to divide the labor and cooperate efficiently.
Helping your teammate is helping yourself.
If they didn't want to repeat the disastrous blunders of last season, they had to fundamentally overhaul their workflow. Moreover, the two drivers needed to present a unified front when dealing with Ferrari's notoriously stubborn technical team. The drivers had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Kai was now the undisputed Number One driver. "Captain" wasn't just an empty title; it meant taking responsibility.
Besides, the guy standing in front of him was Leclerc. He couldn't just completely ignore him.
A new season, a new beginning. Whether dealing with the technical team or dealing with his teammate, the necessary changes had to start right here, right now, at Albert Park.
"So, need a hand?" Kai asked.
He didn't swagger over and forcefully take control, nor did he adopt a condescending, patronizing tone. Kai chose to be completely open and transparent, initiating the conversation from a position of absolute equality.
As friends, they got along famously. Being roommates for an entire year hadn't produced any significant friction. But as teammates, the dynamic was fundamentally different. They both possessed their own distinct working styles, and they needed to find the correct, functional rhythm through a process of collaboration and inevitable friction.
They were both sophomores. Kai winning the Drivers' World Championship last season didn't miraculously make him omniscient. Everything Kai knew, Leclerc probably knew too. And the things Leclerc didn't know? Kai likely didn't know them either. Ultimately, they were both still "semi-rookies" entering their second year in Formula 1. The mountain of things they still needed to learn was staggering.
If they didn't want Williams' catastrophic disaster from last season to happen to Ferrari, they needed to seriously adjust their mentalities.
Therefore, right out of the gate, Kai demonstrated profound respect. He opened his arms, embraced every possibility, and established a foundation for their partnership with absolute, unapologetic candor.
If Leclerc said "No" right now, Kai would immediately back off and give him the space he needed. But if Leclerc was willing to open his mind, Kai was more than happy to engage in a deep, rigorous technical dialogue, allowing them to learn from each other and grow together through communication.
Leclerc raised his head, looking directly at Kai. Those eyes were as clear and bright as ever, displaying the same straightforward, honorable demeanor he always had.
Leclerc hesitated briefly. Was exposing his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to his direct rival a terrible mistake?
But the very next second, his intuition decisively overrode his logic. Leclerc heard his own voice, laced with frustration and overflowing with confusion, blurt out the problem.
"The front end feels completely wrong. The lighter I touch the brakes, the lighter the front gets. But the harder I brake, the more it violently tries to snap loose and dive out."
Kai wasn't surprised. The SF90 placed incredibly brutal, hyper-specific demands on suspension compression. Corner entry required a savage, yet surgically precise, violent strike. Otherwise, the aerodynamic flow would instantly shatter and fall apart like a broken kite.
During FP1 today, Kai himself had spent the entire session obsessively analyzing the braking points and the exact, microscopic margins required for corner entry. He had only just barely managed to figure out a functional rhythm. Leclerc's driving style was notoriously clean, beautiful, and incredibly smooth, but it severely lacked the brutal, vicious corner-entry angle this specific car demanded.
"Corner entry angle," Kai stated bluntly.
"If you adjust your trajectory, taking a slightly sharper angle from the entry point down to the apex, the synchronization between the mechanical braking and the front wing aero will lock in much more securely."
A single sentence striking right at the heart of the disease!
Leclerc's eyes instantly lit up. Had he been completely trapped by his own stubborn reliance on his usual driving style?
"Alternatively," Kai continued, "we need to aggressively adjust the front wing downforce."
"With the current setup, the mid-corner rhythm is constantly being shattered. It isn't just ruining the entry; it's heavily compromising the exit speed as well. What downforce levels are you currently running?"
Back and forth, entirely professional. All traces of their usual off-track banter and joking had vanished completely. Yet, the seamless, unspoken synergy between the two former roommates flowed out naturally.
In just a few short sentences, the dim light in Leclerc's eyes was replaced by a blazing intensity. His physical sensations and cognitive understanding of the car's behavior rapidly crystallized. The heavy, suffocating disappointment and confusion from moments ago evaporated instantly. Completely re-energized and highly motivated, he immediately followed Kai over to the telemetry monitors to dive deep into the data analysis.
It was a picture of intense, fiery collaboration.
Witnessing this scene, a quiet, profound sense of relief washed over Binotto.
As last season's Technical Director, Binotto knew the systemic flaws of the SF90 intimately. He likely understood them more clearly and comprehensively than anyone else in the building.
However, if he was being completely honest, Binotto also possessed the stubborn, unyielding pride inherent in all engineers. He firmly believed that their overarching design philosophy was fundamentally correct. It simply required continuous adjustment and relentless, iterative updates. Their phenomenal resurgence after the summer break last year proved their capability. Now, they simply needed to take the next, logical step forward.
Seeing Kai and Leclerc displaying such fierce, highly motivated fighting spirit, a warm current of emotion surged through Binotto's chest.
He knew it. Putting his absolute faith in Kai was the correct choice.
While the Ferrari garage was operating at a frantic, chaotic pace, the paddock was entirely consumed by deafening noise.
With the conclusion of Free Practice 1, the true, terrifying pace that the teams had kept hidden behind thick layers of winter testing fog finally revealed a tiny corner of the truth. Even though everyone knew that no one showed their true, ultimate hand during FP1, the paddock was still able to extract crucial clues and analyze the telemetry. Everyone seemed significantly more hyperactive than usual.
On the fastest lap timing sheets, Hamilton reigned supreme at the top.
Verstappen, Kai, Leclerc, and Bottas followed closely behind, lined up in that exact order.
And Albon, the final member of the 'Big Three' stepping into the glaring spotlight to be evaluated? He was... languishing down in eighth place.