"...Charles, sorry to keep you waiting." Kai grabbed his backpack and jogged out of the garage, calling out to Leclerc, who was leaning against a table.
However, Leclerc didn't respond.
The pit lane remained brightly lit, but the rest of Melbourne outside had already been swallowed by the dark. It was quiet and peaceful. The ambient hum of insects drifted through the air. A hazy halo of light gently illuminated Leclerc, who was deeply immersed in his own world. His focused expression inadvertently revealed a profound sense of isolation and melancholy.
Kai paused, then without any warning, shouted at the top of his lungs, "Ah! Michael!"
Leclerc jolted as if he'd been electrocuted, instantly snapping to attention. "Michael?! Where's Michael?! Kai, where is Michael?"
His head swiveled frantically, looking exactly like a terrified meerkat on high alert.
In the paddock, there was only one "Michael"—the legendary Michael Schumacher. Simply uttering the name was enough for everyone to unanimously assume you were talking about the seven-time World Champion.
On December 29th, 2013, Schumacher suffered a horrific skiing accident in the Alps, striking his head on a rock, resulting in severe trauma and a prolonged coma.
In December 2018, exactly five years after the accident, reports surfaced that Schumacher had finally awakened from his coma. Although verbal communication was reportedly still difficult, he was no longer reliant on life support.
For the motorsport world, this was incredible news. However, the Schumacher family remained intensely private and cautious. Only a handful of core family members and closest friends were permitted to visit him, let alone the media. All interviews and public scrutiny were strictly blocked, and external information was tightly controlled.
Therefore, when Leclerc heard the name "Michael," his first reaction wasn't to question its validity. His entire body went on high alert, a violent jolt of adrenaline shooting from his heels to his scalp.
Kai didn't say a word. He just stood there, maintaining a bright smile, watching Leclerc quietly.
Leclerc finally snapped out of his panic. Several beats too late, he registered the look in Kai's eyes. Feeling a mix of exasperation and relief, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but twitch upward. "Kai, don't joke about that. It's not funny."
Kai pursed his lips. "Oh, how disappointing. That doesn't sound like Charles Leclerc at all. Weren't we just talking about how you were going to inherit Michael's legacy and lead Ferrari to a glorious renaissance? It's only the first race of the season—actually, the first race hasn't even started yet—and the Prince of Ferrari is already getting cold feet?"
"Mm. Very disappointing."
His deadpan delivery was incredibly effective.
Leclerc couldn't hold it back; a soft laugh escaped his lips. "You know it's not that simple."
He had arrived brimming with hope and confidence, eager to roll up his sleeves and conquer the world. But today was only day one. The entire world had been spinning at a million miles an hour, offering absolutely zero time to breathe. He had experienced a brief moment of confusion, quickly forced himself back on track, and sprinted blindly forward. It wasn't until this exact moment that he felt he had finally stopped running.
All his energy felt completely drained. His brain was empty. Various negative emotions began breeding in the dark, and once they grabbed hold of him, it was incredibly difficult to shake them off.
"Of course. I know," Kai nodded gently. "But I also know that you aren't easily defeated. That confusion, that hesitation, that frustration... it's not born from fear. It's because you know you can do better, so you start harshly criticizing yourself. But ultimately, all that pressure is going to convert into motivation. It's going to become the fuel that drives you forward."
Kai paused, tilting his head slightly.
"So, how was that? Pretty decent motivational speech I ripped straight from a TED Talk, right? Are you feeling the blood pumping now? Are you ready to sprint back out onto the asphalt right this second?"
Leclerc: ...
Ha. Hahaha.
Looking at Kai's utterly unapologetic, entirely serious expression, the tightly wound knot in Leclerc's chest finally loosened completely. He looked closely at Kai.
"Aren't you worried that I'm going to beat you fair and square on the track?"
"No." Without a single second of hesitation, Kai answered directly.
Leclerc's eyes widened. Oh? "Wait, are you completely dismissing me?"
"No, it's confidence," Kai replied. "Because I will never underestimate you. Every single time I step onto the track, I will give absolutely everything I have to ensure I beat you."
"Therefore, I need you to bring 200% of your energy to the track. Because to make sure you don't pass me, I'm going to have to bring 200% as well."
"Charles, if you want to beat me, you don't have time to stand around here acting like a brooding poet. Besides, there aren't any teenage fangirls out here right now to admire your melancholic good looks."
"I wasn't..." Leclerc started.
But Kai didn't give him a chance to finish. Without any warning, Kai spun around and bolted, sprinting away into the night.
Leclerc: ??? "Kai! You cheated! We agreed to a fair fight!"
Yelling as he ran, Leclerc kicked off the ground and sprinted after him, gritting his teeth and chasing Kai with everything he had.
Even though it was unfair—Kai had taken a massive head start—that was exactly how the real world operated. Kai was already the Drivers' World Champion. He had already taken a massive lead. Therefore, Leclerc was the chaser. He had to accept that reality, adjust his mindset, and pursue Kai with everything he possessed to prove he truly deserved this seat.
There was no time for hesitation. No time for fear. The battle had already begun!
On Friday, Ferrari was the absolute last team to leave Albert Park. The bright lights and frantic activity in their garage lasted until well past 11:00 PM.
Yet, no one knew for sure if it was a genuine crisis or an elaborate smokescreen. No one could figure out exactly what kind of medicine Ferrari was selling from their gourd.
Getting outpaced by Alfa Romeo during Free Practice 2 was already absurd enough—You're overacting!—but to then stay back and work overtime late into the night? Just look at Williams. Their car still wasn't completely built, yet even they weren't working this frantically. So what exactly was the narrative Ferrari was trying to spin?
"We are facing numerous challenges, and we're actively trying to get back into a competitive window. Obviously, it's a difficult problem, but we are giving it absolutely everything we have."
On Saturday, before Free Practice 3, the media bombarded Kai, demanding to know what was going on. Kai answered with an incredibly earnest, seemingly heartfelt response.
Unfortunately, in this day and age, telling the absolute truth is often the best way to ensure no one believes you. From the media to paddock insiders to internet fans, everyone unanimously concluded that Kai was speaking complete garbage.
To this, Kai simply spread his hands. I tried. He told the truth, but nobody bought it. He was powerless to change that.
During Free Practice 3, Ferrari remained hyper-focused on themselves. Kai completed 21 laps, and Leclerc completed 20 laps, ranking first and second respectively for total mileage. They were still logging the most laps in the paddock. Heading into Qualifying and the Race, the mountain of problems facing them remained daunting.
However, industry experts universally agreed that FP3 had very limited analytical value. It simply continued the overarching theme of the entire weekend: smokescreens everywhere.
You only had to look at the fastest lap times to see it—
The top five: Hamilton. Magnussen. Grosjean. Albon. Bottas.
Sixth through tenth: Kvyat. Verstappen. Ricciardo. Hülkenberg. Leclerc.
And where was the defending Drivers' World Champion, Kai?
Twelfth. He was even sitting behind Vettel in the Racing Point.
The established hierarchy had been entirely scrambled.
Compared to the 'Big Three,' teams like Haas, Renault, and Toro Rosso appeared significantly more competitive during FP3, completely shattering all pre-season expectations.
Amidst the chaos and deafening noise, there was exactly one exception: Lewis Hamilton. As dominant and unshakable as ever, he swept the fastest laps across all three Free Practice sessions.
Did anyone really need further explanation at this point?
Anyone with eyes could see that Hamilton had been provoked. Thoroughly, completely enraged. The scene at the Albert Park season opening ceremony was the ultimate, direct stimulus. Kai's brazen, unapologetic provocation had fully awakened the fighting spirit of the four-time World Champion, unleashing the terrifying aura of a true king.
From the relentless, boiling rumors of the off-season, constantly reminding Hamilton of his agonizing defeat last year, the pressure had finally peaked at Albert Park. The unforgiving, merciless humiliation delivered by the Tifosi had seared itself into Hamilton's blood. His response was to deliver a devastating, frontal counter-attack on the asphalt!
He, Lewis Hamilton, was the sole, undisputed king of the paddock.
Tactics, political maneuvering, smokescreens—none of it mattered. Hamilton seized absolute, tyrannical dominance by sweeping all three Free Practice sessions at the Australian Grand Prix. It was a display of power infinitely more terrifying than any war of words, definitively asserting his supreme status.
All schemes, all conspiracies, are utterly fragile and useless in the face of absolute, overwhelming power. This was the exact manifesto Hamilton and Mercedes-Benz were delivering to the world.
Clearly, this was a meticulously planned component of Mercedes-Benz's grand strategy. They wanted to deliver a devastating psychological blow right out of the gate, demonstrating the untouchable, tyrannical might of Hamilton and the W10. After a weekend of confusing fog and chaos, this appeared to be the only absolute, unshakeable truth.
From the paddock to the media to the fans, the endless debates and analysis couldn't stop.
And right in the middle of this boiling heatwave, the highly anticipated Qualifying session finally commenced.
As expected, Q1 was packed with massive upsets.
More accurately, they weren't necessarily "upsets." The entire Grand Prix weekend had been shrouded in a thick fog. Aside from Hamilton at the very front and Williams at the very back, everything in between was blurry, ambiguous, and highly uncertain. Everyone believed they knew the truth, yet no one could confirm it.
Nevertheless, the chaos of Q1 tore open a gap, finally allowing the world to glimpse the tip of the iceberg—
Stroll. Albon. Sainz. Russell. Perez.
Eliminated in Q1.
Russell and Perez, stuck in the woefully uncompetitive Williams, were eliminated dead last. That wasn't a surprise. Hell, even Hamilton's sweep of the Free Practice sessions might have contained a degree of artificial inflation. But the Williams car—which was still actively being assembled—was the single, 100% confirmed reality amidst the countless variables of the paddock.
"Seeing Williams consistently perform terribly is actually quite comforting. At least there's one thing this weekend I predicted with 100% accuracy."
"Classic Williams. So, when is the car actually going to be finished? Think they'll make it in time for Abu Dhabi?"
However, Williams wasn't the main story.
Racing Point's Stroll: Eliminated. McLaren's Sainz: Eliminated. Red Bull's Albon: Eliminated.
Massive shockwaves dropped one after another, each more insane than the last.
Racing Point, who had been aggressively hiding their true pace all weekend: One car eliminated.
McLaren, who had looked incredibly solid and progressive throughout Free Practice, seemingly poised to deliver a massive surprise: One car eliminated.
And then there was Red Bull. Albon.
All the noise, all the chaos, came to a dead halt the moment people processed Albon's result.
In FP3, Albon had finished fourth, not only breaking into the top tier for the first time but actually outpacing Verstappen. It seemed the young driver, who had parachuted into the seat, was finally flashing his brilliance and validating his talent. It instantly triggered flashbacks to Kai's debut at Albert Park last year. People were genuinely starting to believe Red Bull had struck gold again, and that Melbourne was about to witness the explosive birth of "Kai 2.0." But before the hype could even truly ignite, he smashed headfirst into a brick wall in Q1.
Dead silence. The world went completely mute.
The seats at the 'Big Three' were inherently scorching hot. Any driver stepping into one faced unimaginable, crushing pressure. But now, Albon was inevitably going to be compared directly to Kai. The pressure multiplied tenfold, a hundredfold, leaving absolutely zero room to breathe. With devastating force, it shoved Albon straight into a bottomless abyss.
Instantly, all eyes snapped toward Toro Rosso's Pierre Gasly.
So, had Horner lost his massive gamble?
More importantly: Renault, Haas, Toro Rosso, and Alfa Romeo had all safely advanced to Q2—
Wow! A massive eruption of awe and shock!
Even though people had anticipated a major reshuffle among the midfield and backmarker teams this season, seeing it unfold so violently instantly overturned all pre-season predictions.
The most shocking revelation of all? Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari!
Throughout the off-season, Wolff had been maneuvering aggressively, expanding his influence through Mercedes-Benz, Racing Point, and Williams. His ambition to comprehensively infiltrate the paddock was glaringly obvious.
Conversely, Ferrari had been trapped in their own purgatory, entirely consumed by vicious, internal power struggles. The bloody civil war had drained their energy, seemingly causing them to lose the initiative entirely.
Yet now, Racing Point and Williams were performing disastrously, while Alfa Romeo and Haas had surged forward. The entire narrative had been instantly inverted.
Although this was only Q1, and there was a massive element of chance involved—meaning the long-run Race pace would be the true determining factor—it still undeniably highlighted the sheer power of the Ferrari engine. It successfully carried over its dominance from last season, proving they still possessed top-tier, raw straight-line speed.
During winter testing, the Ferrari engine had displayed terrifying potential, prompting gasps from competitors and loud, exaggerated complaints from Horner. Now, that power was being further validated through Alfa Romeo and Haas, holding up perfectly under the intense pressure of Qualifying. So, what did this mean?
Had Ferrari's lackluster Free Practice performances really just been a massive illusion?
Or was it that the Ferrari engine wasn't actually that dominant, but rather their opponents were just so incredibly weak that Alfa Romeo and Haas were able to easily advance?
The frenzied debates exploded everywhere!
Professionals, amateurs, hardcore fans, and casual onlookers—everyone was rushing to voice their opinions. After an entire weekend of brewing tension and elaborate setup, the 2019 season was finally lifting its veil. It was proving to be vastly more spectacular than anyone anticipated, instantly igniting the boiling blood of every motorsport fan on the planet.
But before the fans in the grandstands or watching on TV could even reach a consensus, the cutthroat, bloody battle of Q2 concluded. The results were in—
Hülkenberg. Ricciardo. Gasly. Giovinazzi. Kvyat.
Eliminated in Q2.
Renault—who had been aggressively sharpening their knives, making zero effort to hide their ambition to challenge the 'Big Three'—saw both their cars eliminated.
Toro Rosso—who had delivered highly impressive, competitive performances all weekend, making everyone look at them differently—saw both their cars eliminated. Gasly had an incredible opportunity to achieve something monumental: advancing to Q3 would have been a massive, frontal assault on Horner, effectively screaming to the entire paddock, "Red Bull chose the wrong guy!" But unfortunately, he narrowly missed out.
Giovinazzi—carrying the heavy hopes of an Italian motorsport renaissance and openly aiming to challenge Kai—delivered a solid performance but ultimately failed to break through, suffering a painful elimination.
In an instant, the winds shifted dramatically—
"Damn it! Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!"
Renault Team Principal Cyril Abiteboul clutched his head tightly, entirely unable to hide his profound frustration and despair. A rapid-fire string of French curses exploded from his mouth in a rare display of public loss of composure.
He had been entirely, obsessively focused on proving that Red Bull divorcing Renault was a catastrophic mistake. He wanted to prove that Honda couldn't provide Red Bull with a superior engine, and that Renault absolutely possessed the capability to challenge Ferrari and Mercedes-Benz head-on. But now? Both cars eliminated in Q2. For a team that constantly paraded itself as the "best of the rest" and the undisputed fourth force in the paddock, this was an agonizingly heavy blow.
This was absolutely, definitively not how Abiteboul wanted to start the new season.
The true kicker was that Red Bull's "honeymoon phase" with Honda appeared to be completely devoid of any friction or teething issues.
Wait—wait!
This meant that Kimi Räikkönen had driven his Alfa Romeo into Q3! And both Kevin Magnussen and Romain Grosjean had dragged their Haas cars into Q3!
The Ferrari engine truly possessed top-tier, devastating competitiveness!
Simultaneously, Sebastian Vettel had driven his Racing Point into Q3!
It was dizzying, overwhelming. Explosive plot twists crashed down one after another. The teams that had maintained an aura of mystery, constantly throwing out smokescreens, finally took the gloves off and engaged in true, bare-knuckle combat. Fans who hadn't mentally prepared themselves for the sheer intensity of the new season were violently sucked into the raging tsunami.
The heavy hitters had finally revealed their true colors.
Vettel, who hadn't managed to break into the top ten during a single Free Practice session all weekend, violently bared his fangs in Qualifying. This was exactly why he had left Ferrari to join Racing Point:
It was an emerging, ambitious team that possessed the foundational capability to fight for championships. They were bursting with energy and supreme confidence, and most importantly, they genuinely, sincerely believed that Vettel still possessed the ability to win a World Championship.
If Vettel, driving a Racing Point, became the ultimate disruptor of the 2019 season... without a doubt, that savage, backward thrust of his spear would pierce directly through Ferrari's heart.
The show was officially on!
...
Whoa! Whoa! WOW!
The gasps of shock rolled across the grandstands in endless waves, completely impossible to stop. The 2019 season was undeniably living up to the massive hype. Qualifying had barely begun, yet the metallic scent of blood was already saturating the air.
Vettel and Räikkönen both charging into Q3!
Instantly, the chaotic, speculative gaze of the entire paddock snapped squarely onto Ferrari. The malicious thrill of watching a potential disaster unfold burned in the air. The pressure instantly multiplied ten, a hundred times over, crashing down onto the shoulders of Kai and Leclerc.
Especially Leclerc.
If Leclerc, driving an actual factory Ferrari, ended up losing to Vettel and Räikkönen in customer cars? Well, that would be the spectacle of the century. Did anyone remember Williams' utter humiliation last season?
However, the truly perceptive observers knew that the real drama wasn't at Ferrari. It was at Racing Point—
Stroll eliminated in Q1. Vettel advanced to Q3.
So, was the young master planning to continue blaming the car for his terrible performance? Would Lawrence Stroll actually have the heart to reprimand his precious son? Or was some innocent engineer in the technical department about to be led to the slaughterhouse?
That was the truly fascinating storyline. Pass the popcorn!
Furthermore, there was a lone survivor representing the Renault engine. Yet, it wasn't a Renault factory car. It was Lando Norris driving a McLaren.
An absolute uproar!
It turned out that among the three highly hyped rookies, the one truly demanding attention wasn't F2 Champion George Russell, nor was it the parachuting Alexander Albon. It was the driver who had been consistently overlooked and ignored: Lando Norris!
Throughout the entire weekend, McLaren had kept their heads down, working diligently and quietly, never stepping into the glare of the spotlight. When Carlos Sainz was eliminated in Q1, a massive wave of concern had washed over the paddock.
It seemed highly probable that McLaren's performance this year was going to fall well below expectations once again. Their dream of a renaissance still required agonizingly patient groundwork and massive structural overhauls.
Yet, out of nowhere, a massive twist delivered a phenomenal surprise.
Following in Kai's footsteps from last season, for the second consecutive year, a raw rookie had charged into Q3 in their very first F1 Qualifying session!
The boiling attention instantly shifted away from Albon and violently crashed down onto Norris. This specific scenario was likely something absolutely no one had predicted.
Amidst the sprawling, rolling heatwave blanketing the circuit, the roar of engines detonated once again—
Q3 had arrived.
"Wow, the car currently occupying the prime spot at the end of the pit lane exit is Number 44."
"That is a very rare sight indeed!"
"Clearly, Lewis is demonstrating absolute, unshakeable resolve to secure pole position at Albert Park. Mercedes-Benz's performance so far at the season opener has been nothing short of flawless."
Immediately, Croft could feel the suffocating, oppressive aura radiating from the screen. Hamilton, driving the Number 44 car, looked entirely different from any previous season. Even hidden behind the tinted visor of his helmet, where you couldn't see his eyes or expressions, his sheer, towering momentum pierced straight through the sky.
Free Practice 1: 1st.
Free Practice 2: 1st.
Free Practice 3: 1st.
Q1: 1st.
Q2: 1st.
This was Hamilton's report card so far at the season-opening Australian Grand Prix—
A total sweep.
Any viewer with even a passing understanding of motorsport knew that these preliminary statistics were inherently worthless. If you failed to conquer Q3 and secure pole position, all those previous "1st" place finishes would instantly be reduced to a humiliating joke. You would have been expending massive energy for absolutely nothing. More importantly, securing pole position without converting it into a race victory was equally agonizing.
Therefore, the reality was incredibly simple—
There was no need to care about these flashy, superficial titles. Pole positions and race victories were the only things with true, tangible value. Focusing entirely on strategic race planning was the only thing that mattered.
Did Hamilton not understand such a basic, fundamental truth? Did Wolff and Mercedes-Benz not understand it?
No. It was precisely because they understood it so perfectly that Wolff had orchestrated this exact scenario. From the thick smokescreens deployed during winter testing, slowly brewing the narrative, everything had culminated in this massive display of dominance at the season opener. It was a comprehensive, undeniable demonstration of the sheer, terrifying power of Hamilton and the W10. They were establishing themselves as an absolute, unshakeable, top-tier entity.
They wanted to force their opponents to look up in awe. To recognize the insurmountable gap and retreat in despair. To be so terrified they wouldn't even dare harbor the ambition to challenge them.
Clearly, Wolff was playing a game of chess. A massive, overarching game.
Here, it's essential to understand a specific, highly coveted achievement within the world of F1—
Pole Position. Leading Every Lap. Fastest Race Lap. Race Victory.
Achieving all four of these milestones in a single race is officially designated as a "Grand Slam."
Among these, leading every single lap is undeniably the most difficult, because it requires absolute, tyrannical dominance. It means you must maintain your lead even through the chaotic shuffle of strategic pit stops.
A "Grand Slam" doesn't award any extra championship points, but without a doubt, it is the ultimate expression of absolute, crushing supremacy. It terrifies the entire paddock because it definitively proves that your competitors are simply not operating on the same plane of existence.
In the long, sprawling history of Formula 1, races demonstrating this level of dictatorial dominance are exceedingly rare, and every single one is considered a legendary classic.
On the team side, Ferrari led the historical charts with a staggering 17 Grand Slams. Lotus followed with 9, and Mercedes-Benz held 8, rounding out the top three.
On the driver side, Jim Clark stood alone at the absolute zenith with 8 career Grand Slams. Michael Schumacher, Lewis Hamilton, and Alberto Ascari were tied for second with 5 each.
Among active drivers, Hamilton was entirely in a league of his own; all five of his Grand Slams were achieved driving for Mercedes-Benz. Vettel followed closely with 4, all achieved during his dominant era at Red Bull. Additionally, Alonso held one Grand Slam to his name. And that was the entire list.
In the current paddock, only a mere three drivers had ever achieved a "Grand Slam." Even spanning the entire history of the sport, the number of drivers capable of executing such a monumental feat could be counted on two hands.
That demonstrated exactly how terrifyingly difficult it was.
And now, Wolff was openly displaying his towering ambition and imperial arrogance. Mercedes-Benz wasn't just preparing to win the season opener; they were preparing to do it with absolute, dictatorial dominance.
Wolff's target wasn't just a "Grand Slam." He was aiming for a "Total Slam"—establishing absolute, crushing supremacy starting from Free Practice 1 and maintaining it through every single session of the weekend.
Wolff knew perfectly well that FP1, FP2, Q1, and Q2 held no actual value. But just like pole position, leading every lap, and the fastest lap...
Wait, there was a slight deviation here. The FIA had amended the regulations. Starting in the 2019 season, the driver who recorded the fastest lap during the race would be awarded one Championship Point.
This move was explicitly designed to encourage drivers to push aggressively during the race, thereby increasing the entertainment value for the spectators. However, there was a caveat: the driver had to finish the race within the top ten points-scoring positions; otherwise, the point for the fastest lap would be nullified.
So, the fastest race lap now possessed genuine, tangible value.
However, the sentiment remained the same. For the actual race, winning was the only thing that mattered. Where you started, and how you secured the victory, were ultimately irrelevant. The only crucial fact was who stood on the top step of the podium at the end. The 'Grand Slam' label was merely the icing on the cake; it held no substantive strategic meaning.
For Wolff, the true value of chasing a "Total Slam" was entirely about the manifesto it projected. A manifesto designed to make the entire paddock tremble in collective terror—
Not just during the race. Even during Q1, Q2, and utterly meaningless Free Practice sessions, absolutely no one possesses the power to challenge Hamilton's supremacy.
This is what a singular, undisputed, apex predator in the paddock looks like.
The battle for the 2019 Constructors' and Drivers' World Championships didn't require any slow build-up or preliminary skirmishes. In Melbourne, the intensity was instantly cranked to the absolute maximum.
It wasn't a delusional fantasy, nor was it insane arrogance. It was simply the brutal reality that the W10 and Hamilton truly possessed that level of terrifying dominance.
And thus, the current scene unfolded.
In a rare display, Hamilton left his garage incredibly early. He confidently positioned himself dead first at the pit exit, waiting for the green light. There was no hesitation, no tactical delay. He charged out first, immediately laying down a lap time that left everyone else staring at his dust in absolute despair. He transformed pole position into an unattainable, god-like summit for the rest of the paddock.
And it wasn't just his rivals; his teammate, Bottas, was no exception.
Hamilton was actively using this method to restore discipline to the paddock. After the chaotic turbulence and humiliating defeat of last season, the four-time World Champion was finally unleashing his full, terrifying power. Don't let his usually polite, mild-mannered, 'gentlemanly' demeanor fool you. The arrogance and fierce, unyielding pride deeply embedded in his bones were finally laid bare for the world to see.
Kai had finally managed to force the ultimate, final-boss version of Hamilton into the light—
As you wish.
The entire venue erupted in a massive uproar. Hamilton delivered on his promise. On his very first flying lap in Q3, he executed absolute perfection, dropping a devastating nuclear bomb on the timing sheets.
Instantly, all the noise and chaotic chatter was violently extinguished. Brains went entirely blank, plunging the collective consciousness into a state of stunned paralysis.
Q1: 1:22.017.
Q2: 1:21.014.
Q3: 1:20.588.
Numbers are the simplest and most direct form of truth. They clearly, irrefutably demonstrated Hamilton's absolute dominance. Across the three qualifying sessions, his times showed a terrifying, stepped progression.
Not only was he consistently improving, but the sheer margin of improvement was jaw-dropping. It even led people to suspect that Hamilton still hadn't extracted the absolute maximum potential from the W10.
A quick historical comparison: In 2018, the lap time Hamilton used to shatter the Albert Park track record and secure pole position was a 1:21.164.
Now, look at Hamilton's performance in this qualifying session—
In Q2, he had already effortlessly smashed his own historic track record. And then, on his very first flying lap in Q3, seemingly without breaking a sweat, he took that freshly minted record and crushed it by nearly half a second.
Effortlessly!
While other teams and drivers were burning their life force, fighting desperately for tenths or even hundredths of a second, Hamilton was taking a leisurely stroll, shattering records and defying common sense. That effortless, casual display of absolute power perfectly showcased the terrifying capabilities of a true 'rocket ship.' It was more than enough to plunge his competitors into absolute despair.
So, was this the true power of the W10?
Throughout the entire Grand Prix weekend, he had been relaxed, unhurried, and completely in control. Absolutely no one had managed to pose a genuine threat to the W10. They simply weren't operating on the same plane of existence.
If it were just Hamilton doing this, that would be one thing. Just like last year at Albert Park, it could be chalked up to the four-time World Champion flexing his unparalleled individual brilliance, sending a minor shockwave through the paddock. But the critical problem was this: Bottas had also easily cruised into the 1:20s.
As for the other drivers? Forget about breaking into the 1:20s. Even getting close to Hamilton's pole-setting time from last year was proving incredibly difficult and agonizingly slow.
Right now, the gap between Mercedes-Benz and the rest of the teams wasn't just a wall. It was a massive, unbridgeable chasm.
How exactly was this race supposed to continue?
Buzz, buzz—buzz, buzz—
The chaotic noise in the air above Albert Park churned wildly over the roar of the engines, but before it could even focus on a specific narrative, it evaporated entirely, consumed by shock and genuine fear.
Inside the Mercedes-Benz garage, Toto Wolff stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking exactly like a master angler who had just reeled in a leviathan. He was thoroughly, deeply satisfied as he admired the masterpiece unfolding before him. The paddock clearly hadn't been mentally prepared for this. They mistakenly believed they possessed enough intel to comprehensively understand Mercedes-Benz's current capabilities. But now, they realized how horribly wrong they were. From the off-season, through winter testing, and finally arriving at the Australian Grand Prix, the massive, devastating bomb Wolff had been meticulously brewing and preparing had finally detonated.
Well? Surprised? Shocked?
"...Pierre?" Receiving no response over the radio, Kai had to call out again. "I know that lap wasn't absolutely perfect, but it couldn't have been that terrible, right?"
Borreipaire took a deep, shuddering breath. "No. Sorry. I was just double-checking some of the telemetry. Kai, that flying lap was actually phenomenal. 1:21.440. It's your absolute best time of the entire weekend, and you were nearly three-tenths of a second faster than your time here last season."
In 2018, Kai had driven a spectacularly beautiful lap at Albert Park, clocking a 1:21.728. Although it hadn't secured pole position, it had successfully earned him a spot on the front two rows of the grid.
Right now, on his very first flying lap in Q3, Kai had already shattered his own personal best. Considering how incredibly difficult the SF90 was to drive, and how riddled it was with handling issues, this was a massive testament to Kai's sheer ability.
Kai raised an eyebrow slightly. He and Pierre had worked together long enough to easily detect the unspoken 'but' lingering at the end of the sentence. "But?"
Borreipaire hesitated. "Fourth."
Gritting his teeth and steeling his resolve, Borreipaire forced the words out. "We are currently sitting behind Hamilton, Bottas, and Verstappen."
This was the brutal reality of the SF90's current position.
Borreipaire could clearly see from the telemetry that Kai had pushed the car to its absolute, bleeding edge on that lap. His performance was undeniably top-tier. But the gap in raw car performance was an insurmountable chasm. Mercedes-Benz and Red Bull had been hiding their true pace all weekend. The weapons they had finally pulled from their sleeves were significantly superior to Ferrari's.
No wonder Horner's face had turned ashen when Albon was eliminated in Q1. He hadn't even unleashed his usual string of profanities; his rage had completely bypassed the threshold for verbal expression.
Furthermore, "We are trailing Hamilton by nearly 0.9 seconds." After delivering the fatal blow, Borreipaire tightly closed his eyes.
Over the radio, "..." A moment of profound silence. "Fuck."
Kai froze. His brain's immediate, instinctual reaction was a profanity. The next second... "Ha. Sorry. What I meant was, hahaha. This is absolutely ridiculous."
In Formula 1, where 0.4 seconds separates entirely different tiers of performance, 0.9 seconds was essentially a different sport altogether. They could basically declare the race over right now.
Of course, Qualifying was one thing, and the long-run, grueling battle of the actual Race was another. But considering Ferrari's absolutely disastrous tire degradation during their long-run simulations, attempting to replicate last season's miraculous Race Day comeback was likely just a pipe dream. A complete, delusional fantasy.
So, while the entire paddock was busy laughing at Williams... in the eyes of Mercedes-Benz, the rest of the teams were essentially no different from Williams. The pot calling the kettle black.
Right now, Hamilton's lap time, hanging impossibly high at the top of the timing screens, was Mercedes-Benz's official declaration to the world:
Everyone sitting here today is garbage. You heard that correctly. Every single one of you. Garbage.
With no immediate response over the radio, Kai could perfectly imagine the look of absolute, existential despair on Borreipaire's face. "Come on, Pierre, this is basically a comedy. There's no need to look so depressed. You have to admit, this whole situation is completely absurd. What's the gap between Max and the front row?"
Borreipaire adjusted his breathing. "We are trailing Max by roughly one-tenth of a second."
"Oh." Kai hummed, the sound loaded with meaningful implication.
It seemed Red Bull had been sharpening their knives, fully preparing to launch an assault on the throne, only to find themselves stuck in a bitter, agonizing dogfight with Ferrari, while neither of them could even catch a glimpse of Mercedes-Benz's rear wing.
Thinking about it objectively, the scenario was undeniably comical. Should the so-called 'Big Three' be officially reclassified as "2+1"? Had Mercedes-Benz truly elevated themselves into a solitary, untouchable tier of their own?
Borreipaire, who had been heavily burdened with anxiety, finally processed the sheer absurdity of the situation. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. However, he remained vigilant, sneaking a quick glance at Binotto standing nearby—
In his very first race acting as Team Principal, Binotto clearly hadn't anticipated this brutal reality either. His brow was furrowed in deep, agonizing thought.
The usually severe Binotto couldn't hold out much longer. The rigid, tense lines of his face relaxed slightly as he activated his radio. "Kai, do you think you can try to push any harder?"
They still had time for one final flying lap.
"Haha. Of course. Give me a second to focus and adjust." Kai... practically started rubbing his hands together. The intense excitement, anticipation, and adrenaline completely flooded his system.
Judging from all available evidence, catching the Mercedes-Benz rocket ships was a mathematical impossibility. Passion and fighting spirit were crucial, but ignoring reality and relying purely on blind optimism was just sheer stupidity. A 0.9-second gap in a Formula 1 Qualifying session meant they had absolutely zero chance. But that didn't mean he was going to surrender.
As for Mercedes-Benz, they would have to wait for the Race, adjust their strategy, and roll the dice then. They would spend tonight meticulously crafting their tactical approach.
However, before diving into the strategy meetings, he needed to secure the best possible starting position. His immediate target was Red Bull. He had to beat Verstappen in Qualifying.
He absolutely could not underestimate Red Bull simply because Mercedes-Benz was overwhelmingly dominant. Red Bull had definitely arrived fully prepared this year, and Verstappen was aggressively sharpening his blade, refusing to yield an inch. The situation Ferrari faced was potentially far more treacherous than last season. This also meant that if Kai wanted to break the deadlock, he needed to be significantly bolder and more audacious.
Returning to the garage, Kai remained seated in the cockpit. He closed his eyes to rest his mind, gathering all his scattered, chaotic thoughts and reeling them back into a state of absolute, hyper-focused concentration.
Vroom-vroom-vroom— Buzz-buzz-buzz—
The entire world continued to vibrate faintly around him. Even sitting perfectly still, he could physically feel the immense, raw power transmitted through the brief contact between the tires and the asphalt.
However, in this exact moment, Kai's mind wasn't focused on Mercedes-Benz, nor was it focused on Red Bull. His entire focus was directed entirely inward, upon himself.
He and this Number 22 SF90. How were they supposed to synchronize? How were they supposed to dance together? How could he shatter the car's inherent limits despite the severe, suffocating restrictions and design flaws binding him?
Everything, entirely, was about himself.