The Qualifying session for the 2019 season-opening Australian Grand Prix had officially concluded. The talking points were massive and numerous—
Haas drivers Romain Grosjean and Kevin Magnussen qualified sixth and seventh, respectively. They completely stunned the paddock, perfectly replicating their phenomenal best-ever qualifying result at Albert Park from last year! The only difference was that the two drivers had swapped positions.
The critical context here was last year's race. Both Haas cars had suffered catastrophic, humiliating retirements due to incredibly stupid pit-stop errors (loose wheel nuts), throwing away a golden opportunity for a historic team result. What would happen this year?
Lando Norris drove his McLaren into Q3 and ultimately qualified eighth. It was a spectacular start to the new season, instantly establishing him as the clear standout leader among this year's rookie class.
In a way, his performance was highly comparable to Kai's debut last year. After all, Kai had been driving a Ferrari, while Norris had achieved this in a mere McLaren.
Kimi Räikkönen: Ninth!
Sebastian Vettel: Tenth!
No one could have predicted that the former Ferrari teammates would find themselves lined up side-by-side in this specific manner. And absolutely no one could have predicted that Alfa Romeo and Racing Point would display such fierce competitiveness right out of the gate. Given the agonizing struggles and severe financial crises both teams had endured last season, and the incredibly brief window they'd had for off-season restructuring, most experts assumed it would take them significant time to truly get back on track. Instability and struggles throughout the first half of the season were entirely expected. Yet, they delivered a massive surprise at the very first race.
Who knows? Perhaps the highly questionable union between Vettel and Racing Point was actually something to look forward to.
However, all of these storylines, no matter how dramatic, still paled in comparison to the absolutely terrifying, tyrannical dominance of Lewis Hamilton. From sweeping Free Practice 1 to securing pole position, he sat high above the rest of the grid, untouchable and unreachable. His solitary figure left the entire paddock choking on his dust—
Overbearing! Unstoppable! A singular, devastating manifesto that set a brutal tone for the entire season!
The Mercedes-Benz and Hamilton fans fell into a state of absolute, unhinged fanaticism. The suffocating humiliation and suppression they had endured during the season opening ceremony could finally be released. The frenzy erupted like a geyser, and they couldn't wait to aggressively assert their overwhelming presence across all social media platforms.
However...
Just like last season, where Toto Wolff had meticulously calculated every single variable but ultimately failed to account for Kai, the season-opening Qualifying session followed the exact same script.
"No wonder he was able to overthrow Hamilton last year. This kid is absolutely terrifying."
"Facing down a rival's rocket ship while driving a tractor, and still managing to pull off a 'Lap of the Gods.' I'm perfectly willing to call this 'Senna Reincarnated'!"
"The fact that he managed to extract such a mind-bending lap time while driving that Ferrari oxcart... if you put him in a rocket ship, the visual would be too beautiful. I can't even imagine it."
A massive, roaring wave of noise swept across the internet. The world was practically bowing down at Kai's feet in absolute reverence—
One glance was all it took to see that the atmosphere was fundamentally different now.
Last season, even when the championship battle went down to the wire in Abu Dhabi, with Kai leading Ferrari in a desperate, bloody dogfight against Mercedes-Benz, the overwhelming majority of public opinion still favored Mercedes and Hamilton. Ultimately, Kai's meteoric rise was simply too sudden. He had almost zero established fan base to speak of. He was close to winning the Drivers' World Championship, but he hadn't yet won it. He was close to overthrowing Mercedes-Benz, but he was still one step short. Naturally, the cheers and support behind him lacked a sense of absolute, unshakeable certainty.
Now, that entire landscape had been completely transformed.
As the reigning Drivers' World Champion, Kai's weight and status had fundamentally shifted. The praise and awe flowed naturally; his miraculous, supernatural performances in Qualifying were almost viewed as an expected standard. An invisible, unshakeable belief was taking root, standing firmly behind Kai and rapidly evolving into a powerful, unyielding force of support.
In short: last season, Kai was the challenger. But entering this season, Kai and Hamilton were peers standing on equal footing.
Different positioning dictates a different perspective.
The difference brought about by the title of "Defending Champion" extended far beyond that.
While Wolff attempted to use Free Practice and Qualifying to establish absolute psychological dominance, Kai had countered head-on during Q3 with a performance that defied logic. The fans' eyes were sharp. They easily recognized the massive, glaring performance gap between the W10 and the SF90. This only served to highlight just how incomprehensible Kai's final lap time truly was. The initial awe rapidly evolved, and the sheer shock and impact transformed into profound reverence.
The entire social media sphere was shaking!
In the end, Wolff's meticulous efforts had inadvertently served as a glorious stage setting for Kai—
The more terrifyingly dominant Mercedes-Benz appeared throughout the weekend, the more it amplified the sheer, miraculous absurdity of Kai's performance. The wave of praise crashed down like an avalanche. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the post-race championship celebrations from Abu Dhabi had never actually ended, seamlessly bridging the long off-season and continuing right here in Melbourne.
Clearly, this was absolutely not the picture Wolff wanted to see.
When Kai returned to the garage, the mechanics, led by Francesco Nappi, swarmed him. There were hugs, high-fives, and ecstatic celebrations. Every single one of them was thrilled, repeatedly marveling at how Kai had somehow managed to pull yet another 'Lap of the Gods' out of thin air. Looking further back, Clear and Mekies were also smiling broadly, but the air around them was noticeably heavier and more oppressive.
A smile touched Kai's eyes. "What, does that mean you guys aren't satisfied with my lap?"
At the casual joke, Clear practically jumped. He glared fiercely around the garage. "Who?! Who dares to say they aren't satisfied?! Tell them to get their ass out on the track and drive it themselves!"
Haha!
Kai laughed out loud, patting Clear on the shoulder. "So, you're scared?"
While casual fans watched the spectacle, the professionals dissected the underlying mechanics.
It was true; Kai's 'Lap of the Gods' was worthy of infinite praise. You could hype it up to the heavens, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration. But the terrifying dominance Mercedes-Benz had displayed was an irreversible, brutal reality. The deeper your professional understanding of the sport, the more acutely you grasped the terrifying implications—
In the actual Race, it would be physically and mechanically impossible for Kai to push that hard continuously. His nervous system and his body would shatter under the strain. And even if Kai's body could withstand it, the SF90 absolutely could not.
The tires.
The fatal, catastrophic weakness was the tires. The SF90's understanding and management of the Pirelli tire compounds was... completely off track. Based on the telemetry collected so far, their degradation curve in the latter half of a long stint looked absolutely disastrous. It was highly probable they would experience a sheer, vertical cliff-drop in performance. Perhaps their short-term, single-lap explosive pace was encouraging, but durability and sustained performance were critically, terrifyingly flawed.
Qualifying had just ended, but the impending crisis of the Race was already glaringly obvious.
With a single, casually delivered sentence, Kai caused every gaze in the garage to snap toward him, eyes wide and hungry like wolves—
Scared? Who's scared?! You're scared! Your whole family is scared!
But the person who had spoken the words was Kai. Looking at Kai's utterly dominating, terrifying performance last season, absolutely no one dared to fire a retort back at him.
Including Clear.
Clear glared, opening his mouth to argue back, but upon seeing Kai's face, he instantly deflated. "It's just that. We. We still have a lot of work to do."
Instant surrender.
Watching Clear deflate, the smile in Kai's eyes overflowed. "Yes. We have a massive amount of work to do. We need to start prepping for the strategy meeting immediately. First, we analyze the data. Is all the telemetry prepped and ready? As soon as the press conference is over, we need to work overtime and maximize every second."
"Right. Where's Charles?"
"Charles Leclerc!"
He didn't need flowery motivational speeches or impassioned rhetoric. Action is always infinitely more effective than words.
Standing before them, Kai was drenched in sweat, his face flushed. It was obvious that the lap he had just completed had been a brutal, agonizing test of both his nervous system and his physical endurance. Yet, there wasn't a single trace of fatigue in his eyes. There was only a soaring, blazing fighting spirit. He was calmly facing the crisis head-on, holding absolutely nothing back, fully prepared to give it everything he had. His blood was already boiling.
The atmosphere in the garage began to slowly, tangibly shift, infectious energy spreading through the crew.
However, Leclerc was nowhere to be found. Following Kai's lead, the rest of the team also began searching for him.
Ultimately, Kai's sharp eyes spotted him. In a quiet corridor adjacent to the driver rest area, the Number 16 Ferrari driver was crouched on the floor, looking utterly defeated, his face a mask of profound depression.
Leclerc sat there, expressionless, his eyes devoid of light, silently drinking water. His entire posture radiated a single, desperate message: I just want to be left alone.
...
"CCTV, CCTV. You are currently watching the live broadcast of the 2019 season-opening Formula 1 Australian Grand Prix..."
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are just ten minutes away from the formation lap of the Australian Grand Prix..."
"...In yesterday's Qualifying session, Lewis Hamilton secured pole position, while the defending champion, Kai, qualified third..."
AH! AHHHHHHHHH!
The sky was a brilliant, flawless, crystal-clear blue. Not a single cloud could be seen. The golden sunlight poured down without obstruction, bathing Albert Park in vibrant, brilliant light.
It was scorching hot. Looking out across the venue, the spectators picnicking on the grass were already drenched in sweat. The direct afternoon sun was giving them a brutal taste of the Australian summer heat. Even those seeking refuge in the shade were desperately using their straw hats as makeshift fans. One could only imagine the suffocating, baking heat radiating off the asphalt, directly assaulting the cars and drivers on the grid.
However, nobody cared about the heat right now. Li Lingyu thrust both her hands high into the air, wildly waving her hat at the drone buzzing overhead—
Bubble, bubble. The blood of millions of fans watching the live broadcast around the world was officially beginning to boil.
This was especially true in mainland China.
F1 had officially entered the Chinese market twenty years ago. It had endured endless peaks and valleys, suffered numerous setbacks and failures, before finally reaching a monumental turning point in 2018.
Having waited and waited, the day had finally arrived. For the very first time in history, a Chinese driver was embarking on a brand new season as the reigning Defending Champion. Absolutely no one wanted to miss this historic moment. It felt exactly like a massive, national carnival. It didn't matter if they actually understood motorsport; everyone was showing up to join the spectacle. The rolling, explosive heatwave was erupting across the country.
More accurately, the hype in other regions of the globe was equally staggering.
Because of Drive to Survive; because Mercedes-Benz's iron-fisted rule had shown a sliver of vulnerability for the first time in five years; and because the long-awaited, desperately hoped-for Ferrari renaissance had finally revealed a glimmer of dawn. Under the combined weight of these massive factors, the opening of the 2019 season triggered an unprecedented, historic surge in global traffic—
A true first in the history of the sport.
Amidst the deafening cheers and screams, the heat continued to escalate. The thick smell of gunpowder saturated the air. It felt as though it wouldn't even require a spark to ignite; the atmosphere could spontaneously combust at any given second.
Borreipaire was the first to notice Kai's actions on the grid. He was meticulously inspecting the tires.
One look was all it took to understand: the track temperature was significantly higher than anticipated. Kai was deeply concerned about tire degradation during the long-run stints. After all, this was the very first official race of the season. All their strategic assumptions were based on theoretical testing data, which was fundamentally different from the brutal reality of actual combat. The race unfolding before them was completely unknown territory.
This year, Pirelli had updated their tire compound nomenclature once again. Considering that last season's 'rainbow' color-coding system (hypersoft, ultrasoft, supersoft, soft, medium, hard, superhard) had been dizzying and incredibly unfriendly to casual viewers, they modernized the system. There were still five actual dry tire compounds—
C1, C2, C3, C4, C5.
The higher the number, the softer the compound.
For each Grand Prix weekend, Pirelli selected three of those compounds based on the specific track characteristics and weather conditions. Regardless of which three specific compounds were chosen, they were always color-coded White, Yellow, and Red for that specific race weekend, universally referred to as the Hard, Medium, and Soft tires.
This simplified approach was primarily designed for the television broadcasts, making it vastly more intuitive and user-friendly for the average spectator.
As for whether the White 'Hard' tire in Australia was actually the C1, C2, or C3 compound? The teams, Pirelli, and hardcore paddock nerds knew the exact details, but the average viewer didn't need to be bogged down with that level of minutiae. However, during winter testing, the teams had naturally conducted exhaustive, comprehensive evaluations of all five compounds.
At Albert Park, all twenty cars on the grid were starting the race on the Red Soft tires.
According to Pirelli's official projections, the optimal pit window for this tire compound was around lap 20. The official strategic recommendation was a one-stop race: pit once, and take the second set of tires all the way to the checkered flag.
Right now, the exceptionally high track temperatures meant the tires would easily enter their optimal operating window quickly. But it also raised a terrifying question: would the Ferrari's tires degrade significantly faster than predicted?
Before Borreipaire could speak, Binotto had already walked over. The two men leaned in close, lowering their voices. "How does it feel?"
This was the fundamental difference between Binotto and Arrivabene. He was genuinely willing to listen to Kai's input, and he trusted that Kai—who was physically experiencing the track conditions—possessed a sharper, more nuanced, and highly professional perception of the unfolding reality than the data screens.
"Mm. It's hotter than expected." Kai offered a confirming, serious look. The track temperature today was noticeably higher than on Friday or Saturday. It was a genuine cause for concern.
Binotto nodded slightly. "Your judgment is correct. Trust your instincts out there."
Without saying anything further, Binotto turned and walked toward Leclerc's side of the grid.
Binotto wasn't worried about Kai. Over the course of a single season, the maturity Kai had displayed was absolutely convincing. He was undeniably trustworthy and dependable. Right now, Binotto was significantly more worried about Leclerc. Sauber and Ferrari were fundamentally different beasts. It wasn't just about the raw speed of the car; the critical difference was the caliber of Ferrari's opponents—
At Sauber, Leclerc was fighting against Renault and McLaren. But at Ferrari, he was surrounded by a pack of wolves, forced to fight terrifying monsters like Mercedes-Benz and Red Bull.
Furthermore, for today's season opener, Ferrari was preparing to execute a massive gamble.
Binotto was not inherently a gambler. His personality, deeply rooted in his engineering background, was mild, professional, and highly rational. Much like a mathematical equation, he believed in letting the objective facts dictate the outcome. He saw no value in emotional arguments or heated debates. However, Binotto was acutely aware that in a paddock filled with vicious, bloodthirsty predators, this specific personality trait could easily become a fatal weakness.
Therefore, during the pre-race strategy meeting, when Kai had proposed a highly aggressive, high-risk tactical approach, Binotto had carefully considered the variables and ultimately decided to put his absolute faith in Kai.
"The signal Toto Wolff has been broadcasting all weekend couldn't be clearer: submit and survive, or resist and be destroyed. He isn't here to play games. We can choose the conservative route and settle for fighting Red Bull for second place in the Constructors' Championship. But if we do, Mercedes-Benz will never give us an opening to challenge them, and Red Bull would be absolutely thrilled to watch us surrender."
That single sentence had successfully convinced Binotto.
For the 2019 season, they had to implement fundamental changes. They could not repeat the patterns of last year, otherwise the slight advantage the technical faction had agonizingly fought to secure would quickly evaporate. They had to be bold. They had to take risks. They could not afford to sit back, passively wait for Mercedes-Benz or Red Bull to dictate the pace, and then scramble to mount a desperate, reactive defense.
By acting aggressively, even if the strategy failed spectacularly and ended in total disaster, they could at least look at themselves in the mirror and say they had actively tried to seize control of their own destiny.
Binotto understood the logic flawlessly, and he had fully committed to the gamble. But it fundamentally conflicted with his naturally cautious personality. His stomach was burning with acid, and he genuinely felt like he was going to throw up.
Taking a deep breath, Binotto walked toward Leclerc. He needed to offer the young driver some encouragement. There was no need for Leclerc to constantly measure himself against Kai. Kai was a complete anomaly, an unpredictable mutant who couldn't be judged by standard logic. Leclerc needed to carve out his own, unique path forward.
The live commentary from Sky Sports echoed through the radio feed. Li Lingyu stared fixedly at the track. Even though she couldn't see the drivers' faces hidden behind their visors, the suffocating tension saturating the air was physically oppressive. When the cars fired up and began the formation lap, Li Lingyu couldn't control herself, screaming and cheering wildly.
It was only the formation lap, yet the roaring, guttural sound of the engines easily made her heart feel like it was going to explode.
Li Lingyu remained standing, waiting agonizingly as the cars returned to their grid slots one by one. The formation lap concluded. Every car was perfectly in position. The entire atmosphere of Albert Park erupted into a deafening, unprecedented crescendo of noise.
The red lights began to illuminate.
Li Lingyu held her breath, but her heart was beating faster and faster, slamming violently against her chest. Her ribs felt like they were going to tear open.
Five—Four—
Li Lingyu felt dizzy from lack of oxygen, but she refused to blink. Her eyes were wide, terrified of missing the exact millisecond the new season officially began.
Three—Two—
She watched helplessly as the red lights illuminated one by one. And then, at that exact moment, time seemed to hit a temporary pause button. The roaring, chaotic noise of the entire world completely vanished. The only sound remaining was her own breathing, rising and falling in sync with the twisting, shimmering heat waves radiating off the asphalt.
One.
Then, the world reached a state of absolute, total silence. All five lights extinguished simultaneously. The visual information reached her eyes first; the speed of sound seemed slightly delayed. It took a full beat before the torrential, roaring explosion of engine noise crashed down upon them, accompanied by the pungent, acrid smell of burnt rubber hitting their faces.
In the heavy, near-stagnant, scorching air, a streak of silver violently pierced through the haze.
Was that... Hamilton?
No! It was Valtteri Bottas???
...
Total concentration. Absolute focus.
Kai remained laser-focused, entirely immersed in the machine. Directly in front of him sat the silver Number 44 car. They were positioned on the left side of the track—the outside line—
Aiming dead straight toward the first right-hander, the Jones Chicane.
He was actively calculating his attack on Hamilton. But simultaneously, he knew Hamilton had to be calculating his defense against Kai.
So, was Hamilton highly alert to Kai's presence? Was he perhaps even digging a tactical trap to screw him over right at the start?
Without a doubt, it was a very real possibility. After all, last year at Interlagos, Kai had brutally outmaneuvered Hamilton. Mercedes-Benz now had the perfect opportunity to return the favor, and they had no reason to pass it up.
However, Kai ultimately dismissed the possibility.
Not because he believed Hamilton was a noble gentleman who wouldn't resort to dirty tricks, but because of the specific, overarching strategic narrative Wolff and Hamilton had meticulously constructed all weekend:
Aggressive, tyrannical, yet unequivocally fair. They had consistently established absolute dominance on the track through sheer, undeniable performance.
Although they never stated it explicitly, their actions and subtle implications constantly suggested that Ferrari's victory at Yas Marina last year was dishonorable, and that the Drivers' World Championship rightfully belonged to Hamilton. Now, Mercedes-Benz was determined to win beautifully and cleanly on the asphalt. With a little strategic fanning of the flames by the media, any dirty driving would instantly place Kai back into the crosshairs of negative public opinion.
Most importantly, the W10 possessed a massive, glaring performance advantage. They simply didn't need to fear anyone. If Hamilton just focused entirely on his own race, he could effortlessly convert pole position into a victory. To be incredibly precise, the only entity capable of defeating Mercedes-Benz right now was Mercedes-Benz itself. He had nothing to worry about.
A "Grand Slam." That was Hamilton's sole, laser-focused objective.
At least, that was Kai's strategic assessment. It aligned perfectly with Wolff and Hamilton's entire weekend blueprint—the "Path of the King." They were actively fighting to seize the moral and narrative high ground.
If that was the case, then perfect. Hamilton would execute his plan, and Kai would execute his. They would mind their own business.
But what if he was wrong?
It didn't matter.
Kai's focus remained entirely internal. During the launch phase, he had to prioritize his own execution and seize the absolute initiative.
And then—
Lights out, and away we go.
Without a microsecond of hesitation, he launched forward, accelerating violently. Kai rocketed dead straight off the line, instantly latching onto Hamilton's slipstream and aggressively closing the gap.
Whether Hamilton liked it or not, Kai's clean, decisive, and utterly ruthless maneuver instantly seized the opportunity. He tucked perfectly into the aerodynamic wake of the Number 44 car, mirroring its every move.
Hamilton: ...
He had seen ruthless drivers before, but he had never seen anyone this shamelessly aggressive. Hamilton genuinely couldn't believe the flash of red filling his rearview mirrors.
However, Hamilton had absolutely zero time to worry about Kai. Because the true, immediate threat wasn't behind him; it was launching an assault on his right flank. A brutal backstab from his own teammate.
Valtteri Bottas!
Just moments ago, Bottas had executed one of the most spectacular starts of his entire career. It was clean, laser-precise, and incredibly fluid. His car launched off the grid like an arrow released from a highly tensioned bowstring.
Bottas didn't weave or attempt to cover off the inside line. He surged straight ahead, visibly eating into Hamilton's advantage with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, he was pulling dead level with Hamilton.
Hamilton: Shit!
To be brutally honest, Hamilton had lost focus.
Perhaps it was the crushing pressure. The sheer audacity Kai had displayed when his back was against the wall, single-handedly manipulating the global narrative, had brought the dark shadow of last season roaring back. Perhaps it was over-excitement. He was too intensely focused on securing the Grand Slam, too desperate to extend his weekend-long dominance, and in doing so, he missed the critical, split-second reaction window when the lights went out.
Without a doubt, this was not a start Hamilton would ever want mentioned in his career highlight reel.
And just like that, the opportunity materialized.
Of course, the critical factor was Bottas's restless ambition, his burning fighting spirit, and his fearless, aggressive mindset. When the opportunity presented itself, he was actually positioned to cash it in.
And thus, this shocking scene unfolded.
The entire Mercedes-Benz garage was utterly dumbfounded. Wolff used every ounce of his willpower to maintain an aura of absolute, icy calm, fully aware that the entire paddock was closely monitoring his reaction—
He could not afford to show a single crack in the armor.
Wolff had to act perfectly normal, as if this was the exact tactical strategy Mercedes-Benz had drawn up all along. Bottas acting as the ultimate double-insurance policy: blocking Verstappen, pinning down Kai. Everything was proceeding exactly according to his master plan.
Yes. This is the plan.
Wolff stared intently at the live broadcast monitors. He didn't even notice that his arms, crossed tightly over his chest, had clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Hamilton had been hyper-vigilant regarding Kai. As a result, he was entirely blindsided by the Number 77 car rapidly pulling alongside his right flank. He reacted instantly.
He cut right, aggressively squeezing the line.
Hamilton was attempting to aggressively compress Bottas's racing line. But it wasn't just a defensive block; he was simultaneously trying to secure the optimal entry line for Turn 1, the Jones Chicane.
Killing two birds with one stone!
Amidst the chaos and heavy traffic of the launch, Hamilton still managed to make the tactically correct decision, desperately fighting to defend his pole position advantage and enter Turn 1 first.
The "Grand Slam" was hanging by a terrifyingly thin thread!
For Kai, this was the golden opportunity.
Pull out of the slipstream, cut to the outside, and accelerate.
Kai had been waiting patiently. Waiting for the exact moment Hamilton committed to his corner entry angle.
In Kai's assessment, Hamilton had absolutely no reason to worry about anyone else. Armed with the overwhelming performance of the W10, Hamilton could have chosen any entry angle he desired and still comfortably cleared the corner. He had every reason to simply execute a standard, textbook corner entry.
Because of this calculation, Kai had remained incredibly patient, but his focus had been entirely locked on the outside line.
Just as expected!
Without a shred of hesitation, he snapped his car to the outside. Utilizing the massive speed advantage generated by the slipstream, Kai surged forward. Launching his attack from the outside line, he pulled dead level with Hamilton in a flash of lightning.
Instantly, the Number 44 car was transformed into the filling of a high-speed sandwich. The silver Number 77 was on the right, and the scarlet Number 22 was on the left.
The entire venue erupted in a massive, collective gasp!
Absolutely no one had predicted the race would unfold like this. For a brief second, everyone lost their ability to react, staring at the screen in pure, dumbstruck awe.
Oh! AHHHH!
Further back in the pack, dust plumed into the air. Carbon fiber debris scattered across the track. A massive collision had occurred near the rear of the grid. It was an overwhelming sensory overload. There was absolutely no time to process who had hit whom, or what had happened. They only caught a chaotic, blurry glimpse of the carnage unfolding behind them. Their attention remained hopelessly, entirely captivated by the explosive drama unfolding at the very front.
"Bottas!"
"Good God! Bottas overtakes Hamilton and enters the first corner in the lead!"
Wolff: ...
The "Grand Slam" that had been meticulously brewed and hyped up for the entire weekend was violently shattered at the very first corner. And the person who shattered it was Bottas.
It was true! The only entity capable of defeating Mercedes-Benz was Mercedes-Benz itself.
Wolff felt the entire world spinning violently. His carefully maintained, stoic expression was dangerously close to completely collapsing.
But the disaster was far from over.
"Hamilton's troubles aren't over! Kai! He's right alongside him!"
"Wheel to wheel!"
Hamilton was suffocating with frustration. Not only had he been brutally backstabbed by Bottas, but he was now locked in a desperate, wheel-to-wheel dogfight at the very first corner!
Kai! The kid was like a vengeful ghost that refused to go away!
Instantly, Hamilton twitched the nose of his car slightly to the left. It was just a microscopic adjustment, but the sheer physical mass and aerodynamic pressure of the car lunged viciously toward Kai, attempting to aggressively squeeze him off the track.
However, Kai had perfectly anticipated the move!
Entering his sophomore year, Kai's understanding of this legendary driver was growing significantly deeper and more comprehensive. If he was preparing to launch an all-out assault, how could he possibly have failed to calculate this exact counter-measure?
Kai didn't flinch. Because from the very beginning, the moment Kai committed to the outside line, he had calculated the absolute, razor-edge curvature of the Turn 1 apex to perfection.
Hamilton didn't want to completely destroy his own cornering rhythm. Therefore, he couldn't afford a massive, sudden, erratic change in direction—which would also blatantly violate the defensive driving regulations. He could only attempt a subtle, aggressive squeeze. But against a fully prepared Kai, that microscopic squeeze was nowhere near enough.
The result was that Kai maintained his perfect rhythm, rocketing along his pre-determined racing line. Conversely, Hamilton's minor, aggressive adjustment ultimately compromised his own mid-corner rhythm.
Hamilton's breath caught sharply in his throat—
Initially, Hamilton still held the advantage. Even though Bottas had snatched the lead, Hamilton was still comfortably ahead of Kai.
But now, he watched helplessly as Kai utilized the outside line to navigate the corner. Instead of aggressively leaning on the mechanical grip of the tires, Kai relied on flawless steering precision and throttle control. In a logic-defying display of skill, Kai completely suppressed Hamilton's rhythm through the Turn 1 chicane.
Side-by-side! And then, the overtake!
In a brutal, high-stakes wheel-to-wheel duel—devoid of any physical contact, yet overflowing with suffocating tension—Kai executed a casual, almost leisurely overtake. He cleared the Turn 1 Jones Chicane one step ahead of Hamilton!
...
Li Lingyu stood frozen in place. The world seemed to stutter, transforming into a slideshow. At the absolute, dizzying pinnacle of speed, her visual perception broke the scene down into distinct, frame-by-frame images.
The Number 77 car sprinting down the straight—Numbers 77, 44, and 22 running three-wide—Number 77 overtaking to enter Turn 1 first—Numbers 44 and 22 locked wheel-to-wheel—Number 22 overtaking and exiting Turn 1 first.
It was incredibly brief. Incredibly fast. Evolving by the millisecond.
In the space of a single breath, before her brain could even process the violent, rapid-fire changes unfolding on the asphalt, the running order of the 2019 Australian Grand Prix had been entirely reshuffled.
This was Formula 1. It left absolutely zero time to react. The battlefield had been completely upended. You could clearly hear the shock and awe rippling through the air above Albert Park.
Throughout the entire weekend, Hamilton and Mercedes-Benz had been so overwhelmingly dominant, so imperious, leaving everyone choking on their dust. Absolutely no one had even managed to touch the hem of his garment. Everyone was hyping up the very real possibility of Hamilton securing the sixth "Grand Slam" of his career, surpassing Schumacher and Ascari to take sole possession of second place on the all-time list.
The result?
This was it?
Turn 1, Jones Chicane. The fantasy of the "Grand Slam" was officially dead. Not only was he trailing Bottas, but he was also trailing the Ferrari he had been effortlessly out-pacing all weekend?
In a fleeting fraction of a second, thoughts froze, and minds went completely blank. Only meaningless gasps of shock tumbled from their chests.
And then! F1 proved once again, through brutal physical reality, that speed, chaos, and absolute unpredictability are the true soul of the sport.
The very next second, at Turn 2, the Brabham curve, the storm violently reignited. Before Li Lingyu could even process the previous shock, her heart was yanked along by the slipstream of the racing cars, accelerating to maximum velocity. Caught in the dizzying spin, she completely forgot to breathe.
—Hamilton was launching a ferocious counter-attack!
Exiting the Jones Chicane, having plummeted from pole position down to third, Hamilton absolutely refused to surrender. He clamped his jaws down hard, locking dead onto Kai's gearbox. The red and silver blurs flowed seamlessly through the Brabham curve like liquid light.
Rocketing down the ensuing straight, it was visibly obvious to the naked eye: The Number 22 car fully unleashed its terrifying engine advantage. It pulled slightly away from Number 44, while simultaneously closing the gap to Number 77. The three streaks of light chased each other furiously, completely inseparable, hurtling toward the next corner and detonating the air in their wake.
Slipstream! Pull out!
With brutal decisiveness and zero hesitation, Hamilton launched a counter-attack on the spot. He didn't waste time with useless fakes or dummies. Facing the approaching Turn 3 right-hander, he immediately cut to the outside line. He didn't panic and try to frantically dive-bomb Kai for the apex.
No, to be more precise: Hamilton deliberately used his attacking line to actively "force" Kai toward the apex, fully weaponizing the massive discrepancy in mechanical grip.
Instantly, Kai physically felt the overwhelming disparity—
It's common knowledge that during the launch phase of a race, the tires haven't yet reached their optimal operating temperature window. The mechanical grip is severely compromised, especially through corners, making it incredibly difficult to carry momentum.
Because of this, opening lap battles rely heavily on reaction speed, raw driving skill, and hyper-aggressive offensive/defensive awareness.
However, if a car possesses a suspension system—specifically, a meticulously engineered front suspension design—that is perfectly synchronized with the Pirelli tire compounds... it can force the tires into their optimal operating window significantly faster than the competition. It generates superior tire temperature control and vastly more stable mechanical grip. While everyone else is still desperately waiting for their tires to wake up, that car can instantly shift into maximum attack mode. Without a doubt, that advantage is absolute and irreversible.
On cold tires, during race starts, and during safety car restarts—in these specific scenarios, that car can effortlessly build a massive advantage without expending any extra effort.
The W10 was exactly that kind of car.
Kai had actually noticed it just moments ago: Bottas's launch off the line was unbelievably fast. However, because Kai was hyper-focused on his duel with Hamilton, he hadn't had the luxury of time to deeply analyze the implications.
Until right now.
Through the complex sequence of Turns 3, 4, and 5, Kai intimately, viscerally experienced the crushing, suffocating pressure of Hamilton's mid-corner rhythm. It was like a jagged dagger pressed firmly against his spine during a brutal, close-quarters knife fight. The glaring, fundamental difference in mechanical grip during the opening lap meant they were essentially fighting with completely different weapons.
Kai had immediately seized the racing line. Fighting against the severe lack of grip, he desperately tried to adjust his trajectory to maintain his mid-corner momentum and defend his position.
But this time, Hamilton displayed the terrifying prowess of a seasoned veteran. He instantly recognized Kai's defensive strategy. Therefore, from the exact moment he launched his attack, he firmly locked down the right-side line. Through the continuous, sweeping S-curves, he relentlessly, methodically compressed Kai's racing line. He suffocated Kai's room for adjustment, utilizing the sheer physical mass of his car to aggressively steal track space. Yet, he didn't execute a reckless, desperate dive-bomb. He relied entirely on his massive grip advantage to execute the overtake purely through superior mid-corner speed.
Turn 3: Kai was ahead.
Turn 4: The cars were dead level.
Turn 5: Hamilton took the lead.
Step by agonizing step, he systematically devoured his disadvantage. He didn't need any flashy tricks or dangerous gambles. He simply relied on the W10's terrifying, cold-tire grip advantage to forcefully execute the overtake.
Kai steadfastly refused to surrender. Although he was trailing by a full car length as they exited Turn 5, he clamped down hard during the ensuing straight-line sprint. He drew level with Hamilton once again. Approaching the Turn 6 right-hander, Kai held the inside line. Executing a terrifyingly late braking maneuver, he violently hugged the apex, desperately attempting to snatch the position back.
Hamilton, brimming with absolute confidence and icy composure, remained entirely unfazed. He held the outside line. Not only did he avoid being pushed into a defensive posture, but his mid-corner rhythm advantage was blatantly obvious. He easily absorbed Kai's counter-attack, exiting Turn 6 first, firmly shoving the Number 22 car into his rearview mirrors, and rocketing away.
Confidence! Composure! Absolute Dominance!
This was the Hamilton who had dominated the entire weekend. The untouchable, terrifying entity that made the entire paddock tremble in fear.
Perhaps the "Grand Slam" was dead, but Hamilton remained the undisputed, heavy favorite to win the Australian Grand Prix. Forget about Kai; it was highly probable that even Bottas wouldn't be able to withstand Hamilton's aggressive, hyper-focused assault!
Gasps of shock swept across the entire circuit.
Li Lingyu took a sharp intake of breath. She raised her hands high, lacing her fingers together behind her head, and pulled her elbows forward, burying her face. Her heart, which had been soaring high in the clouds, suddenly plummeted in a terrifying freefall. Yet, her adrenaline continued to pump wildly. She snapped back upright and screamed at the top of her lungs—
Thrilling!
During the launch phase, Kai had executed a brilliant maneuver, overtaking Hamilton to claim second place. But by the end of Sector 1, he had been forced to hand the position right back.
Was she disappointed? Slightly.
But it only lasted a fraction of a second. Li Lingyu immediately regained her fighting spirit. Even facing the terrifying, overwhelming power of Mercedes-Benz, Kai remained unyielding and tenacious. He wasn't just fighting back; he was genuinely holding his own. It was exactly like Qualifying. This realization completely ignited Li Lingyu's fighting spirit and passion.
This was exactly why Li Lingyu loved Kai. On the F1 grid, the performance advantage of the machinery is absolute and crushing. Yet, even in this brutally unfair environment, Kai still managed to showcase the true, raw brilliance of the driver. He proved through his actions that, ultimately, racing is still a sport defined by the human being behind the wheel.
Mercedes-Benz, are you ready for a war?
And then, the sequence of events linked together frame by frame, like a fast-paced comic book. The brutal, violent dogfight between the red and silver machines transformed into a raging, unstoppable torrent. Passion ignited, erupting violently.
AH! AHHHHHHHH!
Li Lingyu took a deep breath and cheered wildly at the track. She jumped, screamed, and pumped her arms frantically, utterly surrendering to the sheer ecstasy of the moment.
Instantly, the entirety of Albert Park began to boil over with her.
There was awe, there were gasps of shock. There was frustration, there was agonizing regret. There were people cheering for Hamilton, and there were people screaming for Kai. Every conceivable emotion erupted simultaneously. The season opener was undeniably living up to the massive hype. It was every bit as thrilling and unpredictable as last year's opener, seamlessly carrying over the intense, blood-pumping passion of the previous season.
A raging inferno swept across the circuit with the unstoppable force of a wildfire.
Meanwhile, over the Ferrari team radio—
"Wow. As expected from Mercedes-Benz. They actually exceeded our projections. Pierre, did you see their tire operating window during the launch phase?"
"Haha! The season opener is absolutely brilliant!"