Silence settled in the office, thick and heavy. The initial, electric shock of Konrad's simulator run had dissipated, leaving behind the cold, hard reality of decision-making.
Jean Todt watched his friend. Sergio Marchionne was no longer the animated, surprised spectator. He stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the factory floor below, his posture that of a CEO assessing an unexpected but critical data point.
"It's unprecedented," Marchionne stated, his voice devoid of its earlier excitement. It was flat, analytical. He turned from the window. "The rate of adaptation. The instinct. The data is... an anomaly."
"It is a dataset of one," Todt replied, his tone equally measured. He was the voice of experience, the counterweight. "A simulator is a controlled environment. It tells you about processing power, not about courage in a 300-kilometer-per-hour corner with a wall waiting."
"Precisely," Marchionne agreed, stepping toward his desk. "Data is not a trophy. But it is a warning." He leaned forward, his knuckles resting on the polished wood. "Our 'catfish effect'... it appears we may have introduced a piranha into the pond."
Todt acknowledged the point with a slight tilt of his head. The goal had been to provoke the academy drivers. The result was a potential paradigm shift.
"The risk is substantial, Sergio. He is a complete outsider. No karting pedigree, no single-seater experience. The jump from sim-racing to F4, then to the aerodynamic complexities of F3... it is a graveyard for raw talent. We would be betting against decades of established development pathways."
"And the risk of inaction?" Marchionne's eyes narrowed, the businessman in him fully engaged. "The risk of letting a variable with this much potential walk out of Maranello and straight into the wind tunnel at Brackley or Milton Keynes? The risk of watching a driver we discovered—a driver who should wear red—win a world championship in silver? That is a risk I am not prepared to take."
He straightened up, the decision crystallizing. "Ferrari's return to the top will not be built by hiring other teams' champions. It will be built by creating our own. This is the first step. A necessary gamble."
"So, the plan remains?" Todt asked, though he already knew the answer.
"The plan evolves," Marchionne corrected. "We will offer him a place in the Academy. A standard, entry-level contract. No special favors. No promises. He will earn his keep like every other driver. His performance, and his performance alone, will dictate his progression."
This was the Ferrari way. Proud. Demanding. The offer itself was the honor.
"And if he refuses?" Todt asked. "You saw him. He is not a fanboy. He is a pragmatist."
A faint, cold smile touched Marchionne's lips. "Then he proves my point. We are Ferrari. The greatest racing institution in history. If a young driver cannot see that this badge is worth any sacrifice, then he lacks the heart of a champion. He would have failed here anyway."
He turned his gaze back to the factory. "The offer itself is the lesson. It will show every boy in our academy that the world is wider than their go-kart tracks. That this seat is a privilege earned, not a right given. The 'effect' will be achieved. Whether that boy is part of it or not is, ultimately, his loss."
The conversation was over. The gamble was not one of desperate hope, but of cold, calculated investment and immense institutional pride.
While the two titans solidified their strategy, the rumor mill of Maranello was already in overdrive.
The news was too explosive to contain: a German kid, a complete unknown, had been personally escorted by Todt and Marchionne. He had spent less than an hour in an F4 simulator and, according to whispers from the tech bay, had shattered expectations. The CEO was personally involved.
In the highly competitive, status-obsessed environment of the driver academy, this was a seismic event. A new variable had been introduced, one that threatened the established hierarchy.
Giuliano Alessi, returning from his morning run, felt the shift in the air before he heard the words. When the news finally reached him—a fast-tracked outsider—he stopped dead in his tracks.
He understood the politics of this world better than most. His own path to the Ferrari Academy had been paved by the legacy of his father, the legendary Jean Alesi. Connections and name recognition were a currency he knew how to spend.
This new driver, this "Todt prodigy" as the rumors were already calling him, represented something else: a direct threat. A player who had changed the game before even stepping onto the board. Did this mean his own privileged position, his access to the best engineers, his perceived status, was about to be eclipsed?
A hot spike of frustration and fear pierced through him. The controlled rhythm of his run forgotten, he turned and sprinted back through the complex, a single goal burning in his mind.
He found his target near the simulator bay. A lone figure, looking out of place. The new face. There was no mistaking him.
A quick, furious scan confirmed the boy was alone. No protectors, no minders.
Alessi's pace quickened to a charge. His voice, raw with indignation, erupted across the courtyard, shattering the professional calm.
"You! Who are you? What backwater did they drag you out of? This is Ferrari! You don't belong here!"
The insult, laden with venomous pride, hung in the air, a direct challenge from the old guard to the new.