"Ricciardo, box."
In the Ferrari garage, eyes were glued to the screens. Sebastian Vettel's SF71H had just rejoined the track, and almost immediately, the Red Bull crew next door sprang into action.
The Ferrari engineers froze.
Ricciardo was pitting on the very next lap to cover Vettel. Was Christian Horner not afraid of a repeat of the Melbourne disaster? The entire Ferrari pit wall held its breath.
Sitting on the Red Bull pit wall, Horner turned, watching the blue RB14 slide into the box. Tires changed, jack dropped, car released. Precision. Efficiency.
Horner cast a confident glance at the Ferrari pit wall before turning back to his screens. The smell of gunpowder was in the air.
There was a palpable pause in the Ferrari camp—perhaps only two or three seconds—but the panic was evident. Horner had seen through Arrivabene's strategy instantly. Ferrari's attempt to undercut had been neutralized. The advantage was gone; they were back to square one.
All eyes turned to the track.
There was no suspense, not even the thrill of Melbourne. Before the stops, Ricciardo had a five-to-six-second lead. He gave Vettel only one lap to make up the difference. It wasn't enough.
Ricciardo rejoined the track smoothly, taking Turn 1. 3.8 seconds later, Vettel's number 5 car followed. Although Vettel had clean air and fresher tires, one lap was simply insufficient to close the gap.
From Mercedes triggering the cascade to Ferrari reacting and Red Bull holding firm, the strategic skirmish ended quickly. Order was restored.
Ricciardo, Vettel, Hamilton, Bottas. No positions had changed. No undercuts were successful.
Well, not entirely. There was one change.
Kai was still on track. Just like in Melbourne, he was now the race leader.
The crowd buzzed.
"No way. Is the baby driver picking up scraps again?"
"It won't last. Once he pits, he hands the lead back to Ricciardo."
"What is Red Bull thinking? Shouldn't they have left Ricciardo out to block the number 22?"
The atmosphere was rowdy. Was history repeating itself?
But soon, the seasoned observers realized the brilliance of Horner's decision. The reason? Tires.
Kai's Ultrasofts were ancient. They had a lap or three left in them, max. An "Overcut" (staying out longer to gain time) was statistically impossible on degraded rubber.
This looked like Shanghai all over again. Ferrari should have pitted Kai immediately to prevent him from being undercut by his own teammate, Vettel.
The situation seemed clear. Ricciardo had clean air and fresh tires. Vettel and the Mercedes duo were pushing on fresh rubber. If Kai couldn't maintain his lap times, falling behind Vettel would be the best-case scenario. The tragedy would be falling behind Hamilton and Bottas too.
If he waited too long, he'd come out in traffic or behind the Mercedes pair who could defend easily on this track. Kai's hard-fought P2 in qualifying was in danger of evaporating.
Ferrari had to act. Hesitation leads to disaster. They needed to learn from Shanghai.
"Kai, Plan C. Box. Box this lap," Greenwood said, his voice steady but laced with tension.
Out of the corner of his eye, Greenwood saw Arrivabene with arms crossed, a storm cloud brewing on his face.
Kai's voice crackled over the radio, surprised. "What? No, no, no. Not Plan C. Plan E."
"David, wake up. Stay sharp. Plan E! Plan E! Don't make me list tropical fruits over the radio."
Tropical fruits. Their code for swearing. A running joke developed after the DNFs in Bahrain and Spain.
Greenwood held his breath. Plan E? Wait, what was Plan E?
In the high-pressure chaos, his brain scrambled for a split second.
On track, Kai was drenched in sweat, his body subjected to brutal G-forces, but his mind was in a state of zen-like clarity. He knew exactly what was happening.
Mercedes had disrupted the rhythm, and Red Bull had reacted perfectly. The official tire life for the Ultrasofts was 15-20 laps. Kai was on lap 17. He was in the "cliff" zone.
On the surface, it looked like Shanghai. Ricciardo, like Bottas back then, had clean air. Logic dictated Kai should pit.
But Kai felt something different. This felt like Melbourne.
His tires, saved by that single run in Q2, still had life. Unlike Ricciardo, who had pitted to cover Vettel, Kai sensed an opportunity.
He currently held a lead. His tires weren't dead yet. If a Safety Car came out in the next few laps, he could pit and retain the lead easily.
But Plan E wasn't about gambling on a Safety Car. It was about taking destiny into his own hands.
The track temperature was low (under 30°C). Tire degradation was lower than expected.
He wasn't going to wait for luck. He was going to attempt the impossible: a raw pace Overcut.
Plan E: Stay out. Use the remaining life of the Q2-preserved tires. Push to the absolute limit. Build a gap of 22+ seconds over Ricciardo.
It defied Pirelli's data. But in Monaco, track position is king. Hamilton was trying to run 66 laps on one set of Supersofts. Why couldn't Kai extend the Ultrasofts?
Kai realized that when Ricciardo pitted to cover Vettel, the door had cracked open.
"Plan E. Are you sure? We are 0.3 seconds a lap slower than Red Bull's potential pace," Greenwood warned, recovering his composure.
"I'm sure," Kai said. He paused. "David, maybe there's only a 1% chance, but I want to take it. I need your help."
The calm determination in his voice ignited a spark in Greenwood. He knew Arrivabene was listening. He knew this was the second time Kai had disobeyed a direct order. But he also remembered the fire in Shanghai.
"Copy," Greenwood said.
"Where am I losing the most time in Sector 3?" Kai asked.
Greenwood checked the telemetry instantly. "Rascasse. And Portier in Sector 2."
"Copy!"
Silence returned to the radio. The cockpit became a sanctuary of noise—the deafening, suffocating roar of the engine.
Arrivabene remained expressionless, lips pressed into a thin line. The low pressure system around him was palpable. But he didn't override the call.
Kai understood the stakes. The steering wheel was vibrating. The grip was fluctuating. Every throttle application was a dance on the blade's edge.
The track was empty ahead, but the barriers loomed like sentinels of death. Monaco has no mercy.
Ricciardo was now on fresh Supersofts. He was 4.772 seconds behind Kai on track (net gap). To make the Overcut work, Kai needed to extend that gap to roughly 22 seconds before his tires died or Ricciardo caught up.
It was a mission impossible.
But driving by the book was boring.
Kai wanted to see where the limit was. This was more thrilling than qualifying.
Martin Brundle was the first to notice.
"...Purple sector. Kai."
"Wait, is that the second time he's set a fastest sector?"
Croft was dismissive. "He's leading and about to pit. It's normal to empty the tank before coming in."
Brundle tilted his head. He knew Croft was right by conventional wisdom. Kai should pit on Lap 20 or 21. The Overcut shouldn't work. So why was it feeling so strange?
The cameras cut away to Verstappen, who was carving through the field from P20, providing the broadcast with overtaking action.
But inside the number 22 car, Kai was alone. It was a race against himself. A race against the circuit.
Just like his night runs through the city, he felt the undulations of the tarmac through his spine. He visualized the 3D geometry of the track.
Holding the racing line wasn't enough. He had to transcend the car's mechanical limits.
Braking, throttle, steering—a dynamic equilibrium.
Brundle's eyes snapped to the graphics. "Sector 1, Fastest Sector, Kai."
Again?
"Tire saving" and "Push mode" are usually antonyms in F1. But Kai was synthesizing them.
He approached the Loews Hairpin (Turn 6). The slowest corner in F1. He braked three meters early, coasting, not fighting the tires. He used the car's slight oversteer tendency to rotate the rear around the tight radius, kissing the barrier on the exit.
40 km/h. It looked slow, almost clumsy, like a learner driver. But he used every millimeter of the road.
Then, the tunnel.
He threw the car into Portier, the front wing missing the barrier by three centimeters. He shot into the darkness, the V6 engine screaming, the noise amplifying the sensation of speed.
Exit tunnel. Nouvelle Chicane. Left front tire missed the wall by four centimeters.
It was a game of millimeters. One twitch, one error, and it was over.
"Sector 2, Purple!"
Now, the most critical section. Sector 3. Rascasse.
Jan Plas, watching from the trackside, forgot to breathe. The red car threaded the needle between the barriers of the Swimming Pool section. It looked like a high-speed tightrope act.
Into Rascasse. Kai braked late. Dangerously late. Maria Plas gasped, clutching her children, thinking he was going into the wall.
At the last millisecond, the car bit. A flick of the wrist, a stab of the throttle. The rear stepped out just enough to rotate the car around the tight right-hander.
He was gone.
"Purple! It's Purple again!"
In the commentary booth, Brundle nearly jumped out of his seat.
"Kai! Third consecutive fastest lap!"
"1:14.933!"
"He is the first driver into the 1:14s today! He is accelerating! He is attempting the Overcut!"
Brundle felt a shiver. "In Monaco, getting tires into the window is hard. Ricciardo is on fresh Supersofts, struggling to switch them on. Kai's old Ultrasofts are right in the sweet spot. He is expanding the gap!"
"But how long can he hold this? His tires are 25 laps old (including Q2). This is defying physics!"
"This is the duel! Kai vs. Ricciardo, Round 2!"
Frédéric Arnault stood in the VIP suite, fists clenched, chest heaving. He was mesmerizingly locked onto the red car.
The spotlight shifted.
Normally, a solo leader is boring. But now, the entire world realized what was happening.
Wolff, Horner, Zak Brown—everyone looked at the Ferrari pit wall in disbelief. They all saw the strategy, but none of them thought Ferrari had the guts to try it.
Arrivabene stared at the screen, stone-faced.
Greenwood's hand cramped from gripping his console. "Kai! Pace is strong. Gap is opening. Keep pushing!"
Lap 25: 1:14.822
Lap 27: 1:14.777
The shockwaves were relentless.
"He's driving Ricciardo into the ground on dead tires!" Croft yelled. "How is he doing this?"
Lap 29. Ten laps beyond the Pirelli recommendation.
The steering wheel was shaking violently. The car was sliding through Rascasse. But Kai turned the instability into agility.
1:14.233
"Unbelievable! He's still finding time!"
"This is Senna-esque!"
The gap to Ricciardo had ballooned. 20 seconds. 21 seconds.
Lorenzo Moretti felt goosebumps rising. He had never seen Kai push like this.
Greenwood finally screamed, abandoning his calm demeanor. "Box! Box! Box!"
The window was open. The gap was 22 seconds.
It was do or die.
The Ferrari mechanics, adrenaline spiking, scrambled into position.
"We are a team, remember? We finish this together," Kai had said.
The red car dove into the pit lane. The tires were shredded, the surface blistered and graining.
Stop. Jack up. Guns on.
"Oh god! Rear right! A hesitation! He had to re-seat the gun!"
"2.7 seconds."
"Not a perfect stop!"
Fuck! The rear right mechanic slumped, hitting his helmet in despair. That 0.5 seconds could cost them everything.
But there was no time for regret.
The car roared out of the box.
Mekies tapped the mechanic on the shoulder. "Look at the screen. He hasn't given up."
Kai tore down the pit exit lane. He saw the blue blur of the Red Bull charging down the main straight.
The pit exit at Monaco merges into Turn 1, Sainte Dévote.
Kai didn't hesitate. He swung right, crossing the white line at the blend point, claiming the racing line, throttle pinned.
Ricciardo was there. But Kai was ahead.
"Kai! Kai leads! He holds the position!"
The Overcut was successful!
~~----------------------
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