Front to back, left to right. The duel at the pit exit was a knife fight in a phone booth.
Greenwood's warning crackled in his ear, and Kai immediately spotted the blue shark fin in his mirrors. Ricciardo wasn't giving up.
Kai understood. If he were in the Red Bull, he wouldn't let an Overcut happen without a fight. Even if the exit merge was lost, Turn 1 was the next battleground. The positions were reversed from the start of the race, but the intensity was identical.
"Kai! Kai leads! He holds the position!"
The Overcut was successful...?
"Ricciardo hasn't surrendered! He cuts to the outside, trying to go around the long way!"
Kai expected this.
His fresh Supersofts were still coming up to temperature—grip was low. Ricciardo's tires were already in the optimal window. This was the most dangerous moment of the Overcut: the darkness before the dawn.
Decisive. Ruthless. Kai swept across the track, claiming the racing line.
Right out of the pits, he positioned his car to force Ricciardo onto the dirty side, the outside line. He pinned the throttle.
The engines screamed in unison, revs climbing to the limiter. The crowd's blood pressure spiked.
Kai didn't brake. He kept accelerating, pushing Ricciardo toward the cliff edge.
Only at the absolute limit did Kai slam on the brakes. He was using Ricciardo's own weapon against him: late braking, sharp entry.
He hugged the apex of Saint Dévote like a lover, leaving zero space on the inside.
Ricciardo, seeing the door slammed in his face, had to commit to the outside line—a move he hated.
It wasn't impossible. The Red Bull's superior downforce gave it an edge in mid-corner grip. He could hang on around the outside.
Ferrari and Red Bull entered Turn 1 side-by-side. The Red Bull carried more speed through the corner. Kai's cold tires struggled for grip, his line widening, the rear twitching.
Visually, the Red Bull was gaining, pulling alongside, ready to snatch the lead back.
"Oh no!"
The grandstands gasped.
But Kai didn't yield.
He wrestled the steering wheel, fighting the G-forces that threatened to throw him out of the cockpit. Four cold tires screeched in protest, the rear of the car oscillating violently.
Crisis!
Ricciardo gritted his teeth, steering aggressively, trying to squeeze the red car off the track!
But at the exact moment he passed the apex, Kai floored it.
Even with low grip, the fresh rubber could handle the sudden torque better than the old tires. The car launched forward like a wild horse on ice.
amidst the chaos, Kai displayed supernatural car control. He danced on the edge of adhesion, balancing a car that by all rights should have spun, and powered out of the corner first.
Teetering on the brink of disaster, but—
"Unbelievable!"
Croft's voice cracked, his body shaking with the adrenaline of the moment.
On the exit, Ricciardo seemed to have the momentum, almost drawing level. But Kai claimed the track position, shutting the door firmly.
"Kai! He holds the line! He miraculously holds off Ricciardo!"
And that wasn't all.
He flowed through Massenet, nailing the apexes of Turn 3 and 4, blocking any counter-attack.
Kai glanced in his mirrors. Ricciardo was still there, but something felt... off. On the run up to Casino Square, the Red Bull seemed to lack its usual punch. Was it frustration? Or something else?
It didn't matter.
Seize the gap. Build the advantage.
Into the Mirabeau/Grand Hotel section, Kai danced on the blade again. He shaved the barriers, using every millimeter of track width to maximize his speed despite the cold tires.
It was heart-stopping.
The gasps died in throats, replaced by a stunned silence. The VIPs on the yachts stood frozen like statues.
One centimeter. 0.1 seconds.
Invisible margins that translated into tangible exit speed. He shot into the tunnel like a bullet.
Entering the tunnel, they were nose-to-tail.
Exiting the tunnel, Kai had pulled a car length. He navigated the Nouvelle Chicane smoothly. The number 22 Ferrari was gone.
Details matter. Sand builds towers. Small gains become unassailable leads.
Frédéric Arnault stood on his tiptoes, eyes burning with intensity as he watched the corner—
The red Ferrari flirted with disaster through the Swimming Pool, and Arnault threw his hands up in triumph. By the time the blue Red Bull appeared, the gap had opened to a safe margin.
Before Sector 3, Kai had earned his breathing room.
"Yesss!"
Arnault couldn't believe it. His heart found its rhythm again and exploded with joy. He jumped in place, unable to contain himself.
The Golden Terrace erupted.
Jan Plas forgot his sandwich. He watched the leading Ferrari with tears in his eyes, cheering wildly.
Miracle!
This was a miracle. Challenging the self at the limit, finding space beyond the peak. A textbook Overcut executed through pure, raw driving skill!
Unlike Melbourne, there was no Safety Car. Just twelve laps of qualifying-pace driving on dead tires. It was the most incredible strategic coup of the 2018 season.
Maria Plas was stunned. She didn't understand racing. She didn't know what an Overcut was.
But she felt the heat. The belief. The courage to challenge the impossible. It burned brightly.
She didn't know why, but she was crying. Through blurred vision, she saw her children jumping for joy. She smiled, joining them, letting the passion flow.
"Lap 32. Kai completes the stop and holds the lead! He leads the Monaco Grand Prix!"
"I can't believe he actually pulled it off! Squeezing life from dead Ultrasofts for twelve laps to execute the most impossible Overcut in recent memory!"
"Is this the race of the season?"
Pandemonium!
Monaco was boiling over. The heat was real.
Twelve laps. No Safety Car. In a race historically defined by crashes, Kai had forced a result through pure pace.
"Ahhh! AHHHH!"
The Ferrari garage exploded. Hugs, high-fives, screams.
Francesco Napi, the rear-right gunner, felt his knees give way. He almost collapsed. He had nearly cost them everything with that hesitation.
He knelt, eyes wet. His teammates patted his back, reassuring him. He was just grateful—grateful Kai had saved them all.
The world spun. The pressure that had been building for weeks released in a torrent of euphoria. Kai had performed a Senna-esque miracle in the Principality.
But inside the cockpit, Kai remained icy.
Ricciardo had faced the issue of tire warm-up earlier; now it was Kai's turn.
For the next few laps, Ricciardo would have the tire advantage. He would attack. It wasn't time to celebrate.
Adrenaline was fading, which was dangerous. Complacency kills.
The race wasn't even half over.
Kai forced himself to focus. He watched the gap hover around one second.
Shit! Traffic!
Traffic in Monaco is a nightmare. Overtaking is impossible, so getting stuck behind a backmarker ruins your rhythm.
Ahead was a slow car... Lance Stroll in the Williams.
Kai had no beef with Stroll, despite the Matteo history. But he knew Stroll didn't care.
If he waited for blue flags, his race was compromised.
Kai glanced back. Ricciardo wasn't too close—dirty air and the risk of collision kept him at bay. But Ricciardo saw Stroll too. He was re-calculating.
This was a critical moment.
Hamilton, Vettel, and Ricciardo had all pitted early. If their undercuts failed, they faced a 60-lap stint on Supersofts. Tire degradation in the final stint would be brutal.
Kai, having extended his first stint, had significantly fresher rubber. If he could clear Stroll quickly, his advantage would only grow as the race went on.
Stroll was the opportunity.
Use him as a pick. Block Ricciardo.
Two birds, one stone.
He had to be decisive.
Kai aimed for the Williams. Through the tunnel, he read Stroll's line.
Approaching the Nouvelle Chicane. The conventional line is wide entry, hit the apex. But the Williams lacked grip, forcing Stroll to take a wider, squarer line to stabilize the rear.
Opportunity!
In a fleeting moment, Kai darted to the inside.
Stroll braked early. The Williams was sluggish. Kai braked late, diving into the wedge of space between Stroll and the barrier.
Stroll: ...Dude, seriously?
In a flash, Kai was through. He occupied the apex, steering sharply to rotate the car, turning the "chicane" line into a sharp triangle.
Sharp. Direct. Clean.
He cut across the nose of the Williams, leaving Stroll in the dust!
On exit, he applied the throttle gently, extending the lead instantly.
It was surgical.
Rosanna Stapleton stared at the crowd behind her. Silence.
Just like that?
He passed Stroll like he was standing still.
Wait, isn't Monaco supposed to be hard to pass?
Stroll, recovering, took the corner slowly, inadvertently blocking Ricciardo perfectly.
Ricciardo, breathless from chasing, stared in disbelief. He let out a despairing wail. "Noooooo... you can't leave me like this!"
Wait, phrasing.
But the Ferrari was gone. All he saw was Williams blue.
"Beautiful!"
Croft slammed the desk.
"Clinical! Decisive! Kai didn't hesitate. He saw the gap and took it."
"He stays alert even in the lead."
"This isn't the first time. The pace after Ricciardo pitted, the exit line, the traffic management—three times he has shown incredible sharpness."
"Observation, judgment, execution. Flawless!"
"Red Bull didn't make a mistake; they took a calculated risk. But Kai turned that risk into his opportunity."
"Unbelievable!"
"After Baku, everyone questioned his street circuit ability. Monaco is the ultimate test. And he has answered with a perfect race."
"God, this is relentless!"
Once is a coincidence. Twice is luck. Three times?
Kai was controlling the race with the poise of a veteran. The Overcut was magic; the traffic management was mastery.
Croft recalled 1984. Senna in the Toleman. His first podium, chasing Prost in the rain.
The rest was history.
"Unless there's a disaster, this is the result. Martin?"
Brundle was calm but eyes burning.
"People might say Kai has returned to form in Monaco. I say he never left."
"He is in total control. His tires are fresher. He has cleared the traffic. This race is tilting entirely in his favor."
"We are witnessing history. A new King of the Streets is born!"
The crowd roared.
Stroll's Williams became a moving roadblock for Ricciardo. Blue flags waved, but Stroll was last and didn't care.
"Why isn't he moving? I'm sick of blue flags," Stroll complained.
Ricciardo: ...
Then, news broke. "Ricciardo has an engine issue. He can't keep up."
MGU-K failure. He was down on power.
That explained the lack of straight-line speed in Sector 1.
Ricciardo managed to clear Stroll eventually, but the gap to Kai was already two seconds. He couldn't close it.
In fact, Ricciardo went into survival mode. "Don't pass me. Don't pass me."
He was holding up the pack. Vettel closed to within a second but couldn't pass.
Lap 72. Charles Leclerc, running P12 at home, suffered a brake failure into the Chicane, slamming into Hartley.
"No!!!"
The crowd gasped.
Miraculously, Leclerc slid into the escape road. No Safety Car.
For the first time in eleven years, the Monaco Grand Prix went green from start to finish.
Just as Croft predicted, when Kai cleared Stroll, the suspense died. He controlled the gap effortlessly.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are witnessing history!"
"The winner of the 2018 Monaco Grand Prix is Kai!"
Dust settled.
Kai. Ricciardo. Vettel.
Ferrari double podium.
Kai had delivered an epic. He silenced the "Baby Driver" critics with a dominant, 20-second victory.
Hamilton 4th, Bottas 5th.
Verstappen finished 9th from 20th, a brilliant recovery drive that signaled his own turning point.
But the spotlight belonged to one man.
Kai was voted Driver of the Day for the first time in his career.
Thump-thump!
Rosanna Stapleton felt a euphoria words couldn't describe. She knew he would fight back, but she underestimated the magnitude of his response.
Those twelve laps on dead tires would become legend.
She looked at the dejected Mercedes fans. Hamilton and Bottas had been invisible today.
Should she rub it in?
Nah, we are kind fans.
She just shouted:
"BABY!"
The Mercedes fans looked at her in horror.
Remember when you said he was a soft egg?
Rosanna laughed, shouting with all her might.
On the other side, Jan Plas was shaking. The engine noise had rewired his brain.
He didn't believe in dreams. Dreams were for rich people. But today, something broke through the concrete of his cynicism.
Maria was packing up, but saw her kids jumping. The couple looked at each other and smiled.
"BABY!"
Greenwood was shouting too. "P1, Kai. P1!"
"Hahaha! Didn't mess it up this time!" Kai laughed over the radio.
Redemption for Shanghai.
Kai drove into the pits, expecting the team. But it was empty. Ricciardo and Vettel weren't there.
He stopped. Asked the Netflix crew.
"Where is everyone?"
Netflix crew: ...
"In Monaco, you park on the main straight. The Prince presents the trophy there."
Kai: ?
First time in Monaco problems.
He ran back to the grid. The Prince, Ricciardo, and Vettel were waiting. The team formed a guard of honor.
"Sorry," Kai grinned. "I guess I didn't expect to win, so I skipped the rehearsal. Is it too late to pretend I knew what I was doing?"
Prince Albert II laughed. "Don't worry. You controlled everything else perfectly today."
Kai spread his hands. "I tried."
Cameras flashed. Kai looked into the lens, eyes shining.
"Sorry to disappoint you."