The air was burning. Pressure cascaded down layer upon layer, suffocating and relentless. Taking huge, desperate breaths yielded nothing but scorching heatwaves clogging the throat.
The Mercedes-Benz pit wall had never been this tense. Expressions were grim, as if facing down a mortal enemy.
Finally, Wolff issued the command. The defending Constructors' Champions sprang into action from top to bottom. They had initially assumed they wouldn't face this level of intense pressure until at least Monaco. They had never, in their wildest nightmares, imagined they would be thrust into a state of absolute, total alert right out of the gate at the season opener, with zero room to breathe—
Push! Both Mercedes-Benz drivers absolutely had to start pushing!
Bottas: "What? Why?"
Hamilton: ...
Bottas: "How many laps are left? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? And you want me to start pushing now? Are you sure?"
Hamilton: ...
Two entirely different reactions over the radio, yet both clearly conveyed the heavy, oppressive tension saturating the air. This was absolutely not the picture they had painted for the first race in their season blueprint.
The next second, a massive roar erupted from the main grandstand again. It crashed down like a torrential downpour, instantly swallowing the world in a deafening rumble.
Vowles glanced at the telemetry screens. Sure enough, exactly as expected—
Kai was continuing to set purple sectors.
Despite navigating through backmarker traffic, Kai was still churning out fastest laps. He improved upon his previous best by a microscopic 0.011 seconds. The magnitude of the improvement wasn't the point. The point was the sheer, terrifying momentum of setting four consecutive fastest laps. That momentum was compounding, snowballing into a force capable of shaking Mercedes-Benz to its core.
Wolff was right. Mercedes-Benz could not afford to sit like sitting ducks any longer.
Bottas's concerns were objectively valid. Mercedes-Benz was still strictly adhering to a one-stop strategy, meaning tire conservation was paramount. But right now, playing it conservative was a luxury they didn't have. They had to respond.
The crushing, avalanche-like pressure weighed heavily on Mercedes-Benz's chest. Transitioning from supreme confidence to widespread panic, the situation was deteriorating rapidly.
Vowles maintained his icy composure, his brain operating at maximum capacity. "Valtteri, it's James. Please target a lap time of around 1:27.5 and switch to push mode."
Pushing was non-negotiable; however, simultaneously, they absolutely had to protect the tires.
Looking at it from a purely mathematical perspective, Kai needed to build a pit window of roughly twenty to twenty-three seconds. Considering there were only twenty-five laps left in the race, it was highly improbable that Kai's current set of Medium tires could sustain this flat-out, maximum-attack pace for another twenty-five laps—especially given that he had already run twenty laps on them.
Right now, with Kai completely unchained and pushing to the absolute limit, his single-lap pace was operating in an entirely different dimension. He was consistently running in the low 1:26s, while Bottas and the rest of the field were lapping in the 1:28s. On average, Kai was pulling out a massive two-second advantage per lap.
The math couldn't be simpler—
If they gave Kai ten laps operating at this pace, he would successfully tear open a pit window.
Therefore, what Mercedes-Benz needed to do right now was subtly elevate their own rhythm every single lap. They didn't need to go into full, maximum-attack mode; they simply needed to shave down Kai's per-lap advantage. The goal was to force Kai to spend thirteen or fifteen laps to build that pit window, aggressively shoving the pressure back onto his shoulders.
The longer they dragged it out, the more catastrophic the condition of Kai's Medium tires would become.
By executing this specific strategy, Mercedes-Benz could slowly, methodically reclaim the initiative within a highly disadvantageous situation.
However, the silence over the radio was finally broken by Hamilton's voice. "And what happens if a Safety Car comes out? Just like the season opener last year."
Bono: ...
The heavy silence descended squarely onto Bono's shoulders. "Lewis, let's aim for a target lap time around the 1:27 mark."
Bono received no response over the radio.
Just as Bono was about to give up, assuming Hamilton was simply ignoring him... After all, this season opener was undeniably, suffocatingly frustrating. Everything had violently derailed. Forget about Kai; they couldn't even control Bottas within their own team structure anymore.
And then, Hamilton's voice finally crackled through. "Understood."
When the first domino falls, no one truly anticipates the subsequent chain reaction. By the time they realize what's happening, it's already too late.
On Lap 34, sharp-eyed motorsport analysts noticed a subtle shift in the behavior of the two Mercedes-Benz cars.
Sure enough, the live broadcast immediately flashed a side-by-side comparison graphic. Even though they weren't throwing down purple sectors, both Bottas and Hamilton were steadily, visibly elevating their single-lap pace.
Up in the main grandstand, Hamilton's fanatical supporters—who had been enduring a sullen, depressing race for the better part of the afternoon—finally found their voices again. They furiously waved their Hamilton flags, cheering and screaming in a boiling frenzy. They still believed in Hamilton. They still clung to the hope of a championship victory. Until the checkered flag was waved, the race wasn't over.
This exact scene was witnessed by Bottas—
No one could confirm if Bottas actually saw the crowd, but the undeniable reality staring everyone in the face was this: Bottas's single-lap pace was accelerating rapidly.
27.5 seconds, 27.0 seconds, 26.5 seconds.
Step by step, Bottas shifted into maximum attack mode. He wasn't just managing his pace; he was pushing flat out. His manic, aggressive posture was entirely on par with Kai's.
"Valtteri, it's James. Please manage the pace," Vowles requested, maintaining his calm demeanor.
Bottas: ... Heh. Yeah, right. Are you absolutely certain you didn't just give Hamilton the green light to push? "I am currently preventing Kai from building a pit window. I am attempting to match his pace."
Silence blanketed the other end of the radio. Ultimately, Vowles did not issue another response.
And then, an utterly bizarre, logic-defying spectacle unfolded at Albert Park—
Kai. Bottas. Kai!
The two drivers engaged in a vicious, long-distance proxy war, continuously trading fastest laps back and forth. There was no wheel-to-wheel combat, yet the air was thick with flying sparks and burning passion.
Kai noticed it immediately. "Wow, I've never seen Valtteri this fired up before. So, what happened? Did Mercedes-Benz order Hamilton to start pushing, and Valtteri felt threatened?"
Compared to Kai, the only person capable of genuinely provoking Bottas right now was his own teammate.
Borreipaire replied, "Yes."
"Ha." Kai hadn't expected his casual, offhand guess to hit the bullseye so perfectly.
If that was the case, they were currently facing a massive headache. Tearing open that pit window was likely no longer feasible. He hadn't anticipated that Mercedes-Benz's internal civil war would act as the unpredictable, chaotic variable that shattered their pre-race strategic layout.
Therefore, they currently had two options.
Option One: Abandon the second pit stop. Take a massive gamble and try to take this set of tires all the way to the end.
Option Two: Proceed with the second pit stop as planned, switch to the Red Soft tires, and launch a desperate, all-out assault in the closing stages.
His mind raced through the scenarios in a fraction of a second. "Pierre, what are the exact lap times for the two Mercedes cars right now?"
Borreipaire relayed the data immediately.
The answer was glaringly obvious—
Bottas's tires were eleven laps newer than Kai's. Mercedes-Benz inherently possessed vastly superior tire management capabilities compared to Ferrari. At this exact moment, Bottas's pace had completely caught up to his.
In other words, if Kai stayed out on the track, he stood absolutely zero chance. Not only would he be unable to defend against Bottas, but he would also likely be defenseless against the surging Hamilton, and even Verstappen, whose tires were newer than Bottas's.
After all, Albert Park was not Monaco. You couldn't just park the bus and defend endlessly.
Therefore, rather than suffering a slow, agonizing death on the asphalt, it was far better to double down on the gamble and ride it to the bitter end.
"Pierre, I'm switching to maximum push mode right now. Be ready for a pit stop at any moment. Softs." Clean, decisive, and entirely without hesitation, Kai made his call.
The Ferrari pit box instantly burst into frantic activity. Meanwhile, out on the track, Kai shifted into pure extraction mode—
He wasn't just trying to wring the absolute final drops of performance out of his dying tires; he was actively trying to shatter Bottas's rhythm. Bottas's current pace was definitely not the curve Mercedes-Benz had projected. Bottas pushing this aggressively now would inevitably lead to accelerated tire degradation later, potentially creating a microscopic window for a counter-attack in the closing stages of the race.
Right now, Bottas was an enraged bull. Kai was preparing to further provoke him:
Run, Valtteri, run!
"God! Fastest lap! Purple again! Kai! 1:26.022!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Borreipaire's heart hammered steadily and powerfully against his chest. Despite wearing noise-canceling headphones, a continuous, deafening roar filled his ears. He could almost physically feel the rhythmic pulsing of the track, mimicking the heartbeat of the race car.
Rolling heatwaves crashed down brutally. The shimmering, hazy golden sunlight reflected fiercely off the asphalt, completely enveloping the paddock. Vision blurred and warped within the surging thermal currents, completely losing focus.
Sweat poured down like rain!
But simultaneously, his blood was boiling! His mouth was completely dry!
It was merely the season opener, yet Borreipaire hadn't anticipated they would immediately be plunged into a race this unimaginably tense and thrilling. His fighting spirit was thoroughly ignited.
That lap—1:26.022. That was highly likely the absolute, physical ceiling for race pace today. Kai was dancing on the absolute bleeding edge of the knife, ruthlessly wringing every ounce of performance out of both the car and the track. Even sitting safely behind the pit wall, Borreipaire felt entirely immersed in the raw speed and passion radiating from the asphalt. His blood was on fire.
"Brilliant, Kai! Brilliant!"
"What's the status of the tires right now?"
Over the radio, Borreipaire could clearly hear Kai's heavy, ragged breathing. It was rough, thick, and damp. The brutal, sweltering heat of the Melbourne summer was delivering a severe, physical punishment. Although he was constantly monitoring Kai's telemetry, the traumatic nightmare of Singapore still hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
One second—two seconds—
"Disastrous," Kai wheezed.
Borreipaire froze.
"Haha. The second I pull into the pit lane, the secret is going to be broadcast to the entire world. We can't hide it anymore. Everyone is going to know that the SF90's long-run tire management is an absolute, unmitigated joke."
"But, I managed to lay down some smokescreens. The degradation is significantly worse than we projected. I'm just hoping they underestimate us and make a miscalculation."
Relaxed. Calm. He even had the mental bandwidth to crack a joke.
This was a very good sign.
The tightly wound tension in Borreipaire's chest loosened slightly. "Prepare to box."
The situation had deviated significantly from their intended trajectory. According to the original master plan, Kai was supposed to push until roughly Lap 40 or 41. He was meant to rely entirely on his aggressive pace to pin down the two Mercedes cars, laying the foundational groundwork for the third variable of their strategy. Finally, he would pit for Red Soft tires and launch a desperate, all-out assault to the finish.
However, the SF90's long-run tire management was literally a punchline.
Just moments ago, Kai had noticed the tire degradation becoming glaringly obvious. Following the first variable testing phase, and now personally experiencing it to confirm the severity of the situation, Kai didn't hesitate. Trusting his instincts, he didn't drag his feet or waver in indecision. Instead, he immediately shifted into maximum push mode.
He laid down a lap time that scraped the absolute ceiling of possible race pace.
And just as expected!
The tire degradation curve suffered a catastrophic, vertical cliff-drop.
Normally, a tire degradation curve should display a steady, progressive downward slope, allowing the driver to execute a rational, calculated pace management strategy. But now, the SF90 was experiencing a sheer, vertical cliff-drop. An abrupt, total collapse. The scorching heat of Albert Park had aggressively exposed the car's fatal flaw. For race management and rhythm control, this was an absolute, unmitigated catastrophe. The mountain looming before the Ferrari team was infinitely more severe than anyone had imagined.
Right now, the race was still actively unfolding. Kai was preparing for a final, desperate gamble. He would swap to the Red Soft tires, officially initiating the third variable, and launch a furious pursuit. He needed to see exactly how hard these tires could be pushed, while simultaneously gathering more critical data on the SF90's handling characteristics to inform future upgrades.
And then—
On Lap 39, with the eyes of the entire world watching, Kai dove into the pits.
Even though everyone had already deduced that Kai was executing a seemingly insane, suicidal two-stop strategy, actually seeing the Number 22 Ferrari pull into the pit lane still elicited massive gasps of shock and bewilderment. Every single pair of eyes in the paddock snapped toward the Ferrari garage.
GASP!
The shocked murmurs rippled through the shimmering heat haze. Then, attention rapidly snapped back to the track and the timing monitors.
The gasps continued to ripple. Out on the track, Bottas was flying!
To be precise, he was sprinting flat-out, pushing to the absolute limit!
The Number 77 Mercedes-Benz was displaying unparalleled resolve and determination.
He had always been ignored. Always underestimated. Even openly belittled and disregarded. Treated as a disposable, obedient tool to be summoned and dismissed at will. Despite wearing the halo of a Constructors' World Champion, he possessed absolutely zero presence. In the eyes of other teams and fans, he was a pathetic, almost comical clown; a transparent entity.
But right now, he was proving himself. New season, new attitude, right?
Following his opening-lap overtake on Hamilton, now faced with Kai's menacing, aggressive challenge, Bottas displayed a rare, fiery, aggressive edge.
With the entire world watching—
1:25.580!
Fastest lap, shattered once again!
The entire venue exploded in awe!
Everyone had assumed Kai had already touched the absolute ceiling of race pace. But Bottas was using cold, hard reality to prove the utter absurdity of that assumption.
Not only did he shatter the fastest lap, but he obliterated it by nearly half a second. The massive, insurmountable chasm separating the W10 from every other car on the grid was laid completely, nakedly bare for the entire paddock to witness.
Untouchable!
The Number 77 car roared past the main grandstand, rocketing away into the distance. Following Kai's pit stop, Bottas comfortably reclaimed the undisputed race lead. By utterly obliterating the fastest lap time, he aggressively announced his tyrannical dominance. He was absolutely, fiercely determined to secure the Australian Grand Prix victory.
His competitors had absolutely zero chance!
Five seconds—Ten seconds—Fifteen seconds—
The entire venue held its breath. Even though Bottas was riding off into the sunset, nobody forgot that Hamilton was right behind him, in relentless, flat-out pursuit.
So, how exactly was this high-speed proxy war going to end?
And then!
Exactly 16.3 seconds after Bottas crossed the pit exit line, Kai finally emerged from the pit lane, rejoining the track like a streak of pure light diving into the Jones Chicane.
And then!
Exactly 7.6 seconds after Kai entered Turn 1, Hamilton finally blasted down the main straight at maximum velocity, roaring past the main grandstand.
Lap 40. Bottas, Kai, and Hamilton continued to lead the pack, with Verstappen and Leclerc following closely behind. What did this signify?
With eighteen laps remaining in the race, what was going to happen next? Was it just garbage time?
No! Absolutely not!
Kai had chosen a two-stop strategy, fitting brand new Red Soft tires in the closing stages of the race. He clearly had no intention of quietly accepting his position. One look was all it took to know: his crosshairs were locked firmly onto Bottas's Medium tires.
Even though Bottas's Medium tires were still firmly within their operating window—currently performing at their absolute peak—under identical conditions, the raw grip of the Soft tire simply vastly superior to the Medium tire.
Furthermore, do not forget: Bottas's Medium tires had already run for seventeen laps. Kai was on a brand new set of rubber. The glaring difference was staring everyone right in the face.
"—Wait. So Kai actually planned all of this!"
"The two-stop was always the strategy. Right before his second pit stop, Kai pushed to the absolute limit, continuously setting fastest laps. On the surface, it looked like he was desperately trying to build a pit window. But in reality, it was a deliberate provocation aimed squarely at Bottas. The moment Bottas started aggressively pushing his own pace, burning through his tire life to respond, he had already stepped directly into Kai's trap."
"The true window for Kai to attack Bottas wasn't during the second variable phase. It was always meant for the third phase!"
It wasn't just Brundle. Croft had finally connected all the dots. The truth, hidden behind layer upon layer of thick, confusing fog, finally revealed its full, terrifying face.
Shock!
Even after surviving the brutal tests of the 2018 season, and personally witnessing the miracles authored by Kai, the surprises simply never ceased. He continued to orchestrate spectacular drama.
If Bottas fell into the trap because the intense internal team rivalry clouded his judgment, causing him to act impulsively under provocation... then what about Hamilton?
Hamilton had also been pushing aggressively. Did this mean that even while holding the absolute initiative and controlling the entire board, Mercedes-Benz had still blindly walked right into Kai's snare?
Croft stared at Brundle. A thousand words spun wildly in his throat, but ultimately, they all condensed into a single utterance that burst from his mouth with overwhelming passion.
"...WOW!"
Audacious, yet terrifyingly calm. Brilliant, yet utterly insane. Willing to take massive risks, while simultaneously possessing flawless, overarching strategic vision—
Such deeply contradictory traits were seamlessly, perfectly blended within a single individual.
Time and time again, Kai was demonstrating his transcendent talent to the entire world, elevating the art of strategic warfare on the asphalt to an entirely new dimension.
It was intoxicating. Addictive. How could anyone possibly refuse a driver like this?
All the layouts, all the traps, all the intricate maneuvering... it had all finally reached the endgame. Every hidden strategy and calculation was now laid bare on the table.
What came next was the brutal, bayonet-fighting, winner-takes-all climax!
The Mercedes-Benz pit wall was stretched to the absolute breaking point. A deathly silence reigned. One by one, mechanics sneaked terrified glances at Wolff's expression, immediately ripping their eyes away, terrified of being noticed and becoming the sacrificial scapegoat for Wolff's impending rage. They hunched their shoulders, desperately trying to shrink their physical presence into nothingness.
Absolutely no one enjoyed what was happening right now. They still hadn't had enough time to process it: how on earth had a race where they held a massive, crushing advantage devolved into this humiliating mess?
The crisis staring them in the face felt like a cruel joke, actively mocking Mercedes-Benz's pathetic, disorganized incompetence. They had been dealt an absolute royal flush, and somehow managed to play it into a complete disaster.
Historically, Ferrari was the team that always found themselves in this exact position, "bafflingly" destroying their own races and becoming the laughingstock of the paddock. Yet, in the very first race of the new season, Mercedes-Benz was the one experiencing the bitter, humiliating taste of that exact scenario.
Frustration. Just pure, unadulterated... frustration.
Having recognized the crisis, Vowles immediately reacted, ordering Bottas to manage his pace and protect his tires.
Obviously, Bottas—who was currently seeing red—had been bitten by a snake once and was terrified of a rope for ten years. He was deeply anxious, terrified that the Mercedes-Benz pit wall was about to order him to surrender his position, threatening his seat, plunging him back into agonizing internal conflict.
Instantly, Bottas refused to slow down.
Vowles remained incredibly calm, methodically and patiently explaining the current track situation to Bottas. Bottas's true threat was Kai, not Hamilton. In order to protect their "aging" Medium tires, they absolutely had to manage their pace.
Only then did Bottas finally believe Vowles. His pace slowly, step by step, began to drop.
The moment Bottas began managing his pace, the Mercedes-Benz pit wall knew Kai would launch his attack imminently. To be precise, the alarm bells had started screaming the second Kai made his second pit stop. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable scene to unfold, and they didn't have to wait long—
After completing his out-lap to bring the tires up to temperature, Kai simultaneously began to aggressively ramp up his pace. Without wasting a single second, he systematically initiated his pursuit protocol.
Wolff genuinely believed he had fully mentally prepared himself for Kai's incoming assault. The W10 possessed a massive, glaring performance advantage; he really shouldn't have anything to worry about.
However, watching Kai relentlessly close the gap at an average rate of nearly a full second per lap... deep down, his lack of faith in Bottas suddenly gripped his heart, twisting it violently.
0.8 seconds. 1.3 seconds. 1.1 seconds. 0.7 seconds—
Lap after lap, Kai sprinted flat-out. The gap to the race leader was shrinking at a terrifying velocity. The sixteen-second advantage they had previously viewed as an insurmountable chasm had vanished in the blink of an eye, reduced to a mere eleven seconds. Even though Wolff's eyes were glued to the timing screens, seeing the gap shrink to eight seconds sent a violent shock of panic through his system. Goosebumps erupted across his back, shivering chills cascaded down his spine, and his knees genuinely felt weak.
Wolff was desperately trying to force himself to remain calm. In a Formula 1 race, as long as the trailing car hasn't breached the DRS window, there was technically nothing to worry about. Even if they did enter the DRS zone, the race wasn't automatically over; the actual on-track offensive and defensive duel still had to play out. There was absolutely no need for them to panic and descend into chaos.
But, watching a sixteen-second lead slowly, methodically evaporate into thin air... that crushing, suffocating sense of urgency pierced directly into his spine and the back of his neck. His heart hammered wildly out of control. The continuous, massive spikes of adrenaline had completely drenched the back of his shirt in sweat.
Involuntarily, Wolff's eyes darted to the lap counter. The numbers ticked upwards, slowly approaching "58." The end of the race was drawing agonizingly near. He couldn't stop himself from sweating bullets for Bottas—
Valtteri, just hold on a little longer. Just a little bit longer.
The suffocating pressure and sheer, terrifying deterrence emanating from that young man, Kai, crashed down on him like an avalanche. Even Wolff's armpits were completely soaked in sweat.
Wolff had never found a race this excruciatingly difficult to endure. He absolutely hadn't mentally prepared himself to place the entire hopes of the team squarely onto Bottas's shoulders right out of the gate at the season opener. But all this humiliation, all this pathetic desperation—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was praying Bottas could hold the line until the checkered flag.
Waiting—and waiting—
A glimmer of hope finally appeared!
Lap 51. Exactly eleven laps after Kai had initiated the third variable of his strategy. His pace began to drop!
For eleven agonizing laps of flat-out, maximum-attack pursuit, Kai had sprinted like a madman. Impossibly, he had dragged himself right up to Bottas's gearbox, hovering roughly three seconds behind, staring him down like a predator. Relying entirely on his own individual brilliance, he had violently reignited the passion of what had otherwise been a fairly lackluster Grand Prix. The eyes of the entire world converged on the battle, watching as the fight for the championship reignited.
However, Kai failed to close the gap any further.
"The tires!"
Wolff went on high alert instantly. He wasn't an engineer. He didn't understand the raw telemetry data. But he absolutely understood strategy.
The aggressive two-stop strategy and the explosive, flat-out sprint had exposed Ferrari's fatal flaw. Their long-run tire degradation had to be catastrophically severe, otherwise Kai never would have attempted such an insane, suicidal strategy in the first place.
During the first variable phase, Kai's Soft tires only lasted twelve laps. Added to his six Qualifying laps, that was a total of eighteen laps. They simply couldn't endure any longer.
During the third variable phase, Kai had pushed his fresh set of Soft tires absolutely flat-out. He was essentially burning his car's life force to chase down Bottas. The result? In the continually escalating, brutal heat of Melbourne, those tires only lasted eleven laps.
The answer was staring them right in the face—
Opportunity!
Wolff's eyes sharpened into daggers. The suffocating frustration and heavy, depressive gloom that had suppressed him for the entire race instantly evaporated. He immediately straightened his spine, sat up straight, and keyed his radio.
"Lewis, push. Push! Maximum push! Give me 120%!"
Due to the suppressed tension, and even more so due to the desperate urgency, Wolff completely failed to realize that his voice was trembling slightly, utterly beyond his control. So what if the entire world saw them looking pathetic and desperate? As long as they could reverse the situation and secure a 1-2 finish, nothing else mattered. Mercedes-Benz would still walk away from the season opener with a massive, dominant victory.
At this exact moment, Wolff was completely unaware that his objectives had repeatedly, continually been downgraded. From Hamilton securing a 'Total Slam' to terrify the paddock and re-establish their dynasty... to simply not caring who won the race, as long as they could miraculously salvage the situation in the dying moments.
He had to focus on the big picture. Securing a 1-2 finish and dominating the Constructors' Championship standings... that was the only thing that truly mattered, right?
Wolff stared unblinkingly at the live broadcast monitors. His obsession and desperation burned brighter and fiercer than ever before.
At Albert Park, the positions of the Tifosi and the Mercedes-Benz fans had completely swapped. Just moments ago, the Tifosi had been screaming themselves hoarse, blood boiling as they cheered Kai's charge, while the Mercedes-Benz fans stood with their hands clasped in silent, desperate prayer. But now, the Mercedes-Benz fans were screaming until their throats bled, unleashing a massive, roaring tidal wave of sound, desperately trying to suppress the Tifosi.
If the Mercedes-Benz fans hoped to strike fear into the hearts of the Tifosi, they were destined for profound disappointment.
Li Lingyu looked at the rabid Mercedes-Benz fans. They were baring their fangs and acting fierce, but she could see right through them. They were nothing but paper tigers. They were completely blind to the fact that they had already been terrified into a pathetic, panic-stricken mess by Kai's overwhelming performance. Seeing their desperation only served to completely ignite the fighting spirit in Li Lingyu's blood.
Fight!
Now, she finally understood exactly what Kai meant when he spoke those words in Singapore. The only conviction: fight to the bitter end. Leave absolutely no regrets.
Fight. Fight until the very last drop of blood is spilled. Even if there was only a 0.001% chance of success, they would burn every last ounce of their energy without a single complaint or regret. For victory, yes, but even more so to challenge themselves and discover their absolute limits.
They were fighting side-by-side!
...
—1:26.222.
—1:26.131.
—1:26.057.
Hamilton was pushing. Even though his single-lap pace hadn't managed to shatter the unbelievable record Bottas had set earlier, there was no doubt he was pushing flat-out.
The staggering performance advantage of the W10 was on full, undeniable display. Hamilton was still running on the Medium tires he had bolted on back on Lap 13. To date, those tires had completed forty grueling laps. While Kai had been forced to dive into the pits for a fresh set of Softs, Hamilton was still out on the track. Not only was he still out there, he was still actively dropping purple sectors.
Perhaps Hamilton couldn't break into the 1:25 bracket, but his consecutive lap times were hovering right around the absolute ceiling Kai had established during his frantic, desperate sprint at the end of his second stint. Speed, rhythm, and terrifying endurance—it was all on full display. In a flash, it violently resurrected the memories of Hamilton's absolute, terrifying dominance from Friday and Saturday.
Dominant and unbreakable.
Hamilton was closing in on Kai at an unbelievable, terrifying speed. Even though Kai had previously been sprinting flat-out to catch Bottas, Hamilton's single-lap rhythm hadn't actually fallen too far behind. Therefore, while the gap between the two had widened slightly, it had never mutated into an insurmountable chasm. And now, Hamilton was burning everything he had to frantically hunt Kai down.
The exact same scene of Kai hunting Bottas was now replaying itself, only this time the roles were reversed: Hamilton hunting Kai.
Six laps!
In a mere six short laps, on Lap 57 of the race—the penultimate lap—Hamilton had incredibly closed the gap. He was now sitting a mere 1.933 seconds behind Kai—
The battle was on a razor's edge!
How much life was left in Kai's tires? Did Hamilton's tires possess enough grip to launch a genuine attack? Were they actually going to witness a brutal, wheel-to-wheel dogfight on the very last lap of the race?!
The noise was deafening, the passion explosive. All of Albert Park was boiling over.
The Mercedes-Benz garage was a surging mob. Every single person had leaped to their feet. Faces flushed, veins popping in their necks, they screamed and cheered for Hamilton. The rolling heatwave of emotion exploding inside the garage rivaled the energy in Melbourne itself. In a single second, they were transported back to Yas Marina last season, the emotional turbulence flowing seamlessly into the present.
However, Kai said: Maybe next time.
On Lap 57, Kai's single-lap pace suddenly accelerated again. Not by a massive margin—just enough to slightly suppress Hamilton's charge and stabilize the gap between the two cars.
That single, microscopic action instantly revealed the true reason why Kai had abandoned his pursuit of Bottas on Lap 51. He had realized the tires were failing. Continuing the pursuit of Bottas was mathematically impossible. Worse yet, the tire degradation curve was at severe risk of a catastrophic cliff-drop. If that happened, forget about Hamilton; he might even be overtaken by Verstappen and Leclerc further back.
The absolute worst-case scenario was a total tire failure. The slightest mistake could result in a spin, a crash into the wall, and a devastating DNF mere moments before the finish line.
And so, the answer was revealed—
Feigning weakness. Lulling the enemy into a false sense of security. Making them believe an opportunity existed, baiting them into launching a massive, desperate offensive. And then, casually, effortlessly executing a brutal counter-thrust, reclaiming the advantage, and firmly re-establishing absolute control.
The air froze solid.
1.933 seconds—2.016 seconds—The gap opened up once again.
The boiling, fanatical blood of the Mercedes-Benz garage instantly froze in their veins. It hung suspended in mid-air. The sun-drenched Albert Park circuit felt like it had been violently dragged down into the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Despite sweating profusely, they felt as though they had been plunged into an ice bath, a bone-chilling cold piercing their very souls.
Having no hope is agonizing. But what is infinitely more painful than "having no hope" is having hope ignited, only to have someone turn around and violently snuff it out.
Lap 58.
The Number 77 Mercedes-Benz crossed the finish line first.
Exactly 8.577 seconds later, the Number 22 Ferrari crossed the finish line second.
Exactly 1.789 seconds after that, the Number 44 Mercedes-Benz crossed the finish line third.
"AH! AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Bottas couldn't control himself any longer. He clenched his fists and screamed in pure, unadulterated joy—
Champion! He was the champion!
Following last season's Canadian Grand Prix, a victory after a brutal, agonizing drought of exactly nine months! Throughout the entirety of last season, Bottas had only won a single race. But things were different now. A new season, a brand new beginning.
However, his radio remained dead silent. Absolutely no response.
Total silence.
It stood in stark, jarring contrast to the chaotic, deafening roar erupting inside the broadcast booth. And it wasn't just Sky Sports. Every single television network broadcasting the Australian Grand Prix across the globe was reacting exactly the same way.
"Wow. We didn't predict the beginning, we didn't predict the middle, and we certainly didn't predict the end. The 2019 season opener has absolutely delivered a massive, monumental surprise."
"A colossal surprise!"
"Mercedes-Benz displayed terrifying, absolute dominance from start to finish. In 2019, they remain the undisputed, most powerful team on the grid. They are the absolute benchmark for every single competitor. Based on all available evidence, Mercedes-Benz's advantage is even more pronounced than last season. They have further widened the gap."
"HOWEVER!"
"Within this exact landscape, Kai has once again exploded onto the scene. Exactly like last season, utilizing unparalleled talent and sheer, unbelievable brilliance, he has completely scrambled the established order of the paddock. It was a brilliantly executed, spectacular race. Strategy and technique, planning and execution—he pushed absolutely everything to the absolute physical limit, carving a bloody path forward by sheer force of will."
"Kai withstood crushing pressure and forcibly suppressed Lewis Hamilton. Not only did he secure a podium finish at the Australian Grand Prix, but he pushed Mercedes-Benz to the absolute brink of despair, ultimately claiming second place."
"A second place worth its weight in gold."
"All of us believed—and it's highly likely Hamilton believed it himself—that the Australian Grand Prix would be a boring, suspense-free procession. A guaranteed victory, as easy as reaching into a bag and pulling out an apple. Hamilton wasn't just going to secure a Grand Slam; he was poised to write a historic Total Slam. But Kai violently overturned Mercedes-Benz's master plan. He stood up and said, 'I have a different idea.'"
"And he didn't just think it. He actually went out and did it."
"I have a profound premonition: the 2019 season is going to be even more spectacular than 2018!"
Passion burned fiercely, blood boiling. The raging emotions within the broadcast booth simply refused to quiet down. Even though the race was officially over, the excitement only continued to escalate.
Yet, Bottas's radio remained trapped in an eerie, deathly silence.
The absolute stillness was so profound that Bottas genuinely began to wonder if his radio had malfunctioned.
Bottas felt a surge of unease, terrified that Wolff was preparing to settle scores and punish him later. But objectively speaking, he had stepped up and saved the team from a massive disaster, hadn't he? He was the superhero of the day!
Just imagine: if he hadn't stepped up, how would this race have ended?
"James?" Bottas finally called out, pausing his celebration.
"..." Vowles finally regained enough composure to speak. "Congratulations, Valtteri. Excellent race."
Flat, emotionless, and entirely devoid of enthusiasm.
In reality, Wolff currently had absolutely zero time or energy to litigate Bottas's merits or faults. The entire Mercedes-Benz garage was trapped in a state of bewildered, dazed confusion. They exchanged blank, hollow stares. Their mouths tasted like ash. They wanted to smile, but they couldn't force the muscles in their faces to cooperate. They had technically won the race, so why did it feel like they had suffered a devastating, catastrophic defeat?
This stood in stark, glaring contrast to the Ferrari garage next door.
Profound relief! Joyous celebration!
Binotto could finally, at long last, exhale a massive, shuddering breath. Surviving such a chaotic, agonizingly difficult season opener... the path ahead was undoubtedly paved with dense, suffocating thorns. But finally, they had taken a rock-solid first step. Defying the odds, rewriting the impossible, and delivering an absolutely brilliant, breathtaking race.
Leclerc ultimately failed to overtake Verstappen. It wasn't because Leclerc lacked the speed; it was because Ferrari's catastrophic tire degradation window had acted as an anchor dragging him down. Leclerc had successfully closed to within DRS range, but ultimately lacked the grip to deliver the final, killing blow. He crossed the finish line 1.131 seconds behind Verstappen.
He fell just one step short.
Just a tiny fraction short. Ferrari's insanely aggressive, wildly dangerous dual-strategy had nearly completely overturned the disastrous narrative of the entire Grand Prix weekend. Even though Leclerc fell slightly short, Kai had undeniably succeeded in plunging Mercedes-Benz into total, chaotic panic. They were so disoriented they didn't even have the mental bandwidth to engineer a position swap for Hamilton and Bottas.
For Mercedes-Benz... one wrong step led to a thousand wrong steps.
Binotto gently patted Borreipaire on the shoulder. He keyed his radio. "Kai, incredible effort. An absolutely unparalleled race. Beautifully done."
And next—
It was time for Ferrari to celebrate!