Hardline. Direct. Razor-sharp. Absolutely merciless—
This was Kai.
Only by standing directly in front of him, fully immersed in his unwavering gaze, could one truly comprehend the terrifying, suffocating pressure he exuded. It felt like taking a brutal, heavyweight punch square on the bridge of the nose. The sheer, overwhelming force instantly choked off all oxygen, violently silencing every single murmur and whisper in the room.
Currently, there were exactly nine engineers in the conference room. A massive numerical advantage. Clustered together, they felt incredibly secure. Forget about cowardly whispering behind his back; they felt perfectly justified complaining right to his face.
Yet, Kai stood before them, chest puffed out, unyielding as a mountain. His piercing, resolute gaze slammed into them with devastating force, instantly establishing absolute, tyrannical control over the room.
The collective stares of the nine men cascaded down upon Kai like a waterfall, but not a single one dared to open their mouth. They didn't dare, and they simply couldn't.
Kai wasn't in a rush. He wasn't in a rush at all. He patiently, methodically swept his eyes across the room. He had two choices: a slow, gradual escalation, or a sudden, violent hurricane. Since he had already decided to drop a nuclear bomb, he needed to guarantee a lethal, one-hit kill. He needed to completely shatter the arrogance and stubbornness of these engineers, uprooting their deeply entrenched biases and entirely overturning the established hierarchy of the room.
Leave absolutely zero room for future retaliation.
Therefore, there was no need to rush things right now.
The air in the room was so thick it practically stagnated. You could vividly feel the scorching heat radiating against your skin. Sweat began to silently bead on foreheads.
Bullying them with his status?
Yes. That was exactly Kai's current calculation. Since they refused to drink the toast and preferred the penalty wine, Kai had absolutely no reason to play nice.
He waited until the heavy, suffocating silence gripped their hearts, completely confirming that these engineers weren't going to start spewing useless garbage. Only then did Kai slowly, unhurriedly begin to speak.
"First of all."
His eyes swept the room once more.
"Don't get it twisted. Do you honestly think I actually want to be sitting in this technical debrief?"
Dead silence. No response. The engineers arrogantly and critically averted their eyes, seemingly attempting to issue a silent protest through their body language.
Refusing to cooperate.
Seeing this posture, the corners of Kai's mouth actually lifted into a smirk. He wasn't surprised in the slightest. Besides, he didn't need their answers anyway.
"No. I absolutely do not want to be here."
"If I had the free time, I would infinitely prefer to be in the gym, in the physio room, or simply fast asleep in my bed, resting and preparing my body for the next race."
"If the SF90 wasn't riddled with catastrophic, fundamental flaws, I would absolutely never sacrifice my critical recovery time to sit in this room and help you autopsies a race car that you are supposed to be responsible for."
"This is your responsibility. This is your job. I have absolutely zero desire to be standing here cleaning up your pathetic mess."
His razor-sharp words acted like a barrage of daggers, stabbing brutally and directly into the hearts of every engineer in the room!
In a flash, all those drifting, arrogant eyes violently snapped back to him. You could visibly see the muscles in their backs and arms instantly tensing up.
From within the group, someone's face darkened considerably. Unable to endure the insult any longer, the engineer took a step forward. "You're just a driver—"
"YES!" Kai's voice boomed, loud and metallic, cutting through the air like a sword strike. He instantly interrupted the man's Italian, firing back in equally flawless, rapid-fire Italian.
Even though the engineer hadn't finished his sentence, Kai could guess the second half with his eyes closed. It was guaranteed to be the exact same tired, cliché garbage: "You know absolutely nothing about engineering," or "You should just shut your mouth and drive the damn car." He had heard it flipped and spun a thousand times; it lacked even a shred of originality.
The engineers reflexively reverting to Italian was the invisible, psychological barrier they always erected.
Kai, however, was fully prepared. He seamlessly switched from English to Italian, refusing to yield a single inch as he violently slammed the words right back in their faces.
Furthermore, he wasn't satisfied with merely holding his ground. He took a deliberate, aggressive step forward, amplifying the crushing pressure. He wasn't just 'refusing to yield'; he was actively going on the offensive.
"Yes! I am the driver!"
"Therefore, every single day, while traveling at three hundred kilometers per hour, dancing on the absolute bleeding edge of the tires' limits, and stomping on the brakes at the very last possible millisecond... I physically feel the things your sterile data cannot see."
"Numbers. In your eyes, numbers are incredibly simple and perfectly clear, aren't they? Obvious at a glance. Crisp and precise."
"A tenth of a second, a hundredth of a second, a thousandth of a second... 'Hey Kai, we're losing half a second to Mercedes-Benz, we need you to make up that time on the next lap.' But are you absolutely certain you truly comprehend what those numbers mean?"
"How long is a sneeze? How long is the snap of a finger? How much time did I just waste yelling a bunch of profanities at you?"
Rapid-fire, smooth, and utterly relentless—
Forget about the engineers; even Leclerc was staring at Kai in absolute horror. Where the hell did he learn all those filthy Italian curses?!
The entire conference room was plunged into stunned, paralyzed shock.
The simplest, fastest way to learn any new language is to start with the profanity. Looking at the spectacularly diverse range of horrified expressions in front of him, Kai was extremely confident that his linguistic studies had been a massive success.
The corners of Kai's mouth lifted slightly. He tapped his index finger against his temple.
"The conclusions I am telling you are not wild guesses. They are absolute results. They are the transition from theory into brutal reality. They are results that have been exhaustively tested and verified on the actual asphalt."
"So."
He paused for a beat. The light in Kai's eyes grew intensely bright, making him look exactly like a prizefighter standing in the center of the octagon, fully cocked and ready to unleash a devastating knockout blow.
"Why does the SF90 perform brilliantly in high-speed corners, but the second we enter a low or medium-speed corner, the load generation on the front axle immediately suffers a massive delay?"
He used highly technical engineering terminology. And he delivered it all flawlessly in Italian.
Usually, technical debriefs were conducted entirely in English. Because of this, the engineers had developed a subconscious bias, viewing the two young drivers as outsiders who weren't truly part of the core, inner-circle 'Italian' team.
Only now did they realize just how catastrophically wrong they were. They knew absolutely nothing about Kai.
The shock crashed over them in massive, suffocating waves.
Furthermore, it wasn't just his fluency in Italian. His raw, technical acumen was completely on par with theirs. He was genuinely, authentically communicating with them using their own highly specialized language.
Under the crushing weight of these revelations, not a single engineer managed to formulate a response. For a long moment, they genuinely didn't know how to respond. Their brains had completely crashed—
Was this normal?
This was exactly the devastating effect Kai had intended to produce with his frontal assault. Language, technical expertise, and dominant posture. A flawless, three-hit combo!
"Is it a flaw in the front wing design? No."
"Is it a severe lack of mechanical grip? Partially, but that is not the core issue."
"Obviously, the aerodynamics are the fundamental problem."
"You designed the peak aerodynamic efficiency window far, far too close to the absolute physical limit. In your computer simulations, in your sterile wind tunnels, the data looks absolutely spectacular. Therefore, you stubbornly, arrogantly believe that as long as the driver is capable of matching that theoretical level of perfection, they can perfectly tame the car, extract top-tier speed, and effortlessly match any competitor on the grid."
"If the car fails to achieve that theoretical ideal state on the track... well, it's not your fault. It's the driver's fault. That's the underlying theory operating here, isn't it?"
"But you are all living in a fantasy world. You exist inside a perfectly controlled, theoretical vacuum. A computer can simulate countless theoretical scenarios, but it can never, ever accurately simulate the brutal chaos of reality."
"Right now, I'm not even talking about ambient temperature, wind direction, or the complex thermal degradation of a long-run race stint. I am talking about the micro-deviations that occur during standard, normal operation. The instant the yaw angle changes even slightly, the instant the car's body posture experiences a microscopic fluctuation... the efficiency of the floor completely, catastrophically collapses."
"Therefore, the only option left for the driver is to execute hyper-aggressive corner entries, terrifyingly late braking, and incredibly violent, rapid-fire steering corrections to forcefully, brutally wrestle the car back into that microscopic window of efficiency."
"Please, do not misunderstand me. I can do it. Charles can do it too. We can continuously, endlessly push our absolute limits to try and tame this rabid beast."
"But at what cost?!"
Silence—
Absolute, deathly silence. The air was so incredibly thick and sticky it was practically solid. The scorching heat raged across their skin, and their frantically hammering hearts felt like they were on the verge of exploding.
Terrified glances darted around the room, secretly colliding with one another. Yet, no one dared to offer an answer. It wasn't that they couldn't; it was that they didn't dare. Because the answer was already staring them right in the face, clearer than day. They all knew, deep down, that Kai was absolutely correct. He wasn't just technically accurate; he was surgically precise, his words slicing directly into their throats.
Precisely because he was so terrifyingly accurate, they didn't dare look him in the eye.
And then, a sudden, explosive roar of thunder—
"I ASKED YOU, AT WHAT COST?!"
The fury instantly erupted, slamming violently into the ground, triggering a massive, earth-shattering tsunami. All the heavy, oppressive silence was instantly pulverized. The entire conference room trembled violently.
Furious, apoplectic, thundering with the force of a hurricane. It swept across the room with absolutely devastating, unstoppable momentum.
In everyone's mind, Kai was always the smiling, friendly, approachable guy. Facing difficulties and setbacks, he always maintained a high-spirited, passionate fighting spirit. They had never, ever seen him lose control like this.
However, the memories suddenly flooded back. This was the exact same Kai who had erupted in righteous fury at Interlagos, the same Kai who had proved utterly unstoppable at Yas Marina, the same Kai who had forced even John Elkann into a humiliating retreat. Countless rumors and behind-the-scenes stories circulated around Maranello regarding Kai's interactions with Sergio Marchionne, yet they had never truly grasped the underlying meaning of those tales—
Even when facing the terrifying, dictatorial Marchionne, Kai had never once shown a sliver of fear or backed down.
Only now did that terrifying realization violently seize their hearts, twisting them brutally.
This was the future of Ferrari. This was the "Captain" of Ferrari. He possessed the power to ally with the technical faction to crush the management faction, but he equally possessed the power to ally with the management faction to completely subjugate the technical faction. He was the chosen leader, personally anointed by Marchionne, designed to violently shatter Ferrari's stagnant traditions and forge an entirely new era!
On that youthful, almost boyish face, there now rested an aura of absolute, unquestionable, terrifying authority.
"You demanded a professional, technical dialogue. You arrogant bastards genuinely believed we were just dumb drivers who knew absolutely nothing about mechanics or engineering. So here I am. Standing right in front of you. Speaking your highly specialized language. And now you refuse to answer me?!"
"Heh. Or are you just too terrified to answer?"
"I strongly suspect that not a single one of you has the guts to actually strap into that cockpit, take that car out for a few laps yourself, and genuinely, physically experience the 'masterpiece' you've designed. Because if you did, you'd have to come back here and admit to us that the ultimate cost for your 'theoretical perfection' is our fucking tires!"
"When we are out there on the asphalt, fighting for our lives, bleeding to find a microscopic balance point, and we finally manage to push the car to full speed... only to instantly realize the tires have completely, catastrophically collapsed... have you ever experienced that specific brand of thrill?!"
The mocking sarcasm, the bitter irony, the biting jokes. It seemed the raw, explosive anger had subsided slightly, but the air in the conference room had completely, totally frozen solid. No one dared to move a single finger. Their vocal cords felt as if they had turned to stone; they couldn't force a single sound out of their throats.
Leclerc was exactly the same.
Normally, Leclerc might have laughed out loud. He could perfectly read the deep sarcasm and dark humor woven into Kai's tirade. But right now, he was on maximum high alert. His nerves were stretched so tight they were ready to snap; he didn't dare relax for even a fraction of a second.
Watching these engineers—who were usually so insufferably arrogant and dismissive—now standing there with their heads hung low like defeated roosters, completely unable to even meet Kai's eyes... Leclerc suddenly felt a wave of profound uncertainty.
Leclerc froze. He stealthily shot a glance at Kai out of the corner of his eye. However, Kai's expression remained incredibly severe. There was no secret smirk, no glint of smug satisfaction. His razor-sharp, piercing gaze remained hyper-focused, locked unblinkingly onto the prey cowering before him.
Involuntarily, Leclerc reeled his emotions back in, forcing his own body to tense up once more.
The onslaught was far from over—
"Look at Mercedes-Benz. Everyone is currently saying that because we managed to withstand Mercedes-Benz's overwhelming dominance at Albert Park and successfully destroyed their plan for a 1-2 finish, we should be throwing a massive celebration. The media is spinning that narrative. But please tell me you aren't actually stupid enough to believe it?"
"The terrifying advantage of the W10 isn't limited to Melbourne. In the upcoming races—Shanghai, Barcelona, and the rest—their advantage is only going to expand massively."
"That car allows the driver to operate efficiently with different fuel loads, across entirely different phases of tire degradation, utilizing drastically different driving styles. Yet, despite all those variables, it still allows them to maintain a relentlessly high-frequency pace for incredibly long stints."
"Their aerodynamic platform is flawlessly stable. Their mechanical grip might not be the absolute best on the grid, but the synergy between the two is a masterpiece of engineering. Because of that perfect synergy, they have the luxury of running a one-stop strategy. They have the luxury of actively managing their pace. They have the luxury of carefully selecting the absolute perfect moment to launch an attack."
"And us?"
"We have absolutely zero strategic flexibility. We have no choices. We are forced to take massive, suicidal gambles. We are forced to walk a fraying tightrope. We have no option but to violently push forward, and then push harder. We have absolutely zero backup plans."
"That isn't bravery. That is a fundamental, catastrophic failure in design balance!"
A lethal, devastating strike. Kai had brutally, violently slapped every single person in the room directly across the face.
"At Albert Park, Mercedes-Benz knew absolutely nothing about our true capabilities. We were able to constantly deploy thick smokescreens and somehow manage to scramble together a tiny sliver of a chance for survival. But those smokescreens are useless now. They've seen right through our cheap parlor tricks. Do you honestly, truly believe they are going to fall for the exact same garbage in the upcoming races?"
The air instantly plummeted below freezing.
Just moments ago, the room had been sweltering and suffocatingly hot. Now, a bone-chilling, icy dread seeped into the room. Goosebumps violently erupted across everyone's skin.
And then, finally, someone broke the silence. Unwilling to let Kai continue his dominant, undisputed monologue, an engineer let out a derisive sneer.
"You talk a very good game. You make it sound like you're the only person in the world who knows how to analyze telemetry data."
Armchair quarterbacking is easy. Everyone can do it. This was especially true for these drivers, who only knew how to turn a steering wheel but fundamentally understood nothing about the complex engineering principles keeping the car on the track. They loved to spin wild, fantastical theories and paint grand, impossible blueprints. But when it came to actual, practical engineering application, they had absolutely zero concept of reality. All they did was get in the way and hinder the real work.
If that wasn't true, what the hell had they been doing in this conference room for the past three hours?
Unexpectedly, Kai laughed—
Heh.
Everyone's heads snapped up. Sure enough, their ears hadn't deceived them. The corners of Kai's mouth had curved into a distinct, undeniable smile.
"So, you're telling me you're actually waiting for my genuine, practical engineering recommendations?"
"Now you suddenly need the driver's opinion? I was under the impression that the driver's sole responsibility was to blindly vomit up raw feedback and highlight problems. As for actually solving those problems, I thought that was exclusively your job. I thought outsiders were supposed to keep their mouths shut and refrain from 'interfering'."
Leclerc almost couldn't hold it in; he nearly burst out laughing right then and there. He quickly dropped his head, desperately trying to control himself and hide the massive grin spreading across his face.
"Well, since you clearly don't mind us 'pretending' to understand things we obviously don't, I would be absolutely delighted to share my thoughts."
The fiercely aggressive, enraged Kai instantly vanished, flawlessly executing another dramatic face-change. He adopted an expression that screamed: "Well, since you're begging me so desperately, I suppose I can lower myself to humor you." Yet, Leclerc, completely unconsciously, felt a terrifying, creeping dread crawl up the back of his neck. It felt exactly like they were all nothing more than obedient, clueless rabbits happily hopping straight into a snare—
Wait... was this Kai's true objective all along?
Looking at the engineers in front of him—who were still burning with righteous indignation and had completely lost their rational composure—it was glaringly obvious they hadn't realized a damn thing. Leclerc couldn't stop an involuntary shiver from running down his spine.
Kai was a man who could effortlessly navigate and manipulate titans like Sergio Marchionne, John Elkann, and Toto Wolff. Dealing with a room full of stubborn, single-minded engineers? This was child's play for him.
"Regarding the direction for future upgrades. We need to take this one step at a time."
"The absolute, immediate top priority is widening the car's overall performance window. We must stop obsessively chasing a microscopic, single-point peak efficiency. It absolutely does not matter if our Qualifying performance falls slightly below expectations. We can rely entirely on race strategy and superior driving to overturn that disadvantage on Sunday. You can throw all the responsibility for that directly onto our shoulders. Charles and I can handle the pressure."
"Subsequently, we need to sacrifice a small percentage of our theoretical maximum downforce in exchange for vastly improved stability..."
Eloquent, comprehensive, and utterly unstoppable.
And, crucially, delivered entirely in flawless Italian.
It was blindingly obvious: Kai had arrived fully prepared. It hadn't even been thirty-six hours since they returned to Maranello from Melbourne, yet he had already completely organized his thoughts and formulated a comprehensive plan?
They had just spent three agonizing hours endlessly throwing problems against the wall, constantly arguing and colliding, yet they hadn't even managed to establish a basic analytical framework, let alone determine a cohesive direction for future development. However, the grand blueprint in Kai's mind was already fully constructed and ready to be unrolled—
It had a clear direction, a logical structure, and distinct prioritization. More importantly, it was packed with concrete details and highly specific, actionable recommendations.
Of course, Kai wasn't omniscient. When he didn't know something, he openly admitted it. He flatly refused to pretend he understood complex concepts he didn't. Regarding the total redesign of the aerodynamics, particularly the incredibly intricate structure of the front wing... that was clearly far beyond his current knowledge base. So, he simply laid the core problems on the table and left the specific engineering questions hanging in the air. He explicitly stated he trusted the technical team's capabilities, clearly defining this as their primary focus moving forward.
Perhaps he couldn't offer direct assistance on the deep theoretical engineering level. But Kai could provide invaluable, hyper-specific feedback from the sensory perspective of the driver. He could help the technical team isolate and confirm the critical micro-details that simply did not show up in the sterile simulator data. Things like high-frequency vibrations, the terrifying sensation of the car 'floating,' the subtle, continuous shifting of the dynamic balance, or the incredibly nuanced, split-second perception of understeer versus oversteer.
And it wasn't just Kai. Under his direct encouragement, Leclerc also began to articulate his own physical sensations and experiences in the car.
Everything was exactly as Kai had stated. They were a team. The drivers were completely useless without the engineers. Similarly, the engineers could not operate in a vacuum, completely detached from the drivers. Only when they worked in perfect unison, communicating openly and supporting one another, could the violent collision of theory and practice be effectively translated onto the asphalt to forge a truly elite race car.
Back and forth. One sentence after another. Discussing, debating, and colliding ideas. Simultaneously complementing and inspiring one another—
Kai temporarily ignored the engineers in the room, engaging in a deep, intense discussion directly with Leclerc. They meticulously cross-referenced their highly specific, visceral experiences from the Australian Grand Prix.
Two drivers, two entirely different sets of sensations. But there was no single "correct" answer. Approaching the issues from vastly different driving styles and differing perspectives, their cross-referenced sensory data slowly, methodically began to touch upon the true, underlying essence of the car's performance flaws. Inside the conference room, lunch was entirely forgotten. A violent, brilliant storm of inspiration was sparked, violently dragging the race car out of the sterile, theoretical realm of the simulator and slamming it firmly into the brutal reality of the physical world.
Through this process, the engineers were finally able to clearly, intuitively re-examine the vast, critical areas that their raw telemetry data simply could not detect. It was an entirely alien, yet undeniably objective, realm of physical reality.
Every single season, engineers across the paddock faced the exact same agonizing dilemma. A race car that performed flawlessly in theoretical models, CFD simulations, and simulator runs... why did it suddenly face so many massive, incomprehensible problems the moment it actually hit the asphalt? Why was the performance gap between them and their rivals suddenly so glaringly obvious?
The answer was always binary: Either their foundational design theories were fundamentally flawed, or the drivers simply lacked the talent to properly pilot the machine.
Naturally, this inevitably resulted in the technical team and the drivers standing on opposite sides of a battlefield, bitterly pointing fingers and blaming one another.
But right now, Kai was issuing a massive wake-up call to Maranello. Perhaps the situation wasn't entirely black and white. Perhaps neither the technical team nor the drivers were inherently "wrong." The reality was that transitioning a race car from pure theory into brutal practice involves an infinite number of unpredictable, highly volatile unknown variables, causing the final product to inevitably deviate from the initial, perfect projections. Therefore, they were not enemies. They were each other's ultimate, indispensable backup—
This specific viewpoint was not entirely original to Kai.
Over the past season or two, this philosophy had slowly been gaining traction across the paddock. Various teams were exploring it to differing degrees. They all acknowledged that they should listen to the drivers' feedback. But deciding exactly how much weight to give that feedback, which specific pieces of advice to adopt, and how to accurately balance the sterile computer data against the driver's emotional, physical sensations... finding that perfect equilibrium was incredibly, agonizingly difficult.
However, Ferrari had always remained stubbornly isolated, hiding away in Maranello. They actively refused to integrate with the cutting-edge, avant-garde theoretical trends currently dominating the front lines in London. Of course, they had heard of this philosophy. But they fundamentally preferred to place their absolute faith in hard data and 'professional' engineering expertise. If a driver's feedback actually influenced their decisions by even a tiny fraction of a percent, it was considered a rare, monumental concession.
But right now, Kai was making his voice heard. And more importantly, he was brutally, forcefully guaranteeing that his voice was being listened to.
And, of course, Leclerc's voice as well.
With incredible passion and relief, Leclerc poured out all the thoughts and frustrations he had been bottling up inside. He even revealed his deepest, most closely guarded anxieties regarding the car's handling. As he spoke, he felt a brief surge of panic.
From his early karting days, the education Leclerc had received was entirely contradictory to what was happening right now. He had been rigidly taught that the technical team were the absolute, unquestionable experts. His sole duty was to implicitly trust their professionalism and respect their ultimate authority.
Yet now, he was actively, aggressively challenging that 'professionalism.' And not just any professionals; these were Ferrari's elite engineering team. In his mind, these individuals represented the absolute apex of the motorsport pyramid. Only the most brilliant, authoritative geniuses were permitted to join the ranks of Ferrari.
After spilling everything out, Leclerc felt a wave of deep unease. He didn't dare look the engineers in the eye.
Kai, however, held a fundamentally different perspective. Forget about whether they were 'elites' or not. Even the most brilliant elites make mistakes. And even the most brilliant elites, if they trap themselves in a closed-loop echo chamber and refuse to look outside, are absolutely guaranteed to self-destruct.
"If you refuse to listen—"
Kai's gaze swept across the room like a physical weight.
"Of course, that is entirely your prerogative. You can absolutely choose to do that. You can continue stubbornly clinging to your outdated dogmas. You can continue marching entirely to the beat of your own drum. You can continue treating the drivers' feedback like annoying background noise."
"But if you choose that path, you had better ensure that your specific portion of the job is executed flawlessly. Because I genuinely, absolutely do not want to waste my precious time constantly cleaning up messes that fall entirely outside of my job description."
"This entire arrangement is supposed to be incredibly simple. You are responsible for building the car. We are responsible for driving the car. Occasionally, we bump into each other in the hallway, exchange fake, polite pleasantries, and that's it. You don't come down to the garage and try to teach us how to drive, and we don't march up here and point fingers at you, trying to teach you how to design a race car. Every year at Christmas, we exchange generic gifts to maintain the illusion of a friendly, cordial working relationship. That is the entirety of our interaction."
Playful. Teasing. Sarcastic. Darkly humorous.
Kai was still Kai. But right now, absolutely no one in the room found the situation funny.
"Believe me, I know exactly what my role is supposed to be."
"What is the job of a driver? To drive. That is literally it."
"Do you have any idea how desperately I wish I only had to worry about my own job? I wish I was spending my vacation lounging lazily on a private yacht in the Mediterranean, doing absolutely nothing. Instead, I'm stuck here in Maranello, crammed into a stuffy conference room with a bunch of sweaty men, working unpaid overtime."
"My God, I honestly thought being an F1 driver just meant sitting in the car, striking a few cool poses for the cameras, and looking handsome. If I had known the mandatory overtime was going to be this brutally heavy, I absolutely would have demanded a massive overtime compensation clause in my new contract."
Leclerc: ... He was holding his breath so hard trying not to laugh that he was genuinely close to passing out from hypoxia.
When Kai fully opened fire, the barrage was truly impossible to defend against.
Frustrated, suppressed, and deeply sullen. The engineers in the conference room were in absolutely no mood to appreciate the comedic performance unfolding before them. Their expressions were a wildly diverse mix of anger and humiliation, but without a doubt, not a single one of them was happy.
Seeing that Kai was still going, "The times have changed. If you stubbornly continue to cling to those outdated beliefs—"
Finally, someone snapped. Unable to control his fury, an engineer furiously interrupted Kai, attempting to mount a feeble, desperate counter-attack. "We were incredibly successful last year!"
Kai froze for a second. Then, he couldn't help it. He laughed.
It wasn't a laugh of anger. It was a genuine, uncontrollable burst of amusement that quickly escalated into loud, booming laughter.
Kai stared directly at the man, locking eyes. "Are you referring to the glorious updates you introduced after the summer break? The ones that resulted in us being utterly, humiliatingly annihilated at Spa, which is traditionally our strongest track? Or are you referring to the updates that resulted in us nearly walking away empty-handed in Monza, our own damn backyard? The same updates that were so disastrous Mattia was ultimately forced to rip them off the car and revert to the older spec?"
Mockery. Naked, undisguised mockery.
That disdain, that contempt, that absolute scorn. Kai made zero effort to hide it. He let it all pour out, brutally and violently stabbing directly into the fragile egos of the engineers before him.
"You!" Someone clenched their fists and lunged forward.
However, Kai didn't retreat a single millimeter. Not only did he not retreat, he aggressively stepped forward to meet the challenge. He unleashed a terrifying, ferocious aura, completely crushing the impending threat with absolute, overwhelming dominance.
Instantly, the paper tigers reverted to their true form, shrinking back into terrified lambs.
"ME! Yes, ME!" Kai roared back, his voice echoing like thunder.
"I am the one who barely managed to salvage that catastrophe. Do you understand me? ME! From Shanghai all the way to Abu Dhabi, I was the one bleeding on the track. I was the one desperately trying to find a microscopic sliver of hope amidst absolute impossibility."
"If you are all still so deeply intoxicated by your own arrogant delusions that you refuse to see reality... if you stubbornly, idiotically believe that our feedback is somehow a threat to your fragile 'authority' and 'professionalism'... then you are absolutely destined to be eradicated from this sport. And it won't be because of me, or Charles. It won't be because of John Elkann or Mattia Binotto. You will be destroyed entirely by your own staggering arrogance and profound stupidity."
"Look at your track record. The 2017 season? Completely destroyed by your updates after the summer break. The 2018 season? An absolute, unmitigated disaster after the summer break. And now, in the 2019 season, you are still acting as an anchor dragging this entire team down. And your brilliant solution is to try and shift all the blame onto the drivers? It's all because we aren't trying hard enough? Because we aren't magically extracting performance out of the car that simply doesn't exist?"
"Heh. I'm sorry to break it to you, but I am not a fucking idiot."
"And more importantly, the Tifosi aren't idiots either."
If word leaked right now about a massive, vicious internal war erupting inside the Maranello base, who would the Tifosi blindly support? The answer couldn't possibly be simpler. It was glaringly obvious.
So, was Kai actively threatening them?
The engineers' eyes flashed with a chaotic mix of fury, regret, terror, and absolute panic.
Kai took all of it in. But he only felt pity for them. Even now, staring disaster in the face, they still hadn't managed to break free from their own stubbornness and rigid dogma.
"Wait, what was that? I can't quite hear you. Are you talking about 2016? 2015? 2014?"
"I apologize, but my memory is a bit fuzzy. Was Ferrari actually part of the championship conversation back then? As I recall, Ferrari couldn't even manage to touch the hem of Mercedes-Benz's skirt. While Hamilton and Rosberg were brutally smashing each other to pieces fighting for the World Championship, Ferrari couldn't even reliably defend third place."
"So, please, enlighten me. In the entire turbo-hybrid era, what exactly have you accomplished that was actually correct?"
"Aside from hiding behind the prestigious, historical title of 'Scuderia Ferrari,' what exactly do you possess? Who gave you the unearned courage to blindly believe you are on the right path? Who gave you the arrogant confidence to believe that your current quality of work demands absolute respect?"
Heh.
Wave after wave. Holding absolutely nothing back. The inferno of his rage cascaded down, deafening and terrifying. The entire conference room seemed to cower and tremble beneath the sheer, towering weight of Kai's aura. He was like an ancient dragon finally awakening from its slumber. With a single, earth-shattering roar, all the lesser beasts instantly submitted. Even the mere residual heat of his breath was enough to incinerate everything in its path.
Forget about the engineers; even Leclerc was terrified out of his mind. His body involuntarily went completely rigid.
Leclerc had never, ever seen Kai like this. In his memory, no matter how angry Kai became, he never lost control. He always knew exactly when to pull back from the edge of the cliff.
But right now? Was this the very first time Kai had completely, totally snapped? Was all the frustration, all the suppressed anger that had been slowly building up since last season finally erupting? Like a breached dam, the moment a single crack appeared, the pressure was unstoppable, causing a total, catastrophic collapse.
Leclerc's heart was hammering wildly, completely out of control. Should he step in and try to stop this?
In the brief moment of hesitation, Kai's next volley of fury was already fully unleashed. Every single word was a lethal strike to the heart, echoing loudly and definitively. It felt as though the entirety of the Maranello base could hear his roaring anger.
No, it wasn't just anger—
Profound disappointment. Bitter resentment. Deep frustration. Agonizing regret.
It was all of those things combined.
After Sergio Marchionne passed away, the leaderless Ferrari organization had instantly plunged into chaotic turmoil. While their competitors united as one, relentlessly charging forward and riding the waves of progress, Ferrari was consumed by vicious internal warfare. They spent all their time calculating and backstabbing each other over petty, insignificant corporate interests. They clung desperately to the faded, glorious dreams of Ferrari's illustrious past, sleeping soundly on a bed of decaying history. Year after year, time and time again, they left the fiercely loyal Tifosi stranded in a void of crushed expectations and profound disappointment.
"Anger" was a wholly inadequate word to describe the sheer depth of Kai's emotions in this moment.
"You look down on the management faction for playing dirty politics and obsessively chasing profit. You look down on us drivers, entirely convinced we are brainless monkeys who know nothing about technology. In your twisted minds, the technical faction is the only entity within Maranello that remains pure, holy, and noble. You believe you are the proud, sole guardians of Ferrari's crown."
"But if Ferrari's so-called 'legacy' has already rotted to its very core... if the crown you are so desperately guarding is nothing more than an empty, meaningless shell... If you absolutely refuse to keep pace with the changing era, if you refuse to open your eyes and look at the reality of the outside world... then your ultimate eradication from this sport is already guaranteed. Absolutely no one will be able to save your future."
"You are exactly like the Titanic."
"The management faction can easily continue chasing their profits. They can go sleep soundly on a massive pile of cash. The drivers can simply transfer to other teams. I am extremely confident that Charles and I could easily secure a seat at any other team in the paddock."
"We all have bright, promising futures ahead of us. But what about you?"
"You pathetic failures, utterly abandoned by modern technology and progressive theory, will simply be forgotten in some dark, damp corner. You will sink to the bottom of the ocean right alongside the Titanic."
"And please, do not misunderstand me. You are absolutely not Leonardo DiCaprio. Nobody is going to romantically remember that you ever existed. You will vanish, entirely unmourned, exactly like the insignificant ants sacrificed in third class."
"Respect?"
"I'm sorry, but respect is earned through actual, tangible results. It is not earned by flapping your lips."
"I, Kai, am standing right here, and I am telling you to your faces: You are a group of pathetic failures. You are completely incapable of executing your jobs. You are failures who only know how to use an endless stream of pathetic excuses to desperately camouflage your own gross incompetence."
He took a deep breath, pausing slightly. Then, Kai looked every single person dead in the eye.
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you."
One by one. He addressed every single person individually. Four eyes locked together. His gaze was crystal clear, accurately and flawlessly transmitting his profound disgust and utter disdain, ensuring that neither his stare nor his words missed a single target.
Nine people. Nine identical sentences. The words reverberated and burned through the dead silence of the conference room. Like razor-sharp daggers, they stabbed brutally and decisively into everyone's hearts. Clean and lethal.
Even a clay saint has a temper, let alone the fiercely proud engineers standing before him. They simply couldn't control themselves any longer. Monstrous fury erupted. A rolling wave of blistering heat instantly stuffed the conference room to the bursting point. The suffocating smell of gunpowder made it physically difficult to breathe, causing a continuous, violent ringing in their ears.
Leclerc's heart violently contracted—This is bad. This is very, very bad.
Without hesitating for another second, Leclerc grabbed Kai's arm. He yanked Kai around and sprinted for the door, desperate to drag him out of the room before the powder keg completely, violently detonated.
Leclerc fully expected Kai to resist. But surprisingly... he didn't.
Leclerc easily pulled Kai out of the conference room, leaving the terrifying, blade-sharp tension and explosive atmosphere securely behind them.
Looking up, Leclerc was stunned to see a massive, genuine smile shining in Kai's eyes. There wasn't even a tiny fraction of the terrifying, unhinged arrogance he had displayed just moments ago. Leclerc froze in utter bewilderment.
Before he could even process the emotional whiplash, Leclerc spotted a figure standing in the hallway. He slammed on the brakes so hard he nearly threw up his own heart.
"Mattia!"
Standing right there, directly in front of the conference room door, was none other than Mattia Binotto.
The nerdy, thick-rimmed-glasses-wearing executive hung up his phone. He patted Leclerc gently on the shoulder, a silent gesture signaling 'Well done'. Then, he shifted his gaze entirely onto Kai.
A thousand words and a million complex emotions surged through his chest.
The vicious tirade Kai had just unleashed wasn't just directed at the engineers in the room. As the Technical Director of the previous season, Binotto was inherently included in that scathing indictment. It was the absolute equivalent of pointing directly at Binotto's nose and loudly cursing his gross incompetence and dereliction of duty. Furthermore, it explicitly implied that his promotion to Team Principal this year was nothing more than the result of sleazy, backroom political horse-trading.
However, the true brilliance of Kai's execution lay precisely in this: he hadn't pointed directly at Binotto's nose. He had cursed the locust while pointing at the mulberry tree.
Filtered through a layer of engineers, and then filtered again through the physical walls of the conference room, the harsh words reached Binotto's ears. The meaning was perfectly preserved and received loud and clear, but the emotional impact of the blow was vastly different than a direct, face-to-face confrontation.
Binotto supported Kai. That was an undeniable fact. But that absolutely did not mean he would tolerate Kai overstepping his boundaries and aggressively interfering with Binotto's authority or his management of the team.
But right now—
A whirlwind of complex emotions surged upward. Binotto stared intently at Kai.
Kai looked back at him, utterly open and transparent. His eyes were bright, displaying no subservience and no arrogance. He simply stood there, seemingly waiting for Binotto's response.
There was no anger, no provocation, and no rebellion in that gaze. It was clear and completely pure. Only passion and a blazing fighting spirit burned within, silently but powerfully stating his position.
Binotto genuinely believed he was going to fly into a terrifying, humiliating rage. But miraculously, looking at the young man standing before him, the heavy, toxic knot of frustration trapped in his chest simply evaporated. The rigid tension in his shoulders relaxed. He glanced at the chaotic uproar currently raging inside the conference room, a flicker of helpless resignation flashing through his eyes.
"Was that perhaps a bit too impatient?" Binotto asked softly.
Kai spread his hands. "Mattia, your gentle approach wasn't working. I had no choice but to see if my method would yield better results."
Binotto understood perfectly. Regardless of whether he agreed with the method or not, the deed was done. The die was cast. He ultimately didn't say anything further. "Hurry up and get to the cafeteria. Go eat. We still have a massive amount of meetings scheduled for this afternoon."
With that, Binotto stepped around the two young men. He was just about to enter the conference room when Kai's voice called out from behind him. "Mattia. I'll make sure the cafeteria staff saves some food for all of you."
Binotto completely surprised himself. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a faint smile. He straightened his spine slightly, pushed open the conference room doors, and marched directly into the exploding powder keg. He was instantly met by a chaotic, furious mob of engineers preparing to storm out into the hallway. But Binotto's sudden, commanding appearance forcibly shoved the impending, catastrophic storm right back down their throats.
And then, he firmly shut the door, completely severing all outside observation.
Leclerc witnessed the entire sequence of events with a face full of profound shock. He genuinely couldn't believe his own eyes. His brain's processing speed was entirely incapable of keeping up with the rapid-fire plot twists.
Finally, only a single, coherent thought managed to surface in his mind. "You— you did that on purpose?!"
A bright, genuine smile danced in the depths of Kai's eyes. He didn't answer directly. He didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either. "Food. Food. Let's go eat. I burned way too much energy just now. I am absolutely starving."
Leclerc: ???
He lowered his voice, muttering furiously under his breath as he quickly jogged to catch up. "Who the hell said you wouldn't be a good fit for Hollywood?! My God, the Academy needs to hand you an Oscar right this second!"
No wonder! Leclerc had thought it was incredibly bizarre. Given Kai's usual personality, how could he possibly lose control that completely? How could he recklessly flip the board and violently burn every single bridge with the engineering team?
Looking back at it now, it was perfectly clear. It was all a meticulously orchestrated performance.
Kai had deliberately unleashed all that fury and vitriol. It was exactly like ripping off a band-aid. Short-term, excruciating pain was vastly preferable to long-term, agonizing suffering.
And by sheer 'coincidence,' Binotto was already on the scene, perfectly positioned to clean up the mess. Employing a masterful mix of the carrot and the stick, Binotto could now use his absolute authority as Team Principal to forcefully wrench the severely derailed technical team back onto the correct path, decisively resolving the lingering internal friction in one fell swoop.
It was an incredibly dangerous gamble. It was absolute madness. But—
It was a drastic measure required for a desperate situation. Perhaps this brutal shock to the system was the only viable cure for Ferrari's chronic, systemic disease.