The rain transformed into a massive, heavy curtain. It cascaded violently down from the edge of the awning, physically dividing the world into two distinct halves.
Kai halted his advance. He could clearly, viscerally see the eager, burning excitement flashing in Prince Albert II's eyes, yet he was forced to abruptly stop directly behind the wall of falling water.
Kai instantly understood the dynamic. He proactively stepped forward to bridge the gap.
Prince Albert II had already extended his right hand. Completely ignoring the torrential downpour, entirely unconcerned that the sleeve of his immaculate, bespoke suit was getting drenched, he thrust his hand straight through the curtain of rain. For a brief, fleeting moment, he physically experienced the wild, uninhibited joy of the carnival. It was a tiny, brilliant act of rebellion.
Observing this microscopic detail, the smile in Kai's eyes slowly deepened. He politely leaned forward and firmly grasped Prince Albert II's extended hand.
"I am deeply honored that you attended the race today. I sincerely hope the racing on the asphalt proved to be an entertaining spectacle."
Prince Albert II froze. He instantly decoded the underlying subtext woven into Kai's words. He wasn't simply referring to the racing on the asphalt; he was simultaneously acknowledging the massive, terrifying confrontation that had just violently erupted right in front of him—
Exactly how many years had it been since the paddock had witnessed such an intensely hostile, bayonets-drawn spectacle?
More dormant memories violently resurrected in his mind. Prince Albert II let out a loud, hearty laugh. "Spectacular! It was absolutely spectacular! I am eagerly anticipating vastly more spectacular moments in the future!"
"Good god, who on Earth could possibly refuse Kai? Regarding the British Grand Prix at Silverstone next month... although I still need to formally verify my itinerary, I genuinely, desperately hope I can attend the race in person."
The air momentarily solidified.
Prince Albert II didn't need to offer a lengthy explanation. Kai could clearly feel countless invisible, razor-sharp glares piercing him from behind the Prince. For a high-ranking member of the Royal Family like Prince Albert II, every single itinerary and official public appearance was meticulously scheduled months in advance. He absolutely could not act impulsively or capriciously. It was glaringly obvious that attending Silverstone had absolutely not been part of his official schedule.
Furthermore, those invisible, razor-sharp glares weren't exclusively targeting Prince Albert II. A significant portion of them were boring directly into Kai.
Adopting an expression of profound, absolute innocence, Kai looked at Prince Albert II, his eyes bright and completely clear. A subtle, mischievous glint flashed in his eyes. "That would undeniably be a massive honor. If you decide to attend, I would be more than happy to act as your personal guide. I can introduce Your Highness to the globally infamous, notoriously terrible fish and chips served at the Silverstone circuit."
Prince Albert II froze again. It took him a half-second to realize Kai was being completely serious. When the realization finally hit, he completely lost his battle for composure, bursting into loud, uninhibited laughter.
It was genuine, free, and incredibly joyous. It had been a very, very long time since Prince Albert II had laughed so freely.
He offered a final, respectful nod. He didn't linger. Kai turned and walked away.
The surrounding crowd was completely dumbfounded. They stared in profound, absolute shock, genuinely unable to believe their own eyes.
Including Hamilton—
A clown.
He was absolutely, 100% certain now. Kai was nothing more than a pathetic, attention-seeking clown.
Whether you were in the United Kingdom or Monaco, formally interacting with the Royal Family was an incredibly prestigious, highly sensitive affair. It wasn't simply about adhering to strict dress codes; it required flawless etiquette and meticulously diplomatic language.
You were absolutely required to project an aura of profound respect, impeccable manners, and flawless decorum.
Yet, what exactly had he just witnessed?
Exactly like Kai's previous, thuggish behavior—rolling up his sleeves and aggressively charging forward to initiate a brawl—it was all nothing but pathetic, attention-seeking grandstanding. The absolute definition of clownish behavior.
And his performance on the asphalt was exactly the same.
Although it had taken some time, Hamilton had finally, completely seen through the kid's elaborate facade. He was merely a pathetic clown. Exactly like Rosberg.
He absolutely refused to stoop to the level of a clown. He refused to abandon his own dignity and absolute pride simply to engage in a pathetic circus act. That clown had desperately attempted to provoke him, desperately attempted to humiliate him... but Hamilton had seen through the illusion. He absolutely would not take the bait. If that clown desperately wanted to continue making a massive, embarrassing fool of himself in public, he was more than welcome to monopolize the entire spotlight.
The Monaco Grand Prix podium ceremony was conducted entirely amidst a massive, torrential downpour. However, the terrible weather did absolutely nothing to dampen the fanatical passion of the crowd. The massive sea of humanity surged forward, completely jamming the narrow circuit, establishing a massive, unhinged carnival right in the absolute center of Monaco.
The journalists and the spectators were practically foaming at the mouth, eagerly anticipating the start of a massive heavyweight boxing match—
Kai and Hamilton were forced to share the podium. Would the two men finally snap and violently brawl on live television?
Unfortunately, the crowd was destined to be profoundly disappointed.
Anyone with functioning eyes could clearly perceive the icy, suffocatingly rigid atmosphere on the podium. Hamilton stared straight ahead the entire time, flatly refusing to even glance in Kai's direction. His face was a mask of cold stone, utterly devoid of emotion. Kai, however, was completely unbothered. He leaped joyously onto the top step of the podium, celebrating the very first successful title defense of his professional career.
The lethal, suffocating tension permeated the air. The heavy, viscous heat radiating from the podium felt exactly like a roaring inferno.
However, even this terrifying tension couldn't extinguish the crowd's boiling passion—
Jan Plas stood completely immersed in the massive crowd. He straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and stared unblinkingly at the podium. His chest swelled with massive, surging emotions.
From last year to this year, the absolute most important, most beautiful discovery of his entire life had been discovering Kai, and consequently, discovering motorsport. It had forcefully resurrected his belief in the sheer power of dreams. It had violently reignited his motivation to keep fighting. Through his undeniable, spectacular actions on the asphalt, Kai had continuously proven that you must absolutely never lower your head in defeat, and you must absolutely never wave the white flag. At the absolute end of infinite darkness and unimaginable hardship, you will eventually discover a brilliant ray of dawn. And that light will ultimately define the true, profound weight of your existence.
It wasn't just him. Maria Plas stood proudly beside him. Their two children sat perched high on their shoulders. Absolutely no one was excluded.
The torrential rain continued to pour, but who the hell cared?
They completely lost themselves in the unhinged carnival. They bloomed entirely, screaming with every single ounce of energy in their bodies. Standing in the absolute center of the world, they celebrated the sheer beauty of this specific moment, fiercely grasping the present.
"Captain!"
As he screamed the name, a massive, brilliant smile broke across Plas's face. He was usually incredibly reserved, highly introverted, and historically prone to silence. But today was fundamentally different.
He was actively, loudly celebrating the profound beauty of life.
The two children sitting on their shoulders seemed to absorb the massive, surging energy. They waved their hands enthusiastically, their faces split by massive smiles, joining the deafening roar of the entire venue.
A massive, unstoppable wave. It violently swept across the entire circuit. A single spark had triggered a massive prairie fire that rapidly consumed everything in its path. Absolutely no one possessed the power to halt its advance. The entirety of Monaco was dyed a brilliant, fiery red.
For Ferrari, and for the Tifosi, it had been a very, very long time since they had successfully conquered Monaco in consecutive years. This specific circuit had increasingly evolved into a sacred stronghold for their rivals. Although Ferrari occasionally, miraculously managed to secure a victory here, achieving consecutive victories was a monumental feat that hadn't been accomplished since the previous century—
In 1975 and 1976, Niki Lauda, driving for Ferrari, successfully secured consecutive victories in Monaco.
And now, operating exactly like an inescapable cycle of destiny... on the exact same weekend Lauda passed away, Kai had successfully defended the Monaco crown for Ferrari.
You blink your eyes, and forty years vanish in an instant. Kai was utilizing his own unique, spectacular methodology to pay the ultimate tribute to Lauda, violently resurrecting the forgotten passion and hot-blooded adrenaline of Ferrari.
Standing in the torrential downpour, the Tifosi wept openly. Their hearts were overflowing with profound, chaotic emotions. They completely emptied their energy reserves, entirely abandoning themselves to the manic, unhinged celebration, allowing themselves to be completely consumed by the profound beauty of this moment.
The ominous clouds finally broke apart. The brilliant blue sky reappeared. Golden sunlight cascaded downward. Beneath the massive, endless expanse of the clear sky, a single, unified voice echoed continuously.
"Captain." They were screaming for Kai, but simultaneously, they were screaming for Niki Lauda.
Thus, the 2019 Monaco Grand Prix officially concluded.
Starting from P4, Kai had relentlessly hunted down his prey and executed a series of spectacular overtakes. Utilizing a completely incomprehensible performance, he successfully seized the ultimate summit, authoring yet another incredibly rare, breathtaking miracle.
This was vastly more than just a single championship trophy. It was a massive, highly visible declaration of resurgence following the disastrous aerodynamic upgrades introduced in Barcelona. It was Ferrari's ultimate, aggressive manifesto. More importantly, he had directly, head-on defeated Hamilton and Mercedes-Benz, who had been absolutely certain of victory. He delivered a massive, brutal blow directly to the skull of their most arrogant, seemingly invincible rival.
Hamilton was forced to settle for second place.
Historically, Mercedes-Benz operated under a highly specific, calculating philosophy: it was fundamentally unnecessary to exhaust every single ounce of energy desperately pursuing a race victory. Maintaining absolute stability and flawless consistency was the true, ultimate objective. Three consecutive podium finishes carried vastly more weight than a single victory. As long as they consistently secured podium positions, the World Championship was mathematically guaranteed to be theirs.
Logically speaking, having secured a podium finish in all six races of the season thus far, and firmly maintaining his lead in the Drivers' Championship standings, Hamilton should have been ecstatic. He should have been celebrating.
But why did it feel fundamentally different this time?
Celebrate?
How the hell was he supposed to celebrate?! The massive, heavy knot of frustration and seething rage trapped in his chest hadn't been vented in the slightest. In fact, it had become exponentially more entangled and suffocatingly thick.
Humiliated. Pathetic. Suffocated—
Those were the absolute most accurate adjectives to describe Mercedes-Benz's experience at the Monaco Grand Prix. Forget about joy; there wasn't a single genuine smile to be found across the entire organization.
On one front, Hamilton had been defeated by Kai. Furthermore, it wasn't a microscopic, negligible gap. It was a massive, humiliating seven-second chasm. It felt exactly like a brutal, physical slap directly across Mercedes-Benz's face. The W10, which had appeared terrifyingly untouchable and vastly superior to the rest of the grid all season, had suddenly been violently dragged down to the mud. Their massive advantage had completely vanished.
This was a significantly more terrifying reality than the disaster in Shanghai.
On the other front, Hamilton had terrifyingly almost lost P2 to Verstappen. Surviving Verstappen's massive, flat-out assault in the closing stages had been a completely humiliating, agonizingly desperate ordeal. He ultimately crossed the finish line a mere 0.833 seconds ahead of the Red Bull. Right up until the checkered flag officially waved, absolutely no one on the pit wall could breathe easily.
This was the second brutal slap to the face.
Following a single Monaco Grand Prix, Mercedes-Benz appeared to be facing an unprecedented, catastrophic crisis. The entire overarching narrative and trajectory of the season had violently shifted.
Perhaps the casual viewers tuning into the Monaco Grand Prix completely failed to comprehend Mercedes-Benz's sudden, overwhelming sense of crisis. Was it really that serious?
Because the driver standing on the third step of the podium was undeniably—
Bottas!
Not Verstappen. Even though Verstappen had launched a massive, ferocious assault in the closing laps, Bottas had executed his own aggressive push phase. Because Hamilton's desperate defense effectively formed a massive roadblock, Bottas ultimately crossed the finish line a mere 7.139 seconds behind Verstappen.
Verstappen was carrying two massive five-second time penalties. The first for the pit lane collision with Bottas, and the second for the Turn 10 collision with Kai. A total of ten seconds.
Consequently, although Verstappen physically crossed the finish line in third, he was officially demoted and completely failed to secure the podium position. This was the primary catalyst for Verstappen's blinding, unhinged fury following the race.
For Mercedes-Benz, missing out on the ultimate victory at the Monaco Grand Prix was undeniably, incredibly frustrating. But from a purely corporate perspective, they remained absolutely dominant.
In all six races of the season, Hamilton and Bottas had successfully secured podium finishes together! It was a completely unique, terrifyingly dominant achievement! They were currently miles ahead in the Constructors' Championship standings!
Furthermore, with Leclerc suffering a catastrophic DNF in Monaco, Ferrari's relentless pursuit in the Constructors' Championship had been significantly slowed. Mercedes-Benz's massive advantage had actually further expanded. They had flawlessly capitalized on the opportunity to aggressively drop their primary rival. This was unquestionably a massive achievement worthy of celebration.
Following the Monaco Grand Prix, Mercedes-Benz's team points total sat at a staggering 237. Ferrari lagged far behind with 164.
Although the two teams occupied the top two positions in the Constructors' Championship standings, the massive, 73-point chasm clearly illustrated Mercedes-Benz's terrifying dominance.
It was absolutely no wonder the casual viewers couldn't comprehend the incredibly sensitive, highly volatile tension between Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari. After all, the raw numbers didn't lie.
However, reality was infinitely more complex.
Starting from Melbourne, Mercedes-Benz had aggressively attempted to establish an aura of terrifying, unassailable dominance. They wanted to violently sever all contact with their rivals and sprint unopposed toward the World Championship, flawlessly executing a boring, utterly predictable season.
But this master plan had continuously encountered massive, catastrophic roadblocks. Time and time again.
After absorbing the massive blow in Shanghai, Wolff had rapidly adjusted their overarching strategy. Mercedes-Benz had returned to their optimal trajectory, and Hamilton appeared to have fully recovered his elite form. Even the resurgent Red Bull had inadvertently assisted them, utilizing the chaos in Barcelona to shove the struggling, upgrade-crippled Ferrari even further into the abyss.
They had absolutely never anticipated that, at the exact moment their momentum was peaking, they would suffer another massive, brutal blow to the skull.
In Monaco! During the highly emotional weekend honoring Lauda! And the defeat had been inflicted in a deeply humiliating, pathetic manner! It was arguably a significantly more humiliating defeat than Ricciardo's masterclass last season!
The suffocating rage was lodged firmly in their throats.
—Crisis!
This was a massive crisis! Yet another massive, terrifying crisis for Mercedes-Benz this season. And exactly like the previous ones, it was entirely orchestrated by Ferrari. It was entirely orchestrated by Kai. It was absolutely, incredibly infuriating!
Following Verstappen's demotion, Albon was officially classified in P5. He shattered his personal best finish of the season. The rookie driver, who had essentially fallen out of the sky into the Red Bull seat, finally seemed to have established a highly functional rhythm.
Sainz, Kvyat, Gasly, Ricciardo, and Grosjean occupied the remaining points-paying positions.
A closer analysis revealed the shocking truth: the undisputed biggest winner of the Monaco Grand Prix was undeniably Red Bull!
All four drivers representing Red Bull Racing and Toro Rosso successfully scored points. Albon, operating under immense, crushing pressure, had finally delivered a spectacular performance. The massive upgrade package introduced in Baku was finally seamlessly translating into massive, tangible competitive pace on the asphalt. They had officially entered the championship fight.
However.
Christian Horner couldn't care less. The Monaco Grand Prix victory rightfully belonged to Verstappen, okay?!
It was entirely Kai's fault! It was 100% Kai's fault!
It happened last year! And it happened again this year! And this year was significantly more egregious; Verstappen was even violently shoved off the podium! So far this season, Red Bull had secured a grand total of ONE podium finish in Barcelona. A championship fight?! My ass! A celebration?! My ass!
While the podium ceremony was still ongoing, Horner had already sprinted toward the FIA offices, completely consumed by blinding rage. Not only did he submit a massive, formal written protest, but he explicitly demanded an immediate, face-to-face confrontation. On one hand, he aggressively demanded they completely rescind Verstappen's penalty points. On the other hand, he furiously demanded they severely penalize Kai to explicitly warn the paddock that his maneuver was a catastrophic, highly dangerous precedent. He demanded justice for Red Bull.
A massive, violent storm! A raging hurricane!
Immediately after the podium ceremony concluded, Horner was informed that the race stewards were currently extremely busy. He crossed his arms, fully prepared to enjoy the incoming chaos. Even though the teams were aggressively lobbying from behind the scenes, the ultimate outcome would depend entirely on the subsequent, direct interrogations between the stewards and the drivers involved.
The news rapidly spread.
The post-race press conference was currently in full swing. The top three drivers were answering questions from the global media. Suddenly, an FIA official slipped into the room and directly instructed Kai to report immediately to the FIA offices. The press room instantly erupted into chaotic whispers.
Everyone eagerly anticipated the incoming drama. Watching Hamilton and Bottas sitting calmly on the sofa, the journalists frantically speculated. Had Mercedes-Benz successfully exerted massive political pressure behind the scenes? Had Ferrari once again lost a brutal, high-stakes political battle in the paddock? What exactly did this summon mean?
Was Kai about to receive a massive post-race penalty? A time penalty? Would he be stripped of his victory? Could it even be an outright disqualification (DSQ)?
However, absolutely no one anticipated what happened next. Mere moments after Kai left the room, the exact same FIA official returned. He gestured frantically at Hamilton and Bottas. Ultimately, Hamilton stood up and followed the official out of the room.
The press conference was abruptly abandoned, leaving Bottas completely alone on the stage, staring blankly at the massive crowd of journalists. They exchanged bewildered, utterly confused glances. The room fell into absolute silence.
The press conference didn't last much longer. The journalists rapidly dispersed, frantically scrambling to unearth any leaked intel from the FIA offices—
Kai and Hamilton had both been officially summoned by the race stewards!
Horner was completely dumbfounded.
The FIA possessed absolutely zero interest in revisiting the collision between Kai and Verstappen at Turn 10. That incident was completely, definitively closed. Their absolute, overriding concern was the highly controversial incident at Turn 6 and Turn 7. Because the FIA's initial ruling (or lack thereof) had triggered a massive, global controversy both inside and outside the paddock, they absolutely needed to interrogate the two drivers directly to firmly establish the exact facts.
In an instant, the entire paddock completely exploded!
Although the veteran journalists had already strongly suspected the situation wouldn't be easily swept under the rug—the massive, violently boiling tsunami of public outrage on social media was simply impossible to suppress—if the FIA continued to stubbornly play deaf and dumb, the controversy would undoubtedly escalate into a massive, catastrophic PR nightmare.
However, actually hearing that the stewards had officially summoned both Hamilton and Kai caused the butterflies in their stomachs to violently take flight. They simply couldn't suppress their massive excitement.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Every single corner of the paddock was completely saturated with this intense heatwave. The subtle, highly significant glances exchanged between personnel perfectly captured the massive, voracious appetite for gossip currently consuming the paddock. The massive, toxic accumulation of grievances dating all the way back to Abu Dhabi last year had been forcefully suppressed beneath the surface. But that superficial calm had always been a fragile illusion. The violent, churning undercurrents had absolutely never settled. They had simply been waiting for a massive catalyst to trigger a catastrophic explosion.
Frangipane hurried back to the Ferrari hospitality area. She could viscerally feel the intense, burning glares hitting her from all directions. The scrutiny was so intense it practically scorched her skin.
Frangipane was consumed by sheer panic. She frantically accelerated her pace, desperate to return to her office and begin executing damage control. She needed to make several critical phone calls immediately to stabilize the rapidly deteriorating situation.
However, upon entering the suite, she spotted Binotto sitting calmly in a chair. She completely lost her temper. "Mattia! What exactly is happening right now?! Why are you sitting there posing like the Mona Lisa?!"
This crisis was massive. Incredibly, profoundly massive.
Following the race, Kai had violently provoked Hamilton, nearly initiating a massive physical brawl. Subsequently, he had aggressively bypassed an elite security detail to directly approach Prince Albert II in the pouring rain. These highly controversial incidents were likely currently detonating across social media. But Frangipane absolutely lacked the time to manage the online fallout; her absolute, overriding priority was desperately attempting to placate the Monégasque Royal Family.
And now, the sudden, aggressive intervention by the race stewards had exponentially compounded the complexity of the crisis.
In the hyper-political environment of the paddock, even the most microscopic action taken by the stewards generated massive, widespread debate. Nothing escaped scrutiny. Now, the stewards had officially summoned Kai and Hamilton directly in the middle of a live, global press conference. The conflict had been violently shoved directly into the blinding glare of the media spotlight. It was incredibly easy to predict the massive, apocalyptic media storm currently brewing.
Crisis after crisis, cascading in relentless waves. Frangipane felt completely, utterly overwhelmed. She desperately wished she possessed eight arms to simultaneously manage every single catastrophic failure.
And yet, Mr. Binotto?
He sat calmly on the sofa, projecting an aura of absolute, Zen-like tranquility, exactly as if he were patiently posing for a classical portrait.
Frangipane felt a massive, heavy blockage in her chest.
Her brain completely short-circuited. A rapid, chaotic stream of frantic Italian exploded from her mouth. Frangipane honestly couldn't even remember the specific words she had just screamed. After violently dumping her entire mental breakdown onto him, she noticed that Binotto remained completely, utterly unbothered. She froze, completely forgetting what she was planning to say next.
Binotto silently picked up his coffee cup and offered it to her.
Frangipane shot him a vicious glare, snatched the cup, and took a massive gulp. Only then did she realize it was heavily spiked with premium single malt whiskey.
She involuntarily took two more massive gulps. Her violently hammering heart finally, blessedly slowed down slightly.
Binotto had watched her the entire time. Finally, he spoke. "Do not worry. Absolutely everything is proceeding exactly according to plan."
Frangipane ruthlessly rolled her eyes. "Excuse me?! Absolutely nothing that occurred today was in the plan! Even Kai securing the championship was a massive, completely unexpected miracle! Good god, during the final laps, my heart felt like it was going to literally explode. How exactly did Kai actually manage to pull that off?!"
Binotto replied calmly, "I honestly have no idea. But that is precisely why he is Kai, and we are not."
This time, Frangipane successfully decoded the subtle, highly specific tone in Binotto's voice. She froze. Something was profoundly strange. Although her brain was slightly sluggish, she finally connected the dots. "Mattia... are you implying—"
Was all of this... meticulously orchestrated?!
How was that even possible?!
Binotto nodded slightly. "It wasn't a comprehensive, pre-planned master strategy. But relying heavily on Kai's brilliant, dynamic adaptation, we have successfully managed to seize total control of the narrative."
Now that Frangipane had finally, completely calmed down, Binotto was finally able to explain the entire situation.
To be highly accurate, the operation had officially commenced the exact second the cars crossed the finish line.
Mekies was the very first person to detect the highly abnormal, massively coordinated PR assault erupting across social media. The Mercedes-Benz fanbase was actively, aggressively executing a massive smear campaign explicitly targeting Kai. Although the Tifosi had immediately launched a massive, full-scale counter-attack... Mekies instantly smelled a massive rat.
The timing!
The timing was the absolute critical factor. The situation was glaringly obviously highly complex. The absolute highest probability was that Mercedes-Benz was actively, aggressively manipulating public opinion. This wasn't merely about applying political pressure; it was a highly calculated strike explicitly designed to disrupt Kai and Ferrari's focus. Even Leclerc had been deliberately dragged into the center of the toxic hurricane.
Mekies immediately notified Binotto, and simultaneously briefed Kai.
Binotto instantly understood the dynamic. No wonder Wolff hadn't immediately screamed at the race stewards over the radio. It was glaringly obvious: Mercedes-Benz was meticulously cultivating a massive PR storm.
It was undeniably true that Binotto was fundamentally an engineer. But successfully surviving the brutal internal warfare against the corporate faction and eventually usurping Arrivabene to claim the Team Principal role proved one undeniable fact: he was absolutely not a naive, innocent rabbit.
In a flash of realization, Binotto accurately diagnosed the underlying source of Mercedes-Benz's terrifying 'arrogance.'
For years, the 'Big Three' had wielded massive, undeniable political influence within the sport. Naturally, legacy teams like Renault and McLaren also possessed deep-rooted political power. However, without a shadow of a doubt, Ferrari remained the absolute, undisputed most powerful entity within the FIA and Formula 1.
A highly critical, frequently overlooked fact: The official Formula 1 prospectus explicitly, legally dictates that before a new CEO can be appointed to manage the sport, Ferrari absolutely must grant formal, written consent.
To this day, Ferrari remains the sole, exclusive team possessing that level of massive, terrifying veto power.
However, it was completely undeniable that Mercedes-Benz's terrifying, tyrannical rise had allowed them to establish massive, sprawling influence. They possessed the raw power to violently shake the absolute foundational pillars of the sport. The most glaringly obvious evidence: in 2016, during Liberty Media's massive, multi-billion-dollar acquisition of Formula 1, Wolff had operated as a crucial, highly influential intermediary behind the scenes.
Last season, during Lawrence Stroll's aggressive buyout of Force India, the fingerprints of Liberty Media and Wolff were glaringly obvious.
Precisely because of this massive, deeply entrenched political power, whenever highly controversial rulings were required... whenever highly sensitive, crucial micro-details were debated... Mercedes-Benz consistently, miraculously emerged victorious. Even when Ferrari and Red Bull threw everything they had into maintaining the equilibrium, occasionally even forming temporary, desperate alliances, they ultimately failed to overcome Mercedes-Benz's political dominance.
It was glaringly obvious. Wolff absolutely did not fear the FIA. Not only did he lack fear, he aggressively exploited the dynamic, relentlessly manipulating the media to seize the absolute moral high ground.
Naturally, Ferrari absolutely refused to meekly surrender. They were constantly, aggressively attempting to reclaim the ultimate initiative.
Binotto immediately realized that his initial instinct had been far too fundamentally 'Ferrari.'
The traditional Ferrari playbook dictated that dirty political warfare remained strictly behind closed doors. There was absolutely no need to drag their conflicts with the FIA into the blinding glare of the public spotlight. Therefore, Binotto's immediate, instinctual reaction had been to privately contact the race stewards and apply crushing pressure behind the scenes.
But evaluating the current landscape, it was glaringly obvious that Maranello was catastrophically out of touch with the modern era. Forget about challenging massive, hyper-modern powerhouses like Mercedes-Benz; even a midfield team like Racing Point was aggressively preparing to seize control of the political chessboard.
The era had fundamentally changed. If you wanted to successfully manipulate the FIA, you either utilized massive corporate capital, you mobilized massive, terrifying public outrage, or you brutally deployed both simultaneously.
Binotto realized they absolutely had to launch a massive, highly visible counter-attack. He was preparing to contact Frangipane, as media manipulation was undeniably her absolute specialty.
However, completely unexpectedly, Kai proactively proposed a radically different strategy. Since they desperately needed to secure absolute dominance in the court of public opinion... why not aggressively blow the entire situation completely out of proportion? Go absolutely, totally nuclear—
Niki Lauda.
Mercedes-Benz had spent the entire weekend meticulously, aggressively utilizing Lauda's death to manufacture massive PR sympathy, entirely, intentionally excluding Ferrari from the narrative. They acted as though Lauda was purely an exclusive, proprietary Silver Arrow legend. This provided the perfect opportunity. Kai was going to publicly, violently remind them of a crucial fact: Lauda's greatest, most profound legacy in the sport of Formula 1 absolutely wasn't his association with Mercedes-Benz. It was his relentless, lifelong crusade to champion driver safety.
And so.
The highly public, incredibly dramatic confrontation was flawlessly executed.
After listening to the comprehensive breakdown of the entire operation, Frangipane was completely dumbfounded. Her knees buckled. She collapsed heavily onto the sofa.
While Binotto had been sitting calmly, he had actually been obsessively monitoring a tablet. He handed the tablet to her. "The exact second the confrontation began in the paddock, our massive, highly coordinated counter-attack on social media was instantly deployed."
Frangipane took the tablet. It was currently playing a short, highly edited video—
It was the complete, uninterrupted sequence of Kai overtaking Hamilton. From the initial feint at Turn 6 all the way to the exit of Turn 8. The edit heavily emphasized the exact microsecond the overtake was completed at the exit of Turn 7. It was perfectly synchronized with Crofty's passionate, screaming commentary: "That was an absolutely vintage Niki Lauda overtake!" In the background, the massive "Danke, Niki" banner was glaringly, undeniably prominent.
The video didn't merely humiliate Hamilton by showcasing the overtake. It continuously, aggressively looped the slow-motion footage of Hamilton's highly illegal secondary defensive block. More importantly, it masterfully invoked the memory of Lauda.
Hadn't Mercedes-Benz spent the entire weekend obsessively leveraging Lauda's name for PR?
Be careful what you wish for.
The highly orchestrated synergy between the physical confrontation in Monaco and the massive digital assault online generated a terrifying, unstoppable PR hurricane. Wolff wasn't the only operative in the paddock capable of successfully manipulating a crisis.
Therefore, the stewards' decision to officially summon Kai and Hamilton wasn't an attempt to aggressively punish Ferrari. And it certainly wasn't driven by a sudden, miraculous attack of moral conscience. It was a panicked, desperate response to realizing they were sitting on a massive, highly volatile powder keg. They were frantically attempting to perform damage control.
Fundamentally, the brutal war currently raging between Ferrari and Mercedes-Benz wasn't merely about a single, isolated racing foul. It was a massive, all-out war for absolute narrative control over the entire sport.
It was merely the Monaco Grand Prix, but its significance extended vastly beyond a single race. As the absolute most commercially valuable, historically significant event on the entire F1 calendar, the massive, hyper-complex web of financial and political interests woven into this weekend was astronomically complex.
Therefore, Wolff had aggressively struck first, attempting to manipulate the narrative.
But this time, Ferrari had brilliantly, flawlessly hijacked his momentum to launch a massive, full-scale counter-attack. They were fully prepared to force Mercedes-Benz to swallow their own toxic medicine. They would brutally force them to swallow their shattered teeth, mixed with their own blood.
The era had shifted, and the rules of engagement had fundamentally altered. For years, Mercedes-Benz had operated with terrifying, unchecked tyranny. Although Ferrari had constantly, desperately attempted to reverse the dynamic, their efforts had always ultimately failed. Since the ancient, traditional playbook was clearly broken... it was officially time to radically alter their strategy. It was time to modernize their approach and deploy vastly more brutal, highly unconventional tactics.
Mercedes-Benz had desperately attempted to maintain their absolute initiative, but Ferrari's devastating counter-attack had already arrived, striking them directly in the throat before they even possessed the time to react.
The grand, overarching master plan was finally, completely laid bare.
Frangipane finally snapped out of her daze. All her previous confusion and lingering anxiety were completely resolved. "No wonder! I was genuinely terrified! Given Kai's highly analytical personality, it made absolutely zero logical sense for him to suddenly lose control and act like a rabid animal!"
Reflecting on the incident... Kai rolling up his sleeves and charging forward in a blind, unhinged fury was completely, totally out of character. It was a highly calculated performance explicitly designed to violently detonate the entire paddock.
Arrogant. Aggressive. Wildly unrestrained. Fiercely arrogant. He had flawlessly, brilliantly resurrected the absolute, dominant aura of Ferrari's golden age.
After a brief moment of awe, the lingering terror returned. Frangipane frowned heavily. "But wasn't that incredibly risky? It was a massive gamble! Furthermore, Prince Albert II was physically present at the scene!"
Binotto offered a light shrug. "We literally only had a few minutes to formulate the entire operation. We simply lacked the luxury of time to meticulously debate every single microscopic variable."
"But analyzing the situation retroactively... I firmly believe that was Kai's ultimate objective. He explicitly, deliberately chose to escalate the conflict to its absolute maximum right in front of Prince Albert II."
"Do not forget, although Prince Albert II is currently the reigning monarch, his youthful exploits as a wildly unrestrained, rebellious playboy are legendary across the globe."
It was undeniably a massive risk, and a terrifying gamble. But the truly, genuinely awe-inspiring aspect of Kai's execution was his phenomenal ability to dynamically adapt. He possessed a terrifying combination of lightning-fast wit and absolute, icy composure. He always possessed the elite capability to analyze the entire board and identify the single, optimal pressure point. Even when absorbing massive risks, he always managed to flawlessly utilize every single available resource—
To aggressively maximize his ultimate initiative.
The current scenario was identical. On the surface, utilizing Prince Albert II was an incredibly dangerous, high-risk maneuver. But navigating extreme danger frequently revealed the ultimate pathway to successfully overturning the board.
"F1 management is aggressively attempting to exploit Kai. They desperately want to utilize him as the ultimate, definitive face of the sport to execute massive commercial expansion and conquer untapped global markets. Therefore, they absolutely must pay the required toll."
"For years, Lewis has served as the undisputed face of motorsport. F1 management has constantly, frantically operated behind the scenes to clean up his massive messes, continuously utilizing their media power to fiercely protect his immaculate public image. Kai is now absolutely entitled to receive that exact same, elite-tier treatment. If they refuse to provide it, why on Earth should we willingly, obediently cooperate with their grand commercial schemes?"
The Formula 1 paddock was fundamentally a massive, ruthless business enterprise. Profit was the ultimate, supreme priority. Entertainment to the death. The concept of a 'free lunch' absolutely did not exist.
It wasn't just Prince Albert II. Binotto and Kai were simultaneously, aggressively targeting F1 management. If management genuinely believed they could simply sweep the Monaco controversy under the rug and pretend absolutely nothing had happened, they were catastrophically naive. Ferrari didn't possess the direct authority to forcefully mandate the FIA to alter their rulings, but they undeniably possessed the power to aggressively coerce F1 management into aligning with Ferrari's objectives.
Binotto looked at Frangipane. It was obvious she remained incredibly tense. Clearly, the entire situation remained massively, terrifyingly complex.
Public relations and media manipulation were her exclusive, highly specialized domains. She absolutely despised operating in scenarios that were completely outside her direct control.
Binotto understood her anxiety. He paused for a moment. "If we had handled this crisis using your standard playbook... it would have simply been another execution of the classic, highly predictable 'Ferrari Model.'"
Frangipane looked up sharply. "Excuse me? Is there a catastrophic flaw with the 'Ferrari Model'?"
Binotto shook his head. "I'm merely hypothesizing... but I strongly suspect the primary reason Mr. Marchionne placed such absolute, unwavering faith in Kai... was explicitly because he desperately hoped Kai would successfully shatter the traditional 'Ferrari Model'..."
By the time he finished the sentence, Binotto sounded slightly uncertain himself. Marchionne had been dead for nearly a year. They still hadn't fully, completely adapted to the massive vacuum his absence had created.
The path forward was completely shrouded in darkness. They absolutely had to rely on their own capabilities to blindly forge ahead.
Frangipane shook her head in profound, helpless frustration. "So, is that the actual reason you deliberately excluded me from the loop? You were terrified I would actively sabotage your brilliant master plan? And instead, you chose to leave me running around exactly like a panicked dog in a heatwave. Panting heavily, completely drenched in sweat, sprinting wildly in circles in the middle of a torrential downpour?"
"No. Absolutely not," Binotto hurriedly clarified. "Silvia, the absolute most critical element was raw, unadulterated authenticity. We absolutely had to guarantee that the confrontation looked 100% genuine. We required everyone to exhibit their natural, unscripted reactions. Genuine, visceral shock. We absolutely needed the millions of viewers watching on television to believe the conflict was entirely authentic."
"That was the absolute, only viable strategy to successfully secure the moral high ground and completely monopolize public opinion."
Frangipane stared at Binotto, completely unblinking, for a very, very long time. Finally, she broke eye contact. She lowered her head and looked back at the tablet currently resting in her hands—
In that incredibly brief window of time, the highly edited short video had already surpassed a massive one million views. However, the metrics for retweets, likes, and comments still possessed significant, massive room for exponential growth.
Frangipane let out a long, heavy exhale. "You desperately need massive engagement—retweets and likes—to genuinely detonate the viral algorithm. We absolutely need to ensure this reaches a significantly larger percentage of the Tifosi."
The arrow was already nocked and the bowstring drawn. They absolutely had to fire. However, Frangipane was forced to admit that this highly aggressive, do-or-die maneuver was highly likely the absolute, brilliant masterstroke required to successfully overturn the board.
In a fraction of a second, thousands of complex strategic calculations had already begun rapidly executing in her brain. Her elite professional instincts were already meticulously drafting comprehensive battle plans and engagement protocols.
Despite her rapid transition into work mode, Frangipane couldn't resist shooting Binotto one final, vicious glare. Binotto dutifully raised both hands in a posture of absolute surrender. Frangipane stood up, loudly muttering, "You guys deliberately manufacture these massive, catastrophic disasters, and then force me to clean up the horrific mess." But her movements didn't pause for a microsecond. She immediately dove into executing her strategy.
A massive, brutal war was quietly, invisibly commencing. On the surface, the lethal blades remained concealed. But the violently churning, toxic undercurrents caused the entire paddock to erupt into a state of chaotic, buzzing anticipation.
The stewards' inquiry dragged on significantly longer than anyone had anticipated. A full thirty minutes passed, and the doors remained firmly shut. Endless, wildly speculative rumors completely saturated the paddock. The seasoned, highly cynical veterans living in the paddock immediately sensed that the atmosphere was profoundly abnormal. A massive, world-altering storm was continuously, aggressively brewing.
It wasn't until thirty-seven agonizing minutes had passed that the heavily secured doors to the stewards' office finally opened. Hamilton was the first to emerge. His face was a mask of cold stone, completely devoid of emotion. It was impossible to glean any intel from his expression. Kai followed closely behind. He radiated an aura of freezing, icy hostility. The lingering traces of raw, violent emotion clinging to the young driver clearly exposed a tiny, highly suggestive flaw.
However, Hamilton and Kai did not speak to each other. They didn't engage in any diplomatic pleasantries. They flatly refused to even exchange a single glance. Even though they both technically needed to return in the exact same direction toward the pit lane, they deliberately maximized the physical distance between them and walked off in entirely different directions. It looked exactly as though they were physically incapable of tolerating the air the other was breathing.
Within minutes, an endless barrage of wildly conflicting rumors had completely flooded the paddock.
One rumor claimed the FIA was once again attempting to play the role of the great peacemaker, desperately trying to issue a highly diplomatic, balanced ruling to appease both sides. This cowardice had completely, violently enraged Kai. The hot-blooded youth had completely lost his temper, aggressively launching a massive verbal assault on the stewards. The situation inside the room had allegedly been incredibly ugly.
Another rumor claimed the FIA was actually preparing to officially penalize Mercedes-Benz. In other words, they were preparing to formally, officially acknowledge that Hamilton's secondary block was highly illegal. This ruling had violently enraged Hamilton. However, Kai was also profoundly dissatisfied with the ultimate severity of the penalty. The FIA had essentially managed to catastrophically anger both parties simultaneously.
The wildly conflicting theories continued to spread exactly like a virus. Then, observers noticed a crucial detail. The Mercedes-Benz pit garage had become eerily, unnervingly quiet. They were projecting an exceptionally low-profile aura. They had firmly shuttered their garage doors, aggressively severing all visual access from the paddock.
Simultaneously, Ferrari was also projecting an aura of heavy, profound silence. The pit garage was a hive of frantic, highly focused activity. They hadn't even engaged in a massive, public celebration to honor Kai's victory. The entire atmosphere radiated an aura of severe, lethal tension.
The agonizing suspense didn't last much longer. The highly classified internal FIA ruling officially leaked—
The FIA was undeniably attempting to play the peacemaker. However, this time, they had ultimately chosen to aggressively uphold the integrity of the sporting regulations. They had even taken the highly unprecedented step of completely overturning their initial, mid-race 'no investigation' ruling, officially issuing a retroactive penalty.
A penalty?!
Like a massive boulder dropped into a tranquil lake, the entire press corps completely lost their minds. Had the FIA finally, actually summoned the courage to officially penalize Mercedes-Benz?!
Moments later, the FIA released their official, public statement, instantly, violently detonating a massive shockwave across the entire paddock.
"Regarding Lewis Hamilton: No post-race time penalty will be applied. He will not be stripped of his finishing position. However, he has been issued two penalty points on his FIA Super License."
"Regarding Kai: No penalty will be applied. The incident will merely be recorded in the official race logs."
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
In a fraction of a second, the entire motorsport world completely lost its mind.
This ruling was absolute, undeniable confirmation that the FIA formally recognized Hamilton's secondary defensive block as a highly illegal maneuver. Mercedes-Benz's carefully constructed, heavily fortified moral high ground had sustained its very first massive, direct, highly public hit.
It was exactly like a brutal, physical slap directly across Hamilton's face. This formal reprimand was arguably significantly more severe, and infinitely more humiliating, than a simple five-second time penalty.
It was absolutely no wonder Hamilton had emerged from the office looking like a block of ice.
But analyzing Kai's reaction... it was glaringly obvious that the Ferrari driver remained profoundly dissatisfied with the ultimate ruling. Super License penalty points. Technically, it was a severe penalty. If a driver accumulates twelve penalty points within a rolling twelve-month period, they trigger an automatic, mandatory one-race suspension. But simultaneously... it wasn't severe at all. Because the rolling period lasted for an entire year—
It was essentially a completely insignificant slap on the wrist.
No time penalty! No grid drop! No loss of position!
On the surface, it appeared as though the FIA had officially, publicly validated Ferrari's claim that Hamilton had committed a foul. But in reality, Mercedes-Benz and Hamilton suffered absolutely zero tangible, mathematical consequences.
Perhaps the absolute only tangible benefit was that it provided a definitive, official conclusion to the highly toxic controversy surrounding Turn 6 and Turn 7. Hamilton had undeniably, officially committed a foul.
The FIA had executed a desperate, frantic scramble to salvage the situation, and ultimately managed to deliver a ruling that profoundly, deeply angered both organizations!
Analyzing the terrifyingly toxic atmosphere currently suffocating the Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari garages, everything suddenly made perfect sense. The lethal tension had escalated to an entirely new, unprecedented stratosphere. The two organizations were now locked in a state of absolute, mutual, highly public loathing. It didn't require a genius to accurately predict that the brutal, bayonets-drawn political warfare between the two teams was destined to violently escalate both on and off the asphalt.
However, the rabid, bloodthirsty hyenas of the press corps possessed absolutely zero patience. Exactly like starving vultures spotting a fresh corpse, they didn't even bother checking if the body was still warm before violently swarming. They formed a massive, impenetrable, three-layer-deep barricade, completely trapping Hamilton in the center.
"Lewis... Lewis! What is your official response to the FIA's penalty?!"
In an incredibly rare occurrence, Hamilton—who had been actively attempting to exit the paddock and return to his residence—actually stopped walking. The very next second, a massive sea of audio recorders and smartphones violently thrust forward, completely, suffocatingly engulfing Hamilton.