Without a shadow of a doubt, for the drivers, Monaco was a fundamentally different beast.
Even though modern fans and casual viewers constantly complained that the Monaco Grand Prix was becoming increasingly boring, tedious, and devoid of genuine racing spectacle, through the eyes of the drivers, it remained the absolute, undisputed holy grail of motorsport. Whether it was the terrifying, unique physical challenges of the circuit itself, or the massive, crushing weight of its legendary history, everything combined to imbue the Monaco Grand Prix with unparalleled, transcendent significance.
Every single driver desperately dreamed of setting foot on the Monte Carlo asphalt. Not in a simulator, but actually, physically unleashing a race car on those legendary streets.
Now, that impossible dream had materialized. Furthermore, they had actually tasted the ultimate glory of standing on the podium. It was absolutely no wonder Hubert and Zhou Guanyu were practically vibrating with irrepressible excitement.
The conversation naturally flowed from the F2 support races directly into the main event. Compared to their Sprint Race, today's F1 Grand Prix had been a massive, chaotic rollercoaster of terrifying peaks and valleys. Starting from Kai's miraculous victory, they slowly traced back through motorsport history, animatedly discussing the legendary, immortalized races of the past. They unanimously, profoundly agreed on one thing: it was incredibly fortunate the massive rainstorm had been delayed until after the checkered flag. Had it arrived during the race, the already chaotic situation would have mutated into an incomprehensible, catastrophic nightmare. The final outcome would have been utterly unpredictable.
They officially called it a 'celebratory party,' but in reality, it was just a small, intimate gathering sitting around the living room of Kai's apartment—
Absolutely no alcohol. Absolutely no massive feast.
Entering the 2019 season, the FIA had implemented numerous massive regulatory changes. One of the most significant adjustments involved the minimum weight requirements for the cars.
In the previous season, F1 regulations dictated that the combined weight of the car and the driver must not fall below 734 kilograms. Now, the regulations stipulated that the minimum weight of the car alone must be 740 kilograms. However, the truly critical, game-changing alteration was this: previously, the driver and the car were weighed together as a single unit. This heavily penalized taller, naturally heavier drivers. Now, the driver and the chassis were weighed completely separately.
While the combined weight of the chassis and the driver still couldn't fall below the mandated minimum, the regulations now explicitly dictated that the driver, along with their seat and all required safety equipment, must weigh a minimum of 80 kilograms.
If a driver weighed less than this specific 80-kilogram threshold, the team was legally required to add ballast to the cockpit to make up the difference. In junior categories like F2 and F3, teams were permitted to strategically distribute this ballast around the cockpit to artificially manipulate and optimize the chassis's center of gravity. However, in F1, this was strictly prohibited. The ballast had to be securely fastened in highly specific, mandated locations immediately adjacent to the driver's seat.
The explicit objective of this massive regulatory shift was to completely eradicate the unfair advantage previously enjoyed by lighter, shorter drivers, ensuring taller drivers were no longer severely penalized. Simultaneously, it was designed to actively prevent drivers from engaging in extreme, highly dangerous weight-loss regimens that severely compromised their physical health.
Without a shadow of a doubt, this specific regulation provided massive, crucial protection for the drivers' well-being. They no longer needed to starve themselves to hit an unnatural target weight. In fact, if their weight dropped too low, they were actively mandated to bulk up.
However, conversely, this regulation also explicitly demanded that drivers maintain absolute, unwavering stability regarding their body weight.
Throughout the grueling, nine-month grind of the championship campaign, if a driver's weight fluctuated—even by a single kilogram—it triggered massive consequences. On one hand, it directly, negatively impacted their ultimate lap time on the asphalt. On the other hand, it catastrophically affected the mandatory post-race scrutineering process. When an elite engineering team spent countless agonizing hours desperately shaving hundreds of grams off the chassis—even resorting to stripping paint to save weight—a single, reckless dietary indulgence by the driver could violently obliterate the team's entire effort.
Yes, paint.
The total weight of the paint livery on a Formula 1 car can easily reach a staggering six kilograms.
Precisely because of these microscopic margins, starting in the 2019 season, drivers were absolutely mandated to strictly, ruthlessly adhere to highly specific dietary regimens. It wasn't about losing weight; it was entirely about maintaining absolute, unwavering consistency.
These microscopic, unseen details off the track possessed the terrifying potential to trigger a massive butterfly effect, radically altering the entire landscape of the World Championship.
This was especially true for Ferrari, who were currently navigating a massive array of severe, ongoing challenges. Absolute perfection in the details dictated absolutely everything.
Therefore.
A party was a party, but their strict dietary regimens remained absolutely non-negotiable.
A casual observer might argue: 'Why not just indulge for one single night, and then simply burn off the excess calories the next day with an intense workout? Doesn't that perfectly restore the equilibrium? The season lasts for nine grueling months; who on Earth can realistically live exactly like a monastic monk for that entire duration?'
The underlying logic was undeniably sound. A single indulgence, followed by a grueling workout, could theoretically restore the balance. But the true, terrifying danger lay in the psychological precedent. The absolute key was maintaining unbreakable discipline. A single indulgence was an excuse. It exposed a fundamental vulnerability. Once you permit the first indulgence, the second is inevitable. Before long, the entire, meticulously structured routine is completely, catastrophically shattered.
It wasn't just Kai. Hubert and Zhou Guanyu, who both possessed massive, towering ambitions to reach Formula 1, were absolutely no exception. They were both rigorously adhering to their own highly specific, mandated dietary regimens.
Despite the Spartan spread, the party was completely overflowing with genuine laughter. Their bright, shining eyes absolutely didn't lie—
They were completely, entirely saturated with pure happiness.
Pascale Leclerc stared down at the table, surveying the pathetic assortment of lean protein and raw plant fiber. She shook her head in profound, utter disbelief.
To be brutally honest, she found it fundamentally impossible to classify this miserable collection of items as actual 'food.' "Boys, are you absolutely certain you don't want me to cook something proper? Give me ten minutes. Fifteen at the absolute maximum. I can easily whip something up to inject some actual, festive party atmosphere into this evening."
Kai laughed helplessly. "Pascale, we are currently utilizing the sheer power of imagination to pretend this is an opulent, Michelin-starred feast. You absolutely shouldn't aggressively pop our fragile illusion bubbles."
The small, lighthearted joke caused Pascale to chuckle. "Alright, fine. You boys carry on with your imaginations. I just need a single glass of red wine." Seeing Kai stand up to offer assistance, Pascale immediately waved him off. "Please, don't worry about it. I know exactly where everything is. The bottles should still be stashed in my secret hiding spot, correct?"
Thirty minutes ago, consumed by deep anxiety regarding Leclerc's well-being, Pascale had specifically come over to the apartment. She completely failed to anticipate that she would walk into an empty room. Leclerc still hadn't returned.
Pascale didn't leave. She simply walked into Leclerc's bedroom and sat down, patiently waiting.
After pouring herself a generous glass of red wine, Pascale crossed the living room again, leaving Kai and his friends to their 'wild' celebrations. She retreated back into Leclerc's bedroom, softly closing the door behind her.
Kai, Hubert, and Zhou Guanyu exchanged a quick, slightly concerned glance.
Shortly after they had initially left the paddock, Leclerc had finally replied to Hubert's frantic text messages. He stated that he was grabbing dinner outside the circuit because he had some personal matters to attend to. He warmly congratulated Hubert and Zhou Guanyu on their phenomenal Sprint Race performances, told them to go ahead and start celebrating without him, and promised he would join them the exact second he was finished.
It appeared Leclerc was fully aware of his actions and wasn't in immediate crisis. There was no need for frantic panic.
However, it was now rapidly approaching 10:00 PM, and there was still absolutely no sign of Leclerc. Glancing over at Pascale's demeanor, it was glaringly obvious that she hadn't managed to establish contact with him either.
Hubert hesitated for a second before whispering, "Did you see Pascale's wine glass?"
Normally, when they poured wine, they only filled the glasses a tiny bit. A third of a glass was considered a highly generous pour. But Pascale's glass had been filled almost entirely to the brim.
A brief, heavy silence fell over the room. After a quick exchange of glances, Zhou Guanyu let out a slow exhale. "Why don't we officially call it a night here? Anthoine and I should head back."
Monaco was undeniably special, but ultimately, it was merely a single stop on a massive calendar. The season was still incredibly long. They needed to maintain their focus and look ahead to the next challenge.
Kai nodded in agreement. "Alright, let's wrap it up. Do you guys require a formal security escort back to your hotel?"
Hubert vigorously waved his hands. "If you step foot onto the streets of Monaco right now, it will instantly trigger a massive, apocalyptic riot. If that happens, I honestly don't know if you'll be escorting us, or if we'll be desperately trying to protect you."
After a quick round of lighthearted banter, Hubert and Zhou Guanyu said their goodbyes.
Standing in the doorway, Hubert hesitated slightly. He had desperately wanted to express his profound gratitude to Kai. He wanted to thank Kai for executing such a spectacularly brilliant, utterly incomprehensible race. Kai had successfully resurrected the pure, simple, deeply passionate version of himself that he had buried deep inside. It wasn't merely about the fierce ambition to reach Formula 1; it was about the fundamental, burning desire to chase absolute speed and relentlessly challenge ultimate limits.
They strapped themselves into race cars and stepped onto the asphalt not because they were absolutely guaranteed to win, but because they were driven by a primal urge to pursue the absolute extreme.
It was genuinely unbelievable. After witnessing the Monaco Grand Prix, Hubert had fallen profoundly, irrevocably in love with motorsport all over again. And it wasn't because he had secured a victory in the F2 Sprint Race. It was entirely because he had witnessed a completely unparalleled, transcendent masterpiece on the F1 asphalt.
However, throughout the entire evening, he hadn't managed to locate the perfect opening, and he honestly struggled to find the exact vocabulary to articulate the depth of his gratitude.
Finally, Hubert stopped walking and turned back to face Kai. "Today... thank you."
A thousand complex emotions and countless words had ultimately condensed into that single, profoundly simple sentence. It carried an immense, crushing weight.
Kai, however, looked completely, utterly baffled. "Thank you for what? The incredibly dry chicken breast and the pathetic salad I bought from the discount supermarket down the street?"
Zhou Guanyu instantly burst into loud, explosive laughter. Hubert completely failed to suppress his own amusement. But he didn't attempt to clarify his statement. He simply grabbed Zhou Guanyu's arm, turned around, and began walking away.
Kai stood in the doorway, looking profoundly confused. He raised his voice, shouting at Hubert's retreating back. "Just wait! During the summer break, I am personally going to cook a massive, authentic Chinese feast! Prepare to be profoundly moved to tears. But please, try to maintain your composure. I don't want you actually crying."
Out in the dark street, Zhou Guanyu and Hubert both erupted into roaring laughter.
Zhou Guanyu turned around, ruthlessly firing back. "Don't tell me you're just going to make hot pot again?!"
Hubert bounced excitedly beside him. "I am eagerly anticipating this! The absolute most unique, unparalleled feast on the planet!"
The bright, genuine laughter spilled across the moonlit street. The warm, orange glow of the streetlamps stretched their silhouettes long and distorted. Their energetic, bouncing footsteps violently shattered the quiet tranquility of the Monaco night.
Kai closed the heavy front door. He adjusted his breathing, turned around, and walked directly toward Leclerc's bedroom door. He knocked gently.
"Pascale, may I come in?"
The air was completely silent. There was absolutely no response.
Kai felt a surge of genuine concern.
Just as Kai was debating whether he should push the door open, the handle clicked. Pascale opened the door and peered out into the living room.
"Pascale, is everything alright?" Kai let out a soft sigh of relief.
Pascale looked thoroughly confused. She scanned the empty living room. "Where did the boys go?"
"It was getting quite late," Kai explained. "They decided to head back to their hotel."
Pascale froze for a microsecond before instantly realizing what had happened. She shook her head gently. "I'm perfectly fine. Everything is fine. You boys absolutely did not need to worry about me."
"Ah, my brilliant deception has been completely exposed," Kai admitted without attempting to defend himself. He deliberately adopted an expression of highly exaggerated panic. "And here we all thought our cover story was flawlessly executed."
Pascale shot Kai a brief, highly unimpressed look. But she ultimately failed to maintain the stern facade, a faint smile breaking across her lips.
Kai seamlessly seized the opportunity to explain. "It genuinely was getting late. I simply utilized that as a convenient excuse to shut down the party early. Otherwise, those two maniacs would have kept going until dawn. But it's also undeniably true that we were worried about you. Are you absolutely certain you're okay?"
"You're actually worried about Charles, aren't you?"
Pascale took a deep, shuddering breath. She held it for a very, very long time before finally, slowly exhaling. Her shoulders slumped. "Yes, I know. I shouldn't worry this much. He is an adult. He knows exactly what he is doing. But my heart simply refuses to settle down. Sometimes... I honestly can't help but wonder if the burden he is carrying is simply too massive."
"Hervé's dream. Jules's legacy. Lolo's expectations. His own towering ambitions. And to be brutally honest... Arthur's future."
As she mentioned the final name, a bitter, helpless smile touched Pascale's lips.
"Arthur loves motorsport. He's incredibly passionate, and he's working extremely hard. But to be brutally honest with you... his raw talent absolutely does not match Charles's. He doesn't even possess the same level of natural ability that Lolo demonstrated at that age. Arthur desperately dreams of reaching the Formula 1 grid, exactly like Charles. He envisions them competing shoulder-to-shoulder, exactly like the Schumacher brothers did. But observing his current trajectory... I honestly don't see any realistic hope of that happening."
"I actively attempted to persuade Arthur to abandon the dream. But Charles vehemently stopped me. He is absolutely determined to support Arthur's pursuit of his dream, exactly as Jules constantly, relentlessly encouraged him to pursue his."
"And so—"
The crushing weight of all those massive, towering dreams was stacked, layer upon agonizing layer, squarely onto Leclerc's solitary shoulders.
Pascale ultimately couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
She forced a smile, looking at Kai with an expression of profound apology. "I am so incredibly sorry. Today should have been entirely dedicated to celebrating your magnificent victory. I absolutely shouldn't be burdening you with this."
Kai spread his hands. "Pascale, hearing you say that genuinely breaks my heart. You know perfectly well that I am deeply worried about Charles too."
Pascale was merely being overly polite.
Immediately following the conclusion of the race today, Pascale, accompanied by Lorenzo and Arthur, had been the very first people to arrive at the Ferrari hospitality unit to celebrate Kai's victory.
Because Lu Cheng and Jiang Mo hadn't traveled to Monaco, Pascale had proactively stepped up to fill the void. She cheered for Kai with genuine passion, and she was entirely, authentically thrilled by his spectacular victory. Even though Arthur was undeniably depressed due to Leclerc's catastrophic retirement, he still gave Kai a massive, heartfelt hug.
Even though she was consumed by crushing anxiety regarding Leclerc's situation, Pascale still meticulously ensured that Kai felt supported and celebrated.
Seeing Kai's expression of profound, helpless resignation, the corners of Pascale's mouth twitched. She stepped out of Leclerc's bedroom and walked into the living room, collapsing heavily onto the sofa.
"I know. Of course I know." Pascale let out a long, heavy exhale. "I have always known you are an incredibly good kid."
"After the race concluded today, your massive, highly public confrontation with Lewis... that was entirely intentional, wasn't it? That isn't your true personality. You aren't someone who typically engages in aggressive, public screaming matches."
Kai grinned widely. He walked over and sat down on the sofa diagonally across from her. "Ha! Pascale, it appears my meticulously cultivated 'innocent golden boy' persona has been wildly successful."
Pascale couldn't help but laugh. "In a highly specific sense, you deliberately executed that maneuver to protect Charles, didn't you? You intentionally diverted the media spotlight to massively reduce the crushing pressure on him."
Kai froze. "No, Pascale, the situation—"
But Pascale waved her hand, cutting him off. "I know, I know. That likely wasn't your primary, absolute objective. Ferrari is absolutely not an organization that would willingly sacrifice their core brand image solely to protect a driver. But regardless of the overarching political strategy, your actions undeniably, flawlessly succeeded in completely diverting the global attention. Absolutely no one is currently discussing Charles's catastrophic performance today."
"Phew—"
She let out another long, heavy sigh.
"I openly admit I don't possess a profound, technical understanding of motorsport. I know the retirement was ultimately caused by a catastrophic mechanical failure. It wasn't Charles's fault. Absolutely no one should blame him for the DNF. But it is completely undeniable that Charles's behavior throughout this entire weekend was incredibly, dangerously erratic. He was far too impatient. He was far too desperate to prove his worth. He was far too eager to deliver a spectacular performance on his home circuit. From the exact moment Qualifying began, he radiated a terrifying aura of profound insecurity and anxiety."
"Lolo explained it to me. Following the catastrophic blowout during the race, Charles's frantic, utterly meaningless sprint back to the pits likely severely exacerbated the mechanical damage to the chassis. Even a complete amateur like me understands that aggressively mashing the throttle while operating a car with only three functional tires is guaranteed to inflict catastrophic damage to the floorboard and suspension. How could elite, professional drivers possibly fail to understand that basic concept?"
It had to be said, Lorenzo possessed a terrifyingly accurate understanding of his younger brother. Beneath Leclerc's refined, impeccably polite, 'gentlemanly' exterior, his true personality was actually characterized by a highly volatile mixture of impatience and severe anxiety.
Normally, he masked these traits flawlessly. It was incredibly difficult to detect his underlying instability. However, analyzing the current trajectory of the season... Leclerc had crossed the finish line in P5 in every single one of the first five races. On social media, countless toxic trolls were ruthlessly mocking him, bestowing him with humiliating nicknames like 'Leclerc the Fifth.' The constant barrage of toxic negativity was relentlessly agitating his already fragile nerves.
In Shanghai, Kai had claimed the ultimate victory. In Barcelona, Verstappen had successfully secured a podium finish.
The massive, crushing pressure had continuously, relentlessly accumulated. And then, finally, it violently detonated here in Monaco. The catastrophic events that unfolded on the asphalt today absolutely had not occurred in a vacuum.
"However, Charles is fundamentally incapable of controlling his anxiety. He honestly has absolutely no idea how to process it."
"Regarding his retirement today, Charles must personally shoulder at least half the blame. Under normal circumstances, the two of you should have been fighting shoulder-to-shoulder against the rest of the grid. But instead, he dumped the entire, massive burden of responsibility squarely onto your shoulders."
"That is profoundly unfair."
From Pascale's perspective, regardless of the highly complex, Machiavellian political motives behind Kai's post-race confrontation, the objective reality remained unchanged: Kai had successfully rescued Leclerc. He had violently yanked Leclerc out of the center of a massive, toxic hurricane of vicious criticism and relentless mockery. Amidst the apocalyptic chaos, he had successfully bought Leclerc a massive, invaluable window to breathe and regroup.
Kai was rapidly evolving into a phenomenal, truly elite team leader.
Hearing her analysis, the corners of Kai's mouth curved upward into a bright smile. "Pascale, please do me a massive favor. I need to have Nick immediately schedule a massive press conference. I need you to stand in front of the global media and explicitly repeat exactly what you just said. Word for word. Verbatim. How does that sound?"
Seeing the incredibly serious, deadpan expression on Kai's face, Pascale completely lost her battle for composure, bursting into loud, uninhibited laughter. "Absolutely! It's a deal. Forget about saying it once; I'll happily repeat it ten times on live television. And the exact second Charles finally walks through that door, I will explicitly repeat it directly to his face."
Kai pressed his palms together, looked up at the ceiling, and executed a highly dramatic, silent prayer of thanks.
Pascale's smile grew even more brilliant. Finally, the heavy, suffocating gloom had partially dissipated.
Kai paused, carefully considering his next words. "I am fully aware that today's race was catastrophically disappointing. However, Pascale, I sincerely hope you do not view this as a permanent failure. And I desperately hope Charles doesn't view it that way either."
"Motorsport is an incredibly brutal discipline defined by a terrifyingly microscopic margin for error. Absolutely everyone desperately wishes the drivers were flawless, robotic supercomputers. They demand absolute perfection and zero errors. But I fundamentally disagree with that perspective. I firmly, unshakeably believe that motorsport is ultimately a human endeavor. We are guaranteed to make mistakes. We possess glaring vulnerabilities. We are absolutely susceptible to catastrophic misjudgments. It is precisely these inherent human flaws that elevate this sport into something truly spectacular and unpredictable."
"Ultimately, we are the ones operating the machinery. This is a sport about the human element, absolutely not a sport about sterile, flawless mechanics."
"Therefore, we absolutely must learn how to confront our own glaring weaknesses. We must learn how to process our catastrophic failures. We must actively search for the methodology to firmly plant our feet after a devastating mistake, and then bravely continue our relentless march forward to challenge the absolute limits. This is an unavoidable, absolutely mandatory crucible that every single driver must endure to achieve true greatness."
"I am still actively navigating this exact same brutal path. Charles is doing exactly the same. I view Charles as a teammate, a roommate, and undeniably, as a fierce rival."
"Pascale, I firmly, absolutely believe that Charles possesses the raw talent to become a truly elite, legendary driver. And it is precisely because of that unshakeable belief that I will continue to push myself to the absolute limit. I will continue to evolve into a vastly superior driver. And I will continue to aggressively, ruthlessly defeat him on the asphalt."
"Therefore, today's race was merely a temporary, agonizing setback. It was absolutely not a definitive failure."
Calm. Unapologetic. Profoundly sincere. A massive aura of absolute, unshakeable confidence radiated outward from the absolute core of his being. It possessed a terrifyingly resolute power, repeatedly, rhythmically hammering against the heart.
Without even consciously realizing it, Pascale straightened her spine. She maintained direct eye contact with Kai. Deep within the absolute core of her soul, a powerful, unyielding conviction began to take root.
She couldn't help but think... perhaps it was exactly this specific, terrifying aura that allowed Kai to operate as such a singular, completely unparalleled entity within the entire paddock.
Visibly relaxing, the tension completely draining from her shoulders, Pascale smiled. "You possess a terrifying amount of audacity, young man. You actually dare to sit directly in front of his mother and explicitly state that your ultimate goal is to continuously, ruthlessly defeat Charles?"
It was glaringly obviously a joke.
Kai instantly recognized the shift in tone. Pascale's tightly wound nerves had finally completely unspooled. He offered a light shrug. "So, are you suggesting Charles requires me to patronize him and deliberately let him win?"
Pascale froze. She tried to maintain her stern, highly offended maternal facade, but it completely collapsed. "Are you truly that impossibly arrogant?"
Kai replied smoothly, "Pascale, racing drivers possess absolutely nothing. The only tangible asset we retain is our absolute, blinding self-confidence. If we step onto the asphalt harboring even a microscopic sliver of self-doubt... our opponents won't even need to launch an attack. We will completely, catastrophically sabotage ourselves."
Pascale silently chewed on his words.
Because she perfectly understood the underlying message. This was Kai's explicit advice to her. They absolutely needed to continue placing their unwavering faith in Leclerc.
If they, acting as his ultimate support system, fundamentally doubted his ability to overturn this massive crisis... Leclerc's final, fragile reserves of confidence would inevitably suffer a catastrophic collapse. The more dire and hopeless the situation appeared, the more fiercely and unwaveringly they needed to stand directly behind him. In all likelihood, they were the absolute final chips Leclerc possessed on the board.
Could it be... was the situation exactly the same for Arthur?
Within the Leclerc household, Arthur was the youngest child. He was universally adored and completely spoiled. Not just by his parents, but by his two older brothers as well. When Lorenzo and Charles were younger, they frequently engaged in vicious, brutal physical brawls. But when Arthur arrived, he was immediately smothered with absolute, unconditional love and protection by both of his older brothers.
It was absolutely no exaggeration to say the entire family constantly, obsessively worried about Arthur. Consequently, when Arthur stepped onto the asphalt, he was always treated fundamentally differently. He was coddled.
A massive, chaotic storm of thoughts violently collided in her brain.
Pascale rapidly organized her emotions. She looked back at Kai. "Kai. Thank you."
The profoundly solemn, incredibly formal expression of gratitude actually made Kai feel slightly awkward. In all honesty, he absolutely didn't believe he had done anything particularly extraordinary.
Therefore, Kai decided to deploy a small joke. "Pascale, I strongly suspect that when I officially defeat Charles to claim the World Championship crown... you absolutely will not be thanking me. Ah, it appears Charles's dream of securing the World Championship might be delayed for a very, very... very long time."
Ha!
The dark clouds completely vanished from Pascale's face. She burst into loud, completely uninhibited laughter. But she quickly reigned in her expression. "No, Kai. I am being completely serious. Thank you so much."
Simple. Unadorned. But profoundly genuine.
Kai realized that if he continued to awkwardly deflect her gratitude, it would only create an unnecessary, cold distance between them. He paused for a moment, carefully considering his options. "Well, if you truly want to express your gratitude... there is actually a massive favor I desperately need to ask of you."
Pascale leaned forward eagerly. "Oh! Please, ask away!" She rapidly scanned the surrounding area. The plates and glasses from their impromptu party were still scattered across the tables. "Do you need help cleaning up the apartment? You absolutely do not need to ask me to do that. It's barely an inconvenience." She immediately started to stand up, fully prepared to begin clearing the table.
Kai frantically jumped to his feet. "No! No, no, no! Please, absolutely do not worry about the mess..." Looking directly into Pascale's eyes, Kai couldn't suppress a loud laugh. "I know you constantly, secretly tidy up the apartment whenever you visit, even though we explicitly hire a professional cleaning service—"
Pascale vigorously shook her head. "Are you referring to that so-called 'professional' cleaning service? I firmly believe you boys are completely wasting your money. You and Charles are both incredibly young. You've barely entered the paddock. You absolutely do not need to squander your capital on frivolous luxuries like that. These are incredibly minor chores. I'm perfectly happy to handle them. I can have this entire place spotless in a few minutes."
The corners of Kai's mouth twitched. It was glaringly obvious that Pascale absolutely hadn't read the massive headlines regarding the financial terms of his recent contract extension with Ferrari.
However, Kai also understood a universal truth: mothers are exactly like this. Even after the professional cleaners finish, the mother will inevitably inspect the area, declare it 'completely filthy,' and immediately begin re-cleaning everything herself. They operate according to their own highly specific, completely illogical rules.
Kai didn't attempt to argue the point with Pascale. He simply pointed a finger at his own head. "I was actually referring to my hair."
Pascale was a highly trained, professional hairstylist.
"I... uh, I currently find it incredibly difficult to visit a standard hair salon. Regardless of the specific city or the specific salon, people instantly recognize my face." Kai adopted an expression of profound, helpless resignation.
It wasn't just the hairstylists who lost their minds. The other clients in the salon acted exactly as if they were observing a rare panda in a zoo. It was a massive spectacle.
This was especially horrific in Italy!
Because of this nightmare, Ricciardo had aggressively advised him to exclusively utilize high-end, ultra-exclusive styling studios located in Los Angeles or other major global hubs. These studios catered exclusively to A-list actors, pop stars, and elite athletes. In those highly secure environments, they could enjoy uninterrupted, completely private grooming services.
However, Kai found the entire concept completely absurd—
Paying $2,500 for a single haircut?!
No offense, but despite knowing with absolute certainty that his current bank account balance could effortlessly absorb the cost without even registering a microscopic dent, he still fundamentally couldn't mentally reconcile that level of obscene, frivolous spending.
Lorenzo had found the entire situation absolutely hilarious. He mercilessly mocked Kai, pointing out that in moments like this, Kai's humble, street-level origins were glaringly obvious. Exactly like Esteban Ocon, their lifelong, ingrained financial habits and survival instincts kept them constantly vigilant. Even after violently ascending to the absolute pinnacle of their industry and securing massive wealth, those deeply ingrained psychological habits couldn't be magically erased overnight.
Pascale instantly grasped the situation. Her eyes sparkled with profound amusement. "Good god. If you attempt to walk into a standard hair salon anywhere in Italy, the resulting chaos would be absolutely apocalyptic."
Kai spread his hands. "I honestly assumed Monaco would be slightly more manageable. But prior to the pre-season testing in Barcelona, I experienced a brutal, agonizingly bloody lesson right here in Monaco."
He sat in the barber's chair for exactly forty-five minutes. And for the next ninety minutes, he intimately experienced the agonizing reality of being a captive zoo animal—
It wasn't a hallucination. After the haircut was officially finished, he was trapped in the salon for an additional forty-five minutes, forced to pose for hundreds of photos and sign endless autographs. The situation completely spiraled out of control when a local elementary school let out, and a massive mob of screaming children violently besieged the entrance to the salon.
Kai only learned the brutal truth later. Although an astronomical number of global celebrities and billionaires reside in Monaco, and the local population is largely desensitized to spotting A-listers walking down the street... only 'ordinary' residents actually frequent standard, public hair salons.
As for the true, ultra-elite celebrities?
They employ highly exclusive, private hairstylists. They receive their grooming services in the absolute privacy of their own massive estates.
Pascale desperately attempted to maintain her composure, but she ultimately failed. Her smile bloomed completely. She stood up and silently patted Kai on the shoulder. She didn't say another word. She simply turned, walked into Leclerc's bedroom, rummaged around for a few moments, and re-emerged holding her professional styling kit.
"Let's go. To the bathroom." Pascale was already intimately familiar with the layout of the apartment. "Don't worry about it. I'm completely accustomed to dealing with this specific nightmare. To this day, I am the only person who cuts Charles's hair. Give me exactly twenty minutes. We'll have this finished in no time."
"So, tell me. What specific style are you looking for?"
"Charles is the absolute worst, most agonizingly difficult client on the planet. One minute he wants it exactly like this, the next minute he wants it exactly like that. He constantly, stubbornly insists on these bizarre, completely incomprehensible aesthetics. Every single time I cut his hair, we end up in a massive screaming match. I vividly remember when he was still racing in F3... he actually threw a massive tantrum and bawled his eyes out. The haircut took an hour, and he literally sobbed hysterically for the entire sixty minutes."
Kai attempted to mentally visualize the scenario. He completely failed. He burst into loud, joyous laughter. "Ah, I assume his taste in haircuts perfectly matches his bizarre, inexplicable obsession with ultra-skinny pencil pants."
Pascale abruptly stopped walking. She spun around to face Kai. Her face was illuminated with profound, absolute shock and unadulterated joy. She raised her right hand high into the air and exchanged a massive, incredibly satisfying high-five with Kai.
"Exactly! The pencil pants! Good god, I genuinely, fundamentally cannot comprehend why he is so stubbornly, irrationally obsessed with those horrific pants! I desperately want to gather every single pair currently hiding in his closet, pile them in the street, and set them on fire! They severely distort his physical proportions! They make him look exactly like a bizarre, bobble-headed cartoon character! Is he utterly terrified that people might not instantly recognize he's a Formula 1 driver?!"
Haha! HAHAHA!
Kai was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Pascale, it's just standard adolescent rebellion. I guarantee you, in a few years, he's going to profoundly regret his life choices. He's going to desperately want to track down and incinerate every single photograph from his 'Pencil Pants Era.'"
Pascale adopted an expression of profound, victorious smugness. "That is exactly why I am so incredibly brilliant. I have already meticulously, secretly archived a massive collection of those photos. In a few years, when he's finally grown up and matured, I am going to proudly display that entire album and ruthlessly mock him. I will force him to confront his dark, humiliating history."
Ha—HAHAHA—
The joyous, uninhibited laughter rolled through the apartment in massive, continuous waves. It surged out into the freezing night air, riding the dense, humid winds. The soft, hazy, orange glow of the apartment lights radiated the profound, comforting warmth of a true home. In the vast, endless expanse of the dark night, it acted as a beacon, guiding lost souls back to safety.
When Leclerc finally returned to the apartment, this was the exact "scene" that aggressively greeted him. The air was completely saturated with vibrant, joyous energy.
To be brutally accurate, he didn't actually see anything. He only heard the voices. He scanned the empty living room, noting the chaotic mess of plates and glasses left behind on the table. Every single light in every single room of the apartment was blaring at maximum brightness. It was almost painfully bright, yet the excessive illumination only served to violently amplify the profound sense of eerie emptiness.
He could clearly hear the voices, but he couldn't locate a single physical body. The massive, jarring disconnect between his visual and auditory senses instantly filled his chest with a bizarre, highly unsettling sensation.
Leclerc's footsteps faltered slightly. He hesitated.
"Kai? Anthoine? Guanyu?"
"...Pierre?"
He called out several names, but the apartment responded with absolute, unbroken silence. The tranquil living room felt exactly like an abandoned, liminal space. He was literally just shouting into the void. But as the silence settled, he managed to catch the faint, lingering echoes of laughter. Leclerc paused, straining his ears. He genuinely began to doubt his initial assessment. He was fairly certain he had just heard—
"Mom...?"
His voice cracked, the pitch skyrocketing in profound disbelief. He genuinely couldn't believe his own ears. He followed the source of the laughter, walking directly toward the bathroom.
And then, through the wide-open bathroom door, he saw Kai sitting obediently in a chair, draped in a barber's cape. Pascale was standing behind him, wielding her scissors with the practiced, aggressive posture of a seasoned professional. The floor was completely covered in dark hair clippings.
It was absolutely—unbelievable!
He completely failed to anticipate finding Pascale inside his apartment! And he absolutely, fundamentally failed to anticipate that Pascale would be aggressively wielding scissors near Kai's head!
This specific tableau was incredibly, intimately familiar to Leclerc. On average, Pascale cut his hair every one to two months. Occasionally, it was required every two weeks.
Witnessing this exact scene play out, but seeing someone else sitting in the chair... it was simultaneously deeply nostalgic and profoundly bizarre.
Without even consciously realizing it, the corners of Leclerc's mouth curved upward. The massive, heavy tension that had gripped his nerves instantly evaporated. He leaned casually against the bathroom doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Kai. I am profoundly, deeply sorry. Following in the tragic footsteps of Lolo and Arthur, it appears you have officially become the latest victim of the serial killer."
Pascale loudly voiced her protest. "Charles Leclerc! You will absolutely watch your tone when speaking to your mother!"
Leclerc snickered. "One time, in a desperate, heroic bid to escape her tyrannical control, Arthur decided to stage a massive rebellion. He firmly declared that he possessed the fundamental human right to dictate his own hairstyle. So... he snuck out of the house and paid a barber to give him a massive, aggressive Mohawk."
Kai's eyes went wide. He attempted to mentally visualize the catastrophe. "Like... peak David Beckham Mohawk?"
Leclerc nodded vigorously. "Exactly! And what was the ultimate result? The exact second he walked through the front door, Mom violently dragged him into the bathroom and aggressively shaved his head completely bald! HAHAHAHA!"
He couldn't even finish the story before bursting into loud, chaotic laughter.
Pascale shot Leclerc a look of profound, withering exasperation. "You are undeniably the absolute worst, most agonizingly difficult client I have ever encountered. In my entire fifteen-year professional career, if you combined the complaints of every single client I've ever serviced, they still wouldn't equal a fraction of the massive headaches you cause me. If you despise my work so profoundly, you are more than welcome to find another stylist to manage your hair next time. It would save me a massive amount of energy."
Kai seamlessly interjected. "Pascale, how about you officially take over managing my hair from now on?"
Pascale paused her work, stepped to the side, and exchanged another highly enthusiastic high-five with Kai.
Leclerc stared at them, completely dumbfounded. He was merely cracking a joke! "Hey! You two! Stop treating me like I'm completely invisible!"
When he was younger, he was incredibly rebellious. He absolutely despised having his mother cut his hair. For some inexplicable reason, he felt it was profoundly humiliating. He felt like he couldn't look his friends in the eye. But if anyone pressed him to explain exactly why it was humiliating, he completely failed to articulate a coherent reason.
It wasn't until he grew older that he finally realized the truth: his mother was a true master. Not only was she incredibly skilled, but she was intensely attentive. Regardless of how endlessly he whined or complained, his mother invariably managed to flawlessly execute his exact, highly specific demands.
He had absolutely zero desire to go out and find a stranger to cut his hair!
For the love of God, finding a stylist capable of perfectly interpreting your exact aesthetic vision was incredibly, agonizingly difficult. Let alone finding one willing to remain on standby 24/7, 365 days a year.
Kai shot a quick glance at Leclerc, who was currently standing perfectly straight, righteously voicing his protests.
Although he hadn't explicitly asked any probing questions, Kai could clearly see that Leclerc's mood was phenomenally positive. There wasn't a single microscopic trace of depression or bitterness. The relaxed, unburdened aura radiating from him from the inside out absolutely couldn't be faked. It communicated the truth vastly more effectively than any verbal explanation.
It appeared that both his and Pascale's deep anxieties had been completely unnecessary. While they had been sitting in the apartment, agonizing over his mental state, the storm had already completely passed for the man himself.
A teasing, highly mischievous glint flashed in Kai's eyes. "So." He deliberately paused for dramatic effect. "Mr. Leclerc. It appears your dinner engagement this evening took an exceptionally... long time..." He significantly dragged out the final syllable, loading it with massive, lethal implication.
Leclerc froze. His initial, immediate reflex was to shoot Kai a vicious, lethal glare, silently demanding he shut his mouth. But he failed to maintain the aggressive posture for even a single second. Catching the devious, highly entertained smile dancing in Kai's eyes, the paper tiger instantly collapsed, rapidly mutating into a look of desperate, pathetic pleading.
Pascale completely failed to notice the rapid-fire, silent communication occurring between the two young men. But she instantly latched onto the core issue. "Exactly! Where on Earth did you disappear to tonight?! You completely ignored your phone for the entire evening. You didn't answer calls, and you didn't reply to texts. It wasn't just me; Kai and the boys were incredibly worried about you. Weren't you supposedly rushing back here to celebrate with Kai and Anthoine?"
Pascale had completely abandoned her previous, highly cautious, deeply worried posture. Her tone and demeanor had fully reverted to normal. She launched a massive, rapid-fire interrogation.
"Ahem." Leclerc nervously cleared his throat. "I... uh... I was grabbing dinner. Outside."
"With a girl?" Kai seamlessly interjected, flawlessly twisting the knife.
It was glaringly obvious. Pascale's ears immediately perked up. The scissors in her hand briefly stopped moving.
Leclerc was caught completely off guard. "What?!" The unspoken subtext was screaming: How the hell did you know that?!
Kai adopted an expression of profound, absolute innocence. "Back in the paddock, everyone saw it. You left accompanied by a young woman. It wasn't just a single pair of eyes; multiple sources confirmed the intel. So, let me get this straight. You ruthlessly abandoned your best friends to enjoy a romantic dinner with her? Or did you conclude your initial engagement and immediately transition to a completely different romantic dinner date?"
Leclerc's forehead began visibly beading with sweat. "What romantic dinner date? You're making it sound exactly like an intimate rendezvous! Heh. Heh." His dry, forced chuckle clearly revealed how incredibly tight and parched his throat currently was.
Kai tilted his head. The mischievous light in his eyes flared brilliantly. He had caught his prey directly in the trap. "Oh? Wait a second. So it was an actual date?!"
Pascale completely stopped her work and turned to stare intently at Leclerc.
Leclerc frantically waved his hands. He looked at Pascale, then looked at Kai in sheer desperation. Ultimately, he chose to look directly into Pascale's eyes. "No! No, no, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not."
In highly critical moments like this, the more aggressively you deny an accusation, the vastly more suspicious you appear. Clearly, Leclerc had completely failed to anticipate this brutal interrogation, and he absolutely hadn't anticipated that Pascale would be leading the charge.
If he had known, he definitely would have checked his damn phone!
As he stammered his denials, his guilt became glaringly obvious. Realizing he was rapidly sinking into an inescapable trap, Leclerc aggressively planted his feet. He raised both hands in a posture of absolute surrender, adopting an expression that screamed 'I confess everything!' "Charlotte. Okay? It was Charlotte."
Pascale looked slightly confused. "Which Charlotte?"
"Lolo's Charlotte," Leclerc quickly explained. "The specific Charlotte that Lolo went on two dates with recently. It seems they've hit a rough patch, and Charlotte needed to ask me for some advice regarding the situation."
I am so incredibly sorry, Lorenzo! But in moments of absolute crisis, older brothers exist solely to act as human meat shields!
Lorenzo Leclerc: Achoo!
Pascale tilted her head, searching her memory. "Ah... the girl I bumped into downstairs outside the apartment building a few weeks ago?"
Leclerc nodded vigorously. He discreetly wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. But when he looked back, he saw the faint, highly amused smile still lingering in Kai's eyes. It looked exactly as though Kai had flawlessly seen through his entire, elaborate deception.
Leclerc immediately shot Kai a look of desperate, pathetic pleading, silently begging for mercy.
Pascale completely missed the subtle exchange. She resumed her work with the scissors, focusing on the final finishing touches. "What on earth is going on with Lolo? That girl seemed incredibly sweet. Why did they break up so quickly? He is fundamentally incapable of maintaining a stable relationship. His absolute longest relationship lasted a grand total of three months."
"Kai, is this just how the younger generation operates nowadays?"
Kai: ?
Leclerc looked at Kai with an expression of profound, unadulterated schadenfreude. "Exactly! Kai, is this just how the younger generation operates nowadays? Mom, you have absolutely no idea. Kai is the undisputed, legendary Casanova of the paddock. Maranello literally had to rent a massive, dedicated warehouse solely to store all the love letters he receives from women all across the globe."
Kai shot Leclerc a look of profound, withering exasperation. "Pascale. The entire point of dating is to test compatibility. If the chemistry is right, you continue exploring the relationship. If it's glaringly obvious you aren't compatible, there is absolutely zero reason to waste each other's time."
"I firmly believe they are simply granting each other some necessary space to evaluate the situation. Surely, that is vastly superior to blindly rushing into a marriage, only to realize years later that you are fundamentally incompatible and absolutely loathe the sight of each other. Correct?"
"Guys with personalities like Lorenzo's... they are highly prone to massive, impulsive decisions. Who knows? Perhaps he'll fall madly, deeply in love with his very next date, turn around, and elope in a Vegas chapel the very next day."
Pascale kept her head down, continuing to snip. "Is that really how it works? I honestly cannot comprehend how young people operate nowadays."
Leclerc and Kai quickly exchanged a loaded glance. Leclerc silently conveyed his massive, profound gratitude. Thank god Kai had successfully deployed the distraction and bailed him out of that catastrophic nightmare!
The conversation bounced back and forth. The three of them remained crammed inside the tiny bathroom, casually chatting and joking. Even though absolutely no one brought up the events of today's Monaco Grand Prix, it was glaringly obvious: the heavy, suffocating anxiety and profound depression that had been crushing their hearts had completely, silently evaporated. It no longer held any power over them.
Having survived an absolutely catastrophic, nightmare-inducing Grand Prix weekend, and having endured the agonizing torture of the 'Home Race Curse,' Leclerc appeared to have successfully located the internal motivation required to continue pushing forward.
For Ferrari, this was undeniably phenomenal news.
However, for Mercedes-Benz... the situation was infinitely more complex and terrifying. As night finally fell over Monaco, the massive, catastrophic PR storm they had inadvertently triggered was currently sweeping across the globe with terrifying, unstoppable momentum.