A simple look. It carried no deterrent power for Kai, nor did it influence him in the slightest. He simply stuck to his routine—hydrating.
Gulp, gulp.
The room was exceedingly quiet, making the sound of water sliding down his throat loud and clear. The clamor outside the door seemed to crash blindly against the walls. A little more force, and it felt like it could break through the thin wood and drown them all. But for now, they remained in their quiet bubble.
In the paddock, the chess match between Mercedes and Ferrari continued. The physical race might have ended, but that didn't mean the results were final. There were no visible blades, but this was a real duel—lethal and unforgiving. Both teams were pulling out their hidden tricks.
On social media, the Mercedes fanbase found themselves besieged from all sides. They firmly believed that Kai was entirely to blame for the collision at Club Corner, claiming he intentionally damaged Hamilton's front wing and robbed him of victory. But to the rest of the internet, this contradictory logic was ridiculous, turning them into targets of widespread mockery.
And it wasn't just the Tifosi doing the mocking.
On one side, a storm of criticism erupted. Hamilton had triggered two collisions. For the second incident, the FIA didn't just refuse to penalize him; they didn't dare to. According to the rules, committing the same offense twice in one race demanded a severe penalty, potentially even disqualification. If the FIA officially ruled Hamilton at fault, the situation would spiral out of control. They had bent over backward to protect him, and yet Mercedes still had the audacity to play the victim?
Even casual observers couldn't stomach it. The criticism grew louder.
On the other side, waves of admiration and awe rolled in. In a once-in-a-decade classic, Kai had proven his talent once more. His close-quarters combat in the rain and his raw pace were astounding, echoing the brilliance of Ayrton Senna. His limit-defying defense and finish on three wheels stunned the world, ending a great race in a truly great manner.
Tenacious, resilient, arrogant, untamed, bold, and free. Kai's performance commanded respect.
It was no wonder Crofty had coined it, The Race.
Fans flooded the internet with memes expressing their shock, cementing the historic status of the event. For the younger generation of fans, the 2019 British Grand Prix was their first taste of a true classic, something they likely wouldn't forget even ten years down the line.
Against this glowing backdrop, Mercedes' complaining and scheming appeared all the more underhanded and desperate. They were willing to use dirty tactics to taint The Race, and neutral fans didn't hide their anger and disdain, rallying against Mercedes and Hamilton.
When the British Grand Prix weekend began, everyone knew it would be a great battle, perhaps even a turning point in the season. But no one anticipated it would reach this level of brilliance, etching itself into history as a defining moment of the hybrid era.
The noise and tension outside continued to build, sweeping through like a hurricane. When Leclerc pushed the door open and entered the cool-down room, he looked a bit ruffled. In his short two-year F1 career, he had never experienced a scene like this.
Then, the world suddenly went quiet.
Total silence.
Leclerc let out a long breath, leaving the noise and fanaticism behind him. But before he could finish exhaling, he froze. He stared blankly at the scene in front of him, his head full of question marks.
Hamilton was 'watching' Kai. Kai was drinking water and wiping his sweat.
There was no conversation, no eye contact. But the silence in the air was so thick and heavy it felt like it sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
Suffocating.
Leclerc: ...
This was awkward.
He almost wished he had stayed outside. It was loud, but at least he could breathe. But he had missed his chance; it was too late to turn around and leave.
What should he do?
Leclerc walked stiffly toward a chair, completely unaware that he was moving like a robot. He sat down between Hamilton and Kai, staring obediently at the floor, terrified that even a glance might spark a fire and blow up the room.
God! Help!
Leclerc was at a complete loss. Without realizing it, he pressed his legs together and sat up perfectly straight, like a good student. He didn't know what to do with his hands or feet. Every cell in his body was screaming—
Run, run, run.
Then, without warning—Bang!
A loud noise!
Leclerc's heart stopped. He felt a slight vibration through the floor and reflexively looked up. He saw Kai stomping his foot and throwing his hands up like a magician, deliberately startling him.
At a time like this, Kai was actually in the mood for practical jokes?
Leclerc: ...
—Haha!
Kai doubled over in laughter. "You should see your face right now!"
Hahahaha!
His laughter grew louder and more unrestrained, leaning forward and back. His eyes, eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth were all filled with amusement, mercilessly mocking Leclerc's awkwardness.
Leclerc rolled his eyes, exasperated, and was just about to retort when he caught a glimpse of Hamilton out of the corner of his eye. Hamilton looked stiff, embarrassed, and awkward. Leclerc swallowed his words. A second later, Hamilton clenched his fists in anger and abruptly stood up.
Fists tight, face flushed with anger, he took a step forward.
Leclerc: Oh, no!
That was the only thought in the Ferrari prince's mind. Fighting wasn't his strong suit. What should he do? How could he stop this disaster? If Sky Sports broadcast this live, it would be a massive scandal.
This wasn't Monaco.
In Monaco, a massive crowd had prevented a potential disaster, but today, there was no one else in the cool-down room except him.
He was doomed!
Thoughts flashed through Leclerc's mind, too fast to process. Then he saw Kai clench his fists and take up a boxing stance—
No hesitation, no pause. It wasn't just a pose. Kai lunged forward. With quick, nimble footwork, he bypassed Leclerc in the blink of an eye and closed in on Hamilton. A right hook shot out like lightning.
It all happened too fast. Laughing one second, throwing punches the next.
Let alone Leclerc, even Hamilton couldn't react in time.
Hamilton's instinctive first reaction was to lean back, bringing his forearms up to protect his face. It was a primal reflex, his body moving faster than his brain. He felt the rush of air from the punch against his cheek, but the expected impact never came.
He held his breath and cautiously opened his eyes. He saw that Kai had already easily pulled his fist back. The youthful, handsome face wore a sunny smile, showing no trace of the viciousness from a moment ago.
"Relax, relax. Respecting the elderly and caring for the young is a fine tradition in our culture. I wouldn't actually hit you. It wouldn't be good to damage the flowers and plants."
With that, his smile grew even wider.
Bold, arrogant, and untamed. Knowing full well that such a move would sting, he was still flippant and brash. The casual confidence that looked down on everyone easily awakened all of Hamilton's memories of Nico Rosberg. His breath hitched.
"You!"
The tension was palpable! Ready to snap!
Leclerc's heart tightened. His brain raced, trying to figure out what to do, but he never expected the atmosphere to be abruptly broken.
Creak—
The door opened again, and a voice called out, "The podium ceremony is ready!"
The air nearly froze. The taut tension instantly grabbed the throat of the staff member who had just walked in.
Like an innocent bunny stumbling onto a battlefield, he became the focal point of all that intense energy. The sheer weight of it pressed down on him.
He could clearly feel Hamilton's terrifying glare, looking ready to swallow him whole. His calves began to tremble uncontrollably.
Damn it!
The air tightened instantly, sucking out all the oxygen in a second. The space inside the room completely stagnated. Not just his body, but even his pupils couldn't move.
The murderous intent spread out in waves.
The staff member's knees shook. His trembling body could barely control his bladder; he thought he felt a drop of warmth.
Then, Kai turned his head, a slight smile on his lips. He was still relaxed and sunny. That effortless coolness lightened the air slightly. "Sorry, we were just getting to the good part, and clearly, everyone here is unhappy. Next time, please remember to knock so we can mentally prepare."
"How about this? You step outside and we try again. But this time, remember to knock?"
Leclerc: ...
Hamilton glared at Kai furiously. This was exactly what Rosberg would do—playfully treat everything as a joke, regardless of the time or place.
However, surprisingly, the staff member glanced around the room and, encouraged by Kai's gaze, actually closed the door.
Creak—
The door shut.
Knock, knock—
A polite knock.
Kai raised his voice. "Come in."
The door opened again. The staff member forced a stiff smile, curving his lips but showing no warmth in his eyes. He swallowed nervously and said in a trembling voice, "The podium ceremony is ready."
Kai's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful, thank you!"
He turned around. "Charles, our turn. First time this season! Ho ho ho!" He mimicked Santa Claus while raising his right hand high.
Leclerc couldn't help himself. Pfft!
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hamilton's expressionless face, still calm and steady, but Leclerc could feel the air pressure rising. He quickly pulled himself together, raised his right hand to high-five Kai, and looked at the staff member.
"Thank you."
With that, Kai gestured to Leclerc, and they left the cool-down room laughing and chatting, acting as if Hamilton didn't exist.
The staff member stole a glance at Hamilton.
Hamilton... was still Hamilton. On the surface, he looked no different than usual, but the low pressure radiating from him felt like a heavy punch to the chest. The staff member quickly lowered his gaze, focusing on his own nose, trying his best to erase his presence.
Finally, Hamilton moved. His footsteps broke the suffocating, stiff silence of the room as he walked out.
The staff member, who had been standing obediently with his head down, finally relaxed. He took deep breaths of fresh air. When the whales fight, it's the shrimp that suffer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and punched his trembling knees. He straightened his legs, took a few quick steps, and plunged into the golden sunlight of Silverstone. The cool breeze hit his sweat-soaked back, raising goosebumps.
He finally came to his senses, overwhelmed by the relief of surviving.
Just moments ago, the FIA had announced their latest decision—
First, they confirmed there was no issue with the race officiating. The FIA would not issue any further penalties to Hamilton. The contact at Club Corner was deemed a racing incident.
Second, Car 22 successfully passed post-race inspection. No issues.
So, the standings remained unchanged. The battle between Mercedes and Ferrari ended in a draw, with neither side gaining an advantage.
Leclerc was the first to step onto the podium. It wasn't his first time, and it was his second consecutive podium finish, but the feeling was just as exhilarating. Smiling, he pumped his fist in celebration. As he stood firmly on the podium, he let out a long breath, releasing some of the pressure.
It was only third place, but considering Ferrari's struggles all weekend—especially the two pit lane errors that nearly ruined his race—this result felt incredibly precious. It was even harder won than his second place in Austria. He couldn't contain his excitement.
However, the moment Hamilton stepped onto the podium, there was only one focus for the crowd.
"Lewis!"
"Lewis!"
The chant swept across the venue.
Despite the disappointment, the regret, and finishing second at Silverstone for the second year running, this wasn't a race worth celebrating from any angle. But Silverstone was still Silverstone, and Hamilton was still Hamilton. The 'home curse' didn't apply to the four-time World Champion. His brilliance and achievements at Silverstone still commanded applause.
That massive, surging tide of support once again highlighted Hamilton's immense draw at his home track.
Hamilton looked slightly emotional as he stepped onto the podium. His nose stung a bit. He waved, thanking the fans who had flocked to Silverstone to support him. In a rare sight, a slight glint of moisture could be seen in his eyes. The bitterness and frustration were stronger than ever, almost impossible to suppress.
"Oh—oh, oh, oh—Lewis!"
The crowd sang, cheering for him in their own way. They shouted, sang, and smiled until they were moved to tears. A thousand emotions blended together under the Silverstone sky.
Binotto: ...
Tricky!
Ferrari and Kai were supposed to be the protagonists, but now it had become Hamilton's stage. All the focus was on him.
And this was Silverstone. If handled poorly, the Ferrari team might not be able to leave the track.
Binotto stood to the side of the podium, joining Kai as the Team Principal to receive the constructors' trophy. His mind raced, trying to find a solution. The problem was subtle and complex, and he couldn't think of an appropriate response right away. Perhaps this was Mercedes' and Silverstone's plan all along—to deliberately embarrass Ferrari.
Even if Kai won at Silverstone, it was still Hamilton's home turf.
In a way, Silverstone was striking back at Kai, avenging today's loss and the recent events in Monaco.
So, what should they do?
Just then, Binotto felt a light tap on his shoulder. "Mattia, our turn!"
Binotto looked up, startled, and saw the smile on Kai's face, his eyes shining brightly. Before Binotto could react, Kai was already walking forward.
Binotto's heart tightened, but he was too late to stop him. He couldn't just watch Kai walk into the lion's den. As the Team Principal, he should be the one to take the heat and act the villain to divert attention. Without overthinking, he rushed after Kai, trying to draw Silverstone's fire onto himself.
Before he could gauge the crowd's reaction, Binotto saw Kai raise his hands high, clapping as he walked. He held his head high, gracefully and generously applauding Hamilton—and Leclerc.
Calm, composed, confident, polite.
Kai's performance was flawless. Even though he had crashed the party like an uninvited guest, he blended into the atmosphere perfectly, firmly grabbing the spotlight.
One. Two. Three, four, five.
The eyes of the massive crowd below the podium all fixed on the party crasher. When they realized it was Kai and Binotto, their annoyance and anger flared. They glared. They were enjoying a special moment for Hamilton, a union of fans and driver. This brazen guy had shown up uninvited to steal the spotlight. Didn't he know Silverstone didn't welcome him?
The air boiled, burned, on the verge of exploding.
Yet, Kai remained entirely unfazed. He strode forward with confidence, navigating the crossfire of glares, and walked straight toward Leclerc.
"Great race." Kai gave Leclerc a hug. "Brother, this is the first of many to come."
With just one sentence, Leclerc, who had been caught up in shock and panic, couldn't help but smile, his mood instantly brightening.
By then, Kai was already walking toward Hamilton.
He stopped, stood straight, extended his right hand, and smiled. "Great race. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last."
Hamilton narrowed his eyes at Kai. Earlier in the cool-down room, he had ignored him, engaged in a cold war, then provoked him, and now he was pulling this?
Kai didn't get a response, but he didn't mind. He continued, "Of course, if Mercedes is ready to throw in the towel, we at Ferrari have no objections."
Hearing that teasing tone, Hamilton couldn't hold it back. He smiled.
Absolutely absurd! Ridiculous!
The moment the corners of his mouth turned up, Hamilton realized he had fallen for it. Regardless of why he was smiling, to anyone watching, it looked exactly the same—
Kai had extended an olive branch, and he had accepted it.
This all happened in plain sight. Everyone saw it, but the only ones who heard the conversation were... Hamilton glanced out of the corner of his eye. Leclerc and Binotto both looked entirely innocent. In other words, Hamilton was on his own. No one would believe his version of events. No one would believe Kai had the audacity to taunt him right on the podium.
And on the Silverstone podium, no less.
He had to swallow his anger.
Hamilton shook Kai's hand, smiling. "We'll see about that." He tightened his grip. And tightened it again.
Kai didn't resist. He stood there, surprisingly not fighting back, but a bright smile spread across his face. It was as if he were shaking hands with a three-year-old trying to act tough, feeling absolutely nothing.
Hamilton: ...
Kai stared at him with bright eyes. Hamilton quickly realized that if he kept squeezing, the veins in his arm and neck would pop, and everyone would notice. He'd be the one looking bad, unable to explain himself no matter what he said.
Hamilton let go.
Kai calmly pulled his hand back, turned, and raised his right hand to wave to the crowd.
Hamilton stared at Kai's right hand in disbelief. Worried that people would catch on, he was slow to realize that Kai was doing this on purpose. It was a classic "Rosberg-style prank," slapping him in the face again.
Unfortunately, Silverstone didn't see through Kai's trick.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Under the gaze of thousands, Kai handled himself perfectly. Even though he had crashed the party and cut short the time for Silverstone and Hamilton to celebrate, his actions demonstrated the grace of a champion.
It was a fact that Hamilton held a unique status at Silverstone. But Hamilton wasn't everything. A truly brilliant race would always win the heart of Silverstone.
After all, this was where it all began, the origin and soul of motorsport. Thousands of fans gathered here; they supported Hamilton, but what they truly loved was racing—the pursuit of speed.
Today was no exception.
From the track to the podium, Kai used his actions to defend the glory of motorsport.
Clap! Clap, clap!
Stapleton snapped her head around, unable to believe her eyes. A Mercedes fan had raised his hands and was clapping enthusiastically.
The Tifosi had rushed to the podium as quickly as they could, but they were vastly outnumbered, scattered like dandelion seeds among the massive home crowd. They couldn't gather enough strength. Even though they shouted themselves hoarse trying to celebrate this hard-won victory, their efforts were a drop in the ocean.
And now?
Where there was one, there was a second and a third.
Mercedes fans exchanged uncertain glances. Some refused, some turned away, but others raised their hands and applauded. They might be sworn enemies on the track, using every ounce of energy to curse their rivals, but a win was a win, and a great race was a great race. They wouldn't stoop so low as to deny it, nor would they bring shame to the sport.
Stapleton took a deep breath, a smile blooming on her face, and raised her hands too—
Clap! Clap, clap! Clap! Clap, clap!
In unison, with surging emotion.
In an instant, all of Silverstone turned into a sea of applause.
Hamilton watched the scene unfold, unable to believe his eyes.
He knew Kai was a slippery opponent, but he never realized he was this shameless, openly manipulating the media and the crowd, playing tricks in broad daylight.
It wasn't just anger; a sense of humiliation and frustration burned in his chest.
Yet, Kai seemed completely oblivious to Hamilton's turbulent emotions as he calmly stepped onto the top step of the podium, claiming his fourth Grand Prix victory of the season and his very first win at Silverstone.
Boom, boom, boom! Boom, boom, boom!
Thunderous cheers echoed across Silverstone.
Pop!
The champagne popped, and foam shot into the sky.
Leclerc, who had been ready and waiting, was the first to attack, aiming straight at Kai.
This was a first!
Before Kai could even put the trophy down, he was under fire. But he didn't panic. He turned sideways to block the spray, grabbed his own bottle, and prepared to retaliate.
The next second, another stream of champagne hit him.
Kai paused, only to see Binotto. ???
He and Binotto had previously agreed to team up and spray Leclerc to cheer him up. Two consecutive podiums meant two missed wins, and Leclerc was bound to feel a bit conflicted. They needed to show him some support.
And now?
"Haha, hahaha!" Leclerc laughed wildly. It was obvious he and Binotto had planned this together.
Nearby, Hamilton completely ignored the Ferrari celebration. He grabbed his champagne, took two big steps forward, and sprayed it over the crowd.
Roar!
The crowd went wild, jumping and dancing as if it were a water festival, bathing in the champagne rain in a collective celebration.
However, to a keen observer, this scene held a different meaning. The rivalry between Mercedes and Ferrari was likely going to escalate further.
Ferrari celebrated wildly, having comprehensively suppressed Mercedes for the first time this season and finally closed the gap in the Constructors' standings. Mercedes was under a shadow, slowly sliding toward chaos and instability. It probably wouldn't just be a fight between Hamilton and Bottas anymore.
More importantly, the aggressive, ambitious Red Bull team had returned empty-handed, with Verstappen losing to his teammate Albon for the first time.
Could things get any worse?
The cutthroat competition between the top three teams was heating up. The battle for the driver and constructor championships had reached a boiling point!
Clearly, the media felt the heat. They went into a frenzy, setting the motorsport world ablaze.