Maybe it was just a GP3 win. Maybe it was just a small step in a long journey.
But Lu Cheng held nothing back. Words he would never say face-to-face poured out in his text messages, a fervent, unfiltered expression of pride.
Kai read through them carefully. He saw the typos, the messy punctuation, the clumsy phrasing. He could picture his father frantically typing on his phone, unable to contain his joy, and a smile naturally spread across his face.
As he smiled, his eyes grew warm.
He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. He looked up at the sky, letting the fading Catalan sunset wash over his face. The smell in the air reminded him of his childhood, of following his father around the garage. It all felt familiar.
Maybe this wasn't just a "small" victory. He wanted to win more, and not just for the points or the prize money.
He exhaled sharply, looked away, and started walking.
Then, he saw a pineapple. He started wondering about the taste—it wasn't pineapple season yet, so it probably wouldn't be sweet.
The "pineapple" turned around, and their eyes met. The figure flailed, trying to cover the data on his laptop screen.
It wasn't a pineapple. It was Russell.
Russell stared at Kai, about to speak.
Kai beat him to it. "It's okay. You can look."
Russell: "What?"
Kai: "The race data. Brake traces, tire temps, racing lines. The stuff you were just looking at. You can look at it openly."
Russell's face turned crimson. Caught red-handed! "I wasn't. I didn't. I was just... I was just... reviewing my race. Yeah, my race."
Kai tipped his chin up slightly. "Oh. I didn't say you were looking at my data."
Russell froze, his face burning even hotter. Despite his mature exterior, he was still just a nineteen-year-old kid.
Kai smirked. "Careful, the tomato is about to explode."
He said no more, turning and walking away.
Russell stared at Kai's back and shouted, "I wasn't! Really! Don't misunderstand!" Getting no response, he started cursing under his breath, mortified.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Kai ignored him, looking around until he found Hubert in the meeting room, studying data. He pushed the door open. "Antoine, do you have any food?"
Hubert fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a handful of chocolates, dumping them on the table. Kai's eyes lit up as if he'd seen a lifeline. "God, Antoine, you saved my day."
Hubert grinned. "After a race, it's always like this. Even now, I forget to eat. So my mom always stuffs candy and chocolate in my pockets. Whenever I dig around, I find emergency rations."
Kai popped a chocolate into his mouth and nodded at the screen. "What are you looking at?"
Hubert glanced at the screen and laughed. "Your braking points. Especially that last complex. Your exit speed today was beautiful."
"So, your setup is biased towards understeer, but in the race, after Turn 10, you intentionally induced some rear sliding to rotate the car faster, getting on the throttle early for a better exit?"
Just like Hubert, Kai didn't hide anything. He shared openly. "Exactly. I wasn't planning to fight them on mid-corner speed. I sacrificed the middle sector a bit, pushed the braking point back, got on the power early, and won it on the straights."
Hubert frowned. "But how? In that last sector, there are almost no braking references. With that setup, it's like driving on ice. Brake too early, you lose speed. Too late, you understeer. How do you find the braking point?"
Kai tapped Hubert's chest, right over his heart. "Instinct. Antoine, you have to trust your instinct."
As mentioned before, GP3 uses spec cars. The chassis, engine, and tires are identical. The cars themselves are very similar, but the team's strength makes a huge difference.
Part of it is the engineering team—how they analyze data and set up the car is an art form.
Another part is teamwork. A complete, excellent data engineering team acts as the unsung heroes, providing top-tier simulation data to help the race engineers finalize the setup.
And, of course, a top driver lineup that can learn from each other creates a virtuous cycle.
For example, when Russell and Aitken had their meltdown, Vasseur stepped in immediately to manage it.
Or the principle: "One driver finds a good setup, the whole team benefits."
In other words, Kai won the race with this setup, and that data was completely open within the team. Other engineers could study it and adjust it for their drivers. If necessary, they could copy it exactly.
That was why Russell reading the data in secret was unnecessary; it was just his pride acting up. And the discussion between Hubert and Kai would be brought up in the team meeting later anyway. It wasn't a secret.
The Feature Race was over, but ART couldn't rest. The engineering team was in a brainstorming session, preparing for tomorrow's Sprint Race.
The drivers were the same. First, a group meeting to discuss the cars and strategy, reviewing the race. Then, individual meetings with their engineers to give detailed feedback, followed by setup adjustments.
Sunday's schedule was GP3 Sprint, F2 Sprint, then F1 Race. GP3 was first up in the early morning, so the team had to work overtime. Pulling an all-nighter to fix a setup was common.
The pace was relentless. There was no time to bask in the joy of victory or process the thrill of his debut. One moment he closed his eyes, and the next he was back in the cockpit, surrounded by heat, ready for the final run of the Barcelona weekend.
The view was completely different.
Today, Raoul Hyman of Campos Racing, who finished 8th yesterday, was on pole. Arjun Maini of Jenzer Motorsport was P2. Two drivers from smaller teams were in the spotlight on the front row, trying to seize their moment.
Barcelona was a track with few overtaking opportunities. The initiative was in their hands.
And Kai?
He was starting P8. The main straight in front of him was packed with cars, like rush hour traffic. He was boxed in on all sides.
And P8 was on the outside, the dirty side of the track. It would be another test of tire management. Obviously, he couldn't use the same strategy as yesterday.
As soon as he appeared, Kai could feel the scorching gazes from all directions, like a thousand arrows piercing his heart. He was getting a full taste of what it meant to be a target.
The paddock was, indeed, a battlefield.
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