In GP3, a dominant victory can be a double-edged sword.
It can turn the winner into a target, a marked man surrounded by enemies. In a spec series where the cars are so equal, a leader can be torn to shreds by the pack at any moment.
And then, they fade back into obscurity.
It's happened more than once in the paddock. Talent is never a rare commodity here.
But what if that victory came from an outsider? A rookie? An intruder who crashed the party and stole the spotlight? Genius or not, his very existence felt like a mockery of the "proper," orthodox drivers who had followed the rules and climbed the ladder.
They would attack him together.
This was exactly what Kai was feeling now. Wolves in front, tigers behind. He was boxed in on both sides, with nowhere to run. The gazes directed at him were sharp, hot, and hostile.
Compared to this, the atmosphere at the Ferrari Driver Academy felt as warm as a spring breeze.
In P7 was Leonardo Pulcini. In P6 was Alessio Lorandi.
Yesterday, they had chased Kai all race long without ever getting close enough to fight him. They hadn't even been able to see his rear wing.
Today, they were rubbing their hands together, locking onto Kai from the start.
But the real threat, Kai suspected, was behind him.
P9. P10.
These positions were set by the Feature Race finishing order, meaning both drivers were from Campos Racing—teammates of the pole-sitter, Raoul Hyman.
In street racing, it was every man for himself. Even if you had friends, you rarely coordinated. Everything was impulsive and reactive.
But in Formula racing, teamwork was essential.
Teammates were rivals, yes, but they were also partners. Sometimes they fought tooth and nail, but other times, they formed a united front against outsiders.
This was exactly why Vasseur had pulled Aitken and Russell into his office yesterday. It wasn't just because they were fighting; it was because their infighting had cost the team its advantage. When personal interests threatened the team's interests, Vasseur had to stop the bleeding.
Putting himself in their shoes, Kai knew what he would do. If he were starting P9 or P10, facing an outsider who had humiliated the entire field yesterday, he wouldn't hesitate. He would attack with everything he had—to prove himself, to protect his teammate on pole, or simply for the sake of the fight. He would show no mercy.
So, while Pulcini and Lorandi were dangerous, Kai believed the real threat was coming from behind.
How should he respond?
From the panoramic view of the TV cameras, the situation was even clearer.
Early in the morning, David Croft was already energetic, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "Yesterday, Kai Zhizhou left everyone in the dust, leaving his rivals to destroy each other while he ran like a lone wolf at the front. Today, in the Sprint Race, he's going to get a taste of the meat grinder."
"So, Martin, how do you think he'll handle the start?"
Martin Brundle squinted at the monitors, but he couldn't tell much just by looking. "Obviously, that's a secret. But I believe Kai and Pierre have a plan. They're not going to just sit there and take it. They'll be ready to make some waves."
Croft: "Are you sure?"
Brundle: "Don't you think so?"
Croft laughed out loud. "Oh, no, I believe it. In fact, I'm counting on it. God, I'm praying for a miracle at Barcelona. We saw one yesterday, now let's see what today brings."
The two commentators bantered effortlessly.
On track, everything was ready. The formation lap was complete, and the nineteen cars filed into their grid slots, waiting for the signal.
ROAR!
The grandstands next to the grid weren't full yet; the Spanish fans weren't used to such an early start.
But it was quality over quantity. The fans who were here were the die-hards, the ones willing to scream for GP3. Their energy was amplified tenfold, a wave of heat rolling over the dawn-lit Barcelona circuit.
The red lights came on.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Kai was on high alert, his senses extended in every direction. But unlike yesterday, he didn't prepare for a full-power launch.
The five lights went out.
0.31 seconds.
Clutch and throttle engaged. Kai shot forward.
Brundle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Croft, however, was direct. "Oh, Kai's start is a bit slow today."
Visually, a 0.1-second difference is almost imperceptible. But in a Formula race, against other cars launching at the limit, that tiny gap was instantly visible. Kai was lagging.
"Is he feeling the pressure?" Croft wondered.
Brundle stayed silent.
Of course, Croft's theory was possible. No driver is perfect every time. Fluctuations are normal.
But this situation?
Kai knew he was in a trap, surrounded by predators. Under that kind of pressure, he shouldn't be timid; he should be aggressive.
After all, that's how he'd handled the Feature Race start. Today's start looked... abnormal.
Was it a mistake?
Brundle was surprised, but he knew his knowledge of Kai was limited. Maybe the kid was just nervous?
He watched the screen intently, his lips pressed together. Then, his eyes lit up.
I knew it!
Kai had slowed his start on purpose.
Or rather, he hadn't aimed for the absolute limit of his reaction time.
Yesterday, his focus had been entirely on himself—nailing the start, controlling the rhythm. Today, he had to split his attention. He had to watch his opponents, to deal with the ambush on all sides.
And then, take control.
The moment he launched, Kai saw it. Lorandi, starting P6 directly ahead of him, was trying to screw him over. Lorandi had also delayed his start and, instead of going straight, immediately swerved right, cutting into the middle lane.
It was obvious. Lorandi wanted to startle him. If Kai had launched at full speed like yesterday, he would have been inches from a collision. To avoid it, he would have had to slam on the brakes, ruining his entire race before it even began.
And Lorandi wasn't planning a suicide mission. He wasn't just waiting to be hit. He was cutting into the middle to claim his line for Turn 1, denying Kai the slipstream and blocking his path to the inside.
It was a multi-purpose move.
And it wasn't just Lorandi. Pulcini (P7) also cut to the inside, blocking the line.
Pulcini and Lorandi didn't collide, but they moved in tandem, one after the other, completely sealing off the middle of the track.
Worse, the Campos driver in P9 got a great start, latching onto Pulcini's gearbox and following him through, creating a wall that blocked Kai from cutting back to the inside.
In other words, Kai had no choice. He had to go outside.
If the three of them weren't from different teams, Kai would have applauded their coordination.
But this was exactly what Kai had planned for. He hadn't predicted the exact move, but he had predicted the trap. He knew the start would be a crisis.
And now was the perfect time to reveal his true weapon:
Adaptability!
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