Kai had to admit something.
He had never read the Ferrari or ART contracts carefully.
Those dense pages filled with unfamiliar legal terminology were the perfect sleep aid. Between Nicolas handling external affairs and Jiang Mo managing things internally, and with Kai still legally a minor requiring a guardian's signature, he had very comfortably handed over all legal complexity and focused solely on racing.
Besides, when he joined ART, Jiang Mo had given him only one year.
Forget Formula One. Even a second year had been uncertain.
So to be honest, Kai vaguely remembered that Ferrari's contract included F1-related clauses, but the details were hazy at best.
That was fine.
He had no intention of being led by the nose by Abiteboul anyway. Legal matters belonged to Nicolas. What truly rang alarm bells was Abiteboul's enthusiasm.
Too enthusiastic.
Right now, Kai was surrounded by noise, praise, excitement. The world felt dazzling, intoxicating, almost as if it lay beneath his feet.
But was it really that simple?
Look at Norris. Even with McLaren's full backing, he still needed personal sponsorship just to race in F2.
Look at Leclerc. GP3 champion, on the brink of sealing the F2 title, dominant across the season, a textbook academy prodigy. Yet entering F1 still meant starting from zero, joining Sauber at the back of the grid after considerable effort.
And now Renault.
A midfield team. One of the four major engine suppliers. A political hub within the paddock.
Yet they were presenting an offer like this?
Too perfect. Too unreal.
Suspicion crept in.
Kai paused briefly, then joked, "So you're telling me every driver actually reads a three-hundred-page contract? Most of them haven't even finished high school."
Abiteboul laughed out loud. "That's on me. I should have spoken to Nicolas instead."
"In any case," he continued smoothly, "leave the super licence, the Ferrari contract, all of that to us. Your job is simple. Get in the car and extract every ounce of performance."
"I want you ready. Best case, Malaysia. Worst case, Japan. The opportunity will come quickly."
Sweet words. Grand promises.
Kai had to admit it. The French really were romantics. These speeches could easily make someone lose their head.
He genuinely hadn't expected this.
Opportunity had arrived so suddenly.
Could he really step onto the F1 grid before Leclerc?
Excited as he was, Kai stayed grounded. He informed Nicolas immediately. This time, Nicolas wasn't surprised.
He had leaked the McLaren news deliberately, just to see who would move first.
"Believe about thirty percent of what Cyril says," Nicolas said bluntly. "He promises everything and remembers nothing. If we refuse, he'll play the victim and accuse us of betrayal, even though he's talking to half the paddock at once."
The dream bubbles burst instantly.
Kai had braced himself, so the disappointment was mild. "So it's just talk?"
"Not exactly," Nicolas replied. "He's casting a net."
"Palmer has been a disaster. Either Palmer goes, or Cyril does. And Cyril doesn't plan to go quietly."
"At least four drivers are being contacted. One outside the paddock, two current drivers, and you."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Very inclusive."
Nicolas laughed. "You think he's actually fishing?"
"At the moment, Carlos Sainz at Red Bull's second team is the closest. They're already discussing contract details."
Lesson learned. In the paddock, sweet words were cheap.
Kai thought for a moment. "So I don't really have a chance?"
Nicolas sounded curious. "Do you want Renault?"
Kai laughed. "No. I just want to drive in F1."
"Any team?"
"Yes. Any team."
"Oh," Nicolas teased, "Cyril will be heartbroken. Renault reduced to 'any team'."
Their relationship had grown easier now. Less formal, more like friends.
Kai shrugged. "I don't really get to choose, do I? People talk about big teams and small teams, fast cars and slow cars. But F1 is F1. Ten teams. Twenty seats. Even Charles has to fight for his place. Why should I be special?"
Nicolas paused.
He hadn't expected such clarity. Then again, Kai had shown the same maturity when signing with ART. That was why Nicolas had gambled in the first place.
And so far, the gamble had paid off.
"You should have confidence," Nicolas said. "Because I certainly do."
"Cyril and I will talk again, but don't expect miracles. Malaysia is too rushed. Super licence issues, Ferrari clauses, and you're still under eighteen in October. FIA won't make it easy."
"My honest take?" Nicolas continued. "Renault needs a scapegoat. They were supposed to fight for fourth. Now they're barely holding seventh."
"If you go there, he can sell a future vision to the board and buy time. But if you perform poorly, he won't protect you."
The logic was simple once assembled.
Kai smiled slightly. "But what if I perform well?"
Nicolas imagined the collective embarrassment, then shook his head. "Then Cyril will say it was all thanks to him."
Kai burst out laughing.
"Relax," Nicolas said. "I know what I'm doing."
On track, Kai stacked performance. Off track, Nicolas stacked leverage. Instead of begging for a seat, they would make teams line up.
Nicolas moved fast.
Meanwhile, Kai packed for the next GP3 round.
And in Maranello, an unexpected guest arrived.
Morning light spilled through the windows. Birds sang. The air felt fresh, alive.
A voice called from downstairs. "Kai! Alfred's bread just came out!"
It felt like childhood again. No phones. Just voices echoing through the building.
Alfred was the neighborhood baker. After nearly a year in Maranello, Kai knew the truth. The best food wasn't in tourist spots, but on quiet street corners.
Three batches a day. Locals knew him well now, the only Asian face in town. Even taking out the trash led to conversations.
Like family.
"Thanks, Jasmine! Not today!" Kai called back.
She muttered as she walked off, unconcerned with his reply.
Then came a knock.
"Kai…"
He stopped short. "Sorry, I thought it was Jasmine. Mr. Marchionne."
Sergio Marchionne stood at the door, smiling politely. "May I come in?"
Kai chuckled. "If you're visiting, today's not ideal. I'm about to leave."
He gestured to his luggage.
"Monza?" Marchionne asked.
Kai's grin widened. "Ferrari holy ground. I left space in my suitcase for souvenirs."
Monza. History. Sacred ground.
Marchionne nodded. "You'll love it. No circuit compares."
"Even Silverstone?"
"Especially Silverstone."
Then, casually, "Before you go, do you have time to walk with an old man?"
Kai wasn't surprised. He followed him out.
They talked about cars. Life. Limits.
And then, without warning, Marchionne asked, "Kai, would you be willing to race for Ferrari in Formula One next year?"
The world went silent.
Birdsong. Breeze. Sunlight.
Then Jasmine returned, arms full of bread, shoving it into Kai's hands and leaving just as quickly.
Marchionne smiled. "You've settled in well."
Kai took a breath. "Mr. Marchionne… were you serious?"
"Completely."
He spoke of vision. Of change. Of breaking arrogance.
Of seeds.
And Kai listened.
When it ended, Kai said softly, "I need to ask my mother."
Marchionne laughed. "I knew it. That's why I came."
Later, on the phone, Jiang Mo listened calmly.
"Kai," she said, "are you ready?"
He answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then laughter.
"I agree," she said. "On one condition. Finish school."
Kai nodded, eyes bright. "I promise."
When the call ended, reality still felt unreal.
"Kai?" Leclerc asked from the doorway. "You okay?"
Kai blinked. "Charles. Pinch me."
Leclerc did. Hard.
"Ow!"
"So?" Leclerc asked.
Kai leaned in and whispered, "Ferrari."
Leclerc froze.
Kai smiled. "Sorry, Prince. I got there first."
~~----------------------
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