In the world of Formula One, Ferrari was a dream.
So many young drivers longed to wear red that fans liked to joke online, saying that everyone carried a "Ferrari childhood dream" somewhere in their heart.
Right now, there was one such dreamer standing in front of Kai.
Leclerc had always wanted to race for Ferrari. That goal had driven him forward at full speed, year after year.
And now, somehow, Kai had stepped in first.
Of course, nothing was signed yet. No ink on paper. Variables still existed. But Leclerc understood exactly what this meant.
Thoughts churned violently in his mind. He would not deny it, he could not deny it. He was jealous. Still, he forced himself to prepare a smile, ready to congratulate his friend.
Then he saw Kai's teasing expression.
"You're unbearable," Leclerc said flatly. "Can you not rub salt in the wound?"
Kai burst into laughter. "Sorry. You should have seen your face just now. If I didn't get my revenge, it would've been criminal."
Revenge for that pinch earlier?
Leclerc stared up at the sky in disbelief. Seriously, this guy was about to join Ferrari.
Kai bumped his shoulder again. "You're not going to be crushed by this, right? You should trust yourself. Answer on the track. Make Ferrari regret missing you. Win your own seat."
Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "And replace you?"
"Anytime," Kai said calmly. "I welcome every challenge."
No arrogance. No false humility.
That open, steady confidence made Leclerc smile.
He took a deep breath, grounding himself. "You deserve it."
"Your performances this year earned it. But you know F1 is a completely different world."
"I won't surrender. I want that seat, and I'll fight for it."
Kai punched his shoulder lightly, grinning. "Then maybe next year we finally get to race each other head-on."
Leclerc widened his eyes. "Ferrari versus Sauber?"
"What, no confidence?"
Silence.
Kai doubled over laughing.
Leclerc exhaled slowly. "Do you know why I want Ferrari so badly?"
Kai shrugged. "Schumacher era. Karting childhood. Red cars everywhere?"
"That's part of it," Leclerc said. "The other part is Jules Bianchi."
Kai froze.
He was still learning the depths of F1 history, but Bianchi was impossible not to know. FIA had permanently retired his number.
Suzuka, 2014. A devastating accident. He passed away the following year.
In an era increasingly focused on safety, Bianchi's death had shaken the entire motorsport world.
Kai had never imagined that Bianchi was Leclerc's godfather.
"But he wasn't much older than you," Kai said quietly.
"Eight years," Leclerc replied. "He knew my father. He introduced both my brother and me to karting. He was my teacher."
"When funding almost ended my career, Jules introduced me to Nicolas. And because of him, I joined Ferrari's academy."
"He was one of its earliest members. He was close to a Ferrari seat more than once. In fact, he was preparing to sign for 2015."
The rest needed no words.
A brilliant life cut short before twenty-six.
So this wasn't Leclerc's first encounter with loss. Not the first time a dream nearly shattered.
"That's why Ferrari matters to me," Leclerc said softly. "It's not just my dream."
A seat felt very small compared to life and death.
Kai smiled. "Then you'll have to work harder. I won't stop either."
"Ready to fight properly?"
Fire ignited in Leclerc's chest. No envy, no bitterness. Only hunger.
"I can't wait."
Then he turned abruptly. "On second thought, I can't drive you today. I'm too heartbroken to chauffeur anyone."
He walked off dramatically.
Kai stared. What?
Of course, Leclerc still waited outside with the car.
Kai was on the phone with Nicolas, discussing contract negotiations. Once finished, he loaded his luggage and walked to the passenger side.
The car suddenly rolled forward.
Kai stared at the retreating rear bumper.
Leclerc waved innocently. "Oh, you weren't in yet? My bad."
Kai walked up again.
The car moved forward again.
Leclerc laughed so hard he nearly choked. "Hurry up or we'll be late."
Youthful energy spilled freely in Maranello.
Meanwhile, in Monaco, Nicolas sat in silence.
If he said he hadn't aimed for Ferrari, he'd be lying. But he had stayed rational. Leclerc had failed to secure a Ferrari seat and ended up at Sauber.
Kai should have been even harder.
So Nicolas had stirred the waters. Created tension. Looked for leverage.
And leverage, in F1, meant one thing.
Money.
Teams were run by businessmen. Enough profit justified risk.
Kai still lacked sponsorship weight, which was why Nicolas had been constantly moving.
But now?
This was no longer just a surprise.
It was a structural shift.
Ferrari's seat changed everything. Performance, brand power, global reach. Kai's Asian identity alone would transform sponsorship value.
Even Mercedes and Red Bull couldn't match that pull.
Nicolas remembered the afternoon he had hesitated, then gambled everything.
He never expected this, not within ten months.
His thoughts settled.
"Sorry," he said, turning back with a smile.
Across from him sat a middle-aged man in a light-blue suit, sunglasses still on indoors.
"Work?" the man mocked.
"Marchionne's calls can't be missed," Nicolas replied calmly.
The man leaned forward. "Fiat's Marchionne? What business does he have with you?"
"He wants to discuss next year's driver contract."
Silence.
"Leclerc?" the man asked sharply.
Nicolas smiled. "Younger. Kai Zhizhou."
The man represented Ray-Ban.
Ferrari partner. Major sponsor.
And suddenly, the roles reversed.
Before, Nicolas courted sponsors.
Now, sponsors courted Kai.
Information was currency.
Ferrari's interest was inside knowledge. Whoever acted first would profit most.
The board tilted.
The paddock roared.
Monza burned red.
Ferrari chants thundered even on media day.
Inside Ferrari's offices, it was cold.
Arrivabene stared at Marchionne, disbelief etched into his face.
Kai to Ferrari?
Impossible.
Marchionne had lost his mind.
"I object," Arrivabene said.
Calm, but absolute.
He tried to control himself, knowing who stood before him.
But Marchionne cut him off sharply. "Watch your words."
Arrivabene pivoted, attacking from another angle. Hamilton. Ricciardo. Alonso.
Anyone but a GP3 rookie.
Marchionne listened, unmoved.
Then he spoke quietly.
"I'm not asking your opinion. I'm informing you."
Arrivabene went pale.
"If you interfere with driver decisions, I resign."
Marchionne smiled faintly.
"Then explain Spa."
Hamilton's win. Mercedes pulling ahead.
"Explain Monza. Can you guarantee victory?"
Silence.
"And explain Vettel and Raikkonen."
The knife went deeper.
When Marchionne finished, Arrivabene looked small.
"Two choices," Marchionne said gently.
"Cling to pride and explain failure. Or embrace change."
Arrivabene exhaled.
"We're chasing greatness," he said.
Elsewhere, Kai declined an unknown call.
Insurance, he assumed.
Arrivabene stared at his phone.
He had been hung up on.
Marchionne smiled. "Try again. Or visit ART."
Arrivabene swallowed his pride and called again.
This time, Kai answered.
"Hello?"
"This is Maurizio Arrivabene."
Kai tilted his head. "Who?"
Inside the Ferrari office, Arrivabene nearly dropped the phone.
And somewhere in Monza, the order of the paddock quietly began to crack.
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