F1: The Speed Legend

In just half a month, Kai had completely adjusted his internal clock, fully integrating into the intense, high-stakes training life.

And surprisingly, it wasn’t boring at all.

Mornings were for physical conditioning and theory. Afternoons, following the simulator session, were for a second round of physical training. If the morning session focused on basic, overall fitness, the afternoon was about deconstructing the body like a race car, working on each component with precision.

Hand-eye coordination drills. Reaction time tests. Explosive power training. Isolated muscle groups and flexibility.

And on, and on.

These were not light exercises. A single one-hour session would leave him drenched in sweat, as if he’d been pulled from a lake. The intensity was no less than the morning’s, and in many ways, it was harder. The morning’s general fitness was easy for Kai, who was young and naturally athletic. But the afternoon’s specialized training was something his ”street” background had never prepared him for. He had to start from zero.

As a result, his blood-curdling screams could be heard from the gym every afternoon.

Each one was more tragic than the last, echoing down the entire hallway.

A crowd of drivers would often gather to watch the spectacle. Today was no exception, a huddle of heads poking around the corner, all crowding each other for a better view.

Just as the group was about to scatter, Leclerc was shoved out from the back, left to stand alone, completely exposed to Kai’s line of sight.

Leclerc muttered under his breath about his backstabbing friends, but he and Kai had gotten to know each other better, and he couldn’t resist a jab. ”Are you practicing to be a tenor, Zhizhou? You know Pavarotti was from around here, right?”

Pfft!

A muffled explosion of laughter came from the group hiding behind him.

Seeing that even Leclerc was about to lose it, Kai, in the middle of a painful stretch, remained perfectly calm. ”Mm. Once I perfect it, I’ll perform ’Nessun Dorma’ for all of you.”

He added, through gritted teeth, ”Don’t worry. No one will be sleeping that night.”

The smile on Leclerc’s face froze.

The group behind him howled. Zhou Guanyu was the first to bolt, shouting, ”Run!”

The rest of them scattered in a chaotic retreat, and the hallway was suddenly empty.

Kai bared his teeth in a grin. ”Charles, want a preview?”

Leclerc couldn’t hold it together. He swallowed hard and fled for his life, wishing he had two more legs.

He could run, but he couldn’t hide.

After the afternoon fitness session, it was time for their cultural classes.

Nutrition, psychology, public relations—they had to learn how to be professional athletes, and it wasn’t easy. It was all part of their development.

After these classes, Kai had also signed up for an extra Italian course.

He had learned his lesson in Rome. If a major city like that was a problem, Maranello—this ”English-free zone”—was impossible. He had yet to meet a single person outside the Ferrari base who was willing to speak English.

He needed to learn, not just for daily life, but to communicate directly with the engineers. Even though most people in the academy, including Monfardini, spoke English, Italian was their comfort zone.

Language wasn’t a problem for Kai. English had always been his strong suit; his teachers had loved him. When it was time to choose between the liberal arts and science tracks in his second year of high school, his English teacher had personally called his parents, insisting that Kai should choose liberal arts and pursue languages, that it would be a waste of his talent otherwise.

So, he was happy to learn a new language.

And so was Leclerc. He was fluent in English and French, but for a European, two languages were never enough.

The end result was that Leclerc, having just mocked Kai, had now walked right into the trap.

Kai smiled sweetly at the teacher. ”Teacher, can we learn ’Nessun Dorma’ today?”

Leclerc shivered, already dreading the nightmares of the Demon King’s reign.

Outside the classroom door, Zhou Guanyu’s unrestrained laughter echoed down the hall as he made his escape.

When the cultural classes finally ended, the long training day was almost over. The drivers would meet with their coaches and engineers to review the data from the afternoon’s simulator or track sessions, and then, based on their individual needs, they were free to do their own training.

From 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM, the schedule was packed.

But when the other drivers were done, Kai wasn’t. He returned to his apartment every night to study, working to keep up with his school’s curriculum.

Every day, Song Bo would send over the class notes. His ”chicken-scratch” scrawl was almost illegible, but he was thorough, copying down every single thing, including the useless announcements.

One time, he had even copied the student-on-duty list from the blackboard.

Using those notes, Kai studied, researched, and completed his homework. Only then was his day truly over.

He’d shower, fall into bed, and be asleep before his head even hit the pillow, often in less than thirty seconds, completely and utterly drained.

It was exhausting, grueling, and undeniably hard. But it was also fulfilling and, in its own way, fun. This winter was an adventure, full of surprises.

Once he got used to the packed, regular schedule, time itself seemed to disappear.

It felt like only yesterday that he had arrived in Maranello, that the trial and the contract had completely changed his life. He’d blinked, and 2016 was already coming to a close. The streets were decorated with red and green, and even the Prancing Horse statue at the base entrance had been strung with lights, turning it into a makeshift Christmas tree.

The holidays were approaching, but the academy’s routine continued.

Monfardini stared at the weather radar on his screen, thinking for a moment. He pressed the button for the driver’s radio channel. ”Zhizhou, what’s visibility like? The rain might get heavier in five. Maybe we should call it a day.”

Outside, on Maranello’s Fiorano Circuit, a red race car was speeding through the spray.

This was the Ferrari base’s private test track, used not only for their F1 cars but also for academy training. And right now, Kai was behind the wheel.

By the book, a new driver needed a minimum of three months in the simulator before they were allowed on a real track. But it was clear that Kai couldn’t be judged by the book.

In just five weeks, Kai’s performance had been so convincing that he’d conquered Monfardini, who had made an exception and allowed him to get into a real F3 car.

But Monfardini was still cautious. This was only Kai’s third day on a real track, and in the wet, you had to be careful. Even a light drizzle, which didn’t affect visibility, could make the track conditions unpredictable, magnifying the possibility of a mistake a hundredfold.

He figured there was no need to rush. They had time. It was better to end the session early.