F1: The Speed Legend

Perfect.

That was the only thought in Monfardini’s mind.

They had run thousands, if not tens of thousands, of laps at Fiorano. They knew every corner, every inch of tarmac, so well they could drive it with their eyes closed. This track was part of Maranello’s soul.

He didn’t need a stopwatch to know that Kai had just squeezed every last drop of performance out of that car, and perhaps even gone beyond it.

From start to finish, it was flawless.

If this was a ballet on a knife’s edge, then Kai had just delivered a performance of breathtaking, perfect artistry.

Even a seasoned veteran like Monfardini couldn’t help but clench his fist in celebration. Or perhaps, it was precisely because he knew Fiorano so intimately that he understood just how extraordinary that lap had been.

It wasn’t just him. The technicians around him were erupting, high-fiving and cheering.

”Ahhhhh!”

”Mamma mia, that was just...!”

”Wow... I mean... wow.”

Words failed them. Their minds were blank. They could only cheer and jump, grabbing their own hair, unable to believe what they had just seen.

Then, a new gasp. ”Ferdinando!”

Monfardini followed their gaze. One by one, the technicians were staring at the main display, their mouths open, their expressions like the heroines in an Italian soap opera, looking as if they might faint from the shock.

They didn’t need a number to know the lap was perfect. It wasn’t just ”zero mistakes”; it was a masterful execution that had pushed the car and track to their absolute, artistic limit.

But even so, when they actually saw the number, the shock was so profound it stole their breath.

1:16.008!

What did that even mean?

Ferrari didn’t encourage ”hot-lapping” at Fiorano, but every Ferrari road car had to conquer this track before it was released. The ”Fiorano Lap Time” had become a hallmark of the brand.

Currently, the all-time Fiorano record was held by Michael Schumacher: 0:55.999, set in his 2004 F1 car.

The fastest road car lap was held by the upcoming Ferrari 812: 1:21.50.

The comparison was staggering.

Kai, in an F3 training car, in the rain, had just gone a full five seconds faster than the 812. He was only twenty seconds off Schumacher’s F1 record.

Unbelievable.

And this was only his third day on a real track, his first time ever driving in the wet.

It was...

They were all completely stunned, just staring at each other, their minds blank. They were frozen, unable to process the shock.

In just five weeks, Kai had already delivered so many surprises. But they had never imagined there was more, and more, and more. He was like a magician’s hat: you just never knew what he was going to pull out next.

A long silence stretched, feeling like a century, until Kai’s voice came over the radio.

Still calm. Still steady. Still professional. As if he had no idea what he had just done.

”Wet control was good. Slight slip on the final segment, but within controllable limits.”

”Oil temp is rising slightly. Entering cooling lap now.”

Shhh... shhh...

For a moment, it was impossible to tell if the sound was the rain or the radio’s static.

Monfardini was the first to snap back. ”Received. The rain is getting heavier. Stay safe.”

The technician next to him finally found his voice, swallowing hard. ”Ferdinando... was that a perfect lap?”

Monfardini didn’t answer right away. He gathered his scattered thoughts, his eyes scanning the telemetry—throttle application, brake pressure, tire temperatures. The data curves scrolled past his pupils.

He no longer felt shock. He felt certainty.

He was now 100% certain that the glimpse they’d seen in the simulator trial had been just a sample. Kai hadn’t been trying his hardest. Even today, he still hadn’t shown his full potential, because he was still growing, still improving. Kai probably didn’t even know what his own ceiling was. He was simply lost in the pure, simple joy of challenging his own limits.

F3?

No. This wasn’t enough to contain him. Monfardini suddenly, desperately, wanted to see what Kai could do in an F1 car.

His throat tightened. ”Perhaps,” he said, ”for us, it was.”

The other half of the sentence went unsaid: But for him, it wasn’t.

Monfardini wasn’t worried about Kai becoming arrogant—the kid’s composure was beyond his years. But he wanted him to stay grounded, to see him fulfill every last ounce of his talent.

Who knew, he thought, maybe the hope of restoring Ferrari’s glory rests on this young man’s shoulders?

The thought had no sooner formed than he was startled by it. It had only been five weeks. Was it too soon to place such a heavy burden on Kai’s young shoulders?

”Hey, Ferdinando.”

A voice pulled Monfardini back to reality.

He looked up. Kai was standing there, his hair plastered to his head, though it was impossible to tell if it was from rain or sweat. He was shivering slightly, but his dark eyes were shining, and a bright, excited smile lit up his youthful face. It was a reminder that he was, after all, only seventeen.

”Sorry, I was a bit reckless just now. I made you worry.”

Monfardini’s heart softened. A warm current flowed through him. He was like a father watching his own son—a bit of a troublemaker, but a good kid.

But then Kai’s focus shifted instantly. ”On that push lap, the ’C’ braking curve was generating heat too quickly, and tire wear was way up. I was thinking... maybe a hybrid B-C curve would be more effective? Didn’t have time to test it. Guess it will have to wait for next time.”

Monfardini just stared at him for a second, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Kai didn’t notice. ”Can I see the braking curve graphs from that lap?”

A look of deep satisfaction filled Monfardini’s eyes. ”Of course. But first, a hot shower, dry your hair, and get into a change of clothes. A professional driver needs to know how to prevent a cold.”

Kai looked at him with an expression of pure misery.

But Monfardini’s face was a mask of unyielding resolve.

Kai could only sigh and look to the heavens. ”I’m seventeen! My body heat alone can dry the rain, okay?”

The perfectly delivered complaint, in flawless, colloquial Italian, made the entire control room burst into laughter. Even the ice-man Monfardini couldn’t help but smile.

After the training session was wrapped up, Monfardini didn’t go home. He headed to the office on the second floor.

He had barely knocked when a voice called out, ”Come in.”

Monfardini opened the door and saw Marchionne putting on his scarf and coat. ”Sir, do you have a minute? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

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