F1: The Speed Legend

A little bit of nerves, mixed with a little bit of excitement.

The adrenaline was pumping so hard his mouth was dry, his palms were sweating, and his knees were even trembling.

Every physical reaction was a signal, reminding Kai that this was the first time in his life he was on a real grid, in a real race, chasing his father’s dream.

The heat was rolling, the engines were roaring. The world had melted into a hazy, impressionistic painting, a blur of flowing colors. Trapped in the cockpit, surrounded by the noise and the inferno, he felt as if the car itself was a ball of fire.

He didn’t try to control it. He let himself sink into the feeling.

Slowly, his nerve endings began to connect with every detail of the car—the steering wheel, the pedals, the seat, the helmet. His soul merged with the machine, and he could feel every subtle vibration, every corner of the chassis, as if it were an extension of his own body, as if he could physically touch the track.

It was scalding hot. It was burning.

And then, he opened his eyes. He wasn’t staring at the lights. He was opening all his senses, his very pores, using his body as a medium to feel the change in the air.

In this state, his perception was at its absolute peak.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The red lights were all on.

He held his breath.

The instant the lights went out, his body moved on pure instinct, a jolt of electricity. The red car launched like a streak of light, its long aerodynamic tail tearing through the shimmering heat.

An explosion of sound.

0.23-second reaction time.

A perfect launch.

In the grandstands, Matteo Vitale was frozen. From a spectator’s perspective, he finally, finally understood how Kai had dominated him at the start that night in Rome.

These were all identical GP3 spec cars. But in that one single instant, Kai had already pulled a full car length on the field.

And before you could even blink, the gap was growing.

On a long straight, the start is about two things: reaction time and acceleration. Kai was pushing his engine to its absolute limit. There were no tricks here. This was raw power.

Jack Aitken knew this.

He had been watching his mirrors, trying to predict the movements of Russell and Boccolacci. But that single stray thought was a fatal distraction.

The moment the lights went out, he knew he was late. That 0.1-second—maybe even 0.01-second—delay was all it took. The car in front of him was gone.

He was left staring at a gap that felt as wide as a canyon.

But he had no time for regret.

Aitken showed his experience. He floored the accelerator and simultaneously checked Kai’s line.

That rookie... he was just going straight. He wasn’t blocking, he wasn’t defending.

Aitken made his decision. He would use the vacuum behind Kai’s car to cut to the inside, get ahead of Russell and Boccolacci, and then brake at the absolute limit. He would use his car’s superior cornering setup to retake the lead in the T1/T2 complex.

The baby was too green.

But just as he was about to move, a car in his mirrors pulled out, shot from the slipstream, and in an instant, was pulling alongside him.

Aitken: ???

Before he could react, George Russell had caught him, passed him, and taken the position, stealing the line.

Aitken was now completely boxed in. Russell was going for the outside of Turn 1, a move designed to give him the inside line for Turn 2.

Aitken was stuck.

Up ahead, Kai had instantly seen the chaos in his left-hand mirror. Russell had gotten a monster start and had just changed the entire equation. The immediate threat was no longer Aitken; it was Russell.

But Kai had no time to block him. He was watching the other shadow, the one lurking in his blind spot.

Boccolacci. The #3 car.

The lone ”alien” in the top four, his white car was a stark contrast to the ART livery. Kai had been watching this assassin.

And sure enough, Boccolacci’s start was brilliant. He hadn’t bothered fighting for a different line. He had simply tucked in, latching onto Kai’s slipstream, letting Kai do all the work.

While Russell’s move was flashy, Boccolacci was just patiently waiting. But as Turn 1 rushed toward them, he made his move, pulling out of the slipstream.

He was diving for the inside.

Boccolacci was convinced his stealthy move would catch the rookie completely off guard.

But—

”Damn it! What is he doing?!”

Boccolacci had the inside line, he was on the verge of taking the lead, but Kai... Kai just wasn’t braking. He was still flat out, as if he’d been so terrified by the speed that he’d forgotten to turn.

Boccolacci didn’t understand. He knew nothing about this driver.

And then, he watched in horror as Kai finally, at the last possible nanosecond, slammed on his brakes. He used his superior straight-line speed to get his nose ahead, and then, in a move that defied physics, he rotated the car, a 720-degree spin on the head of a pin. The car slid, was caught, and then shot through the apex, as graceful as a fish soaring through shallow water, perfectly positioned for Turn 2.

He had ”closed the door.” Boccolacci, despite having the inside, was now completely sealed off, staring at a red gearbox.

But Kai’s attention was already gone, his eyes flicking to his left-hand mirror, to Russell and Aitken.

Russell’s throat tightened. He felt like he’d just been targeted.

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