F1: The Speed Legend

Casually, Kai dropped a bombshell. Lorenzo burst out laughing, his eyes and mouth crinkling with amusement. ”Of course. I’d love to.”

Kai nodded, his expression completely serious. ”The pay might not be high, given I’m just a rookie right now. And you probably have your own responsibilities at Brembo.”

He paused, turning to look at Lorenzo. ”But I really do need your help.”

Lorenzo froze, realizing Kai wasn’t joking. ”Wait, you’re serious?”

Seeing the shock in Lorenzo’s eyes, Kai’s smile widened. ”Sir, please keep your eyes on the road. I know you’re honored and your heart is fluttering, but we still need to follow traffic laws.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes ruthlessly. ”Yes, yes. Whatever the King of the Streets says.”

Kai chuckled. ”Looking back, our street race in Rome feels like a lifetime ago.”

Lorenzo glanced at him in the rearview mirror. ”So, is the eighteen-year-old going to start reminiscing about the ancient history of two years ago?”

”Haha,” Kai slapped his thigh. ”Oops, you saw right through me. In that case, let’s skip the nostalgia and look to the future.”

”You know I’ve always been prepared to walk away at any moment. In the paddock, I’m like duckweed—no roots, no capital backing. When the whales fight, I’m the shrimp that gets crushed. But now... I want to stay. I want to chase the impossible.”

He spoke lightly, but the underlying resolve was ironclad.

”If I’m going to do that, I need help. I can’t offer a big paycheck. All I can do is paint a picture of a glorious future, fill your head with sweet promises and grand visions, just like Cyril Abiteboul did to convince Ricciardo. So, are you interested?”

”Haha,” Lorenzo laughed heartily. ”Let’s see it then. How did Abiteboul convince Ricciardo?”

”Ahem,” Kai cleared his throat, adjusting his posture. ”Lorenzo, you must believe in my ability and talent. My goal isn’t just to drive for Ferrari. I am ready to fight for the World Championship—both the Driver’s and the Constructor’s titles. I want to see us standing on top of the world, looking down on everyone else. Not just Mercedes, but every team in the paddock will have to look up to us.”

”On the road to victory, you are an indispensable asset. I need you to be the anchor of the team, to grasp the core issues amidst the chaos, ensuring we never lose our direction or slow our pace. We might have nothing now, but we have a grand dream and boiling blood. Together, we will write miracles and create glory. Your name will be etched in history, securing your rightful place.”

He delivered the speech with a booming baritone, chest puffed out, brimming with exaggerated passion. It was pure, unadulterated corporate waffle.

Coupled with Kai’s intentionally terrible French-accented English, it was a flawless imitation. If Lorenzo weren’t driving, he would have collapsed from laughing.

”Even if you leave the paddock, you won’t need to worry about a job. Hollywood has a place for you,” Lorenzo said, rubbing his aching cheeks.

He added, ”Sir Lewis Hamilton would be very jealous of your acting chops.”

They exchanged a look and burst into laughter again.

”Alright,” Lorenzo’s voice cut through the merriment, simple and direct. ”I accept the challenge.”

”So, what’s the first step? Going to Maranello to take some hits?”

Kai couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Lorenzo remained calm. ”I thought you’d be used to it by now. The technical R&D team at Maranello have their noses so high in the air they can’t see the ground. They are incredibly arrogant and refuse to listen to advice. Never mind you; even Vettel gets the same treatment. If a driver dares to tell them how to design the car, they’ll tell him to bugger off without hesitation.”

Kai wasn’t surprised; he had experienced it firsthand. ”Professionals always believe they are the most professional. They think they know astronomy and geography, and everyone else is just a layman pretending to understand. Anyone who points fingers should be kicked out.”

”It’s a time-honored tradition at Maranello.”

Although Marchionne hadn’t explicitly said it, Kai guessed this was exactly the culture he had been trying to change.

However, culture isn’t built in a day, and it can’t be dismantled overnight.

In Binotto, Kai saw possibilities. He wasn’t sure if Binotto was the key to unlocking the closed doors of Maranello’s R&D department, but from Spa to Monza, they had taken a small step. Kai hoped to keep pushing.

”Now, it’s time for a change,” Kai said, rubbing his hands together.

But Lorenzo wasn’t as optimistic. As an Italian, he knew this wasn’t just Ferrari’s culture; it was Italian culture. Arrogance, stubbornness, refusal to accept criticism, resistance to modernizing—any change would face immense traditional pushback.

Lorenzo glanced at Kai. ”Are you sure you’re ready?”

”Ha!” Kai’s eyes sparkled with fighting spirit. ”You know they say I popped out of a rock, right?”

”In one of our classic novels, Journey to the West, there’s a character who also popped out of a rock. He flew to heaven, caused havoc in the celestial palace, and was absolutely lawless...”

Chattering away, the drive from Milan to Maranello didn’t feel long at all. The small car was filled with passion and determination, embarking on a journey like the pilgrims in that ancient story, ready to face the eighty-one trials ahead.

Immersed in non-stop work, Kai completely lost track of time. The roar of Monza felt like yesterday, yet today, he was stepping off a plane at Singapore Changi Airport. The moment he stepped out, the rolling heat of the equator swallowed him whole.

”Wow, there’s a waterfall hidden inside the airport?”

”Having a jungle in an airport is shocking enough, but a waterfall?!”

”I heard the designers treated Changi Airport like a small city. This is literally the first tourist attraction in Singapore.”

The young drivers chattered excitedly, marveling at the sights.

After landing, they didn’t immediately rush to baggage claim. Instead, they switched to tourist mode, acting like a group of college students on a trip, temporarily leaving the cutthroat competition of the paddock behind.

Ahead, near the exit of the arrivals hall, a wave of commotion and cheering rolled toward them. Carlos Sainz, walking at the front, stopped in his tracks.

Sainz turned around, asking honestly, ”Is it normal to have people waiting outside like this?”

Looking ahead, they saw a massive crowd, a dense sea of people radiating palpable excitement.

Pierre Gasly immediately looked at Kai. ”When does Sebastian or Kimi’s private jet land?”

Vettel was the undisputed king of the Marina Bay Street Circuit, having won there four times. His popularity in Singapore was immense.

Kai spread his hands innocently. ”I haven’t gotten my private pilot’s license yet.”

Leclerc tilted his head. ”Maybe it’s Lewis. He’s practically the home driver everywhere.”

Kai shook his head mysteriously. ”You guys know nothing. This crowd is definitely here for a K-Pop idol group. Maybe they have a concert here. Crazy fans blocking traffic—it’s an eye-opening experience.”

The group reacted differently. Sainz asked seriously, ”Why?”

Kai shrugged. ”I don’t know. Maybe they fantasize about dating their idols.”

”...”

Sainz pondered this. ”But why? You should keep your distance from your idols. If you get too close, the illusion might shatter. Why would they fantasize about dating them?”

Gasly immediately chimed in. ”Are you talking about yourself and Fernando?”

Sainz’s idol—and respected senior—was undoubtedly Fernando Alonso. He had always dreamed of racing against him.

However, in Alonso’s eyes, Sainz was just a hot-headed kid with raw pace but lacking maturity. They had clashed several times on track, most notably in Barcelona, where Sainz had aggressively overtaken Alonso.

In post-race interviews, Alonso hadn’t hidden his displeasure.

So, was Sainz disillusioned?

Sainz didn’t look embarrassed. He turned to Gasly and replied deadpan, ”I was discussing the rabid fans of idols.”

Gasly’s smirk slowly froze. Kai and Charles were struggling hard to hold back their laughter.

The two instigators exchanged a glance, signaling to Hartley and Hulkenberg to quietly slip away, dragging their luggage toward the exit.

The automatic doors slid open, and the humid heat hit them like a physical blow. Kai was just remarking how suffocating Singapore was in mid-September—a severe test for the upcoming race—when Charles nodded in agreement. Before Charles could reply, a wall of sound hit them.

”AHHH!”

Hot, surging, dense, and concentrated. It hit them squarely, making their ears ring as if they had walked into a physical wall.

The innocent Hartley froze in shock.

Hulkenberg, however, recognized the scene. His muscle memory kicked in. He turned to find the culprit, only to see Kai looking just as bewildered as the rest of them. Nico shook his head, nudging Kai with his shoulder. The noise was too loud to speak, so he used gestures.

They’re here for you.

Kai was still confused.

Despite witnessing the miracle of 250,000 people at Monza, Kai remained grounded. The Tifosi were a special case; they were there for Ferrari. Outside of Italy, Kai was still just a rookie with no established fanbase.

So, was this massive crowd really not here for a K-Pop group?

”King of Monza!”

”Ferrari’s Little Prince!”

”The Most Handsome in the Paddock!”

Cheers, screams, and roars erupted, intertwining into a rolling wave of sound that crashed over them. The syllables blurred into a continuous, escalating roar that battered their eardrums.

Through the glare of the lights, Kai finally made out the various signs and light boards. His face and name were everywhere.

And they weren’t in English. They were in Chinese.

It was like being back in Shanghai!

Wait. Singapore. Asia. Chinese diaspora. Half a home race!

After Shanghai, Monaco, and Monza, Kai had discovered another stronghold. The energy from Monza had rolled all the way to Singapore. While Asian drivers had raced in F1 before, a phenomenally successful driver like Kai was unprecedented.

The grand scene before him proved Kai’s reach and influence. It wasn’t just the Tifosi; he was awakening passion across a wider demographic.

Suddenly, a force hit Kai from behind. He turned to see Gasly. Before Kai could complain, Gasly raised his arms and shouted, ”KAI ZHIZHOU!”

Then—

The crowd exploded. Thousands of people joined Gasly’s chant. The airport transformed into a rock concert, people jumping and headbanging.

Seeing Kai’s helpless expression, Sainz and Leclerc joined the fun, egging the crowd on.

Kai was trapped.

So, what should he do?

If you can’t beat them, join them. Kai raised his right hand and started jumping, acting like he was truly at a music festival.

When the Netflix Drive to Survive crew arrived at Changi Airport, this was the scene they witnessed. Kai Zhizhou! Kai Zhizhou!

Collective revelry. Infectious joy. The energy was palpable, instantly getting the blood pumping.

They had never seen anything like this. It was unheard of.

In the current paddock, Hamilton had the largest global fanbase. Vettel, Alonso, and Raikkonen had their loyal followers. But even their fans rarely displayed this level of fanaticism, falling short of football or basketball crowds, and even tennis.

In recent years, the commercial value of tennis had soared globally, driven by the ”Big Three” (or Four)—Federer, Nadal, Djokovic, Murray. Their fierce rivalries had injected adrenaline into the sport.

Just like Michael Jordan in the NBA. Jordan’s legacy wasn’t just championship rings; he became the face of basketball, breaking boundaries, expanding the fanbase, and elevating the entire league’s value.

Any sport needs a superstar to serve as its face for global promotion.

F1 understood this perfectly. That’s why they had been constantly pushing the ”Hamilton vs. Vettel” narrative—the clash of four-time world champions.

They needed brand ambassadors. Netflix’s involvement was part of that strategy.

But now, the dynamic was subtly shifting.

For the first time all season, the Netflix crew broke their strict rule of ignoring Kai. ”Shoot! Get this on camera, now!”

A director on the scene realized the Netflix executives needed to see this.

If his intuition was right, F1 was on the verge of a massive breakthrough, just not the one they had anticipated.

”Kai!”

”You made me realize the magic of racing! I’ve had so many ’firsts’ because of you! First time waking up in the middle of the night to watch a race! First time hosting a watch party! First time buying merch! First time buying a ticket! First time coming to the airport to pick someone up!”

”Thank you! Thank you for bringing color to my life! I’ll be at the track this weekend!”

”Win or lose, I just want to see Car 22 flying through the night in my home city!”

Passionate, breathless, and slightly incoherent over the noise, but the fan’s eyes were bright and unwavering.

Full of passion.

Even after getting into the car and leaving, Kai couldn’t shake the memory. It was just like the Tifosi at Monza.

To some, F1 is just a race, a competition, a capital game. But to these living, breathing people, it could be a religion, a passion, a dream. It could be the only ray of light in an otherwise dark and painful existence.

Ahhh—Ahhhh—

The lingering heat of the crowd’s passion stayed in the air. They had used all their strength to make Kai feel welcomed to his ”half home race.”

”...Kai?” Charles had to call his name a few times before Kai snapped back to reality. ”Are you okay?”

Kai nodded. ”There were a lot of people, but they were actually very polite.”

”Ha. Compared to the Tifosi, everyone is polite,” Gasly joked.

Kai smirked. ”I know Red Bull is jealous, you don’t need to keep mentioning it.”

Two birds with one stone!

Gasly turned to Sainz. ”Are you just going to let Ferrari insult Red Bull like that?”

Sainz replied earnestly, ”I’m not at Red Bull anymore, remember?” He paused. ”And neither are you yet.”

Pfft—

Hulkenberg and Leclerc struggled to stifle their laughter.

Kai, having successfully deflected the attention, looked out the window.

Another home race. Half a home race was still a home race.

He still thought about Shanghai. The bitter disappointment. He didn’t want to run from it; he wanted to face the scar head-on.

He didn’t want to leave Singapore with the same regrets. The pressure of a home race was immense, but it only fueled his fighting spirit.

However, things wouldn’t be easy.

Singapore is one of the most challenging tracks on the calendar. Often dubbed the ”Devil’s Crucible.”

Like Baku and Monaco, it’s a 100% street circuit. Though it only debuted in 2008, it quickly earned a fearsome reputation. No one escapes unscathed.

Due to the daytime heat, it’s a full night race.

The 5.063 km track features an absurd 23 corners. For drivers, it feels endless. Corner after corner after corner. The tightest sections twist like a pretzel, requiring near-perfect precision with the throttle and brakes. A tiny mistake can end the race in the barriers.

Furthermore, the track temperatures can reach 50 degrees Celsius. The humidity of Marina Bay creates a thick, suffocating heat. Even with the cockpit cooling at maximum, the heavy air makes breathing difficult. Sweat constantly fogs the helmet visor. It’s like driving in a sauna.

Singapore is a total assault on the body, nerves, and willpower. While other races finish in about 90 minutes, Singapore often approaches the two-hour limit. It feels like being trapped in a maze, running frantically but getting nowhere as oxygen depletes.

Drivers routinely lose three to four kilos in sweat during the race.

If you ask drivers what the most physically demanding race is, nine out of ten will say Singapore.

And that’s not all: The Safety Car.

In F1, the SC is always a variable. In Singapore, it’s a certainty. Since its inception in 2008, the Safety Car had deployed in every single race. A 100% record, even beating Monaco.

Overtaking in Singapore is incredibly difficult. If the race settles, the leaders can easily pull out massive gaps, lapping cars multiple times.

But the SC erases all that. When it deploys, the gaps vanish, giving trailing drivers a chance to gamble.

These factors make Singapore wildly unpredictable.

Just look at last year (2017).

At the start, Vettel (P1), Verstappen (P2), and Raikkonen (P4) triggered a massive three-car collision, wiping each other out. Hamilton, starting P5, capitalized on the chaos and won.

A year later, that start still ranks high among the most dramatic F1 moments of the decade.

Agony and chaos. That is Singapore’s middle name.

To win here, you don’t just fight the other drivers and teams; you fight the environment, the variables, and rely heavily on the pit wall. Brute force alone won’t get you to the checkered flag.

Before arriving, Kai had mentally prepared himself, working tirelessly in Maranello to address the car’s issues.

His record on street circuits this season was mixed: a DNF in Baku, and a win in Monaco.

Some said he was bad at street tracks; others called him the King of the Streets.

Which would Singapore be?

Ferrari’s current situation was fraught with problems. The car behaved differently than in Baku or Monaco. Singapore was a new test, and past data was of limited use. The only way to find out was to push.

Undoubtedly, Qualifying was critical.

Overtaking on street tracks is rare. FIA stats show an average of 25-30 overtakes per race in Singapore, far below the standard 60. Therefore, grid position is everything.

All eyes were on Qualifying.

Kai was ready. Or so he thought. But brutal reality had a different lesson to teach him.

”Wait, Kai Zhizhou has returned to the pits, and Ferrari has announced he will not participate in the rest of Q3—is there a problem with his car?”

Power Unit Failure!

Jock Clear was the first to meet him as he climbed out, pulling the young driver into a hug and patting his back.

”Sorry, Kai. Bad luck.”

Kai took off his helmet and exhaled deeply. ”Welcome to street circuits. I’ve seen this episode before. I need to check the map and make sure we aren’t in Baku.”

He looked around the garage with mock seriousness. ”Okay, Singapore. Hopefully not a nightmare.”

The mechanics chuckled softly, the tension easing slightly.

An engine failure is never good news. It ruins the whole weekend. Ferrari had just regained some confidence at Monza, and this felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads.

Kai knew this. He looked around to rally the team.

”Hey, at least we have a chance to salvage this tomorrow. We aren’t completely out. I’ll need you guys to work hard tonight.”

”Come on, let’s show them Ferrari’s teamwork!” Kai initiated the applause, lifting the gloom in the garage.

So, what exactly happened?

After Spa and Monza, the intensity had escalated. The knives were out from Free Practice.

Qualifying was fierce. Ricciardo topped Q1; Vettel topped Q2.

It wasn’t just Ferrari and Mercedes. Red Bull, after their Monza debacle, had bounced back strongly. Remember, Red Bull had been excellent in Baku and Monaco this year.

As Q3 began, the top three teams prepared for the final shootout.

Kai’s first flying lap was perfect. Purple in Sector 1, purple in Sector 2. He squeezed every millimeter out of the track, drawing gasps from the commentators. He was on track for back-to-back poles.

But in the final two corners, something went wrong.

Visually, there was no mistake, but he clearly lost speed.

Sure enough!

Despite finishing the lap cleanly, he didn’t set the fastest time. His Sector 3 was slow. He slotted into P3, behind Hamilton and Verstappen.

The broadcast was stunned, frantically analyzing the replay to find the error.

Before Brundle and Croft could figure it out, Kai was back in the garage, his session over.

MGU-K failure. 25% power loss.

It was identical to Ricciardo’s issue in Monaco. The car could run, but it couldn’t deploy electrical energy.

In Qualifying, that meant losing all competitiveness.

But the real problem was the race. Ferrari had to change the Power Unit. Without the MGU-K, Kai would be a sitting duck on Sunday, unable to overtake or defend.

Rather than waste time limping around for a second Q3 run, it was better to let the mechanics start the engine change immediately to prepare for Sunday.

Arrivabene made the decisive call to retire the car.

For the second time this season, Kai suffered an engine failure on a street circuit. Even Kai wondered what kind of cursed luck this was.

The shadow of Baku hung over the garage.

That’s why Clear had rushed to comfort him, and why Kai had immediately focused on lifting their spirits.

Unlike Baku, Singapore offered a chance for redemption.

However... it wouldn’t be easy.

Due to the engine change, FIA rules dictated a 10-place grid penalty.

Even keeping his current P3 classification, Kai would start P13. And that was assuming no one else improved (which they would).

It would be his first time starting from the back half of the grid in F1.

He hadn’t even started this far back in the GP3 sprint races.

And remember, this was Singapore.

In the previous ten runnings of the Singapore GP, history was clear: street circuits are notoriously hard to pass on.

From 2009 to 2017, with the exception of Hamilton winning from P5 in 2017 (after the Ferrari/Verstappen crash), every winner had started in the top three.

The only true anomaly was the inaugural 2008 race, where Alonso won from P15 (infamously aided by ”Crashgate”).

In ten years, grid position dictated the winner 90% of the time. The midfield might get messy, but the top drivers rarely make mistakes to hand over track position.

So... did this effectively end Kai’s race before it began?

After the bounce-back at Monza, everyone expected Ferrari to press their advantage and escalate the championship fight. But brutal reality had poured cold water on those hopes, raising a dark alternative:

Maybe Monza was just a beautiful accident. Maybe Spa was the true reflection of Ferrari’s current state—struggling and lost. Look at Vettel’s rash error at Monza; Ferrari’s troubles in Singapore shouldn’t be surprising. No one should blame Kai.

In hindsight, the Miracle of Monza felt like a deal with the devil. Midnight had struck, and Cinderella was back in rags.

Suddenly, netizens were even more amazed: How the hell did Kai win at Monza? That kid pulled off Mission Impossible!

Praise flooded the internet.

Kai never expected that retiring in Q3 would actually boost his popularity. But obviously, he wasn’t paying attention to that right now.

Angry? Frustrated? Annoyed?

Yes, all of it. Kai just wanted to smash something. Anything. A ball of fire burned in his chest.

But outwardly, he showed nothing. He knew Ferrari was walking a tightrope. The chaos hadn’t ended. The Monza win provided a temporary illusion of harmony, but the team could fracture at any moment. One wrong step, and they’d slide into the abyss.

He could digest his own frustration later. Right now, it was crucial to steady the ship and unite the team.

The hope was slim, harder than climbing to heaven. But at least the engine failed before the race, not during it. That was the silver lining. They had to grab that 0.1% chance and fight.

Kai had always been like this. Seemingly casual and carefree, ready to walk away without a second thought. But deep in his bones, he possessed a stubborn tenacity, always willing to hold on a little longer than anyone else.

After exiting Q3, Kai didn’t storm off. He stood in the garage, watching the rest of Qualifying.

Not just to see where he would end up starting, but to study his opponents.

The crisis was here. Now it was time to find a solution.