Buzz, buzz...
Minds were scrambled, eardrums roaring. In the continuous, entangled duel of attack and defense, the temperature soared, but the moment of energy release was so brief, so violent. Decisive. Clean. No dragging out the inevitable, leaving no room to breathe.
Martin Brundle's mouth was dry. The blood rushed to his heart, threatening to make it explode!
Only now did Brundle fully grasp Kai's trap. It was a double trap.
The first was the dummy.
The second was the tires. Clearly, Hamilton's Soft tires, battered and bruised from holding off three laps of relentless bombardment, had finally failed him.
From the Safety Car deployment, to the impromptu decision to three-stop, to the relentless pursuit, and finally the trap—everything happened at breakneck speed in a bayonet-to-bayonet dogfight. Kai had completed a near-impossible task, perfectly mastering every variable of the track and the race to defeat Hamilton once again, just like at Monza.
All praise felt inadequate. Brundle's only thought was to rewatch the replay and quietly admire this masterclass in racecraft.
However, Hamilton didn't even have time to catch his breath. Verstappen was already charging at him.
Hamilton's momentum was only briefly stunted; his car was undamaged. He surged forward instantly, barely squeezing Verstappen out by half a car length to enter Turn 11 first. But Verstappen, also on Hyper Softs, wouldn't back down. The two immediately engaged in a fierce duel.
Climax after climax.
"In my commentary career, I've witnessed countless incredible moments. But tonight, I am deeply moved by the duel unfolding before us. This is undoubtedly one of the greatest races I have ever witnessed. Even if not utterly unique, it is certainly among the very best."
"Kai Zhizhou. Only 18 years old. His F1 rookie season."
"Yet, this baby driver, starting from 15th on the grid in Singapore, has orchestrated a miraculous comeback, carving through the field to reach the summit."
"In 2008, on this very track, Fernando Alonso started 15th and won. That race was chaotic, full of accidents and retirements—six cars out, four Safety Cars. A total melee. Alonso, driving for Renault, emerged victorious."
"Tonight, we've had our share of accidents. But Kai showed true, elite predatory instinct. He stayed calm while others made mistakes, squeezed the absolute maximum out of the car and the track under immense pressure, and after overtaking Hamilton, has become the leader of the Singapore Grand Prix."
"One lap away from writing a miracle into the history books!"
Frenzy!
Everything was chaotic. Everyone was losing their minds. The commentary box, the grandstands, the pit lane, social media—from top to bottom, without exception, the madness spread.
However, the race wasn't over. Verstappen chased Hamilton relentlessly, lurking, following, hunting for an opportunity. When it appeared, he wouldn't hesitate.
Hamilton was struggling.
If he could, Hamilton would have loved to copy Kai—using offense as defense. If he just upped his pace, he could suppress Verstappen.
But the tires wouldn't allow it. He had no grip left to exploit.
Frustration. Annoyance. Anger.
Hamilton was not happy.
But he didn't let momentary anger dictate his actions. He knew he had to look at the long game. The World Championship battle required a big-picture perspective. There was no need to sacrifice his title defense for one race.
So, Hamilton abandoned the pursuit of Kai. He channeled 120% of his focus into driving the perfect defensive lines, dedicating all his energy to keeping Verstappen behind him.
One moment, Hamilton had shown world-class defense against Kai; the next, facing Verstappen's assault, he remained as immovable as a mountain.
It was just one lap, but it felt like a century. The brutal, back-and-forth duel lasted all the way to the final corner.
Eyes glued to the track, hearts rising into throats, the audience watched the conclusion of this epic battle in stunned silence—
Sector 1, Purple! Kai Zhizhou!
The graphic popped up on the broadcast, leaving people too shocked to react. The kid still has the pace to go faster?!
Sector 2, Purple! Kai Zhizhou!
Kai was completely in the zone, running faster and faster. He wrung every last drop of performance from the Hyper Softs, turning into a streak of neon light cutting through the Singapore night. The vibrant Ferrari red made everyone hold their breath.
In the commentary box, Croft and Brundle were no exception. Although the camera was locked on the Hamilton-Verstappen battle, their hearts and eyes couldn't help but follow the red blur, waiting with bated breath for the grand finale of a great race.
Then, Croft jumped out of his seat.
"CHAMPION! KAI ZHIZHOU!"
Car 22 crossed the line first, extinguishing all suspense and bringing the dramatic 2018 Singapore Grand Prix to a close. He had claimed the throne!
1.1 seconds later, Hamilton and Verstappen crossed the line still tangled together. Despite Verstappen launching a final attack in the last corner, Hamilton gritted his teeth and held on, beating the Red Bull by a razor-thin 0.675 seconds, surviving the relentless storm.
Croft clutched his head, tears welling in his eyes. His body shook. His mind was blank, relying purely on instinct to scream until his voice grew hoarse.
"I CANNOT BELIEVE WHAT I AM WITNESSING!"
"A MAGNIFICENT RACE! A ROLLERCOASTER OF A RACE! A RACE FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS! THIS MIGHT BE THE RACE THAT DECIDES THE 2018 WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP!"
"Kai Zhizhou! Ferrari's 18-year-old rookie! He takes his sixth Grand Prix victory of the season in Singapore! He stands alone as the driver with the most wins this year! After breaking Hamilton's rookie record of four wins at Monza, this young man goes even further. He refuses to slow his march to victory. With an unyielding, fighting spirit, he issues a challenge to the entire paddock—"
"ARE YOU READY?! WELCOME YOUR NEW KING!"
But it wasn't just that. It was far more than that. Croft could feel the hot blood boiling in his veins, pouring out his emotions without reserve.
"GOD! UNBELIEVABLE!"
"With back-to-back wins at Monza and Singapore, Kai leads Ferrari to overtake Mercedes at the top of the Constructors' Championship!"
"After the chaos and turmoil of the summer, almost everyone believed Ferrari had lost their competitive edge, that last season's nightmare was repeating itself. But Kai made his voice heard. He refused to surrender. He refused to repeat history. He led Ferrari's bounce-back, announcing their return with two consecutive victories!"
"After Spa, they said winter was coming, that Ferrari would go home empty-handed again. But Kai stepped up and proved them wrong with his actions. No matter how fierce the storm, Ferrari refuses to yield!"
"Sergio Marchionne may be gone forever, but he left Ferrari their most precious asset: a leader capable of guiding them out of the darkness and hardship."
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are so incredibly honored to witness this. We may not make history, but we are its witnesses."
"KAI ZHIZHOU! CROWNED CHAMPION OF THE 2018 SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX!"
AHHH!
Rocco Cesari stood up. It was like returning to the glory days. Ferrari was Ferrari not because they always won, but because, win or lose, they always faced challenges head-on, fighting with high morale until the last second.
Standing tall, his blood boiling, Rocco clenched his fists and beat his chest, feeling the strong, vibrant life force surging within him.
It had been so long. Truly so long. Not just a victory, but the experience of burning one's life force to fight to the end, emptying every ounce of energy without reservation.
A dream, a ray of dawn. That was enough. It helped them endure the long darkness, making life bearable. After so much heartbreak and pain, they needed a reason to wake up the next morning and keep going.
Now, Kai had done it. He had used a miracle to light up the night sky and scatter the darkness. At the end of the endless despair, a sliver of light had finally appeared.
Hearts were beating, sweat was pouring, blood was burning. Their life force boiled in a way that reminded them they were still alive, that tomorrow was still worth anticipating, that life was still worth fighting for. Even the faintest glimmer of hope was worth pouring all their energy into.
Clearly, Rocco wasn't the only one. The crowd in the bar erupted, cheering, jumping, roaring. They hugged and high-fived with tears in their eyes, cheering for each other with unbridled joy. The heatwave could no longer be contained; it broke free, flooding the streets and alleys.
In an instant, it lit up Milan, burned across the Apennine Peninsula, and roared all the way to Singapore, transforming into a red tide that surged outward.
Cheers, heatwaves, and frenzy poured toward the podium area. People seemed to sprout from every corner.
Perhaps it didn't start this way. Perhaps initially, it was just because Kai represented Asia, or because people were blindly following social media trends. This "half home race" was arguably more about habitual support than genuine passion—just doing business.
However, after witnessing such a spectacular race in person, no one was immune. They hadn't just seen the first Asian driver conquer Singapore; they had witnessed a mind-bending, game-changing comeback from 15th on the grid. They were completely won over by Kai, unable to control their fanaticism.
"Three stops! Can you believe it? Three stops in Singapore!"
"Those overtakes were smooth as water! Alonso, Vettel, Hamilton... the sheer quality of passing three World Champions!"
"Is no one talking about that pass on Max in the traffic?! That was insanely bold!"
The topics kept coming, non-stop. Everyone was chattering about Kai. The excitement and joy soared to the heavens.
Then, it finally peaked as Car 22 came into view.
"KAI!"
"KAI!"
The pronunciation was clear, unified, exploding with incredible energy. The humid, heavy air of Singapore ignited instantly. The rolling shockwave expanded like a mushroom cloud. It felt like the echoing roar of a tsunami mixed with thunder, sweeping the world into a vast chaos.
Under the gaze of millions, Kai appeared!
"KAI ZHIZHOU! AHHHHHHHH!"
In a flash, the screaming lost all control. The venue turned into a sea of fire. The suffocating heatwave hit hearts hard; eardrums rang.
In the crowd, Pierre Borreipaire jumped and cheered, raising his arms as if at a carnival.
But it didn't last long. Pierre stopped. He immediately noticed something was wrong.
Kai didn't leap from the car as usual. He didn't run over happily to hug the mechanics. If you looked closely, you could see Kai's fingers trembling uncontrollably. Even the thick racing gloves couldn't hide it. He had to clench his fists, but the slight tremors in his arms and shoulders were still visible.
Dehydration.
Pierre froze. He completely forgot about celebrating. His eyes filled with worry. "Help! Kai needs help!"
Pierre was about to jump the barrier when a figure beat him to it, darting out incredibly fast.
Lorenzo!
Taking three steps at a time, Lorenzo sprinted forward. He grabbed Kai's arm and draped it over his own shoulder, acting as a human crutch to support Kai's weight.
Lowering his head, Lorenzo saw Kai's knees buckling; he could barely stand. Before Lorenzo could speak, Kai's dry, raspy voice sounded in his ear, muffled by the helmet.
"I... can't... I... breathe..."
Kai struggled to pull off his helmet. That single action seemed to drain the last ounce of his strength. The helmet dropped to the ground, and Kai collapsed.
Although Kai opened his mouth wide, trying desperately to breathe, he felt like he was getting no oxygen. He felt like he was drowning, struggling with all his might but unable to break the surface.
Lorenzo thought he was prepared, but he couldn't hold him up. He used his entire body weight to prop Kai up, calling out frantically.
"Kai! Kai!"
Pierre and Jock Clear rushed forward. Supporting each other, they managed to hold Kai up, preventing him from collapsing onto the tarmac.
Kai felt like his entire body was aching, his ears ringing. It felt as if thousands of needles were piercing his pores. The dull, burning pain roasted his nerves like boiling water. His strength vanished instantly. He couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth but felt no air. He felt like he was going to explode. His fading willpower fought to keep a sliver of consciousness, but he could no longer control his body.
Then, he felt he could no longer bear the weight of gravity. He felt himself sinking continuously, his body going limp.
The world faded into darkness.
In front of the TVs, the cheers and celebrations vanished instantly. From heaven to hell. The world grew terrifyingly quiet. Hearts clenched.
Zhang Qiaomu instinctively grabbed Jiang Mo's hand. It was ice cold. She squeezed tightly, trying to warm Jiang Mo's hands, but it was a drop in the bucket. She opened her mouth, but found words useless, unable to even make a sound.
She knew Jiang Mo constantly worried about Kai, and that watching live races was always a test of her nerves.
What they feared most had happened. Even the Five Star Sports commentators were in chaos, their voices tight with rare panic.
But what could she say?
On the broadcast, the FIA finally played the radio messages. Kai's drink system had failed. He had driven the final twenty laps without water, relying entirely on willpower. When the intense, grueling race ended and his nerves relaxed, he simply couldn't hold on any longer.
The truth was revealed.
Usually, knowing the truth brings relief. But not this time. Knowing the truth made watching the replay of Kai's final stint not just awe-inspiring, but deeply humbling. It was even more unbelievable than his charge from 15th to 1st.
This was destined to be a race for the history books.
Unexpectedly, Jiang Mo straightened her back and patted Zhang Qiaomu's hand. "I'm fine."
Lu Cheng called out softly, "Jiang Mo."
Jiang Mo took a deep breath. "Our son is fighting on the front lines. I can't drag him down, right? We have to be his strongest support."
She had been worried and anxious all along, but when it actually happened, Jiang Mo found her calm. So what if the storm comes?
She wouldn't retreat, and she certainly wouldn't surrender.
Especially not after the epic battle Kai had just fought.
No, she wouldn't be defeated.
The air felt heavy.
Nearby, Song Bo was pacing like an ant on a hot pan. He wanted to help but didn't know how.
Finally, Song Bo couldn't hold back anymore. He called out loudly, "Kai Zhizhou!"
It wasn't a shout, but a low, deep call, like telepathy. He hoped it could cross mountains and oceans to reach Kai.
Boss, you're not fighting alone.
Zhang Qiaomu was about to scold Song Bo—this wasn't the time to mess around. But before she could speak, they heard similar calls from upstairs and next door.
"Kai Zhizhou."
One voice, then another. Gathering like sand forming a tower.
In the Sky Sports commentary box, Croft was no exception. Awe surged in his chest.
"...The Devil's Crucible. It's not a joke. The Singapore circuit has this power. High heat, humidity, dehydration... it tests the absolute limit."
"I... uh... sorry, forgive me. I simply cannot imagine how Kai managed the last twenty laps without a drink system. The Safety Car, the three-stop strategy, the attack on Hamilton... all these incredible strategies and battles happened while he was completely dehydrated."
"I don't know what Kai is fighting for, but he seems to carry a mission. His will to win is so resolute. He truly challenged his own limits..."
Rocco Cesari held his hand tightly against his chest. He could clearly feel the force and heat of his heartbeat. His emotions surged.
He knew what Kai was fighting for.
At Marchionne's memorial, Kai had been so firm and brave. From that moment, he had shouldered Marchionne's dying wish and marched forward.
And on this path, Kai shouldn't walk alone.
Tears filled Rocco's eyes, but he ignored his messy appearance. Staring at the TV screen, he called out repeatedly, "Kai Zhizhou!"
Not a cheer, not a scream, but a whisper, like a faith branded into the depths of his soul.
The dead silence in the bar was broken. People spontaneously put down their glasses, stood up, placed a hand on their chests, and called out his name like a prayer. Even if it was just the tiniest, weakest bit of strength, they hoped to gather it together to support Kai.
Tonight, no one was destined to sleep.
Kai felt like his head, chest, and throat were stuffed with steel wool, constantly grinding and churning. His internal organs were on fire. He was running wildly in endless darkness. Blindly running, yet he could feel the dry desert under his feet.
It wasn't just sand. He was running barefoot on gravel, sharp pains shooting up. His feet were bleeding, but he couldn't stop.
From the void came a call. "Kai Zhizhou!"
He looked around but saw nothing. He just ran toward the voice.
The call grew louder and louder. With a sudden lunge, he crashed into a point of light. The soreness and heaviness of his body hit him instantly, dragging his mind back to reality. His consciousness slowly returned.
But looking around, no one in the small space was calling his name. The atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, filled with panic, terrifyingly quiet.
So, what were those voices?
Only then did he realize he was slumped in a bathtub. His limbs didn't feel like his own, curled up haphazardly like a rubber doll. The tub was full of ice, yet he still felt scalding hot. His throat felt like it was breathing fire; his limbs felt like they were roasting.
A beat later, Kai noticed the small bathroom was packed with people.
"I..." His throat burned. Just speaking felt like swallowing knives. "So, what's going on? Are you guys openly peeping at me taking a bath?"
Unbelievably, the very first thing Kai said upon waking up was a joke. It was both frustrating and amusing.
Pierre let out a quiet sigh of relief and retorted, "Relax, you're fully clothed. We have absolutely no interest."
The silence was finally broken.
Jock Clear couldn't hold it in and burst into tears. "You brat! You scared us to death!"
It wasn't just him. Pierre also turned his head away and hastily wiped his eyes.
Lorenzo stared intently at Kai. He crouched by the tub and offered a piece of watermelon. "You need energy."
Kai blinked, slightly helpless. "Watermelon? Are you serious?"
Lorenzo wasn't joking. "Watermelon is the fastest fruit to replenish sugar and water. Faster than sports drinks."
Kai took a deep breath. His throat still hurt terribly. He wasn't sure he had the strength to chew. "Coke is the same... give me a Coke first..."
Hard to believe, but for rapid, short-term sugar replenishment, Coca-Cola is actually the fastest.
As soon as he spoke, chaos erupted outside the door. Someone immediately passed a can of Coke in.
Kai glanced at it. "Coke? No Pepsi?"
The air froze.
Kai let out a raspy laugh. "Joke. Just a joke. You guys are..."
He took the Coke and tried to pop the tab, but his fingers were shaking too badly. He couldn't even manage such a simple action.
Lorenzo grabbed the can, popped it open quickly, and handed it back.
Kai tilted his head back and downed the entire can in one go. Then he took the watermelon from Lorenzo, but found he couldn't hold the bowl. He just set it on the ice water, grabbed chunks of watermelon, and stuffed them into his mouth. He finally found a little strength to chew.
"Stuffing your face with watermelon just to stay alive. A rare sight, isn't it?" Kai was still exhausted, forcing himself to speak to stay awake.
Pushing past the limit is an opportunity to break through it—
He really didn't want to look this pathetic every time he came to Singapore.
But clearly, Kai was the only one in the mood for jokes. There was no response in the cramped bathroom.
Kai looked up helplessly. "Come on, humor me. We just won the Singapore Grand Prix, right?"
"Wait, did they disqualify my result?"
The moment he said it, Clear made a weird noise, his thick nasal voice betraying his emotion. "Kai! Stop talking nonsense! You scared us! If the FIA dares to disqualify you, I'll fight them myself! Do they have any idea how hard we fought for this race?!"
His blustering finally drew some reactions, bringing a bit of life back to the room.
When Silvia Frangipane appeared, she saw the crowded bathroom and Kai curled up in the tub, pale and exhausted. Even sitting in ice water, he was still sweating. This was clearly abnormal, showing just how grueling the race had been.
"Kai, are you okay?" Silvia asked worriedly.
Kai didn't answer, just shoved more watermelon into his mouth, his movements noticeably faster.
Lorenzo turned to her. "What's wrong?"
Silvia looked troubled but forced herself to speak. "The FIA wants Kai to go to the weighbridge as soon as possible..."
Instantly, everyone in the bathroom exploded. They talked over each other, fiercely condemning the request. They couldn't believe the FIA were such heartless bastards. Kai had just passed out, and they were rushing the post-race inspection?!
Silvia winced. "Rumor is, Wolff is pushing for it. Otherwise, it's a DQ (Disqualification)."
Clear threw his hands up. "Not surprised. Why should I be? I bet Horner is right there fanning the flames."
Silvia noticed Kai had finished the watermelon. The bowl sank into the water. Kai washed his face with the icy water, ensuring no evidence remained on his mouth, and stood up from the tub. "Since the FIA has spoken, we must comply. We fought hard for this to the very end; the victory belongs to us."
His knees were weak, his calves trembled, and the muscles in his shoulders and arms spasmed. His chest was burning, as if someone was poking every alveolus with a needle. His throat felt like sandpaper. His mushy brain continued to boil. His soul seemed to be trying to break free from his body to escape alone.
Kai had to stop and lean against the hotel corridor wall with one hand to catch his breath. His wildly beating heart felt like it would burst. The force and frequency of the beats were so intense his chest ached.
Even with his mouth wide open, it felt like less than half the oxygen was reaching his lungs. Every cell in his body was protesting.
"Lorenzo, we really need to up the cardio when we get back. This won't do," Kai joked, even in this dire state.
Lorenzo couldn't laugh. "Kai, let me get a wheelchair."
Kai shook his head. Just that simple motion made his stomach churn, almost making him vomit. He steadied himself. "You know how many people in the paddock are waiting to see us fail, right? They'll use every trick, clean or dirty, to beat us. There are invisible daggers waiting for us out there."
"But I'm stubborn. The more people want to see me fail, the more I want to make them suffer."
"Now that the Boss is gone, we only have ourselves to rely on. We still have a grand blueprint to realize. We can't bow our heads and surrender so easily."
"Right?"
It was a short speech, but Kai had to pause for breath several times. He was battered and weak, but he refused to surrender. The tenacity in his bones grasped the last remnants of his strength, straightening his back once more, holding him upright on pure willpower.
Lorenzo's eyes stung.
Kai grinned and chuckled weakly. "What, moved so easily? If we win the World Championship, are you going to cry until you dehydrate?"
Lorenzo didn't hesitate to flip him off.
"Haha," Kai laughed out loud.
A figure appeared ahead. Kai's heavy head slowly looked up, starting from the legs. Since the legs were short, it didn't take long. It was Jean Todt.
Recently, Kai had seen Todt often—at Monza, then in Milan. Although he didn't show it, Todt was deeply saddened by his old friend's passing. Even after two months, he hadn't fully recovered. A lingering loneliness seemed to permanently reside between his brows.
It was the same now.
Todt looked at Kai with a sad, worried expression, standing quietly. At this moment, he wasn't the FIA President; he was just a friend, an elder.
He didn't speak, but his concern was evident.
Kai offered a smile. "Mr. Todt, we've been seeing a lot of each other lately. More than the entire past year combined."
Todt managed a tight smile but didn't say much. "Save your strength. The wolves out there are all watching you."
Kai took a deep breath, standing fully upright, and smiled at Lorenzo. "See? This is main character treatment."
Then, "Let's go. The show is about to begin!"
Straightening his back, opening his shoulders. When he started walking again, Kai had found new strength. Step by step, moving forward. Slow, but incredibly firm.
As he passed Todt, the older man gently patted Kai's shoulder and paused. "A magnificent race."
Brief, but powerful.
Then, Todt stepped aside, watching Kai and Lorenzo walk away, standing there for a long time without moving.
That old bastard Marchionne... maybe he really bet on the right horse this time. A smile finally broke through on Todt's face.
Charles Leclerc looked a bit dazed. Exhausted, burnt out, completely hollowed. He could barely stand, and the world seemed to be swaying.
Looking around, the other drivers were in the same boat. They didn't even have the energy to exchange glances, standing in line for the weighbridge like zombies.
If they were like this, what about Kai?
Charles was worried. He was distracted, anxious, his stomach churning.
He heard a rustling commotion and instinctively looked up. He immediately saw Kai, surrounded by his team.
Drenched in sweat, face ashen. He looked as fragile as an autumn leaf, ready to blow away in the wind. But he was walking forward under his own power, slow but steady.
"Kai!"
Charles couldn't hold back his shout. He ran over in three long strides, his face full of worry.
But just before crashing into Kai, he slammed on the brakes, looking him up and down, terrified that Kai might shatter at the slightest touch.
Kai chuckled weakly. "Relax. I'm not a skeleton from Pirates of the Caribbean."
Charles blinked, not knowing how to respond. Then, Ricciardo's loud voice boomed from nearby. "The skeletons in Pirates of the Caribbean don't fall apart! You mean the ones in Indiana Jones!"
Kai retorted, "Are there skeletons in Indiana Jones?"
Ricciardo paused. "Uh..."
Their banter made everyone around them laugh. Clearly, Kai was the main character tonight, and the post-race incident added even more weight to his presence. The looks directed at him now carried a complex mix of respect and awe.
Of course, there were exceptions. Hamilton and Vettel weren't smiling. Verstappen was muttering to himself, unclear if he was mad at himself or someone else.
And Alonso didn't care at all. He ignored the youngsters entirely, weighed himself, and turned to leave.
Charles lowered his voice. "Are you okay?"
"Just dehydrated," Kai said. "Drink system broke. Didn't drink the whole second half. Didn't notice during the race, but as soon as it ended, I lost all strength..."
As the two of them (plus Ricciardo interjecting) chatted, everyone else eavesdropped, trying to catch the inside scoop.
When it was finally Kai's turn on the scales, the number of officials suddenly increased. It was just a weigh-in, but seven or eight people gathered around like they were studying rocket science, staring intently at the numbers.
At first, they pretended to be casual, but eventually, they dropped the act. Afraid they might read it wrong, they stared blatantly, needing to confirm it with their own eyes. Kai looked down too. In one race, he had lost over 4 kilograms. Incredible weight loss plan.
He had heard the rumors, but experiencing the Devil's Crucible firsthand was something else. However, the weigh-in was just the beginning of the storm.
Soon, the FIA officially confirmed the inspection was complete. No irregularities in Singapore. Kai had passed.
But a tree wants to stay still, yet the wind keeps blowing. The FIA's official statement couldn't stop the paddock politics. The hidden daggers flew as expected.
First, Mercedes filed a protest, claiming Kai's overtake on Hamilton was illegal. Red Bull filed a similar protest regarding Kai's pass on Verstappen.
Second, the FIA conducted a random post-race inspection of Kai's car. Although they stated it was standard procedure—two cars are randomly selected every race, and Car 22 was just "lucky"—anyone with eyes knew the official excuse was garbage. They suspected Ferrari of cheating.
Clearly, the campaign against Ferrari hadn't stopped.
Simultaneously, even before the press conference, conspiracy theories flooded social media.
A Red Bull mechanic posted a vague tweet: "Some run fast, some act well. Good luck!"
Although no names were mentioned, Red Bull fans understood instantly and aimed their fury at Kai.
Kai's post-race fainting was an act! A performance! He was worried his combined car/driver weight was under the limit, so he faked fainting to illegally add weight (like drinking excessive water or having mechanics slip something into his suit)! The FIA shouldn't just DQ him; they should ban him for the rest of the season!
"Unmask the faker! #DramaKing"
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