F1: The Speed Legend

F4 is the most basic simulation mode in the academy, with standardized cars, tires, and setups.

Within such a rigid framework, finding a significant improvement in lap time is incredibly difficult. Shaving off even two-tenths of a second requires endless refinement and study.

And yet, in a mere thirty laps—ten of exploration, ten of probing, and ten of pushing—Kai had somehow improved the record by more than six-tenths of a second?

And he had done it all in less than an hour, going from a clumsy, fumbling beginner to a record-setting driver.

It was counter-intuitive. It defied all experience. Without a doubt, it was completely outside the boundaries of any training manual or statistical model.

”Never touched a Formula car before?” The first thought that popped into Monfardini’s head was that they were dealing with a sandbagger—a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

By all accounts, Kai should not be a rookie.

But the world of professional motorsport is a very, very small circle. While there might be countless amateur enthusiasts around the globe, rivaling the numbers of a sport like football, the sheer cost of entry is a massive barrier. Only about 2,500 drivers ever make it through the gauntlet of karting to reach the professional junior formulas.

Among them, Asian faces were few and far between.

It was impossible for the academy to have missed a prospect like Kai.

Furthermore, Monfardini, like everyone else, had just witnessed Kai’s clumsy, rookie-level start and his incredible, transformative learning process with his own eyes.

Everything pointed to one conclusion: Kai was, in fact, a complete novice.

Monfardini’s professional certainty was shaken. ”How… how did he just do that?”

Leclerc was also staring at Kai, a competitive fire igniting in his eyes. His blood was singing, and he felt an overwhelming urge to jump into the simulator himself and go head-to-head.

He knew the record itself was of limited significance. No one in the academy took the F4 lap record seriously. The drivers’ focus was on the more advanced F3, F2, and F1 simulations. An entry-level test like F4 was worthless. Who would waste their time grinding out laps on it?

But that was precisely the point.

Kai wasn’t chasing the F4 lap record. He had no idea what the ”value” of this system even was.

Everything he had just done was pure instinct—the instinct to push a machine to its absolute limit. Lap after lap after lap, until he felt the edge of the car’s potential.

Or perhaps, the edge of his own potential, at this current stage.

This wasn’t training. It wasn’t a test. It was an expression—the innate, primal expression of a racer.

Uncontrollably, Leclerc felt his own competitive spirit ignite. Suddenly, setting laps in F4 mode had a purpose beyond a simple warm-up. His hands were itching to get back in the rig, not just to compete with Kai, but to experience that feeling for himself.

Todt still said nothing.

His gaze remained fixed on Kai. He crossed his arms over his chest again, entering a state of deep thought, the corners of his mouth lifting in a barely perceptible smile.

He had seen many drivers on their ”first time.” Some were impatient, some timid, some overly excited. Some had passion but no skill. For some, you could see their ceiling from the very first lap.

Todt would never be so arrogant as to claim he could see a driver’s full potential in a single glance. But he had seen countless drivers. And one like Kai… one who could build order out of chaos, who could distill rhythm from a loss of control, who could evolve so rapidly through sheer will and intuition…

He couldn’t think of a single other one.

Last night on the streets of Rome, Todt had seen shades of many other drivers in Kai. But today, he had thrown all those comparisons out the window.

Kai was simply himself. He was no one’s imitation.

In recent years, Todt had been away from the front lines. Though he was still active in motorsport, attending races every weekend, he was no longer in the trenches. He was trapped at negotiation tables, buried under mountains of paperwork. Power struggles and political balancing acts had become the main theme of his life.

He never imagined that a simple business trip to Maranello, at Marchionne’s request, would reawaken his original passion.

He still loved racing.

He turned and glanced at Marchionne, only to find his old friend also staring at the screen, his face flushed with excitement. Todt let out a soft chuckle.

Marchionne didn’t notice. He was calculating.

He was a businessman. He didn’t have Todt’s eye for talent or Monfardini’s ability to read data. He understood profit.

But that didn’t mean he knew nothing about racing. At the very least, he knew what an improvement of 0.6 seconds meant in the world of F4.

It wasn’t just 0.6 seconds. It was the spark that ignited when cognitive processing, sensory perception, and physical reaction all synchronized seamlessly.

It was a chemical reaction, an explosion of inspiration. It was like a work of art.

It was like watching an apprentice pick up a chisel for the first time and not only carve with a steady hand and a sharp eye, but also produce lines worthy of a master.

He didn’t know the technique, but he instinctively knew where the answer was.

This wasn’t luck, it wasn’t recklessness, and it certainly wasn’t a miracle. It was… genius.

But what truly impressed Marchionne, more than anyone else, wasn’t what happened on the track, but the process Kai had used to find the limit.

Many drivers set fast laps through sheer aggression, recklessly pushing and relying on high-risk moves to gain a hundredth of a second.

But from Marchionne’s business perspective, that was a terrible investment. The risk was too high, the reward too small, and the results were inconsistent.

Kai was different. He had his own blueprint, his own plan, his own understanding. In just half an hour, he had established his own racing language, found the limit in his own way, and maximized his gains for an acceptable level of risk. It was more than just clever.

Calm. Intelligent. Possessing a strategic, big-picture view.

Marchionne was convinced that if Kai gave up racing to become a businessman, he would have immense potential. That was what truly interested him. It was a quality very, very few people possessed. It couldn’t be taught, and it couldn’t be learned.

Shock, disbelief, amazement—a storm of emotions crashed together, rising to a crescendo before numbing him completely. He stared, lost in his own thoughts, his ability to react momentarily gone. The air in the room felt thin, superheated.

In the end, it was Kai himself who stopped.

He had touched the car’s limit, and his own, at least for now. Continuing to mindlessly churn out laps was no longer a challenge.

He climbed out of the simulator.

He hadn’t expected it, but emerging from that state of total immersion, his mind and body seemed to briefly disconnect. His knees went weak, and he felt lightheaded, nearly losing his balance.

The world was a blurry, colorful mess. He grabbed onto the simulator rig to steady himself.

Even though it was just a simulator, and just an F4 car, the physical toll was real. Nearly an hour of intense concentration had completely drained him. He hadn’t noticed it while he was focused, but now he realized his clothes were soaked through with sweat. The adrenaline that had been pumping through him began to subside, but he could still feel the phantom roar of the engine burning inside him, the aftershocks of the steering wheel vibrating in his palms. He glanced one last time at the screen.

Alright. Aside from the eight thousand euros, this had been a pretty good bonus for the trip to Maranello.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Kai quickly regained his composure.

He stood up straight and scanned the room, only to find everyone staring at him in silence. Since no one else seemed prepared to speak, he broke the silence himself, his voice quiet but clear.

”That should be good enough, right? If there are no other tests, I’ll be going now.”

He needed to get to the hotel and catch up on his homework.