F1: The Speed Legend

”...Are you looking at Turns 9 and 10?”

A quiet, almost boyish voice came from his side. Kai flinched, startled, and found a face uncomfortably close to his own.

It was the ”bookworm,” Antoine Hubert.

Kai didn’t even have a chance to respond. Hubert just grinned. ”If it were me, I wouldn’t worry about them.”

”Turn 9 is a long, high-speed right-hander. We can take it full throttle. The key is the chassis stability and the rear-end grip, and our setup is good. I trust the car.”

”Then it’s a straight into the Turn 10 hairpin. The braking zone is short, so the reference point is hard to find, but as long as the brake system is stable, it should be fine.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been worried about 9 and 10. He’d watched the F1 practice session and analyzed the data. He was pretty sure the real challenge was the section from Turn 11 to 15.

It wasn’t a single complex, but three different sections strung together. On paper, it didn’t look hard, but it required frequent, rapid changes in direction with almost no room to choose a different line. It was a brutal test of braking and traction management.

Kai looked at the bookish young man beside him, his curiosity piqued. ”So, what part are you worried about?”

”Turns 13 to 15,” Hubert replied instantly, his eyes bright, as if he were solving an equation.

”Especially 14. If you get on the throttle too early at the exit, you’ll understeer. Too late, and you carry no speed onto the main straight. You have to be perfect with your traction.”

”Personally, I think that’s the most technically demanding part of the whole circuit. If the first sectors are about tire wear, this last one is all about driver skill.”

”Of course,” he added, ”analyzing it from a chair is meaningless. We have to get on track and feel it out. My analysis could be completely wrong.”

”But...”

Hubert leaned forward and glanced out the garage.

”By the time we’re on track this evening, the sun will be lower, and the track temperature will have dropped significantly. It’s not going to be the same as the race conditions tomorrow or the next day.”

His voice trailed off into a mumble, and it was impossible to tell if he was still talking to Kai or just to himself.

Kai couldn’t help but smile. ”But our cars aren’t as sensitive or as picky as the F1 cars, right?”

Hubert turned, his brain catching up. He let out a dry, ”hehe,” and scratched his head. ”Right, right. So we’ve got nothing to worry about. Ah, sorry,” he said, ”I forgot to introduce myself. Thanks for listening to me ramble. I don’t know why I talk so much.”

”See? I’m doing it again.” He noticed the smile in Kai’s eyes and lightly tapped his own forehead. ”Antoine.”

He held out his hand. Kai took it. ”Zhizhou.”

Kai’s expression turned playful. ”You’re telling me all your secrets. Aren’t you worried I’ll use them to beat you?”

Hubert’s gaze flickered past Kai, noticing Aitken and Russell, both with headphones on, keeping their distance. He understood immediately.

”Haha, I get it,” he said. ”People always say F1 is a cruel world. Only twenty seats. We’re all enemies, a dog-eat-dog-world. No friends in the paddock. Today we’re buddies, tomorrow I’m stealing your career.”

”Trust me, I’ve been attacked for that my whole life. They say I’m not cut out for this sport, that I don’t have enough of a ’killer instinct’.”

Hubert’s accent was clearly French, but it wasn’t aggressive. It had a soft, gentle power, and the way his voice lilted, you could almost hear a constant smile.

A small, appreciative smile touched Kai’s lips. ”But?”

Hubert blinked, then caught on. ”Right. But... I don’t agree. The track doesn’t lie. The track will show exactly what you’re capable of.”

”If you beat me, it’s not because I shared a ’secret.’ It’s because you were just better, or you drove better today. And if I’m good enough, I’ll win, regardless of who I share my ideas with. Right?”

”In this sport, everyone has their own style, their own understanding. It might look uniform, but it’s full of personality. My understanding might not work for you, and yours might not work for me. There’s no ’right answer,’ only the harmony you find between yourself, the car, and the track.”

”Sure, we’re competitors. But that doesn’t mean we have to tear each other down to win. Respecting your rival’s strength is the only way to respect your own.”

A genuine, bright smile spread across Hubert’s face.

It was an open, honest, and pure philosophy. This was Kai’s first real impression of the professional racing world: a face that was bright and unrestrained, full of a pure, youthful spirit.

In 2017, GP3 allowed four cars per team, but even so, the seats were worth their weight in gold. ART was a prime example: one seat belonged to Mercedes (Russell), one to Renault (Aitken), and one to Ferrari (Kai).

And somehow, Hubert, with no backing and no connections, had claimed the fourth. In fact, as far as the public knew, it was Hubert who had beaten out the Red Bull/Honda-backed Fukuzumi for the seat, a fact that no one had questioned.

All the small details pointed to one thing: Antoine Hubert was a truly exceptional driver.

A light shined in Kai’s eyes. ”So, you’re not just honest, you’re confident. You have absolute faith in your own abilities.” The small tease made Hubert look a bit shy, but Kai responded with his own open respect. ”I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do this weekend.”

Hubert smiled. ”You too. No pressure. The whole team is... waiting to see what you’ve got.”

Kai nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. ”I know. They’re all waiting for me to fall on my face, like a clown. Don’t worry, I’ve prepared a few magic tricks.”

The lighthearted joke made Hubert laugh. He then looked down at Kai’s feet. ”Are you... seriously not going to wear shoes?”

Kai looked down, then shrugged, unbothered. ”If I told you I can’t find them, would you believe me? I’m weighing the possibilities. Either there’s a Quentin Tarantino hiding in our garage, or the Seven Dwarfs got confused and hid my shoes.”

Hubert cracked up, bending over with laughter, before he suddenly stopped. ”Quentin Tarantino?”

He clearly didn’t get the joke.

For a rare moment, Kai was the one who was speechless, having no idea how to explain it. Seeing his expression, Hubert just started laughing all over again.

The tense Friday schedule, lightened by their laughter, seemed to fly by.

The sun was beginning to set, and the buzzing energy of the track was winding down. The main grandstands, which had been packed for the F1 sessions, were now half-empty. The F1 drivers had already left the paddock.

But on the small hill in the center of the circuit, the fans who were picnicking in the evening sun had no intention of leaving.

The spotlight was shifting. The crowds were thinning.

Now, it was time for the GP3 drivers to take the stage.

Finally, it was time to drive.

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