Chapter 361: 361: Spreading Wings to Soar

It was not easy. Even as Jiang Mo spoke the words, the subtle tremble in her eyes betrayed a lingering hint of hesitation.

Yet this time, Jiang Mo neither ran away nor hid her feelings.

She believed that Kai needed their support and validation now more than ever. She needed him to realize that when he was flying around the track, he was not fighting alone.

Kai could see the struggle in her eyes because she hadn’t turned away; but more importantly, behind that conflict, he saw pure resilience and fortitude.

He couldn’t help but look up. Noticing his glance, Lu Cheng offered a warm smile. “If a race car had two seats, I’d jump right into the passenger side.”

With that little joke, the tense atmosphere instantly dissolved.

The corners of Kai’s mouth lifted into a faint smile.

In truth, he had slept exceptionally well the night before. His energy had been completely drained, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he dropped into a deep, unconscious sleep. It felt as though that was reality, while everything prior had been a bad dream—reality and dreams inverted, letting him finally return to peace the moment he closed his eyes.

Waking up early, he packed away all his scattered, cluttered thoughts. He was fully prepared to charge forward relentlessly and push the absolute limits. No one could stop him.

This was the promise between him and Anthoine—he had to fulfill his end so that Anthoine could fulfill his.

As his mind settled down, Kai’s focus sharpened once more as he looked at Jiang Mo and Lu Cheng. “I’m going to win.”

It was delivered casually, tossed out in a plain, matter-of-fact tone.

Jiang Mo gave a gentle nod, a steadfast light glowing in her eyes. Beside her, Lu Cheng added, “I believe in you.”

Outside the window, the sun shone brightly across a cloudless sky. It was a good day—a perfect day for racing.

When Kai arrived at the paddock, he could still feel the raw sensitivity and heavy oppression lingering in the air. Mechanics, team staff, and drivers were all exchanging updates. Learning that Correa was still unconscious and that Anthoine’s lengthy surgery was still underway brought a heavy tightness to everyone’s chest.

Near the Ferrari garage entrance, Kai spotted Frédéric Arnault walking toward him and stepped forward to give his French friend a warm embrace.

“Frédéric, thank you. I know I caused a lot of trouble for you.”

Arnault patted Kai’s shoulder. “I should be the one saying thank you. You didn’t hesitate to ask me for help—as a friend, not just a business partner.”

A smile touched Kai’s eyes. “I thought your conglomerate didn’t do things like this. If this hurts your standing in your father’s eyes and you lose your inheritance, that’d be on me.”

In the corporate world, profit reigned supreme over sentimental gestures, and true friendship was a rare luxury.

Arnault spread his hands casually. “My father sees business; I see a friend. They are two different things, yet intertwined—neither invalidates the other.”

That generous posture drew a soft chuckle from Kai. Business remained business, but beyond profit, friendship and loyalty carried undeniable value.

Skipping further pleasantries, Kai looked around. “Why did you come over personally? Don’t tell me you delivered the goods yourself?”

Arnault gestured with his chin toward a Louis Vuitton case resting on a nearby table. “For an item this critical, I needed to ensure you signed for it in person.”

Since Anthoine’s accident, the operating room had remained continuously busy. Forget the paddock—even Anthoine’s parents knew very little.

Surgical nurses emerged periodically to give brief updates to François and Nathalie, but everything remained uncertain until the operation concluded. Beyond knowing the procedure was intricately complex—marred by severe hemorrhaging and cardiac arrest—there had been no clear positive news.

Kai and Charles couldn’t remain at the hospital indefinitely. They returned to the paddock to join debriefs and strategy meetings for the main race.

Once the team briefing wrapped up, Kai and Charles approached team management with a proposal. Even though surgery was ongoing, they felt the grid should make a unified gesture to show support, offer prayers, and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Anthoine and Correa.

It wasn’t just Ferrari. Kai and Charles personally sought out other teams—starting with Renault and McLaren, then moving on to Mercedes, Red Bull, and the rest—persuading them to put aside rivalries and demonstrate the solidarity of the motorsport family.

Then, Kai personally called Arnault, asking if LVMH could help modify his helmet livery on short notice while working overnight to produce custom T-shirts.

LVMH didn’t hold an exclusive sponsorship contract with Kai, and their helmet collaboration had only been a initial trial. A luxury giant of their stature could easily have declined, yet Arnault agreed without a second thought.

Not only did he agree, but Arnault also personally delivered the final products today.

Looking at Arnault, a thousand thoughts raced through Kai’s mind, ultimately resolving into a single phrase: “Thank you!”

Showing a rare hint of embarrassment, Arnault cleared his throat. “Anthoine is a French driver, and we are a French brand. Consider this a PR campaign that benefits our brand image—don’t paint us out to be overly selfless.”

Kai laughed softly. “I know.”

Caught off guard, Arnault coughed slightly. “I expect a fantastic race out of you.”

Kai replied naturally, “Of course. No doubt about it.”

Sunday morning at Spa remained busy, yet an inescapable air of quiet solemnity lingered.

Formula 2 had canceled all remaining sessions for the weekend, as drivers needed time to process the shock, leaving only F3 and F1 to proceed.

The track grounds were still packed with crowds. Not all spectators followed F2 closely or knew Anthoine and Correa, so the impact felt slightly less immediate for some; yet the dark cloud hanging over the paddock firmly suppressed the usual festive atmosphere.

Just before the F3 Sprint Race, a small piece of good news finally arrived.

After nearly seventeen agonizing hours of surgery, Anthoine had finally been moved out of the operating theater into intensive care.

Meanwhile, Correa had regained consciousness. Though unable to speak yet, doctors reported that he had passed the most critical window, allowing everyone to breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

A faint, fragile ray of hope pierced through the heavy storm clouds, outlining a delicate silver lining along their dark edges.

The entire pit lane buzzed with hushed conversations. In brief lulls between tasks, mechanics stole quick breaths, with topics endlessly returning to Anthoine and Correa.

Ferrari was no exception. Though neither young driver raced directly for Scuderia, everyone in the pit box knew that Ferrari’s dual stars were close friends with Anthoine, having grown up alongside him and Correa through the junior ranks.

“Finally! Finally some positive news!”

“He’s still in the ICU, but the surgery is over.”

“Finishing the operation means he cleared the first hurdle, right? Right?!”

“It was so critical… no wonder it took that long. Truly a narrow escape. I heard Juan might not be able to walk again…”

“Anthoine is still in a coma. The doctors said they’ve done everything they can; the rest depends on his will to live… and a little bit of luck.”

The brief surge of relief lasted barely three seconds before dark clouds gathered overhead once more.

Then, Mekies noticed Kai standing nearby. Unsure when he had arrived or how much he had overheard, Mekies quickly raised his voice to greet him.

“Kai! All set?” Mekies forced a steady tone to hide any emotion in his voice.

Kai looked up. “Don’t worry. If what comes next depends purely on willpower, I believe no one in this paddock can match Anthoine.”

The air briefly froze.

Clearly, Kai had heard the conversation in the garage.

Just as Mekies opened his mouth to speak, he met Kai’s gaze—steady, resolute, carrying a sharp, unwavering edge beneath its calm surface.

Kai offered a subtle smile. “Let’s get ready for the race.”

Solemn, heavy, and unusually quiet.

Pre-race preparations differed noticeably from usual. Drivers kept to themselves, wrapped in an unspoken aura of heavy restraint.

To say there was no fear or worry would be an absolute lie. They had witnessed the impact up close, seeing two young drivers hovering on the brink of death. Even with surgeries completed, the dark gloom weighing on their chests refused to lift.

During the national anthem ceremony, the mood was heavier than ever. Drivers stood absorbed in their own thoughts without making eye contact or exchanging words. As the ceremony concluded, the crowd slowly dispersed to prepare for the upcoming race.

Gasly kept his head low, immersed in thought. His mind felt simultaneously overfilled to the point of bursting and entirely blank—devoid of sadness, fear, or anxiety, moving like a shell stripped of sensation.

Taking two steps forward, Gasly paused and looked around with unfocused eyes. It took him a moment to realize he couldn’t spot Charles.

Or Kai.

Looking around in a haze, Gasly finally spotted two figures ahead moving in the opposite direction.

While everyone else walked northeast toward the pit lane, these two were heading southwest. The red race suits made their identities instantly clear—Ferrari.

Gasly froze, his fogged mind struggling to process. What are they doing?

Following their lonely figures along the asphalt, his gaze swept forward until it reached the crest of Eau Rouge, where the realization struck.

That was the direction of the start line—the path leading up to Eau Rouge.

Kai and Charles were heading to the site of yesterday’s crash.

From last night into this morning, the paddock had been on edge as F1 and Belgian GP officials debated holding an official tribute ceremony.

Even though they were F2 drivers, the entire motorsport community formed one big family, standing firmly beside Anthoine’s and Correa’s families.

When news arrived that both surgeries had concluded and the drivers had pulled through the immediate crisis, official discussions regarding a ceremony stalled.

Yet for Kai and Charles, it wasn’t that simple. Anthoine was more than a fellow driver; he was their close friend and brother in arms who had shared their pursuit of speed. With Anthoine still comatose in intensive care, fighting a life-or-death battle, he needed all the strength he could get.

Even if it was just the smallest spark of energy, every bit mattered. They wanted to light a tiny beacon of hope for Anthoine to guide him out of the dark.

And so, Kai walked. Measuring the track with his own feet, he made his way toward Eau Rouge to ignite a light for Anthoine.

Gasly opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat, leaving him unable to utter a sound.

Exhaling softly, Gasly lowered his head and broke into a quiet jog to catch up.

Charles noticed first, glancing at Gasly, but seeing him remain silent with his head down, Charles chose not to speak either, silently pressing onward.

At Spa, the distance from the starting grid to the top of Eau Rouge is roughly one kilometer. Behind the wheel of an F1 car, it takes barely ten seconds—a blink of an eye before arriving at the legendary corner.

Measuring that distance on foot offered a completely different sensation. It felt like a long pilgrimage, feeling the track stretch beneath their shoes—so long, yet so grueling.

Standing amidst the moving crowd, Albon looked around in confusion, struggling to find a point of focus.

He knew he should head back to the garage, yet his feet remained rooted to the track, unsure of what held him back.

Then, Albon noticed a group emerging from the Ferrari garage. Walking at the front were Jiang Mo and Lu Cheng, alongside Pascal Leclerc, Arthur, and Lorenzo. They all wore red Ferrari T-shirts featuring a minimalist Prancing Horse logo over the left chest.

As they walked past, the back of the plain shirts revealed bold blue lettering:

“Fly With Anthoine.”

Not just Kai’s family, but Beauregard, Adami, Mekies, Binotto, and the rest of the crew had all donned the shirts, marching forward on foot.

Albon stared in awe, his heart soaring alongside their steady steps toward the golden sunlight filtering over Eau Rouge.

Before he fully realized it, Albon began walking forward too.

Norris noticed and changed direction, nudging Verstappen along.

Verstappen gazed quietly at the growing procession ahead, his expression unreadable as he stood still for a second.

Ultimately, he set off without a word, falling into step behind Norris.

Horner looked on in confusion.

Horner was hyper-focused on today’s race strategy. If Red Bull wanted to turn their fortune around, they needed absolute focus with zero room for error.

Seeing Verstappen suddenly turn away, Horner caught himself off guard, instinctively reaching out to grab him, but missed by a split second.

Noticing Verstappen and Albon walking toward the track procession, Horner felt a wave of frustration. “Max—Max!”

Catching up to Verstappen’s side, Horner pressed, “I know this is tough on everyone—I barely slept last night either. But you know he was doing what he loved—”

“He—Max—he would have done anything to sit in your seat, or Alex’s seat—”

Verstappen looked at Horner in disbelief, a look of profound disappointment crossing his face. The logic held truth, but Anthoine and Correa were still fighting for their lives in hospital beds. If life itself was gone, what value did a race seat even hold?

Especially the timing—saying such words right here, right now, was entirely inappropriate.

Verstappen thought about arguing, but quickly realized it was pointless. He simply shook his head gently and kept walking forward.

Horner stood on the spot feeling exasperated. Noticing side glances from onlookers, he rolled his eyes. “What? Is stating facts a crime now?”

Ignoring Albon and Verstappen, Horner turned back toward the pit lane, finding himself one of the few walking against the tide.

One by one, more figures turned around to join the gathering crowd, offering their silent support.

Hamilton quickly picked up on the movement. Turning around, he took in the quiet yet striking sight of Ferrari red making a profound statement. Without hesitation, Hamilton turned and joined the march.

Kai led the way at the front, quietly feeling the contours and elevation changes of the track underfoot. He wasn’t just memorizing the tarmac; he was connecting with the mindset of Anthoine and Correa.

Pushing to the limit, driving flat-out to squeeze every drop of performance from the car. Arden lacked competitive pace in F2 this season, yet Anthoine had never backed down, consistently challenging himself and giving the frontrunners genuine scares.

Here at Spa, he had been doing the exact same thing—immersed in his pursuit, pushing the limits, spreading his wings to fly.

Kai had pondered how Anthoine would describe this journey—”Racing with Anthoine,” “Running for Anthoine,” “Anthoine Never Walks Alone”—yet none felt quite right until the image of Icarus resurfaced in his mind.

Flying!

The answer struck deep into his heart.

“My dream is to reach F1.”

“Ha, not just F1—more specifically, pushing the ultimate limits of speed.”

“I know there are endless challenges ahead. F2 is just another small step toward the dream. If I want to make it, I need to work relentlessly and perform consistently.”

“Yeah, among current paddock drivers, Kai is my favorite. Honestly… not just currently, but across racing history too.”

“No, no, I haven’t forgotten we were teammates back in GP3. Because of that, I got to observe his work up close. I truly believe he possesses every single quality of a legendary driver. Senna, Schumacher, Prost—they’re legends, but sometimes you wonder if they’re real. Until you watch Kai, and you realize: yeah, they exist.”

“My parents have supported me all the way, alongside my brother. We’ve been united chasing this distant dream for nineteen years now. I hope we can realize it together.”

“Just like Icarus—even if I burn to ash, I’ll keep flying toward the sun.”

That was Anthoine—always running, always pushing, waiting for the day to spread his wings and soar toward the sun.

Now, feeling the undulating surface of the track beneath his feet, Kai felt that surge of energy stir within his chest, ready to burst forth and soar alongside Anthoine.

From Marchionne to Anthoine, a year had passed. Some things had changed, while others remained eternal.

No matter what happened, he would not stop. He would keep running, keep chasing… and keep flying, carrying their dreams and purpose to explore the unknown realm beyond the limits of speed.

Reaching the crest of Eau Rouge, the view opened up dramatically as the Kemmel Straight unfolded before them.

The site of yesterday’s crash remained scarred. Though the barriers were repaired, gouges on the track, grass, and guardrails left lingering wounds that could not be erased.

Kai walked over to the impact point and patted the barrier gently, as if patting Anthoine’s shoulder.

“Anthoine, you need to pick up the pace, because I won’t slow down, nor will I stop. If you don’t hurry, you might get left behind.”

Warm sunlight poured over his face. Kai tilted his head up, drawing in a deep breath of cool Ardennes air—

Today was a good day for racing.

Lowering his head, Kai turned toward Charles. “Ready?”

Charles took a quiet, deep breath before looking at Kai. “Yeah. I’m ready for my first career Grand Prix victory.”

A smile touched Kai’s eyes as he gave a subtle nod. An unspoken understanding passed between them before Kai motioned for Charles to head back.

Turning around, a breathtaking view met their eyes—a vibrant tapestry of team colors cascading down the slope of Eau Rouge like a peacock’s tail.

Without words, the silent procession bloomed under the golden sunlight, radiating pure vitality.

No speeches were needed; actions spoke far louder.

Among the crowd stood Verstappen, Hamilton, and Russell.

Perhaps the moment they stepped back onto the grid, they would become fierce rivals once again, fighting wheel-to-wheel without yielding an inch.

But right now, in this brief moment, they were simply drivers—human beings of flesh and blood, sharing the same bond as Anthoine and Correa. Whether racing was seen as a dream, a sport, or a business, to them it was their life and soul. On this day, they were all equals.

“Charles—” Kai called out.

Charles looked over in shock, unable to believe the sight.

Kai offered a smile, gesturing for Charles to walk back with him.

In the crowd, Ricciardo tipped his cap, raised his hand high, and shouted toward Kai, “Fly with Anthoine!”

A wide, flashing smile broke out, illuminating the air around them.

In that moment, half the paddock had spontaneously followed Kai and Charles to the crash site at Eau Rouge to offer prayers for Anthoine and Correa. The heavy gloom weighing on their chests finally cracked open.

As the twenty cars lined up for the race preparations, spectators in the main grandstand caught sight of Kai’s specially designed helmet—

Baby blue.

A striking contrast to the red Ferrari suit, the light blue helmet featured winged, scale-pattern lettering that spelled out: “Fly With Anthoine.”

Now, people understood the meaning behind Ferrari’s team shirts—they were part of a unified design.

Red and blue?

On paper, the combination sounded clashy and unusual for a Ferrari.

Yet seeing Kai wear it transformed the look entirely—it came across as surprisingly harmonious, injecting a sense of brightness and warmth into the bold Ferrari red while exuding a steady, resilient air.

It was impossible to look away.

It proved to be a striking revelation.

Beyond Kai, drivers like Charles, Gasly, Albon, and Norris each carried tributes to Anthoine and Correa onto the track.

Yet glances kept returning to driver number 22. In a fleeting moment, one could almost see Anthoine’s spirit alongside him; Kai was taking to the track carrying the dreams and weight of his friend. Today, he wasn’t racing for himself alone.

It remained a familiar Grand Prix weekend, yet today’s race carried a deeper significance that shifted the very air around them.

Amid the chaotic emotions, as the cars finally took their places on the starting grid, fans suddenly remembered something crucial—

Wait! The shock of the F2 crash had temporarily overshadowed the fact that qualifying at Spa had been absolute madness.

Seven drivers faced grid penalties due to power unit components, leaving the starting order thoroughly shuffled.

Normally, fans would be debating the grid line-up relentlessly. But with F2 news dominating social media feeds, viewers were only now realizing how chaotic the starting grid actually looked, almost questioning their own memories of yesterday’s qualifying session.

Amid the buzz and excitement, fans began to realize that this Belgian Grand Prix could mark a major turning point in the season. With top teams and midfield competitors reshuffled and off-track events shaking the paddock, the ongoing drama since the summer break was escalating even further.

Did this mean the main race would deliver even greater unpredictability and excitement than the thrillers at Silverstone and Hockenheim?