Chapter 367: 367: Show Time for the Speed God

Hamilton’s full-throttle pursuit of Kai, despite stepping directly into Ferrari’s trap, had paid off thanks to his decisive risk-taking. He had successfully opened a margin over Leclerc and Bottas behind him, clawing back a significant chunk of time.

If Hamilton pitted right now, Mercedes could attempt a daring double-play.

Step one: overcut Leclerc and Bottas to firmly consolidate second place.

Step two: undercut Kai, using the tire delta to launch a desperate all-out assault.

Two birds with one stone!

It wasn’t just bold—it was insane.

Naturally, such a move carried immense risk; there was no guarantee the overcut would work. Furthermore, if Ferrari saw through Mercedes’ intentions and brought Kai into the pits on the very next lap to snuff out the undercut, their gamble would crash straight into a wall.

A single misstep would leave them with nothing—both the overcut and the undercut failing, returning them to square one with Hamilton dropped behind Bottas.

Yet in Bonnington’s view, without taking a risk, they had zero chance of overturning the situation. Taking the gamble offered at least a sliver of hope—not only could Hamilton swap track position with Bottas via pit strategy, executing a team order without on-track drama, but it would also disrupt Kai’s carefully laid plans.

If Kai pitted immediately to block the undercut, it would mean his meticulously structured first stint had finally been broken. His second stint would inevitably be compromised, leaving Mercedes in a position to exploit their tire consistency in the battles ahead.

After the drama of the summer break, Mercedes and Ferrari had completely torn off their gloves. The conflict was out in the open, and both teams were locked in a fight to the death.

Ferrari had struck first, declaring their absolute intent to claim the championship. If Mercedes continued to hesitate and act timidly, the momentum they had built through their Hungary victory and the joint appeal during the summer break would backfire entirely—

Mercedes could not afford a repeat of Hockenheim. That disaster had shaken the team’s confidence from top to bottom. They needed a decisive stroke.

They had to draw blood with a high-stakes gamble!

However, this was merely Bonnington’s tactical assessment; he still needed Wolff’s final verdict.

An overcut followed by an undercut—Mercedes going all-in. The crucial first step relied on Hamilton passing Bottas via pitlane timing.

Bonnington knew the atmosphere between the two drivers inside the team was walking a tightrope. If the strategy failed, the resulting domino effect would be catastrophic. Wolff had spent the entire summer break acting like a circus clown balancing on a high wire, barely managing to maintain a fragile harmony. To have that balance collapse on the very first race after the restart would be a total failure.

Haa—Haa—

Heavy, ragged breathing echoed in his ears. The suffocating tension on the pit wall was overwhelming, but the action on track hadn’t paused for a second, churning forward at full intensity.

Bonnington couldn’t help but prompt, “Toto!”

There was still no reply over the radio. The prolonged silence amid the roaring engines grew even more suffocating. Burning sweat dripped down Bonnington’s temples. His rigid body remained frozen, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Then, Wolff’s voice came through, soft but absolute. “Confirmed.”

Brief, yet resolute.

In the critical moment, Wolff demonstrated the ruthless decisiveness of the man steering Mercedes. The stagnant air ignited instantly, heavy with the scent of blood.

Bonnington’s heart surged. Without a moment’s pause, he keyed the mic: “Lewis, push, full push! Box, box next!”

With the unspoken understanding forged over years of partnership, Hamilton understood immediately. He was to burn his remaining rubber over the next lap or two, wringing every last drop of performance out of the current set, bringing the car in the moment the tires gave up.

Without missing a beat, Bonnington rattled off a series of lap time targets. They weren’t matched to Kai’s rhythm, but to Leclerc’s and Bottas’s. The intent was unmistakable—

The undercut!

Hamilton’s eyes flashed. Mercedes was finally making its move—no hesitation, no questions. “Copy!”

The air on track invisibly caught fire.

The Ferrari pit wall picked up on the shift immediately. Mercedes had thrown another punch, adapting on the fly with the swagger of reigning champions, attempting a brute-force reversal of the field.

Pierre Borreipaire and Riccardo Adami relayed the update over the radio at once. The strategic battle of the first stint was far from over; in fact, it had escalated to an unimaginable high, drowning all of Spa in the roar of high-revving engines.

“Hamilton! Purple sectors!”

“1:46.917!”

An exclamation burst from the commentary box. Hamilton was closing down on Kai with aggressive intent. Spectators unaware of the pit wall chess match gasped in unison, watching what looked like an impending wheel-to-wheel showdown between Hamilton and Kai. Hearts jumped into throats; the crowd fell dead silent.

Hamilton elevated his pace further, dipping into the 1:46s for the first time in the race, charging toward Kai with absolute dominance.

On the pit wall, Borreipaire broke into a cold sweat. Even though drawing Hamilton into a tire-burning chase had been their plan, seeing the five-time champion launch a full-attack assault still tightened the atmosphere instantly. He immediately warned Kai that a battle was imminent.

However, Kai’s sharp instincts sensed something off. Given Hamilton’s racing mindset, if he were truly preparing an on-track pass, he wouldn’t destroy his tire life by elevating his pace so abruptly. This wasn’t the setup for a multi-lap wheel-to-wheel battle.

What was unfolding in front of him looked far more like—

“Pierre, watch out for an undercut on Charles,” Kai warned over the radio immediately.

Borreipaire recoiled in surprise. Without a second to lose, his eyes locked onto the timing screens as he flipped the radio channel to notify Adami.

Beside them, Mattia Binotto had overheard. His eyebrows knitted tightly. There was no movement yet in the Mercedes pit box behind them, but he nodded firmly at Adami anyway, ordering him to alert Leclerc at once.

Although Binotto couldn’t see the complete picture inside Kai’s mind, he trusted the driver’s judgment implicitly—especially in the chaotic flow of a live race—

There was no time to second-guess.

Out on track, Leclerc couldn’t see Car 44 in his mirrors, but he didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. He began elevating his pace instantly.

Bottas noticed it immediately. “Charles is pushing. What should we do?”

The air in the Mercedes pit wall froze!

What was happening? Was Leclerc simply pushing to break away from Bottas, or had Ferrari exposed Mercedes’ tactical play?

What were they supposed to do now?

If they ordered Bottas to push in response, Mercedes’ strategy would collapse completely. Hamilton would fail to undercut Kai, might drop behind Bottas, and the overcut attempt would crumble as well.

The only choice remaining was—

Sacrifice Bottas.

Hamilton had to swap position with Bottas at minimum.

“Stand by, Valtteri. Stand by. Investigating, standby,” James Vowles instructed over the radio.

Bottas replied, “Copy!”

Bottas was only one part of the equation. If possible, Mercedes still needed to complete the overcut on Leclerc. Hamilton couldn’t afford to waste another second!

One moment, the Mercedes pit box was a scene of calm, with mechanics sitting patiently in their chairs watching the broadcast screens.

The next moment, the Mercedes crew surged out of the garage in unison. Despite the sudden rush, they were fully deployed in three to five seconds, displaying flawless operational discipline and efficiency.

Borreipaire felt a rush of air behind him—quiet, orderly, and seamless. Had he not been actively monitoring them, he might have missed it entirely. But it proved that Mercedes had been staging this move in secret all along, attempting a stealth play.

His heart tightened. Kai’s call had been spot-on—

Hamilton’s target wasn’t Kai. It was Leclerc!

The air was stretched to a snapping point. Even without seeing every detail, the scent of burning rubber and tactical blood hung heavy over the pit lane.

In the pit lane itself:

The Mercedes crew displayed cold, practiced professionalism, moving with sharp precision to prepare for the incoming car.

Kai swept past the pit entrance on track, followed moments later by Hamilton, who dived into the pit entry without a moment’s hesitation.

The pit limiter engaged. The ticking seconds felt like a tightening noose, choking the breath out of the spectators.

Out on track:

Leclerc was entirely in the zone, his mind crystal clear as he entered a rare state of total flow—

“Push, Charles! Push!”

In the very first karting race of Leclerc’s life, among all the kids on that grid, only three had made it through to professional racing alongside him.

Gasly, Ocon, and Hubert.

He still remembered that day vividly, crystal clear. Anthoine had stood in the howling wind, offering a shy smile: “I’m Anthoine. Great race out there!”

He was not going to waste his chance to chase his dream on this track.

Through the Bus Stop chicane—where the pressure was highest, composure was most vital—Leclerc didn’t force a messy entry. Instead, he traced a smooth, fluid arc through the kerbs, carrying maximum exit speed off the final corner. He straightened the wheel, stomped on the throttle, opened his DRS, and rocketed down the main straight.

Roar—

The engine screamed at full blast.

Looking down from an aerial camera, the red flash on the main straight ran parallel to the silver flash exiting the pitlane. They moved at speeds almost too fast for the naked eye to process, blurring the background into streaks of color, sending hearts pounding into throats.

Hovering on the edge of disaster like tightrope walkers in a gale, the two forces converged. The high-tension stalemate felt agonizingly long; though F1 cars moved in milliseconds, each second stretched into an eternity.

No one dared to breathe.

The two cars looked set to collide at the pit exit line, but Car 44, having just disengaged the pit limiter, was a fraction slower to accelerate. Car 16, carrying full momentum off the main straight, swept past to claim the line into Turn 1, holding the silver Mercedes firmly behind.

Wham!

The Tifosi leaped out of their seats, throwing their arms into the air with deafening screams.

Yet the drama was far from over.

Car 77 swept around La Source on track, arriving at the pit exit just as Car 44 rejoined the circuit.

The two silver arrows converged!

Wheel-to-wheel!

The Mercedes fans held their breath, completely silent in contrast to the roaring Tifosi surrounding them.

This time, Car 44 claimed the line first, edging three-quarters of a car length ahead into La Source. But Car 77 refused to yield, running side-by-side with its sister car into the hairpin, trying to hang around the outside to maximize exit speed.

“My word!”

“Inches apart!”

“Car 44 and Car 77 nearly made contact!”

“A collective heart attack for the Mercedes pit wall!”

“But!”

“Hamilton holds his ground and leads out of La Source! Bottas braked a fraction too late, understeering slightly, compromising his exit speed!”

Eardrums buzzed with the static of the crowd—

From Leclerc denying Hamilton’s overcut to Hamilton successfully overcutting Bottas, the entire sequence took place in a breathless three-second window.

In a single heartbeat, the order had shifted. The two Mercedes drivers had traded places, and the silver car glued to Leclerc’s rear wing was now Hamilton.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hamilton pulled away from Bottas, launching an immediate attack on Leclerc.

“Kai, Hamilton is closing on Charles,” Borreipaire reported, the Ferrari pit wall still recovering from the shock of Mercedes’ aggressive gamble. He strove to regain his footing amid the chaos and find the optimal response.

Kai understood the picture instantly. “Copy!”

Mercedes’ master plan was crystal clear now: overcut first, undercut second. Hamilton wasn’t satisfied with second place—his sights were set on Kai.

Tactically, Kai’s simplest response was to pit immediately, covering Hamilton’s undercut and smothering Mercedes’ strategy in its cradle. But doing so meant playing directly into their hands, forcing Kai to abandon his primary stint strategy early and burning the tire advantage he had preserved in Q2. It would force Ferrari into a direct, head-to-head tire wear battle with Mercedes.

If a Safety Car appeared or rain arrived, Mercedes would have the leverage to flip the race on its head.

That was Mercedes’ ultimate goal.

Under severe pressure, even the best teams could overlook details or commit operational errors.

In the early laps, Ferrari had used that exact pressure to force Mercedes onto the back foot; now, Mercedes was launching their counter-offensive.

Except Kai didn’t bite.

Kai kept one fundamental truth locked in his mind: he was the race leader. The initiative belonged to him, and his first-stint plan was far from finished.

Like a painting, you couldn’t see the full composition until the final stroke.

If Mercedes believed Kai would lose his composure over a tactical gamble by Hamilton, they still didn’t truly understand who they were racing against.

On lap twenty-one, as Hamilton pitted, the eyes of the world had been glued to the Mercedes garage to track his overcut attempt, leaving the race leader entirely off the broadcast radar. Kai had been flying invisible outside the TV feed until the timing tower snapped everyone’s attention back.

“1:46.899! Fastest lap for Kai!”

A collective gasp echoed across the grandstands!

The driver who had maintained a steady, unshakeable rhythm since lap five—unfazed even by Hamilton’s charging approach—had flipped the switch the moment Hamilton entered the pit lane. Entering full attack mode, Kai smashed the fastest lap record and snatched the spotlight right back.

Martin Brundle realized what was happening in an instant.

“Kai was protecting his tires all along! He was patiently waiting for Hamilton to attempt a move or pit, and the moment Hamilton dived into the lane, Kai unleashed the energy he’d been storing! What an exquisite tactical play by the defending World Champion!”

A look at the track map showed that only eight drivers had made their routine stops. In other words, despite the unusual track temperatures early on, overall tire degradation was lower than expected, exceeding Pirelli’s predicted windows without triggering a massive pit stop wave.

Among those eight drivers, Leclerc and Bottas had pitted due to tactical positioning, while Hamilton had stopped after burning through his rubber during his chase. None of them had maximized their stint length. If they had driven with Kai’s disciplined management, they could have extracted far more life from the rubber.

And Brundle hadn’t forgotten Kai’s clever Q2 execution, either.

Even so!

Kai’s ability to consistently pump out 1:48 laps on heavy fuel loads was extraordinary. The SF90’s operational window had undergone a complete transformation. Ferrari had returned from the summer break fully armed and determined to claim the championship.

It made Brundle wonder: was Mercedes’ legal protest over Ferrari’s power unit truly just a tactical political play, designed to slow Ferrari’s momentum?

“1:46.671! Kai goes faster again!”

David Croft’s exclamation shattered Brundle’s line of thought. He held his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from Car 22 on the broadcast feed.

Effortless, fluid, completely in rhythm—like the wind.

It wasn’t just the commentary box; every spectator was mesmerized by the red Ferrari on screen. After laps of patient buildup, Kai had finally drawn his blade.

When Kai unsheathed his sword, his driving became pure artistry. Dancing on the knife’s edge, he looked light, precise, and weightless, tracing the elevation and contours of Spa like a brush painting red lines across the tarmac. It was breathtaking to watch.

Motorsport could be as elegant as ballet, as powerful as a symphony—the roaring notes translating into aerodynamic airflow, breaking free of physical constraints in pursuit of pure speed.

Climax after climax washed over the circuit, leaving the crowd intoxicated. The world seemed to fade until only that vibrant shade of Ferrari red remained.

“1:46.233! Kai lowers the bar again!”

Only now did people realize that his pace burst on lap five hadn’t been a true push at all—it was merely a shot across the bow, a tactical smoke grenade.

In truth, Kai had been biding his time with absolute patience, hiding his edge until the exact moment came to slice open the race.

The Mercedes pit wall fell dead silent.

While they were calculating, scheming, and setting traps—mixing overcuts and undercuts in a desperate gamble to reverse the tide—their grand strategy had been rendered completely irrelevant.

Whether Hamilton attacked head-on, tried a tire-conservation battle, or went for a high-risk undercut, none of it mattered. Kai had been waiting for them all along, ready to neutralize whatever they threw at him.

To Kai, Mercedes’ desperate maneuvers were nothing more than struggling against the inevitable. He held all the answers in the palm of his hand, casting an inescapable shadow over the silver team.

That overwhelming sense of powerlessness silenced the Mercedes pit wall completely.

How could this be happening? Things weren’t supposed to play out like this. Returning from the summer break, Ferrari was supposed to be caught off guard by the technical protests, scrambling in chaos while Mercedes and Red Bull took center stage. And yet now—

Wait, where was Red Bull?

Brundle had no time to check on the Mercedes garage. His gaze remained locked on Kai. After setting three consecutive fastest laps, Kai still hadn’t backed off, pushing flat-out on the next lap in a display of driving that made it impossible to look away.

Was Kai pushing simply to negate Hamilton’s undercut?

—The Grand Slam!

A bolt of realization flashed through Brundle’s mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

The Grand Slam that Mercedes had aimed for in Australia but failed to complete—Ferrari was trying to pull it off right here at Spa.

Surrounded by media hostility, facing paddock-wide political warfare, standing alone against the world on the edge of a cliff, Ferrari had ignited their fighting spirit at the depth of crisis. This was a race they had to win, a battle with no retreat. From the top executives down to the garage crew, Ferrari was marching forward as one.

And right at this moment, Hubert’s tragic accident had plunged the Ferrari drivers’ close friend into a life-or-death crisis. It felt as though even fate was standing against Ferrari, watching cold-bloodedly as they fell into an endless abyss, watching an entire season’s effort crumble into dust.

Yet Kai refused to yield.

Ferrari was going to win. Not just win, but dominate in an absolute fashion, forcing the entire paddock to witness their authority.

Free Practice. Qualifying. Pole Position. Fastest Lap. Race Win.

He was taking every single one.

When the realization crystallized in Brundle’s mind, he opened his mouth, trying to put the thought into words for the audience.

But he found he couldn’t make a sound. He simply stared at the track, mesmerized by the flash of Ferrari red on Car 22.

Unshakable, relentless, unstoppable.

That surging energy lit up all of Spa, reawakening the raw passion in every spectator’s heart. It wasn’t just about trophies or victories—it was about challenge, pushing past limits, breaking the shackles of human potential. That was the purest, most fundamental essence of competitive sport, far more eloquent than any words, setting every heart ablaze.

This was Kai’s performance.

No aggressive wheel-to-wheel defense, no dramatic overtaking maneuvers, no convoluted tactical undercuts or overcuts. Nothing like that.

To an untrained eye, it was simply a lead car running solo laps out front.

Yet to Brundle, it was so pure, so elemental, stripping motorsport back to its core and reminding him why he had fallen in love with racing in the first place. Every other car at Spa dissolved into the background, fading into white noise, leaving only that single streak of Ferrari red.

Thump—Thump—

The sound of his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears brought Brundle to complete silence as he watched the screen.

At Spa, a standard pit stop cost roughly twenty seconds.

Earlier, while Kai had been maintaining a steady rhythm, Hamilton had closed down the gap, with Leclerc and Bottas creeping closer as well.

Now, with Kai delivering a sequence of blistering fastest laps, he had re-established his margin. But his soft tires were approaching the end of their life; as Kai raised his pace, Leclerc and the others on fresh mediums were beginning to match his sector times, slowing the rate at which the gap expanded.

Leclerc trailed Kai by 21.117 seconds.

It was just enough for a pit window, but the margin was razor-thin, leaving zero room for error.

The atmosphere froze.

Brundle heard Croft’s sudden shout: “Kai boxes!”

Croft’s voice sounded like a distant echo, fading into the background as Brundle’s entire focus shifted to the flurry of activity in the Ferrari pit box.

Total focus! Absolute precision!

Off with the old tires, on with the new—two simple actions, routine and unglamorous, yet executed with the rhythmic grace of a master performance. Time seemed to slow down frame by frame; the rest of the world hit pause, leaving only the pit crew in motion.

2.5 seconds!

Not a world-record stop, but clean and solid. While Ferrari’s pit crew couldn’t match the raw speed of Mercedes or Red Bull, they had delivered under immense pressure.

Most importantly, there were no mistakes, no stuck wheel nuts. Kai exited his pit box cleanly.

Right at that exact moment—

“Oh!”

“Albon!”

Alex Albon had chosen to pit on the exact same lap. As he swept past the Mercedes pit box, Kai was accelerating out of his own service area.

For a terrifying second, it looked as though Albon and Kai were going to smash into each other. Memories of the pit lane clash between Verstappen and Bottas rushed into everyone’s minds. Commentators and fans alike stopped breathing, frozen in place as their minds went blank.

In the fraction of a second before impact—

Albon jerked left! Kai steered right!

The lightning-fast instincts of both drivers averted a disaster, opening up just enough space for Kai to sweep cleanly down the pit lane.

A barely perceptible flash of disappointment flickered in Christian Horner’s eyes.

Yet every eye remained locked on Kai. Albon was instantly forgotten; the grand stage belonged to one man alone. Amid a sea of breath-held onlookers, all attention converged on the pit exit.