"Baby!"
Kai had barely stepped out of his car in the parking lot when he heard the shout from the crowd.
At first, he didn't think much of it.
He couldn't help but smile, imagining a movie scene where a playboy calls out to a lover, only to have five or six women turn around at once. That kind of drama would be the talk of the paddock for days especially if it were Latifi.
But to his surprise, a middle-aged man with a beer belly ran up to him, beaming.
"Baby!"
Kai shuddered. He almost threw a punch before he realized: This "Baby" was not that "Baby."
He froze. So, the thing Russell had been plotting had finally come true on his home turf. Were these Brits here just to fan the flames?
Clearly, the British fans didn't like Kai. So far this season, he had firmly suppressed his teammates Russell and Aitken both British drivers.
But Kai wasn't normal. Russell hadn't been able to anger him, and this random guy certainly wouldn't either.
Kai raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Thank you. Thanks for the compliment."
The balding man froze, confused. Thank him for what?
Kai didn't stop. He kept walking, his step light, his smile bright.
Look at it from another angle: "Infamy is still fame."
Silverstone was indeed different. People here actually followed GP3. In Spain and Austria, all eyes were on F1; F2 and GP3 were just filler. But in the UK, the fans knew exactly what was happening in the junior series. The atmosphere was completely different.
This was the first time someone had recognized Kai.
And he wasn't even wearing his race suit. These fans recognized his face. That was a level of treatment he didn't even get back home.
It was rare.
Walking from the parking lot to the paddock, the calls continued. Mockery, teasing, attacks, sarcasm... Kai took it all as praise. It meant his threat level had been recognized. It only gave him more motivation to perform well at Silverstone.
Otherwise, wouldn't he be letting down their "earnest expectations"?
He swiped his pass and entered the paddock. On the right side of the entrance tunnel, a crowd of rabid fans was waiting behind the barriers for the F1 drivers. Suddenly, a voice burst from the throng, cutting through the heat and noise.
"Kai. Zhi. Zhou."
Amidst the ridicule and sarcasm, it was like a clear spring flowing down, instantly catching Kai's ear. He instinctively looked over.
It was a girl wearing a Ferrari #7 shirt. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun, and she was waving an ART team hat like a juggler, jumping up and down like a marmot to get his attention.
She succeeded.
After all, in a sea of "Baby" shouts, this was the first voice to accurately call out his name
Well, maybe not accurately, but at least she tried.
Kai stopped and walked over.
Rosanna Stapleton froze. She hadn't expected her strategy to work. She stared dumbfounded at the figure approaching her.
Tall and handsome, with a slight smile. He stood in front of her, blocking the sun, his dark eyes fixed on her like grapes soaked in spring water, the golden light outlining his face.
For a moment, Stapleton forgot to breathe. She stood there, dazed, completely enveloped in his shadow.
"Were you calling me?"
His low voice cut through the paddock noise, resonating like a cello. Stapleton felt like a fool as she nodded blankly.
seeing she wasn't reacting, the boy smiled. "Do you need an autograph? Or were you just shouting? If you need help getting Raikkonen's autograph, sorry, I probably can't help you."
The Ferrari #7 shirt that was Kimi Räikkönen's number.
Stapleton wanted the ground to swallow her up. She couldn't speak, just handed over the ART hat and a marker.
He took the hat, lowered his head, and signed it with focus. She could see his long eyelashes and the sweat beading on his forehead.
"Thanks. You're the first fan to call my name. Here's a tip that might help increase the value: this is my first autograph. Remember to mark the price up when you resell it."
It was a small tease. Stapleton didn't know why, but she started laughing.
Then, he turned and left.
Stapleton stood there, frozen, unable to make a sound.
Actually, she had planned to resell it. Her backpack was full of GP3 and F2 hats; she collected autographs from young drivers to auction online. They always sold for a good price.
But how did Kai know?
And if he knew, why didn't he mind?
Stapleton looked down at the ART hat in her hand. Suddenly, she didn't want to sell it anymore.
Kai walked away, feeling a little happy that someone had finally called his name. But then he remembered the Trident and Campos hats in the girl's bag, and he made a bold guess.
Of course, Kai convinced himself that if someone was willing to sell his autograph, it meant there was a buyer's market. He had fans.
That was a good thing.
So why was there a bitter taste on his tongue?
Lost in thought, he heard a voice beside him, trying to sound calm but failing to hide the tremor. "Looks like someone is enjoying the flowers and cheers."
Kai snapped back to reality. He turned to see Max Verstappen's stony face, pulled long, looking like he hadn't slept well.
Kai immediately went into defense mode. "So, jealous?"
Verstappen stopped. He had intended to walk past, but he couldn't help but stand in front of Kai. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"
"Heh. You're just a grandstanding clown. You win two races and think you own the world, but those laughs and cheers are mocking you. No one respects you because no one believes you won on merit. It's just a good car."
Kai raised an eyebrow. For once, he didn't interrupt. He looked interested, waiting for more. "Oh?"
Verstappen remained expressionless.
Looking at Kai's carefree, "youth knows no sorrow" expression, every cell in Verstappen's body rejected it. He hated Kai's handsome swagger, his breezy attitude. He hated everything. "No one respects you, and no one fears you."
"Fear?" Kai realized. "So, what you really mean is, no one likes you, right? The whole paddock dislikes you. Even your teammates dislike you."
A critical hit. Right in the heart.
Verstappen's mouth clamped shut, trying to suppress his rage, but his shoulders and neck were stiff.
Despite his usual demeanor, Verstappen was still the youngest driver in the paddock. He was still a kid.
He barely controlled himself, refusing to let anger rule his brain. "Because I am a serious person. I treat racing with my whole heart. Early to bed, early to rise, take care of myself, spend time in the simulator, communicate with the team, and then go on track and beat my opponents."
Kai looked equally serious. "You mean crash into your opponents' cars, right?"
Seeing Verstappen's face change color, Kai immediately apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt the flowers and plants."
Verstappen glared at Kai. "No. Go on track. Win the championship. That's why I'm the youngest race winner in F1 history, and you are nothing."
Kai saw the light in Verstappen's eyes. He tipped his chin. "That's your entire pride, isn't it?"
Otherwise, he wouldn't emphasize the keyword "youngest."
Undoubtedly, this was very important to Verstappen, perhaps the most important line on his resume. It showed the pressure he was under.
From the paddock, the media, and his father.
People saw the glamour of Verstappen's promotion to F1, but no one saw that he was just a seventeen-year-old kid at the time.
Or rather, no one wanted to see it.
No wonder Verstappen was so nervous about Kai. Clearly, he was worried Kai would break his record. If that happened, his only crutch and pride would be gone. How would he find his place amidst the overwhelming pressure?
If breaking the "youngest F1 winner" record wasn't a worry for now even if Kai wanted to, that would be next year at the earliest then Verstappen's record of six consecutive wins over two weekends in F3 was in imminent danger. If Kai continued to win at Silverstone...
In a flash, many things became clear.
However, Verstappen frowned, confused. He didn't understand what nonsense Kai was spouting.
Kai chuckled. He swallowed the attack that was on the tip of his tongue. Bullying a blunt, honest guy wasn't fun anymore.
Kai shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing. Good luck. Try not to crash again."
Verstappen: ...
He squinted at Kai, firing death rays. "You're the one who crashes! You crash every race, every day!"
Kai couldn't help it; he laughed out loud. He gave Verstappen a salute, stepped around him, and kept walking.
Verstappen couldn't believe his eyes. He had come to pick a fight, and Kai was the one walking away first?
Furious, Verstappen stormed past Kai, leaving him behind without looking back.
Watching Verstappen deliberately stiffen his back and hold his chin high, like an angry bull, Kai laughed even harder.
Approaching him was a short figure with fluffy, curly hair, bouncing along. "Max? Max!"
He called out to Verstappen, but Max was clearly not in the mood. He waved a hand dismissively and swept past like a hurricane.
The short guy didn't mind. He shrugged, then continued bouncing toward Kai. "Kai! Hey, Kai!"
From a distance, he was already greeting him, acting familiar, as if they had been friends for years.
But Kai was 100% certain this was the first time they had met.
In fact, the paddock was a gladiatorial arena. Making friends wasn't easy, especially for a stranger who had barged in halfway through.
So far, all of Kai's friends were from his team. Leclerc and Zhou were from the academy, Hubert from ART.
That was it. When other drivers saw Kai, they wouldn't even say hello; not giving him the back of their head was considered friendly.
The fact was, they were all competing for seats. There might only be one or two openings a year, but forty or fifty young drivers wanted them. More people meant fewer chances. And Kai was an outsider. They would rather see a childhood karting buddy make it to F1 than watch an interloper step on their shoulders to get ahead.
"Life or death." It might sound like an exaggeration, but that was the reality.
No wonder everyone said Hubert was a weirdo. Strictly speaking, Leclerc was in F2 and Zhou in F3 Europe; they weren't directly competing with Kai. But Hubert faced the competition with such openness.
So, what was this?
This was the first stranger in the paddock to extend an olive branch to Kai, especially after the Spain and Austria races.
Even Kai paused, showing a hint of confusion and caution.
The short guy bounced over, his voice like auto-tune. "Ahhhh! Turn 4 at the Red Bull Ring! That move to shake off George was masterclass! It made the hair on my arms stand up. I got goosebumps everywhere. I thought, I have to meet this guy."
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
He noticed Kai's guarded smile and realized.
He pointed at Kai, then at his own face. "Baby."
Then he pointed at himself, gesturing to his height. "Baby."
Kai froze, then burst out laughing.
The guy was short. Probably around 165cm (5'5"), maybe even less. He looked like a thumb-person who had wandered into the land of giants.
But clearly, he didn't mind. One self-deprecating joke instantly closed the distance.
Kai stepped forward and extended his hand. "Kai Zhizhou."
The short guy grinned, showing white teeth. "Lando Norris. I'm in European F3, but obviously, your fame has reached us. And I found out our birthdays are only two days apart. I thought, I have to meet you. I couldn't miss the chance."
Kai didn't hide his surprise. "So, you came to Silverstone specifically to watch my race?"
Norris looked like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Of course. You don't know how many times I watched the first few laps of your Red Bull Ring race."
"Partly because it's not far from my house. And also... don't tell Max, he thinks I came to watch him."
"But!"
"Dude, Red Bull Ring Feature Race. George isn't easy to trick. How did you do it? I've never seen George look so pathetic."
Dancing with joy, beaming like a little sun, his enthusiasm bloomed without reservation, making spirits soar.
This guy, heartless and carefree, was a completely different kind of firework.
The whole paddock was staring at Kai with growing hostility, but Norris seemed completely unaware, or just didn't care.
Kai could tell Norris had studied the Austrian race more than once or twice.
In contrast, Kai knew nothing about Norris. The modesty of his Eastern upbringing made him feel a bit embarrassed, so he tried to find common ground. "You're in European F3. Do you know Zhou Guanyu?"
"Of course! We are..." Norris paused mid-smile. "We know each other."
He quickly explained. "I want to say we're friends, but honestly, he's too introverted. The conversation never takes off."
Kai raised an eyebrow, picturing Zhou crying from spicy food. He laughed. "If he can stump a social butterfly like you, he must really be introverted."
Norris pointed at himself, confused. "Me? No way. I'm actually very shy."
"Hahaha." Kai couldn't control it anymore and laughed out loud.
Ahead of them, a chubby figure waddled over. "So happy. What are you talking about? I hope you're not bad-mouthing me."
He walked up with his hands behind his back. His papaya-orange t-shirt could barely contain a beer belly comparable to a watermelon. It looked precarious, like it might burst at any second. It was so eye-catching that Kai looked down before he even looked at the face.
This was Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren.
Despite the belly, Brown cared about his image. His grey-flecked hair was gelled up so stiff it could withstand a typhoon, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He radiated the aura of a businessman.
But compared to Horner or Wolff, he seemed to be trying a bit too hard.
Seeing Brown, Kai stopped laughing, but the smile remained. He didn't explain, just put a finger to his lips. "Shh."
It said everything.
Brown and Norris both laughed.
Brown looked happy. "It seems Lando has already made some friends in the paddock."
Norris protested. "Hey, European F3 is part of the paddock too! Don't talk like we live in another dimension."
Brown ruffled Norris's hair affectionately. Norris slumped his shoulders and rolled his eyes, looking miserable, which only made Brown laugh harder. "Lando is about to join our McLaren young driver program. He'll race F2 next year, or maybe even this year."
"Who knows? Maybe you two will race together then."
Brown looked at Kai.
Kai's eyes showed understanding. So Norris's appearance today wasn't a coincidence either.
Norris looked blank, teasing in a comical tone. "Uh, do you mean I need to beat him, or I don't need to beat him?"
Kai looked at him seriously. "You should try."
Norris squinted at Kai. "Did I just get dissed?"
Brown laughed, doubling over. His belly looked like a ripe watermelon ready to explode. Did he really not need a looser t-shirt?
Just then, a figure walked past them quickly, racewalking.
Brown smiled and called out. "Fernando!"
It was Fernando Alonso. The Spaniard, who entered F1 in 2001, was the most senior driver on the grid, the "living fossil," a two-time World Champion, now driving for McLaren.
However, Alonso walked straight past, as if he hadn't seen or heard Brown.
Brown smiled awkwardly. "Old man. Bad hearing."
He tried to stay calm and chat with Kai, but he couldn't last more than fifteen seconds before surrendering. "I have a meeting. Let's talk later."
With that, Brown turned and trotted after Alonso.
Someone once said that in terms of pure driving skill, Alonso was textbook perfection, perhaps the best in history. As a Spanish driver, he was a national treasure.
Precisely because of this, Alonso was proud and demanding. He believed he should chase Schumacher's seven titles, or at least surpass Senna's three. He was always chasing the fastest car.
In his fifteen-year career, he constantly changed teams: Renault, McLaren, Renault, Ferrari, McLaren. Constant turbulence.
Changing teams is normal, but for a top driver to move so frequently is not.
It often meant he lacked the patience to build a top car with a technical team. He believed in his ability, so he habitually blamed the team when the car wasn't fast enough.
This year was the same.
McLaren was at the bottom of the standings. Alonso was getting restless.
Rumor had it that the decision to stay or leave was not in McLaren's hands.
Putting the clues together with the scene just now, Kai had a bold guess: Brown wasn't willing to be slaughtered. He was pressuring Alonso through different means.
But judging by Brown's reaction, Alonso still held the upper hand.
One move affects the whole board. This was Kai's first taste of the tension in the paddock. Only twenty seats. One driver's move could cause a chain reaction all the way down to GP3.
Between teams, between drivers... the calculations were endless.
It wasn't easy for young drivers like Leclerc or Kai to break in. Performance on the track was their only chip.
Standing with Norris, Kai noticed more eyes turning toward them. Only now was Kai truly standing under the spotlight.
Amidst the heatwave, the third round of the GP3 season officially began at Silverstone.
From qualifying, the crowd's attention poured down.
GP3 seemed to be quietly welcoming its spring.
Silverstone. Historic, traditional, classic.
Compared to modern tracks, Silverstone retained the romantic fantasy of racing from half a century ago.
"Fast and Furious."
If Barcelona tested balance and Austria tested attack/defense, Silverstone tested rhythm.
Silverstone had straights comparable to Barcelona, but more corners 18 of them. Normally, more corners mean slower speeds, but here, high-speed corners were the stars. It displayed the charm of speed to the fullest.
One keyword for Silverstone: Flow.
It allowed a driver to fully display their understanding of speed. Free, fluid, pleasing to the eye.
This weekend, GP3 landed at Silverstone.
As soon as he took to the track, the feeling was different.
And it was... completely different.
~~----------------------
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