F1: Starting with a Simulator Master

Chapter 117 Without me, how can things go on?

After the opening race in Bahrain, there are still a few days of travel time before the next stop, the Saudi Grand Prix.

The reason why Xu Zihang and others are currently staying in a luxury suite in Monaco is because they received a private jet invitation from the newly crowned F1 world champion on Monday.

Monaco, a top-tier luxury mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the sea.

The humid sea breeze howled through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, and the room was filled with extremely luxurious yet cold and modern mechanical furnishings.

There are no extra leather sofas or entertainment equipment here. Its core area is completely occupied by a top-of-the-line racing simulator without an active seat, with rows of racing helmets displayed on the wall behind it.

The owner of the house, Max Verstappen, was wearing a very ordinary white T-shirt with the Red Bull logo.

T-shirt, like a ride-hailing driver who had just finished get off work, stood with his arms crossed, looking at Luo Xiu who had just entered the door.

His admiration for this new Chinese talent was undisguised.

In Verstappen's extremely austere and even reclusive social life, most of the world's social engagements are nothing more than nauseating pretense.

But Luo Xiu is different.

He liked this Chinese boy, and even saw a sense of "another self" in Luo Xiu.

They share the same morbid obsession with racing, the same overflowing talent, and the same brutal and pure methods.

It was precisely because of this mutual appreciation between "others in the world" that Verstappen, who always only cared about stepping on the gas and never helped the team buy or sell drivers, overstepped his authority for the first time in his life during the recent winter break.

He made every effort to connect the team with Rochefoucauld within Red Bull, even using his own contract renewal as leverage, in an attempt to persuade the team to spend a large sum of money to sign Rochefoucauld.

Unfortunately, Red Bull team manager Horner and Xu Zihao, who was also clearly very shrewd, completely broke down in their capital negotiations.

This signing plan, which could have created the "strongest duo" in the F1 paddock, ultimately fell through.

Verstappen had no interest in the specific business terms and profit sharing; he didn't even bother to ask what unreasonable demands Xu Zihao had made.

All he knew was that, because of those damn political balances and capital calculations, the strongest teammates or rivals failed to make it into F1.

This made him very unhappy.

He even slammed a door at the Red Bull F1 headquarters in Milton Keynes and threw a tantrum at team principal Horner.

Therefore, this party, ostensibly a double championship celebration for the two men winning their respective tracks, was actually the arrogant world champion expressing his resentment and seeking compensation for Rosicky's failure to enter F1.

He hasn't uttered a single word about the fierce clash he had with the team's management during the winter break in order to sign Luo Xiu.

True strength lies in not needing to exchange favors for friendship.

Verstappen turned and walked to the freezer, casually taking out a can of Coke and a Gin and Tonic cocktail.

He didn't even turn around; he just casually tossed the can behind him based on his instincts.

"then."

Luo Xiu, who had just entered and was still looking around, didn't even raise his head. He reached out with his left hand and, by instinct, caught the cola that was flying into the air.

"that----"

Luo Xiu organized his thoughts for a moment, then decided that there was no need to be so cautious in front of this man, so he simply raised the can in his hand.

"I don't drink sugar-free."

At the same time, in a luxury mansion in Spain.

Carlos Sainz, who had just flown back to his hometown from Bahrain, was curled up alone on the huge leather sofa in the living room.

The lights were off in the room.

Only in the center of the coffee table, bathed in the moonlight from the window, quietly reflected the trophy he had just brought back from Bahrain, representing his third-place finish at the race.

Without the media's cameras and microphones, he no longer needed to face reporters and force out that fake smile of "thinking of the Ferrari team's overall interests."

The phone screen on the coffee table was flashing red notification dots from various social media apps, but he didn't even glance at it.

As a reward for receiving the award, he chose to spend the weekend avoiding those boring online social media posts and Twitter accounts.

He knew that the overwhelming news coverage would mostly praise his teammate, Charles Leclerc, the Monaco prince who was favored by Ferrari's top management.

In the opening race in Bahrain, he was faster than Leclerc; he is currently the sharpest blade in Ferrari's garage.

However, the team's top management's resource allocation is always like a bowl of water that can never be held evenly, subtly tilting towards the neighboring room 16, P.

Whatever!

Sainz crossed his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to comfort himself.

When it comes to crucial moments, the racing world never shows favoritism; results are the only hard currency.

The living room was so quiet you could hear the second hand of the wall clock.

In the darkness, Sainz couldn't help but recall the Marina Bay Street Race in Singapore last year.

That was the most triumphant battle he had won in front of a global audience.

Last year, the Red Bull Mars car undoubtedly dominated all teams throughout the year, except for fellow Red Bull driver Perez, who won two races before Singapore.

Verstappen can be said to be undefeated.

It's him! Carlos Sainz!

In Singapore, he used the textbook-perfect "DRS train" tactic to shut down all challengers and personally shatter Red Bull's nightmare of dominating the entire year.

And now, Red Bull has once again demonstrated its invincible dominance in the opening match in Bahrain.

This further proves just how incredibly valuable the only championship Carlos Sainz won from Red Bull last year truly was.

In Sainz's eyes, Ferrari's control room was a bunch of idiots who only knew how to fight amongst themselves, and the strategy team was known as the hidden talents in the paddock.

In this racing team, which fans jokingly call the "comedy center," he not only has to drive himself, but also has to constantly be distracted by taking over the mess left by the analysis team of hundreds of Cambridge and Oxford PhDs.

Only he is truly taking care of and shouldering the overall responsibility for Ferrari.

"Carlos, you're the only one with a clear head in this team right now."

Sainz opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window in the darkness. He thought the statement was true.

Once he shed that sacred Ferrari red outfit, his inherent arrogance and pride could no longer be concealed.

As the most brilliant mind among Ferrari's team of thousands, it is my duty to restore Ferrari's glory!

"How can Ferrari function without me?"

Just as this arrogant statement, which should have comforted all his resentment, had just floated through his mind, Sainz suddenly gasped.

Without warning, a slight, sharp, stabbing pain shot through his lower abdomen.

But soon, he shifted to a more comfortable position and casually picked up the warm water on the table and took a sip.

He quickly dismissed the faint pain, attributing it to a common gastrointestinal spasm caused by the temperature difference and long flight from the desert region of the Middle East back to Europe.

The Saudi Grand Prix is ​​just a few days away.

At that time, Ferrari will have a tough battle to fight that he needs to save, and he absolutely cannot allow his body to falter at this point.