F1: Starting with a Simulator Master

Chapter 118 A Disaster Caused by Acute Appendicitis

Two days later, Ramadan begins.

Saudi Grand Prix, Jeddah Coastal Street Race, Wednesday, Media Day.

Just as all the teams were preparing for their routine press conferences, a sudden, unexpected news story, like a bombshell, completely shattered the F1 paddock.

Ferrari's public relations department was instantly thrown into a state of confusion, like headless flies trying to respond.

A news story that was absurd, comical, yet contained an irresistible physiological condition dominated the headlines of racing media worldwide.

Breaking News! Ferrari driver Carlos Sainz diagnosed with acute appendicitis!

[The lesion has been confirmed and the patient has been rushed to the hospital. Immediate physical removal under general anesthesia is necessary. Ferrari regretfully announces that Sainz will miss this race and several subsequent weekends!]

Just a few days ago, Sainz was in his mansion in Madrid vowing, "Ferrari absolutely cannot do without me."

But in the face of the words "acute appendicitis," all ambition and arrogance become meaningless empty words.

The human's fragile internal organs became inflamed, and without regard for past experience or personal relationships, this "Ferrari brain" was brutally deprived of the right to step on the gas this week.

Among the very few media photos that were allowed to be leaked.

In the snow-white hospital room, Sainz, wearing an oxygen mask, lay weakly on the hospital bed, his face pale.

Facing the cameras that were visiting the set, he struggled to control his facial muscles, managing to force a standard, programmed Ferrari-style smile, and promised in a weak voice that he would recover and return as soon as possible.

But just as the camera was withdrawing, a second before the anesthetic was about to completely strip away his consciousness, a faint smile appeared on Sainz's previously weak lips.

Since his body couldn't hold on any longer, he might as well take this opportunity to teach Ferrari's management a lesson they wouldn't forget.

Aren't they all biased towards the Crown Prince?

Don't you think Leclerc is the cornerstone of the team?

Then let those idiots who can't do anything right without him face the high-pressure test of the Jeddah circuit on their own.

Anyway, even if the backup test driver named Biermann from the team takes over, he'll just be a moving roadblock on the track.

He was very certain that without him cleaning up the mess on the track, Ferrari's podium would become a huge international laughing stock this weekend.

Once the team suffers a crushing defeat in Saudi Arabia, the public opinion and overwhelming criticism will naturally make the higher-ups realize who the team's truly indispensable core member is.

With such a shrewd plan in mind, Sainz, feeling a sense of superiority as if his scheme had succeeded, closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep under general anesthesia.

However, this Spaniard, who calls himself the savior of Ferrari, was unaware that his otherwise perfect calculations had overlooked the most absurd variable that swept the globe this week.

In the near future, he will know just how painful the price he paid for avoiding social networks these past few days.

At this moment, no one on the outside internet cared about Ferrari's public relations crisis caused by the sudden loss of its key player, and even fewer people felt sorry for Sainz lying in his hospital bed.

After all, it's acute appendicitis; the pain is real, but you're not really going to die.

With that mystical "poisonous milk" hitting the mark with 100% accuracy, entertainers and top influencers all over the world have been completely thrown into a frenzy.

Everyone was counting down with fervor, eagerly anticipating the arrival of that Eastern racing genius, who would be appointed to take over the sacred red chariot in this critical moment!

This is a global carnival that tramples on the appendix of the Spanish.

Aside from those gamblers in some dark corners around the world who have just lost everything betting on the Sauber team.

At this moment, they were kneeling on the rooftop, with Sainz himself fervently praying for a medical miracle so that Sainz's appendicitis could be cured quickly.

At the same time, in Monaco, in a top-tier suite.

Xu Zihang was looking down, scrolling through his phone listlessly.

When his eyes caught the highlighted and pinned post on Twitter about "Science's appendicitis surgery," his thumb, which was about to swipe across the screen, stopped.

Immediately afterwards, Xu Zihang's face flushed red, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.

Chen Pengfei, who was pouring drinks nearby, noticed something was wrong. He turned his head and saw Xu Zihang's face, which was already somewhat distorted.

"What's wrong?" Chen Pengfei asked.

Xu Zihang did not answer.

To be precise, it was because he had lost the ability to speak at that moment.

He stiffly raised his head, his eyes, which usually shone with cleverness and mischief, now trembled uncontrollably as he tried to suppress his inner elation. The veins on the back of his hand holding the phone were bulging, and his fingertips were shaking uncontrollably.

This is fucking bizarre!

The little jokes I've been playing on my mind lately have actually come true, traveling thousands of kilometers in the most illogical and absurd way!

This kind of mystical jinx, which even he himself found absurd, actually became the first breeze before the dominoes fell, creating an epic gap in the seemingly impenetrable F1 paddock for Luo Xiu!

The Ferrari seat is vacant!

At this moment, Chen Pengfei, who had come closer, also followed Xu Zihang's frozen gaze and saw the few lines of text on the phone screen.

The extreme silence lasted for a full half minute.

The two men's minds were like overloaded processors, desperately trying to analyze the long chain of reactions behind the news.

Once they were certain that their reasoning was correct, Luo Xiu's chance to step onto the F1 track had truly arrived!

The suppressed emotions finally broke free.

Holy crap!

The two of them finally shouted it out almost simultaneously.

This perfectly synchronized "Holy shit!" burst from the throats of the two men with an unprecedented volume.

The deafening roar was like that of a V12 engine, and even the crystal chandelier on the ceiling resonated with a buzzing sound.

Meanwhile, across the sea in Saudi Arabia, at the Jeddah coastal racetrack, Ferrari's front-line command center...

If Xu Zihang's situation was one of unexpected good fortune, then the control room where Vasser was located at this moment was like the main control room of the Titanic, which was slowly sinking.

Fred Wasserl.

At the beginning of last year, with the ambition to revive the red empire, he took over the Ferrari team principal from Binotto, the hottest position in the entire paddock.

This little old man, who usually wears a smooth, smiling face like Maitreya Buddha in front of the media, was now supporting himself on the conference table with trembling hands.

Beside him was a complete "Supplementary Agreement for Reserve Driver Sponsorship".

The document meticulously lists the triggering mechanisms, conditions for effectiveness, and exorbitant penalties for breach of contract in this sponsorship agreement; each clause is so rigorous as to be outrageous.

However, the most crucial point is—

[Have Roche run an F1 race, and ten million euros will be deposited into your account immediately.]

This is not fundamentally different from the content leaked online.

As early as the winter break, that ruthless Chinese agent, as if he had foreseen it, planted this clause with a gambling element.

At the time, all the Ferrari executives treated it as a joke, mocking it as a "blank check" that could never be cashed.

But now, with the outbreak of Sainz's appendicitis, the gears of fate have truly begun to turn.

This betting agreement, worth ten million euros, was amplified across the internet within just a few hours, completely igniting a frenzy among car enthusiasts worldwide and fueling the greed of the board of directors.

But what really bothered Vassell was not whether Roshu was qualified to drive the No. 55 race car.

But at this very moment, on his other hand, there was a "red-headed document" that had just been faxed directly from the Italian headquarters.

That was a strong suggestion from a consortium of super financial sponsors behind Ferrari:

Since Sainz is on hiatus, Ferrari should prioritize using Oliver Biermann, a true Ferrari academy graduate who also competes in F2 in Jeddah.

The sponsor's logic is cold and straightforward: ten million euros is indeed a lot, but Biermann is a core player we have nurtured over many years with our own money, and Biermann also brings millions of euros in sponsorship.

How could we possibly give up such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make our F1 debut to a mere betting agreement for a Chinese kid?

On one hand, there was the overwhelming online public opinion that the "curse of jinx" had come true, and on the other hand, there was the lure of a staggering 10 million euros in cash.

On the other side is Old Qian, the core financier who controls the team's budget and has an extremely tough stance.

Regardless of which side Vassell chooses, if this car crashes on the streets of Jeddah, he, the new team leader, will be sent to the guillotine in Maranello as cannon fodder in a political infighting.

"Fred! Headquarters' phone lines are about to explode from all the calls!"

The team manager was frantic, saying, "I don't care what the higher-ups are thinking! I don't care about these damn sponsors!"

Fred, I must remind you, we have less than two hours left to submit the driver list for this car to the FIA ​​(Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile)!

If the paperwork isn't submitted before FP1 (first practice session), this car is doomed this weekend! Who are you finally going to drive?

Vasser did not speak.

This top politician, who has been involved in the racing world for decades, stared at the stunning 3D analysis of the race car on the screen, his brain racing with calculations.

On one side is the public opinion surrounding the ten million euros, and on the other side is the wealthy patron who controls the team's budget. Offending either of them means certain death.

But Fred's position as Ferrari's team principal was not earned through compromise or concession.

Suddenly, his gaze locked onto the highly enveloping ergonomic area in the center of the cockpit.

That's a place that must perfectly fit the rider's spine and power points—a custom-made seat.

Vasser's eyes narrowed slightly, and a classic sly smile appeared on his lips.

Since you can't afford to offend either side, then don't choose either.

Let's put the ball back on the track, back to the purest rules of the game!

Listen.

Vasser straightened up, pressed the full-band communicator, and his voice regained its chilling calm and authority.

"Go and inform Roche and Oliver Bierman immediately."

"Tell those two brats to get to the Ferrari garage as fast as you can."

The team manager was stunned: "Two people? But we only have one free race car—"

"Stop talking nonsense!"

A glint of ruthlessness and decisiveness flashed in Vassell's eyes. "Tell them not to get too excited. If they want to drive my Ferrari, they'd better come to the team to have their dimensions taken. There's no time for carbon fiber; we'll make the racing foam seats using molds. Let's see who can withstand it on the track!"

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