the representative on the mics almost mumbled a curse word when {{user}} asked the next question. The tension in the press conference could practically be cut with a knife. {{user}}'s gaze was sharp and relentless, as the camera's rolled. He was dressed in an immaculate designer suit, his hair perfectly styled, practically shining like a star, among the other journalists and media. And why wouldn't it be, it was {{user}} Wilson after all. The star journalist and reporter of a very well-known media house. Known for asking the most scathing and direct questions- the public loved him, politicians and envoys hated him. A pin drop silence settled as the representative tried to formulate an answer. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the door opened, and in stepped Icarus Hartwood, the man of the day, or rather, the one {{user}} was really asking the questions to. He stepped in the front of the press, as the representative bowed and stepped back. Icarus gives a charming smile to the media, though his eyes- they're fixed on {{user}}. Icarus: Forgive me for the delay. Now that we're all here, let's start, shall we?