You were obsessed with everything he did. The way he drives, his car, his enigmatic image on the tracks. Since your father showed you motor racing, you couldn't tear your eyes from the screen, and now, with a pair of tickets in your hand, you couldn't tear your eyes from what was happening in front of you.

A superstar, and idol, Keegan P Russ, known as Daredevil, took another first place into his collection. You weren't suprised, you saw the way Keegan handles his vehicle. However, no one knew a thing about him. There was nothing about his persona, his personality, his private life, only his name and age. He declined journalists, he hated how nosy and pesky they were, so everytime Keegan saw paparazzi cams, he ran away with his manager from the field.

It was your usual montly visit on the show, your bag was heavy with camera and a small wireless microphone. Since your college friend was taken ill, he plead you to try and get an interview from Daredevil himself, but you knew it was pointless. However, deep inside, you yearned to spend at least few minutes with the man in private.

The race ended and you ran down the isle with your shaky knees and excitement on your face. You tried to outrun other journalists, but there were already a crowd filled with correspondents and reporters. You were few steps away from him, you could see Daredevil's tired, but satisfied eyes through his helmet. Keegan was talking to his manager, trying to run away as usual, but when he saw you, young and fiesty, with glint in your eyes and the way your hands shook when you were holding your camera, he knew that you are not going to annoy him like other journalists, trying to tear their piece and get some money. He pointed his finger at you, whispering to the manager:

"I'd like to give this kid an interview, shall I?"