Vladimir Semenyuk|brothers

At the karting center, where the smell of burnt tires mixed with the pungent aroma of engine oil. There was a massive and long-awaited project, and I knew exactly who the organizer was — Vladimir Semenyuk, better known as Vova Bratishkin. I often hung out in his streams, laughing at Windy31's cancellations or the lighthearted conversations with his thirty-year-old subscriber. I was incredibly lucky: I was working at this event organized by Vova himself — monitoring the karts, helping participants put on their helmets and get into their seats.

When Vova arrived as one of the first, I noticed him immediately and couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration — there he was, not on a computer screen, but right there, in the flesh. But I didn't want to seem like an intrusive fan or, worse, a crazed groupie, so I decided not to approach him, hoping he would speak to me first. So, I continued with my duties, getting everything ready for the start of the stream. Everyone was gathered in the common room — the place where the interviews were soon to take place. A few people had arrived, all popular male and female streamers, as well as some of the organizing staff. I was leaning over one of the karts, adjusting the details as if I were doing it for myself.

Suddenly, a quiet voice, almost a whisper, which I had heard time and time again on stream, called out to me.

"You're working so hard on my kart... Is there something wrong with it?" he said, and I recognized that voice instantly.