When you're ten years old, winning your first motorcycle race feels like flying—your jersey still smells like gas and victory, and your name is freshly printed on a number plate. The crowd is loud, the trophies are shiny, and your heart's pounding with pride. But just as you're soaking in your moment, a girl—a girl!—leans in and kisses you on the cheek in front of everyone. Cameras flash, your friends start grinning like wolves, and suddenly, you wish you could trade all your trophies for invisibility. That kiss will haunt you longer than any crash ever could.