Everything Paul Hunter truly desired to do was practice the game.
A sporting bug, caught at the very young age of three with the help of a miniature snooker set on his parents' coffee table in the city of Leeds, would result in a life on the tour that saw him secure six significant titles in six years.
This year marks a score of years since the adored Hunter died from cancer, just days before to his birthday marking 28 years.
But despite the tragic departure of a phenomenal skill that went beyond the sport he adored, his enduring mark on snooker and those who followed his career endure as powerful today.
"We'd never have known in a billion years Paul would become a pro on the circuit," Kristina Hunter states.
"However he just adored it."
His dad remembers how his son "showed no interest in anything else" except for snooker as a youth.
"His dedication was constant," he notes. "He practiced every night after school."
After repeatedly pleading with his dad to take him to a local club to play on regulation tables at the age of eight, the young Hunter made the leap from table top snooker with aplomb.
His raw skill would be developed by the former world title holder Joe Johnson, from neighbouring Bradford, at a now defunct club in the north Leeds suburb of Yeadon.
With his mother and father's requests to do his homework increasingly falling on deaf ears as the game dominated, his parents took the "chance" of taking Hunter out of school at the mid-teens to fully dedicate himself to forging a career in the game.
It proved a masterstroke. Within a short period, their still-teenage son had won his first ranking title, the 1998 Welsh Open.
Considered one of snooker's hardest tournaments to win because of the presence of exclusively the best, Hunter won on three occasions, in the early 2000s.
But for all his triumphs in the sport, away from the game Hunter's approachable nature never faded.
"He had a great temperament did Paul," Alan says. "He connected with everybody."
"When encountering him you'd enjoy his company," Kristina continues. "He was enjoyable. He'd make you feel at ease."
Hunter's widow Lindsey, with whom he had a child, describes him as an "amazing, young cheeky beautiful soul" who was "funny, kind" and "always the last to leave the party".
With his effortless appeal, boyish good looks and candid way with the press, not to mention his immense skill, Hunter quickly became snooker's pin-up for the modern era.
No wonder then, that he was nicknamed 'A Sporting Icon'.
In that year, a year that should have marked the height of his career, Hunter was diagnosed with cancer and would later undergo chemotherapy.
Multiple anecdotes from across the snooker circuit attest to the man's extraordinary willingness to keep promises to exhibitions, events and press interviews, all while undergoing treatment.
Despite difficult symptoms, Hunter played on through the illness and received a tumultuous reception at The famous Sheffield venue when he turned out for the World Championships that year.
When he succumbed in the mid-2000s, snooker's close-knit fraternity lost one of its cherished personalities.
"It's awful," Kristina says. "It is a terrible thing for any mum and dad to lose a child."
Hunter's true contribution would be felt not in royal circles but in snooker halls and clubs across the UK.
The Paul Hunter Foundation, set up before his death, would provide free snooker sessions to children all over the country.
The program was so successful that, according to reports, anti-social behavior in some areas fell sharply.
"The aim remained for a program to help provide a positive outlet," one coach said.
The Foundation helped establish the basis for a major coaching programme, which has provided playing opportunities to children globally.
"Paul would have loved what we've done with the sport and where it is today," a senior official in the sport stated.
Classic footage of their son's matches online help his parents stay "close to him".
"I can access it and I can watch Paul at any moment," Kristina says. "It's a comfort!"
"We don't mind talking about Paul," she concludes. "Before it would be tears, but I'd rather somebody remember him than him not be mentioned at all."
While he never won the World Championship, the widespread belief that Hunter would have secured snooker's top honor is etched into the sport's legend.
The Masters, the competition with which he is most synonymous, starts later this month. The winner will lift the memorial cup.
But for all his accomplishments, 20 years after his death it is Paul Hunter's character, as much his brilliant talent on the table, that will ensure he is never forgotten.
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