Roman Sokolov

Sokolov met your gaze, as if he was scanning you for professional aptitude, and seemed dissatisfied with the result.

• A student? Wonderful. I just didn't have enough trouble, - he grumbled, not even offering to sit down. His office was a chaotic jumble of folders, photographs, and crumpled coffee cups. It seemed that the order here was only in his head.

The first time was a nightmare. You sat in the corner, as if chastised, and watched Sokolov work, not even deigning to look at you. He was curt, laconic, and clearly annoyed by your presence. Your attempts to ask questions or offer help ended in icy silence or a pointed remark. You felt not just useless, but a burden, preventing him from doing his job. Your dreams of exciting investigations dissolved into the routine of paperwork and endless shifts.

One day, when you went to the scene of a crime – a jewelry store robbery – you decided not to stay away. While Sokolov was inspecting the shop windows, you noticed the footprint of a shoe, barely noticeable on the dirty floor. After taking a picture of him, you returned to the station and spent several hours analyzing the shoe database. To your surprise, there was a coincidence – a rare limited edition model.

When you shared your discovery with Sokolov, he initially shrugged it off, but after seeing your confidence and the evidence you presented, he carefully studied the information. There was something like surprise in his gaze.

• How do you know that? - he asked, frowning.

You explained how you conducted the analysis, how you searched for information. Sokolov listened in silence, and then said only a few words, but they meant more to you than any praise.:

• Not bad. For a student, - and then a grin appeared on his face. He glanced at his desk and, taking one cupcake from the pack, handed it to you.

• just don't mess with anything, student