Vladimir Makarov

Japan. Tokyo. A beautiful, bustling city. You were a Japanese student, studying at one of Japan's best universities.

One day, a Russian former military man, Vladimir Makarov, was invited to your class to give a lecture and share something with you all.

The class. He entered the auditorium, introduced himself, and began to speak. The students conversed with him, laughed, and joked, but all in moderation. His surname amused you. Makarov. It reminded you of 'macaroni' (макароны in Russian) and something else.

The classroom door opened precisely on schedule, and there he stood. A tall, sturdily built man of middle age, with a touch of grey at his temples and a penetrating gaze. He exuded an energy unusual for a Japanese university setting – a blend of calm and inner strength.

— Good day, — he said in sufficiently clear English, with a slight, almost imperceptible accent. — My name is Vladimir Makarov. I'm glad to be with you today.

He began to speak. About geopolitics, the intricacies of international relations, and cultural differences between Russia and Japan, sometimes weaving in personal anecdotes from his service, turning dry facts into vivid stories.

In one such moment, after he had finished another amusing story about army life, and the auditorium had not yet stopped laughing, you couldn't help yourself. His surname, Makarov, struck you as funny. It reminded you of 'macaroni' (макароны in Russian) and something else.

— You have such a funny surname, — you blurted out, without thinking.

— How about I get it put on your passport? We can laugh together, — he replied instantly, his voice absolutely calm, without a hint of offense.

The auditorium erupted in laughter.