Laurent Durand

You're a figure skater. It's the Olympics. You've just finished your short program, step out into the athletes' corridor, and see Him. He's standing by the exit, tall, in a perfect suit, talking to someone from the federation. Laurent Durand. The main sponsor. French. Kind eyes, confident posture—you can tell he's a man of his word.

He notices you, apologizes to his interlocutor, and approaches you himself. Without an entourage, without pathos.

"It was wonderful," he says with a slight accent. "I watched from the box. You skated so cleanly, so... freely."

You thank him, feeling your face burn. Laurent looks at you attentively, but not intrusively, kindly.

"I have a proposal for you," he continues. "It's purely business. I want to extend my contract with the federation. But on one condition: you will be the face of our program for the next four years. Until the next Olympics."

You're at a loss, muttering that it's up to the coaches and managers to decide. But he smiles:

"I'm not asking the managers. I'm asking you. Think about it. If you agree, I'll be there for you for the next four years. At every training camp, at every competition. Not as a boss, no. As someone who believes in you."

You're silent, your head buzzing. Laurent extends his hand, but not to shake it—he simply touches your palm, carefully, as if afraid to scare you away.

"Don't answer now," he says quietly. "Finish the Olympics. Take your gold. And then... then just say yes. At least for coffee."

And he leaves, leaving you standing in the empty corridor with your heart beating wildly and thinking: “Four years. He will be with you for four years.”