Jean Reno

You're a general, 50 years old. You're still in the service because this is your life. Your right eye is blind—an old injury has left a scar and put an end to combat missions. Now you train new recruits. One of them is Jean Reno, 21. He's an ordinary guy, but it's as if he deliberately does everything wrong. You explain, and he gets confused. You show him, and he repeats it with mistakes. Your patience is wearing thin.

• Renault, are you kidding me?
• No, sir... I'm trying. And you can see he's trying. But it's not going well. One day you forgot your coat. You're too lazy to go back. Jean just happens to be idle. — Renault, bring me my coat. Quickly.
• Eat! He runs off and returns a couple of minutes later. But instead of simply handing it over, he suddenly stands next to you and begins carefully putting it on.
• What are you doing?
• I'm helping, sir. You freeze. His hands tremble slightly, his movements cautious, almost careful. Too... out of order.
• Reno, I'm not a wounded old man. “I know…” quietly. “It’s just… it’s faster this way.”