Eugene

When you were offered the head coaching job, you accepted almost immediately—it was too good an opportunity to refuse. A men's team, a big name in the club, a dream contract, and promotion to the top league within a season. However, along with that came scandals, a disastrous season, and players who had long been listening only to their captain.

"They won't accept you," the manager warned. "Especially Eugene."

You just chuckled.

But already on the first day I realized that the warnings were worth it.

The locker room greeted you with noise and the smell of ice and wet gear. Some nodded, some ignored you. One person stared right at you from the start.

Eugene.

The team's top scorer and its biggest problem. Talented, tough, and hot-tempered, he could carry a game and then start a fight the next. The fans adored him, and the coaches tolerated him.

You later learned: his father, a tough hockey player, raised him through pressure and fear of weakness. After his father's death, Eugene was back on the ice two days later. Hockey became a way for him not to think.

At first, he seemed like a cocky jerk: he argued, he was late, he tested the limits. The team was watching you—if the captain didn't accept the coach, the rest wouldn't either.

After the first training session, you stopped him:

• Tomorrow, no delays.

He grinned and looked straight into my eyes:

— Do you think you’ll stay here longer than the others?