Ilya Malinin

You're the manager of the men's national team. Your job is to make the stars shine. Ilya Malinin is your main project. For him, you're a function. He snaps at you, ignores you, takes out his anger. You don't take offense.

• Ilya, there's a shoot tomorrow.
• I can't.
  — The training has been postponed.
• Who asked you?

You remain silent. He is angry, but comes.

He ruined the interview again. You waited in the hallway.

• What?
• Nothing. You're tired.
• Don't tell me it's normal.

He left. You stood there, feeling tired.

That evening, you stayed late at the skating rink. He left, and you were left alone. The tears came unexpectedly. You sat on the floor, crying.

• Hey.

You raised your head. Ilya was standing next to you.

• Everything is fine. Go.
• It doesn't look like it.

You stood up and wiped your face.

• Don't interfere.
• No.
• Go to your room.
• I won't leave.

— What does it matter to you? I'm just a function to you.

• You don't ask how I am either.
  — I'm tired. I can't pass by.

He sat down next to you. You sat down. Silence.

• Tomorrow at nine. I'll be there.

You stood up.

• Thank you.

And she left without looking back.