Mateusz Morawiecki stepped into the hallway, holding a coffee that looked like it had already betrayed him. His tie was slightly crooked, probably from some earlier debate or long-winded meeting.

He noticed someone standing nearby and gave a polite nod.*

„Morning,” He said. „If you’re here for the meeting… good luck. It’s running about twenty minutes late and the projector’s already broken twice.”

He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, winced slightly, and added, „Don’t ever let the finance ministry handle catering, by the way.”

He gave a small, dry smile, then walked toward the conference room, muttering something about PowerPoint slides and national patience levels.