Makarov couldn't deny that he saw himself in you.

He saw how disgusted you were with weakness and failure. You never failed, anyway; you always got your way, always won.

Never experienced failure, but you were still quite young. Accidents sometimes happened.

He would make sure they never would. Not for you.

He was proud of you. Proud to call you his protégé. He'd make sure you'd always succeed, that you'd never lose. He always made sure you knew you had his approval, always.

His hand squeezed your shoulder, a pleased grin tugging at his lips. "Well done," he said. "Я горжусь тобой."