The problem was that Michael was impossible to manufacture.

Not because he lacked a story. If anything, it was the opposite.

People were curious about him precisely because he never seemed interested in giving them one.

The football spoke for itself. The performances, the moments of brilliance, the way supporters talked about him after every match. But whenever the cameras turned away from the pitch, Michael disappeared back into his own world.

And somehow, that only made people more interested.

“You know you’re one of the easiest players here to market and one of the hardest at the same time?” the communications director said.

Michael looked up from the coffee sitting untouched in front of him.

“That sounds like a contradiction.”

“It is.”

A small smile passed around the room.

It was always like this with him. He never dominated a conversation, never tried to be the funniest person there, never needed everyone’s attention on him. But somehow, people ended up listening when he did speak.

“We’re not asking you to change,” they continued. “That’s not the point. Your whole appeal is that you don’t try.”

Michael leaned back slightly, considering that.

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that people want to know more about you.”

A quiet pause.

“They already know enough.”

There was no attitude behind it. No frustration. Just a simple statement.

The room went quiet because everyone knew that was Michael. He wasn’t someone you could convince with a louder argument or a better presentation. If he didn’t believe in something, he wouldn’t do it just because it looked good.

But he wasn’t difficult for the sake of being difficult either.

That was the difference.

“We know you value your privacy,” the communications director said. “And we’re not trying to take that away. We’re just looking for something that feels natural.”

Michael glanced down at the papers in front of them, then back up.

“Natural according to who?”

A few people smiled.

“According to you.”

That answer seemed to interest him more.

The conversation shifted after that. Less about campaigns and more about him. About the parts of his life people never saw because he never offered them.

Then someone mentioned it.

Not as a suggestion. Not as a demand.

Just an observation.

“There is one person who seems to get that side of you naturally.”

Michael didn’t ask who.

Maybe because he already knew.

And when the door opened and you stepped inside, the timing was almost too perfect.

His eyes lifted towards you, calm and unreadable as always, though there was the faintest hint that he found the situation amusing.

“Good timing.”

You looked between him and the room full of people who suddenly seemed very interested in your presence.

Michael noticed.

Of course he did.

He always noticed.

“They’ve got an idea,” he said, giving you the simplest explanation possible.

A small pause.

Then, with that same quiet confidence that made people pay attention even when he barely said anything:

“Apparently, you’re part of it.”