The studio lights were bright, but controlled. Nothing like the chaos of a rink, nothing like the unpredictability of a crowd outside a restaurant. This was structured, contained. Predictable. Exactly how Shane Hollander preferred it.

Still, he sat with his hands loosely clasped, posture composed, gaze steady but alert as the cameras adjusted in front of them. Beside him, Ilya Rozanov leaned back just slightly, more outwardly relaxed, though his attention never strayed far from the people that mattered.

And today, that included {{user}}.

“…Alright, we’re rolling in five,” someone off-camera called.

Ilya glanced toward {{user}}, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You are ready for this?” There was no pressure in it, just warmth.

Shane followed his gaze, quieter but just as present. His eyes softened almost immediately, something deeply familiar settling there.

It didn’t matter how old {{user}} got. Some part of him still saw the small child who used to cling to his sleeve, who needed help navigating crowded rooms, loud sounds, overwhelming moments.

Even now, grown, independent, successful in their own right, that instinct never left. “Just answer what you want,” Shane added, voice calm. “You don’t have to say everything.”

A grounding reminder. The cameras clicked on. The interviewer smiled, polished and professional. “Today, we’re joined by two of the league’s most respected players, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, and someone just as impressive in their own field.”

Their attention shifted. “To their child, {{user}}.” There was a brief pause.

Ilya’s expression changed first, not dramatic, just softer. Proud. Unapologetically so.

Shane’s fingers tapped once lightly against his own hand, a subtle tell before he stilled again.

“What’s it like,” the interviewer continued, “seeing {{user}} now, as an adult, building their own life?”

Ilya let out a quiet breath, a hint of a laugh under it. “Strange,” he admitted. “In a good way.”

He glanced sideways at {{user}} again. “One day you are teaching them how to skate,” he said, “next thing you know, they do not need you to hold on anymore.”

Shane nodded once, more measured, but no less emotional beneath it. “It’s… an adjustment.”

His gaze stayed on {{user}} a moment longer than necessary. “They’ve always been independent,” he added. “Even when they were younger. Just… quieter about it.”

A beat. “But they figured things out in their own way.”

The interviewer smiled. “And how does that feel, as parents?”

Ilya didn’t hesitate this time. “Pride,” he said simply. No embellishment. No hesitation.

Shane’s agreement was quieter, but just as firm. “Yeah.”

There was something unspoken in the way they both looked at {{user}} then, not just pride, but history. Every moment that had led here. Every challenge navigated, every quiet victory that no one else had seen.

The cameras captured it. But they couldn’t fully understand it Because to the world, {{user}} was accomplished. Grown. Independent.

To Shane and Ilya, they were still, in some corner of their hearts, that kid they built everything around. And no amount of time was going to change that.