⌗ FILE 004 — THE NARRATIVE
the off the record masterlist
synopsis after a controversy threatens to overshadow the biggest moment of his career, Michael's team hires you to manage the fallout. there's only one problem though: your new client refuses to talk. somewhere between bad press, missed meetings and everything said off the record, keeping things professional becomes a crisis of its own.
warnings black!fem!reader, no use of y/n, publicist! reader, michael talks y'all, they get even cuter, reader and Michael get clocked
wordcount don’t ask questions like that
a/n this is my fav chapter so far ! hope you’ll like it. (If I forgot someone in the taglist please tell me)
AUGUST 4TH, 2026 — 8 : 33 AM
THE INTERNET had decided michael olise had approximately three emotions.
And, on particularly exciting occasions, mildly inconvenienced.
You were beginning to realize that wasn’t entirely true. Unfortunately, figuring that out required spending your Tuesday morning watching compilation videos of your own client.
michael olise being nonchalant for 6 minutes straight
You stared at the title for a second before clicking on it. The first clip was from an interview.
“Michael, fantastic performance tonight. two assists, a goal, through to the next round. how are you feeling ?”
Michael blinked at the reporter.
Another interview. “how important was it for the team to get those three points today ?”
“Did you always know you wanted to play football professionally ?”
You paused the video, softly passing a hand on your face. “Jesus christ.”
Your coffee had gone cold somewhere around minute four, abandoned beside your laptop while you slowly descended into what could only be described as michael olise internet lore.
Entire accounts, apparently, dedicated to documenting every time michael looked vaguely inconvenienced by having to speak to another human being.
And millions of people found it hilarious. You clicked on another video.
This one had nearly seven million views.
michael olise looking like he’d rather be anywhere else for 2 minutes
It was worse. Not because anything in it was particularly damaging. That would’ve been easier. Scandals could be managed.
Bad headlines could be buried beneath better ones. Stupid comments could be clarified. Interviews could be prepared for.
Or at least, the personality the internet had built for him : quiet, cold, uninterested, maybe a little arrogant, depending on which comment section you were unfortunate enough to open.
@us.er8.29 : does he know he plays football professionally or did somebody just drop him there
You bit the inside of your cheek.
@bayernluv: never seen somebody this employed against their will 😭
Okay, now, that one was funny.
@u.ser661: his media training was literally “good luck ❤️”
Your smile disappeared. “Rude.” Especially considering you were the media training now.
You leaned further into your chair, eyes returning to the video playing silently on your screen.
Michael was standing beside one of his teammates this time, listening while the other man answered a question.
His face unreadable, eyes wandering somewhere beyond the camera.
You would’ve believed it too, a few weeks ago. That there simply wasn’t much going on behind that expression.
You knew better. You knew that particular look meant he wasn’t listening anymore.
You knew the tiny pull at the corner of his mouth meant somebody somewhere off camera had said something stupid.
You knew he’d rub his thumb across his jaw when he was getting irritated.
You knew his answers got shorter when he wanted an interview to end.
You also knew he was perfectly capable of speaking in complete sentences, when he wanted to.
You had unfortunately heard plenty of them. Usually when he was disagreeing with you.
Your phone buzzed against the desk.
You reached for it without looking away from your laptop.
The three little dots appeared almost immediately.
u’ve been watching videos of me for twenty minutes
how the fuck do you know that ?
No answer. Instead, another notification appeared at the top of your screen.
You grabbed your phone properly this time and opened the app. There it was. Bright red heart, right underneath the video currently frozen on your laptop.
michael olise looking like he’d rather be anywhere else for 2 minutes
From your personal account.
You hit the heart so quickly you nearly dropped your phone.
You stared at the message.
don’t you have training ?
The typing bubble appeared.
You mouth fell open. “That motherfucker.” You tossed your phone facedown.
Which was becoming its own separate problem.
AUGUST 4TH, 2026 — 2 : 17 PM
BY THE TIME michael walked into the meeting room later that afternoon, you had recovered what remained of your dignity.
Your laptop was connected to the screen behind you. several articles sat open across different tabs, alongside engagement reports, audience data and a presentation you’d spent far too long putting together.
Completely unaffected by the fact that your client had caught you watching compilations of him before nine in the morning.
Michael dropped into the chair opposite yours. “Hi.”
You looked at the clock on the wall.
He slowly glanced at the clock too.
There were days you wondered if managing his public image counted as some elaborate form of punishment for something you’d done in a past life.
His eyes moved to the screen behind you, then back to you. “What you found while stalking me.”
You closed your eyes, just briefly.
The corner of his mouth moved. Barely.
You pointed at him, “that.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What ?”
“That thing you just did.”
Michael leaned back in his chair. “You called me here to tell me i don’t smile ?”
You clicked to the first slide. Screenshots filled the screen. Headlines. Tweets. Tiktok thumbnails. Interview stills.
Michael looked at them for all of three seconds.
“People don’t dislike you,” you said.
“That wasn’t a compliment, Michael.”
Of course it was. You folded your arms. “Michael.”
You ignored it. “Look, none of this is necessarily bad. actually, some of it works in your favor. People find the whole quiet, nonchalant thing funny.”
“The whole quiet, nonchalant thing.”
“That’s what we’re calling it ?”
“That’s what they’re calling it. Don’t be annoying.”
Another selection of posts appeared.
“The issue is that you’ve given people so little that they’ve started filling in the blanks themselves. Some think you’re shy. Some think you’re arrogant. Some think you hate interviews. Some think you hate football.”
Your head snapped toward him.
Michael’s face didn’t move.
“See, this is exactly what i’m talking about.”
He gave you a small shrug.
You exhaled through your nose. “if you don’t give people a story, they’ll make one for you.”
Michael rarely gave you anything dramatically.
But his attention shifted.
His eyes left the screen and settled properly on you. “And what story are you giving them ?”
“Thought that was your job.”
“My job isn’t to invent a personality for you.”
You turned your laptop toward yourself and closed one of the tabs. “I’m not here to make you louder. I’m not going to make you post every morning or start telling strangers what you had for breakfast. You don’t like talking about yourself. Fine. You hate interviews—”
“You once answered seven questions with less than twenty words combined.”
You stared at him for a long moment.
His mouth twitched again.
“Tou’re quiet. fine. You’re private. Fine. You’re painfully awkward in front of cameras—”
“My point is, i can work with all of that.”
You clicked the presentation closed. The screen went dark.
“What i can’t work with is everyone else deciding what those things mean.”
Michael didn’t answer immediately. For once, you didn’t rush to fill the silence.
He looked at you differently.
You couldn’t quite place how.
Your fingers stopped on the trackpad.
“You said they don’t know me.”
You looked at him. He was still leaning back in his chair, one arm resting lazily across the table.
Casual. Far too casual for someone who had just managed to completely derail your train of thought with four words.
“That’s not what i asked.”
“Didn’t ask that either.”
You leaned back. “Do you interrogate everyone who tries to help you ?”
That, you decided not to examine that.
Instead, you reached for your coffee. “you want to know what i see ?”
Then that tiny smile finally won.
You hated that you noticed it.
Worse, you hated that you were already beginning to understand exactly how to make it happen again.
YOU PUT YOUR coffee back down.
Michael’s smile disappeared almost immediately. “Why do you say that like that ?”
“Like i’m not going to like it.”
“Because you’re probably not.”
You ignored him, opening another document on your laptop. “We need to give people more of you without actually giving them more of you.”
He frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“Which is why i’m sitting on this side of the table.” You turned the laptop toward him.
“No big interviews for now. No dramatic statement. No sudden personality transplant.”
“We’re keeping what already works. You being quiet isn’t the problem.”
Michael looked at you. “you just spent twenty minutes telling me it was.”
“No. I spent twenty minutes telling you people don’t know what your silence means.”
You tapped the screen. “There’s a difference.” His eyes dropped to the document.
You had broken everything down already.
A few carefully selected interviews over the next couple of weeks.
That was the point. “People need context,” you continued. “They see you for thirty seconds after a match when you’re tired and want to go home. Obviously they think you hate everyone.”
“Thank you for proving my point.”
“So we show them something else.”
“You at training. With the team. Things that don’t require you standing in front of a microphone trying to escape.”
“I knew you’d come around.”
You looked at him. “You’re doing it, Michael.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“There’s always an ‘and’ with you.”
“There’s a content shoot on thursday.”
His face changed so quickly you almost laughed.
“I thought you said no personality transplant.”
“Having your picture taken isn’t a personality.”
You smiled. That was as close to a yes as you were getting.
“And no stupid questions.”
“They find a way.” you had to give him that one.
“Fine. No stupid questions.”
Your eyebrows went up. “Who asked you to dance ?”
You stared at him for a second. “Someone asked you to dance ?” You wanted to laugh so bad.
You tried very hard not to picture it. And you failed.
He nodded once, apparently satisfied with the terms of a negotiation you hadn’t realized you were having.
“Anything else, your highness ?”
Your fingers stopped, just for a second.
“I was already going to be there.”
Nothing strange about it.
You were handling the strategy. Of course you would be there.
Still, something about the way he’d said it made you glance at him.
Michael had already looked away.
AUGUST 6TH, 2025 — 10 : 30 AM
THURSDAY came around faster than you would’ve liked. By ten thirty, the studio had already become exactly the kind of controlled chaos you were used to.
Clothes hanging from rails.
People moving between sets.
Someone looking for a missing steamer.
Someone else asking where michael was despite the fact that michael was standing approximately six feet behind them.
You watched him raise an eyebrow.
“Thought my face didn’t do anything.”
You turned toward him. He was looking at you with that irritating little expression again.
“You’ve been waiting four days to use that.”
“Are you not embarrassed ?”
“You walked into that one.”
Before you could answer, someone called his name from across the studio. Michael looked over.
The photographer waved him toward the set.
You checked the schedule on your tablet.
He didn’t move, just kept looking at you.
“What ?” you asked, frowning.
“You’re dismissing me now ?”
That finally got him moving.
You watched him cross the studio and step in front of the camera. And within approximately thirty seconds, you discovered a new problem.
Michael Olise could not pose naturally to save his life.
That would’ve almost been easier.
He simply became painfully aware of every single limb attached to his body the second a camera was pointed at him.
“Relax your shoulders for me,” the photographer said.
Michael did absolutely nothing.
You pressed your lips together.
The photographer tried again.
Michael looked over at you. You shook your head immediately.
His eyes stayed on yours.
He was going to say something.
You looked down at your tablet to hide your smile. The photographer laughed politely.
“Okay. Maybe we try something a little less posed.”
The next few minutes weren’t much better. Well, technically, the pictures were fine.
Michael was annoyingly photogenic.
But that wasn’t what you needed.
every image looked like an image : clean, ontrolled, distant. Exactly the version of him you were trying to move away from.
You stepped closer to the monitor.
“Can i see the last few ?”
The photographer moved aside.
You flicked through them.
“What ?” Michael’s voice came from behind you.
“Your face says something.”
He looked at the monitor. “Thought that was the point.”
You turned back toward him.
“I need you to stop posing.”
“You’re literally at a photoshoot.”
You stared at each other.
You put your tablet down. “Forget the camera.”
“There’s one right there.” He pointed to his right.
“Thank you, michael. I can see it.”
“Stop thinking about what you’re supposed to look like.”
“Then stop thinking about how much you hate being here.”
That seemed to catch him off guard.
“Good strategy.” He mumbled, mockingly.
His mouth twitched. You pointed at him immediately. “That.”
The expression disappeared. Of course it would. You groaned.
“Because you keep proving me right.”
And this time, he smiled. Actually smiled. Not for the camera. Not because someone had asked him to.
You heard the shutter before you had time to process it.
Your eyes moved toward the photographer.
“Keep talking to him,” the photographer said.
You looked back at Michael.
“Because now you’re doing it on purpose.”
“Thought you wanted that.”
“Not when you’re being annoying.”
You hated that he was right.
TEN MINUTES LATER, you were standing in front of the monitor again.
The best picture of the entire shoot.
His shoulders were relaxed. His head was turned slightly away from the camera, the beginning of a smile still sitting on his face.
Exactly what you’d spent the entire week trying to get. There was only one problem.
He wasn’t looking at the camera.
You stared at the picture a second too long.
“That one.” the photographer sounded pleased. “That’s the one.”
Professionally ? Yes, bsolutely.
Which was precisely why the next words out of your mouth made no fucking sense.
You didn’t need to turn around to know who had asked.
The photographer looked at you. You looked at the photographer.
“For what we’re trying to do, i’d rather have something where he’s actually engaging with the camera.”
“I thought you said to forget the camera.”
Michael again. You finally turned around. He had moved closer, towel thrown over one shoulder, eyes fixed on the monitor behind you.
“That was to get you to relax.”
“We have plenty of other options.”
You reached toward the screen, swiping back through the previous shots.
Michael pointed at the picture you had just dismissed.
“I liked that one.” Of course he did.
“Well, luckily for both of us, choosing the pictures isn’t your job.”
“Why don’t you like it ?”
“You said we can’t use it.”
“Those are two completely different sentences.”
You could feel him looking at you. You continued scrolling.
“We’re choosing your pictures.”
“And you’re supposed to be helping.”
“Already told you which one i like.”
You slowly turned your head. He was still looking at the rejected photo.
You followed his gaze despite yourself.
There was something softer about his face than in the others. something completely unguarded. You could already imagine what people would say.
That was exactly the problem.
“You weren’t even looking at the camera.”
Your fingers stilled against the edge of the monitor. There was no hesitation. No attempt to pretend otherwise.
You looked at him. Michael finally dragged his eyes away from the picture. For one second, neither of you said anything.
Then someone walked between you carrying a lighting stand.
You picked your tablet back up. “We’re using the other one.”
“By me.” you gave him a look.
You waited until he disappeared behind the changing area before looking back at the monitor.
The picture was still there. You should’ve deleted it. There was absolutely no reason to keep it. Instead, you reached for the mouse.
“Can you send me the full selection ?”
The photographer nodded. “Including that one ?”
THE FIRST PIECE OF content went live the next afternoon. Nothing dramatic. That had been intentional.
A short behind-the-scenes video from the shoot. A few clips from training. some of the final photographs mixed in between.
Michael laughing with one of his teammates.
Michael fixing the sleeve of his shirt between shots.
Michael immediately ruining a perfectly usable clip by looking directly into the camera and asking,
You had kept that one. Against your better judgment.
The comments loved it. You watched the numbers climb from your desk.
Better than good, actually.
And, more importantly, the tone was changing.
You weren’t a miracle worker.
@um.281: wait he’s actually funny 😭
@bayernluv: somebody finally discovered this man has a personality
@12user4.9: the “done?” LMFAOOOO he wanted to get the fuck OUT
@miasane: okay maybe he doesn’t hate everyone
You looked at the message.
engagement is up 31% compared to your last club feature
then what are you asking ?
You stopped. Why did he care ? You looked back at the video playing silently on your laptop.
His response came almost immediately.
That was it. No joke. No annoying comment. Just good. You stared at it for another second before putting your phone down.
Twenty minutes later, your phone started vibrating again.
This time, it wasn’t michael. Your notifications were filling with tags. You opened the first one.
That was a tiktok. Someone had screen recorded six seconds from the behind-the-scenes video.
Michael was sitting off to the side of the set while someone adjusted his microphone. Nothing interesting.
The camera didn’t follow.
Whoever he was looking at was completely out of frame. His gaze stayed there.
Then his head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something. You remembered that moment.
You had been talking to one of the producers. You’d moved across the room to grab your tablet.
On screen, michael’s eyes followed the exact same path. You stopped walking. He stopped looking.
Then you came back into the edge of the original frame.
Just your arm and part of your outfit.
You stared at your phone.
bro was NOT listening to that man 😭 who is he looking at
You made the mistake of opening the comments.
@user7281: WHO THE FUCK IS HE TRACKING WITH HIS EYES 😭
@bayernluv: waitttt isn’t that his pr girl at the end???
@user1937: forget media training somebody train him to LOOK AWAY
@miasaneleftboot: he heard absolutely NOTHING that poor man said 😭😭
@user449: why did his eyes follow her across the WHOLE ROOM hello???
You put it facedown on your desk.
You picked it back up. The video already had eighty-seven thousand likes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Another notification appeared.
This one was a text. You already knew who it was before opening it.
apparently i need training
You stared at the message.
The typing bubble appeared. Yu waited.
you told me people needed to see more of me
You typed back immediately.
You could practically hear the lack of remorse. You dropped your phone onto the desk.
You had spent the entire week trying to make Michael Olise easier to read.
Apparently, you should’ve been more careful about what people might find.
GO BACK TO FILE 003 — FILE 005 PENDING.
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© written by melosgoated | inspo is free, copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all.
