POV: Maki

The cold always hit different before a fight.

Maki's skates bit into the ice, his breath fogging in short bursts. Third period. Tied score. Opponent jawing at him from the face-off circle. Everything outside the boards blurred — crowd noise, arena lights, even the stench of rubber and sweat clinging to his jersey.

None of it mattered.

Not when someone across from him grinned and muttered, "Guess your brother finally realized he peaked in college."

Maki saw red.

He didn't think. Didn't weigh the penalty. Just let the glove drop, then the fist followed — clean, fast, straight to the guy's jaw. The crowd roared. The refs blew their whistles. And the world snapped back into focus like a slap.

Two bodies hit the ice. One of them was his.

"Two minutes for fighting!" the ref shouted.

"Make it five," Maki muttered, blood pulsing behind his eyes.

He didn't bother looking at Coach Fuma. Didn't need to. He could feel the fury coming off him from across the rink.

The penalty box was a coffin.
Cramped. Sweaty. Loud outside, dead quiet inside.

Maki sat with his arms crossed, helmet off, jaw tight. He stared straight ahead like if he moved, he'd snap again.

He said something about Nicholas.

His brother had nothing to do with this game, nothing to do with this team anymore. But people loved poking the bear. And Maki? He always bit back.

That's why he was good. That's why Coach kept him in the lineup, even when he racked up penalty minutes like trading cards.

Aggression got results.

Until it didn't.

They lost.

4–3 in overtime.

Not because of him, but he knew how it looked.

The locker room after was a morgue — no music, no jokes, just the sound of damp gear hitting the floor and boys trying to breathe through frustration.

Maki sat in the corner, silent, eyes on the floor, sweat still dripping down his neck.

"Out. Everyone. Except Maki."

Coach Fuma's voice was low. Dangerous.

Cleats scraped tile as the team cleared out. Someone clapped Maki on the shoulder on the way past — sympathy or warning, he couldn't tell.

When the door clicked shut, Coach leaned against the bench across from him.

"You know why we lost?"

Maki stayed quiet.

"Because we're short-handed. Because you can't keep your fists to yourself. Because you care more about your ego than the scoreboard."

Maki's jaw flexed. "He brought up Nicholas."

"And?"

Maki looked up. "He was asking for it."

"He was asking for you to hand the game away?" Coach raised a brow. "Congrats. You delivered."

Silence stretched. Fuma let it.

"You're benched," he said finally. "One week. Minimum."

Maki stood fast. "What the hell?"

"You heard me."

"You're pulling me for defending my family?"

"I'm pulling you for acting like a damn child."

That one hit.

Fuma sighed. "You want to stay on this team, you need discipline. Control. Focus."

"I have focus."

"No, you have rage." He folded his arms. "So. New plan."

Maki narrowed his eyes. "What plan?"

"Starting tomorrow, 6 AM, you report to the figure skating team."

Maki laughed. He actually laughed. "That's a joke, right?"

Fuma didn't blink. "You'll be under Coach K. You'll skate drills. Work on balance. Core strength. Grace. You might even learn not to explode every time someone says something you don't like."

"You're sending me to ballet on ice?"

"I'm sending you to clean up your game." Fuma stepped closer. "Figure skaters know control better than anyone. You can't even stay on your feet without throwing punches."

Maki stared at him, throat dry.

"This is insane."

"No. This is me giving you one last shot." Fuma turned. "You show up. You shut up. You skate. Or you're off the team."

Maki walked out of the locker room in silence.

Steam poured off the pavement in the cold night air. His duffel bag hung heavy off his shoulder. He didn't even bother texting anyone.

Figure skating.

What even was that? Twirls and glitter? Guys in tights doing spinny jumps?

He scoffed. No way they could teach him anything useful.

Before he even made it out the rink doors, the rest of the team caught up with him in a loose, uneasy shuffle.

"Yo," Daichi muttered. "Coach was rough on you?"

Maki shrugged. "Benched."

"Damn." Another player whistled low. "That's harsh."

"What'd he say about that punch?"

"He said," Maki snapped, "that I've got a rage problem and I'm going to figure skating for it."

The group stopped walking.

"Wait—what?" Daichi blinked. "Like, actual figure skating?"

"Yup." Maki kept walking.

"With, like... tights and twirls?" someone else mumbled.

Maki didn't answer. His silence was sharper than anything he could've said.

The boys exchanged glances. No one laughed, but no one backed him up, either.

Not even the ones who always had his back.

Later that night, Maki stood by the vending machine in the nearly empty hallway of the arena, jaw tight, staring at the snack selection like it had wronged him personally.

He didn't even hear the footsteps until a familiar voice broke the silence behind him.

"So. I hear you're trading sticks for sequins."

Maki turned. "Nicholas."

His older brother stood there, half-grinning, hands in his jacket pockets like he had all the time in the world.

"I got a call from Coach Fuma," Nicholas said. "Wanted to know if you'd completely lost your mind or just partially."

Maki rolled his eyes. "He's overreacting."

"You punched a guy on a clean play."

"He brought you up."

Nicholas tilted his head, still calm. "So you fought him in my honor? How noble."

"You don't get it."

"No, I do." Nicholas stepped closer, his tone softening. "You're trying to prove you're better than me."

Maki stiffened. "I'm trying to prove I'm not just you."

Nicholas studied him for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh.

"I mean, sure. The skates are lighter."

"Shut up."

"But hey." He clapped Maki on the back. "Could be good for you."

"Seriously?"

"Balance, discipline, expression... You know, all the stuff you skipped over when you decided to be a human cannonball on ice."

Maki looked away. "You think it's a joke."

"I think it's hilarious," Nicholas said, grinning. "But that doesn't mean it won't work."

Maki's fists clenched. "I'm not doing this to be funny. I'm doing it to get back on the team."

Nicholas nodded slowly. "Then take it seriously. Don't half-ass it. You might surprise yourself."

He started to walk off, then glanced back.

"Oh — and don't fall in love with your partner."

Maki's glare could've cracked the plexiglass.

Nicholas winked. "It's always the dramatic ones."

Maki stood there for a long moment after he left, jaw clenched, fists shoved deep in his pockets.

Tomorrow morning, he'd be on the other side of the rink.

With figure skaters.

With rules and routines and grace and glitter.

He wasn't ready. He didn't want to be there.

But he'd show up.

And whoever they stuck him with?

They better be ready too.

End of Chapter 1

For this book I wanted to do a little challenge with you guys !

If this book gets at least 7 reads and 4 votes, I'll publish the next part Best of luck readers!!- XOXO Aria