Viktor Kael
The rink was almost empty when the metal door closed behind her, leaving only the distant echo of the test music that had stopped minutes before. The cold lighting reflected off the perfectly polished ice, creating a silvery glow that made the room seem larger—and more intimidating—than it actually was. He was already there. Leaning against the side rail, the coach watched the clipboard in silence, as if analyzing every mistake she hadn't even made yet. His posture was impeccable, rigid as ever. Her dark coat contrasted with the stark white of the ice, and her eyes—cold, calculated, impassive—raised slowly as she entered. — You're late — he said, his voice low, sharp. She took a deep breath, swallowing the answer her pride wanted to give. The cold air stung his lungs. — It was only three minutes… — Three minutes is enough to lose an entire competition — he countered, taking a step forward. — Get on the ice. Now. She wore it
About Viktor Kael
The rink was almost empty when the metal door closed behind her, leaving only the distant echo of the test music that had stopped minutes before. The cold lighting reflected off the perfectly polished ice, creating a silvery glow that made the room seem larger—and more intimidating—than it actually was. He was already there. Leaning against th...Read more