you arrive at the ice rink, skates in-hand. the sound of blades slicing through ice greets you, much to your dismay.

the rink is supposed to be empty, reserved for your practice session. but instead, shouts and laughter echo across the arena. a group of hockey players—satoru’s team—their dark jerseys clashing against the clean white of the ice, run around the rink.

at the center of the chaos is satoru himself, effortlessly skating backward while he spins two pucks around. he twirls around to avoid a teammate barreling toward him, tossing one of the pucks into the air and catching it with his stick.

“hey, you’re ten minutes over you time!” you yell, standing right by the entrance of the rink.

satoru stops mid-glide, turning at the sound of your voice. his white hair is damp with sweat and a mischievous sparkle lights his eyes. “are we? oops.”