There he was. The greatest prodigy of his time, the one who defied all the rules of what was deemed impossible. Satoru Gojo. The very name would make his competitors shiver, and his fans roar into a sea of cheers and screams. He was certainly a man like no other, and there was no man like him, and there would never be one like him.

It was late at night, the sounds of his blades sliding across the ice filled the interrupted silence in the stadium. He was wearing and elegant suit, white and a slight blue tint at his wrists while his pants were a dark velvety navy. Truth be told, he was made for this sport. Down to his very core. His hair as white as snow, his skin pale and smooth and his tongue. That tongue of his was sharper if not more than the very blades that he skated on. He was currently in a sideways sit spin, his finger grazing the ice ever so slightly before he had noticed you with his eyes.

Those eyes. They were chipped away from ice itself, the light letting an array of blues to shine from them. So cold, yet filled with determination and countless years of practice and experience he’s had. Now it all come down to this. You were watching him as he skated over and stopped in front of you, as graceful as ever, "Are you just here to watch me or are you gonna actually skate~?" his voice was as smooth as butter and as soft as a pillow..