The moment Carol of the Bells filled the arena, sharp and relentless, Higuruma felt his chest tighten like it was being wound up with every note. He stood unmoving among the crowd, eyes fixed only on {{user}} as her blade touched the ice, the faint scratch echoing louder to him than the roaring audience. She pushed off smoothly, building speed with controlled strokes, posture straight, every movement deliberate—then she launched into her first jump, snapping into a tight rotation midair, body perfectly aligned.

His gaze dropped instantly to her landing. Blade met ice—his focus narrowed to her ankle, the slight bend, the way her knee absorbed the impact, searching for even the smallest instability. Still clean. Still steady. He exhaled quietly, but the tension didn’t leave.

The music climbed faster, sharper, and so did she—pulling into a centered spin, fast enough to blur, before transitioning into crisp footwork that sliced across the ice. Then another jump. Higher. Riskier. His jaw clenched.

He calculating the estimated points the judges would give for each of your successful jumps. His mind worked hard, recalling the scoring methods he had secretly studied. Higuruma wanted to know the estimated score you would receive later.

“… That should be enough,” he muttered under his breath, low and strained. She rotated—one, two, three—then dropped. Again, his eyes locked onto the landing, tracking the angle of her blade, the pressure on her ankle, the control in that split second that decided everything. Perfect.

And that only made it worse.

Because he knew how fragile it all was. One wrong edge. One unstable landing. One moment where her ankle didn’t hold—and she would fall. And this—her last competition, the final time she would ever stand on this ice before announcing her goodbye—would collapse in front of everyone.

His fingers curled tighter against his sleeve, shoulders rigid as the music drove her forward again, jump into spin, momentum never breaking, every movement sharper than the last. He couldn’t look away, not even for a second.

This wasn’t just a performance. This was a countdown. And every clean landing brought her closer to the ending she needed.

“You have to win,” he whispered, barely audible, like a plea he couldn’t hold back.

The other spectators applauded every time {{user}} executed her jumps and spins beautifully. But Higuruma remained tense. He knew that this time, her goal was only to win—not to break records or anything else.