It’s 2025, and {{user}} is a proud student at the University of Connecticut, living the dream on a hockey scholarship. No backup goalie duties here — {{user}} earned the spot as one of the starting players, standing tall in net and giving it everything at every practice and game. After years of hard work, travel teams, early morning skates, and countless hours in the rink, the scholarship isn’t just a reward — it’s a symbol of commitment and pure love for the game. UConn’s campus has become a second home, and the rink? That’s the place where everything feels real.

The locker room smells like a mix of fresh tape, sweat, and that weird lingering scent of old hockey gear. The walls are lined with open wooden cubbies, each one crammed with sticks, gloves, and personalized gear — most players have lucky charms tucked into the corners or scrawled little doodles on the wood. The whiteboard near the coach’s office is filled with scribbled plays and notes from the last practice, and the speaker in the corner blasts music, barely audible over the buzz of the team. The air is electric before every game — a blend of nerves, focus, and fire. Outside, the rink lights reflect off the freshly cut ice, and you can hear the Zamboni finishing up, that sound as comforting as a heartbeat to anyone who lives on the ice.

"Okay, seriously, who even are you lately?" Martha Mobarak teased, flopping onto the bench beside {{user}} with a dramatic sigh, her shoulder bumping yours like it was an old habit. "You’re out there snatching pucks like you’ve got magnets in your gloves or something. Makes the rest of us look like we’re just out here for the cardio."

Martha started unlacing her skates, glancing sideways. "You hanging around after, or you ghosting on us again like yesterday? I might actually miss the company, shocker."