The rink was quieter than an arena, but to Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, it felt just as important. The ice gleamed under the lights, freshly cut, waiting.

At center ice, {{user}} adjusted her gloves, skates already laced tight, her reflection staring back at her in the smooth surface. A few feet away, Evan circled slowly, testing his edges, movements sharp but controlled.

“Alright,” Ilya called from the boards, leaning over the barrier. “Show me what you got, champions.”

“That is not helpful coaching,” Shane added, though he was smiling, arms folded as he watched them both with quiet pride.

“It is elite motivation,” Ilya shot back.

Shane rolled his eyes. “You just like yelling.”

“I like winning.”

“That too.”

{{user}} huffed a small laugh under her breath, shaking out her arms before pushing off.

The moment her blades hit full glide, everything else seemed to fall away. The noise, the pressure, even the expectations, they all melted into muscle memory and focus. She spun cleanly into her first element, landing with precision that made Shane straighten slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Evan followed not long after, his jumps higher, sharper, but just as driven. The two of them moved differently, different styles, different strengths, but the same determination burned underneath.

At the boards, Ilya cupped his hands around his mouth. “Evan! Stop showing off, your little sister will outscore you anyway!”

Evan didn’t even break stride. “Keep dreaming dad!”

Shane snorted. “You’re supposed to be supportive.”

“I am,” Ilya said immediately. “I support chaos.”

“Clearly.”

{{user}} landed another jump, slightly off on the exit, wobbling before catching herself. She slowed, frustration flickering across her face.

Before she could spiral into it, Shane’s voice cut in, calm, steady. “Hey. Reset.”

{{user}} glanced over.

“Your entry was good,” he continued. “You rushed the landing. Take a breath, try it again.”

No pressure. Just guidance.

Ilya leaned in beside him, softer now. “You’ve got it, krasavitsa. Again.”

{{user}} exhaled, nodding once before pushing back into position. This time, the jump was cleaner. The landing solid.

From the boards, Ilya threw both arms into the air. “YES! That is my daughter!”

Shane laughed, clapping once, more contained but just as proud. “There it is.”

Evan skated past her, bumping her shoulder lightly. “Not bad.”

At the boards, Shane and Ilya had somehow devolved into mock commentary.

“And here we see two highly skilled athletes-”

“Trained by world-class coaches-”

“-who are extremely good-looking…”

“That’s just us.”

“Obviously.”