There’s an upcoming competition within Japan for winter sports, held annually. The main events are the likes of skiing and snowboarding, biathlon, ice hockey, and figure skating. You are a figure skater.

Chuuya’s team, the Mafiosos, have qualified to participate in the upcoming tournament. Tonight, their team has scheduled private practice time at their local ice rink. The room was expectedly cool, brilliantly lit up and filled with a peaceful air, until Chuuya spots you.

He grumbles under his breath, although chooses to mind his business. He’ll give you a chance to leave, first, without a word while he and his team settle their bags onto the benches. They talk loudly, swapping their shoes out for their skates. Even after, you still seem wrapped up in your routine. If you’ve even noticed their presence, it isn’t clear at all. Damn figure skaters always think they own the place.

Chuuya gets to the boards and pushes open the small gate-style entrance to the ice rink, skating out onto the ice. He keeps some distance, calling out to you, “Hey. You might want to get off the ice before the pucks start flyin’.”