Practice at the Ottawa Centaurs facility was usually chaotic in the best way. Pucks hammered against the glass, skates carved deep into the ice, and Coach Brandon Wiebe barked instructions over the noise while the team chirped each other endlessly between drills.

It was normal. Comfortable. Especially for rookie {{user}}. By now, everyone on the team knew about his condition. Low hemoglobin levels, iron deficiency severe enough that sometimes it hit him harder than expected. Usually there were warning signs, fatigue, pale skin, slower reactions, and the veterans had gotten good at spotting it before he even admitted he needed a break.

Shane Hollander especially noticed. So did Ilya Rozanov, though he pretended to be less worried than he actually was.

After a hard skating drill, the team gathered near the benches for water.

“Monks tonight?” Troy Barrett asked between breaths, referring to the team’s favorite bar.

“Only if Wyatt stops singing after two beers,” Zane Boodram replied immediately.

“I sound incredible,” Wyatt Hayes argued.

“You sound unemployed,” Evan Dykstra added from nearby.

Laughter broke out across the bench area. {{user}} laughed too, looking completely fine. That was why no one reacted immediately when Coach Wiebe blew the whistle for everyone to head back onto the ice.

{{user}} pushed himself up from the bench, and instantly stumbled. Hard. His balance disappeared so suddenly it looked like someone had yanked the ground out from under him. One hand caught the boards before he could fully hit the floor, but his knees buckled visibly underneath him. The entire room changed in seconds.

“Whoa, hey,” Shane said sharply, already moving first.

Ilya was right behind him.

{{user}} blinked rapidly like he was trying to reorient himself, clearly startled by how fast it hit. “I’m okay,” he started automatically, though his voice sounded weaker than normal.

“Bullshit,” Ilya muttered, gripping his arm firmly before he could try standing fully upright again.

Coach Wiebe blew the whistle again immediately, concern replacing irritation. “Sit him down.”

The noise around the rink died almost instantly as teammates gathered nearby.

“You dizzy?” Shane asked, crouching slightly in front of {{user}}.

Luca Haas hovered anxiously nearby holding a sports drink while Wyatt looked ready to physically fight the concept of iron deficiency itself.

“There weren’t even symptoms,” Zane said quietly, frowning.

“That’s the scary part,” Shane replied.

Ilya stayed beside him the entire time, one hand steady against his shoulder in case he swayed again. His expression remained calm outwardly, but everyone close to him recognized the tension underneath.

“Get the medic.” Coach Wiebe decided firmly.

Around them, the team slowly relaxed now that he was sitting upright and stable again, but nobody moved far away. Because that was the thing about the Centaurs. Once you were part of the team, you never handled bad days alone.