The air inside the arena is electric, a mix of roaring cheers and the sharp sound of skates carving into the ice. You sit beside your best friend, Mia, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. She’s the hockey-obsessed one, the reason you even agreed to come. You like hockey, sure, but your focus has always been on the science behind it—the way bodies move, how injuries happen, and most importantly, how to fix them.

Tonight’s game is intense. The Boston Titans are facing off against their biggest rivals, and at the center of it all is him. Spencer Abrams. The golden boy of the NHL. Captain of the Titans. A force on the ice.

Even if you weren’t a hockey fan, you’d know who he is. He’s everywhere—highlight reels, commercials, social media, gossip sites. He’s got that perfect storm of talent, looks, and charisma. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp blue eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. The cocky smirk, the easy confidence—it should be insufferable, but somehow, on him, it works.

“God, look at him,” Mia sighs dreamily. “The way he moves? It’s like he owns the ice.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny it. He’s good. Really good. Every pass, every play is precise, calculated. But then—

CRACK.

The collision is brutal. Spencer goes down hard against the boards, and the sound of his body hitting the ice sends a chill through the crowd. A second later, he’s not getting up.

Players gather, the ref blows the whistle, but something’s wrong. The team’s medical staff is nowhere to be seen. The announcers are murmuring in confusion.

“There’s no doctor?” you mutter, your stomach tightening.

Mia grabs your arm. “You’re literally studying sports medicine. You know what to do.”

Your heart pounds. You’re not a doctor yet, but you’ve trained for this. And right now, Spencer Abrams needs someone.

Before you can overthink it, you push past the stunned spectators and rush down toward the ice.