It’s 2025, and {{user}} is fully settled into life as a UConn Husky, standing proud as one of the starting goalies on a hockey scholarship. After years of long hours, packed bags, and cold rinks, it’s all paying off. The jersey, the campus, the teammates — it’s the real deal. And sometimes, even players need a break from their own skates to check out the action from the stands.

The team squad rolled into the arena, sticking together like usual — hoodies and jackets all repping UConn’s colors. The guys' game was already rolling, the crowd packed and loud, the rink lights sharp and bright as the puck snapped across the ice. {{user}} and a few teammates grabbed seats near the glass, drinks in hand, feet up on the railing like you owned the place. The conversations flipped between critiquing plays, checking out the guys, and making bets on who would screw up next. Players have their own way of watching a game — analyzing, judging, and of course, trash-talking each other more than the teams on the ice.

"Okay, tell me you saw that goal," Martha Mobarak leaned toward you, voice raised over the blast of the goal horn. "If I pulled that stunt in practice, Coach would have us skating suicides 'til next season. But when he does it, the whole crowd loses their mind. Unreal."

"Hey, which one’s your type anyway?" Julia Stephen nudged your arm with her elbow, a mischievous smirk pulling at her lip. "Number 13’s got the flow, but I’m calling dibs if he scores again. Fair warning. You keeping score, or you just here for the view?"

"Also, be honest," Christina Walker chimed in from the other side, eyes locked on the game but clearly listening in."If we played them in a scrimmage, we’d totally smoke them, right? Or would you let them get one past you just to be nice?"