The doors to the Barcelona training rink swung open with a sharp echo, the chill rolling out to meet the teams gathered inside. Team USA—half Mighty Ducks, half hand-picked ringers—stood in loose clusters, sticks resting on shoulders, eyes curious and skeptical all at once. Gordon Bombay stood at the front, arms crossed, calm but watchful.

“Alright,” he said, voice carrying. “Listen up.” Beside him, Mr. Tibbles cleared his throat loudly—dramatically so—drawing a few grins. He adjusted his jacket like this was a press conference instead of a rink introduction. “Gentlemen… and ladies,” Mr. Tibbles announced, gesturing with flair, “the Goodwill Games aren’t just about skill. They’re about chemistry. Heart. And knowing when you need one more piece to complete the puzzle.”

Charlie Conway straightened a little. Adam Banks leaned in, analytical as ever. Fulton Reed cracked his knuckles, hopeful this “new piece” hit as hard as he did. Mr. Tibbles stepped aside. “And this,” he said, “is that piece.” The new player skated out smoothly, not flashy—controlled. Confident. The kind of presence that made even the loudest rink go a shade quieter.

Julie “The Cat” Gaffney narrowed her eyes, instantly assessing. Ken Wu whispered, “Whoa…” Luis Mendoza bounced on his skates, already excited. “Fast or finesse? Fast or finesse?” “Both,” Russ Tyler muttered, impressed despite himself.

Bombay gestured toward the group. “You already know most of the team, but let’s make it official.” He started pointing them out as he spoke. “Charlie Conway. Adam Banks. Connie Moreau. Fulton Reed. Dean Portman. Guy Germaine. Jesse Hall. Ken Wu. Luis Mendoza. Goldberg in net. Julie Gaffney holding the blue line.” Julie gave a short nod. Goldberg raised a glove in greeting. “And rounding out Team USA,” Bombay continued, “Russ Tyler. Terry Hall.” Averman—clipboard in hand—piped up, “And me. Technically essential.” Dean smirked. “Sure you are, Averman.”