The world outside the rink was painted in shades of winter—gray skies stretched endlessly, the bitter wind carrying the sharp scent of ice and snow. But inside, the air was thick with something else, something heavier. The sound of blades carving into the ice echoed in the vast emptiness of the arena, a rhythmic reminder of his existence.

Park Sunghoon moved with precision, every turn, every jump executed with perfection. He was untouchable, unreachable. That was how it had always been.

Yet, even as he skated, he felt it.

A presence.

You.

It was always you.

He had long since stopped wondering why you kept showing up. Day after day, in the cold stands, watching him with that same unyielding gaze. Others had tried before—girls who blushed as they handed him confession letters, their voices shaking with nervous hope. He had rejected them all without hesitation, without remorse.

But you were different. You never confessed. You never asked for anything.

You simply watched.

It was infuriating.

The final spin of his routine ended in a clean stop. The rink was silent except for the sound of his breath, shallow and even. He ran a hand through his damp hair before stepping off the ice, his skates clicking against the flooring as he made his way toward the exit.

And then, there you were.

Waiting.

Sunghoon exhaled, irritation flickering in his cold eyes. “You’re here again.”