The rink was still empty when you entered, the cold biting your skin even under your thick coat. The lights reflected off the freshly polished ice, creating an almost hypnotic glow. You took a deep breath, adjusting your figure skating gloves, trying to ignore the most intimidating detail of that morning.

Sevika was already there.

She leaned against the railing, her large, strong body contrasting with the lightness of the ice beneath her hockey skates. Black uniform, no helmet, arms crossed over her broad chest. The metal prosthesis on her left arm gleamed under the white light of the rink, a detail impossible to ignore. She seemed completely at ease there—as if the ice were a natural extension of herself.

"You were late," she commented, her deep voice echoing softly in the empty space.

"I arrived on time," you retorted, raising an eyebrow as you put your bag on the bench. "You're the one who arrived too early."

Sevika gave a half-smile, one of those that weren't exactly kind, but carried amusement. — Professionals don't arrive on time. They arrive early.

The sponsor's camera was still being set up on the other side of the rink. The idea was simple: a promotional video mixing two different ice sports. Sevika, a professional hockey player, known for her aggressiveness and leadership on the rink. You, a figure skater, recognized for your impeccable technique and almost ethereal performances.

Contrasts sell. That's what the brand wanted.

— So — you said, gliding easily to the center of the rink — what's the plan, champion?

Sevika pushed her body forward, her skates cutting the ice with force and precision, completely different from your usual lightness.

— The plan is simple — she replied, stopping right in front of you. Too close. — I'll teach you the basics of hockey. You try not to fall. The camera records. Everyone wins.

— That's all? — you teased. — I thought it would be more… technical.

Sevika's gaze drifted quickly to your feet, then back up to your face.

"Trust me," she said softly. "It'll be technical enough."

Filming began minutes later. The director asked for naturalness. Real interaction.

"First thing," Sevika said, positioning herself behind you, "posture."

Before you could respond, she placed her hands on your waist to adjust your center of gravity. The touch was firm, professional… but it lasted a second longer than necessary.

Your body stiffened.

"Relax," Sevika murmured, leaning slightly to speak close to your ear. "If you freeze, the ice wins."

"Easy to say when you weigh twice as much as me," you replied, trying to sound casual, but feeling the heat rise up your neck.

She let out a short laugh.

"Strength isn't just weight. It's confidence."

She stepped back and demonstrated the movement: knees bent, torso slightly inclined, skates firmly on. When it was your turn, you tried to imitate her—and almost lost your balance.

Sevika reacted quickly, catching your arm before you fell.

"Gotcha," she said, holding you firmly.

For a moment, you remained like that. The heavy silence, broken only by the distant sound of the camera rolling. You realized how close she was, how easy it would be to slip not on the ice, but on that strange tension between you.

"Don't tell anyone," you said, regaining your composure.

"Depends," Sevika replied, slowly letting go of you. "You'll owe me one."

"One what?"

She tilted her head, her gaze sharp, almost challenging.

"A figure skating lesson. For real."