Figure Skating Gallery (1)
A sharp scrape, and the blade tore a clean line through the ice as she drove forward.
The recent competition had reminded her all over again that jumps weren't everything — the elements that stitched those jumps together, spirals and the rest, mattered just as much.
So today's plan had been skating work, not jumps.
"What gives? Why aren't you practicing jumps?"
The kid who'd been glued to her side and chattering since the start of the session was starting to get on her nerves.
"Anyway, the rink you practice at is actually amazing. You get this whole place to yourself?"
"The coach's family runs it, so they look out for me. I only get an hour, then I have to clear out."
"Still. Usually when the rink closes, that's when the working adult ladies come in for lessons. You get right on the ice."
"…"
Jin Sehee finally quieted down a little when Seolhwa just stared at her without answering.
Ever since the competition ended, the girl had started showing up at this rink once a week to practice.
At first Seolhwa hadn't stopped her — there was a connection from her past life, and even if it was only once a week, Yeorim was happy to take on another student.
She's starting to get annoying.
The problem was that young Jin Sehee was far louder than Seolhwa had imagined.
She'd thought this version would be nothing like the human vitamin of the future — but looking at her now, it seemed Sehee was only warm and easygoing with people she was close to.
"Oh yeah! I landed a double Axel this time, you know? Success rate isn't a hundred percent yet, but still."
"You talk too much."
A little irritation slipped into her voice before she could stop it.
Jin Sehee blinked, then her mouth curved up.
"Whoa. So you can get mad."
"I'm not mad."
Seolhwa turned away again and focused on her skating.
She was about to go back into spiral and step sequence work when the voice stuck to her again.
"But you really are different somehow."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Your skating is… quiet. But scary."
Scary?
Seolhwa almost laughed inside.
Still — that one felt a little good.
"You don't have to skate loud."
"Well, yeah. But you know—"
"Sehee."
This time it was Yeorim's voice.
From the corner of the rink, Yeorim walked over with her skate laces already tied.
"Seolhwa said she's focusing on steps today, so you focus on your own practice too."
"…Fiiine."
Jin Sehee's lower lip stuck out a little, but she nodded.
Only then did the rink fall quiet. Seolhwa set her blade on the ice again.
Smooth and sharp, exactly the speed she wanted.
Even without jumps, every single element here could be called technique. And figure skating was a sport that scored you without mercy the moment any one of them fell short.
She needed to make all of it hers.
She was just trying to sink into the feel of the blade gliding over the ice when—
A thump of air, a shadow lifting into the edge of her vision.
Then the landing. A short, clean scrape of ice.
…Double Axel?
She didn't need to turn around to know. The landing had been clean.
She shifted her gaze sideways. Jin Sehee was panting hard, staring straight ahead.
No playful smile this time — just a faint, quiet pride at the corner of her mouth.
"Well? The real deal, right?"
Seolhwa had heard that Sehee's first double Axel had been at an elementary-level competition. Maybe Seolhwa's appearance had pushed her — the girl had landed it on much better timing now.
"Doesn't mean much if you can't use it in competition."
"What? I can use it in real competitions too!"
Jin Sehee flared up at the answer, huffing.
But Seolhwa hadn't said it just to tease her. It was closer to advice.
In her past life, only three people including herself had ever officially landed a quad Axel. The number who'd jumped it in practice, though, had been endless.
You have to be able to do it mid-program.
With figure skating technique, the most important part after learning a skill was making it truly yours. Being able to fire it off at the right moment without thinking was non-negotiable.
"Watch closely."
She threw the short line over her shoulder and immediately cut a new skating line.
Power gathered in the ball of her foot as she prepared the rotation. In a flash of timing she drew her free leg in, pulled another burst of speed, then pressed lightly into the blade.
Thump.
Her body cut through the air and lifted — one turn, two.
The landing was quiet. Inside it, though, was perfect balance and calculated speed.
Holding that speed, she flowed smoothly into an arabesque — free leg lifting behind her, back and arms stretching long through the finish.
"Well?"
"…A double Lutz? The one you only finished a little while ago…"
"'Finished' means being able to link technique into technique like that."
You only got to say you'd finished something once you could do at least this much.
After practice that day, Seolhwa walked along with her mother's hand held tight, heading somewhere specific.
"You're really going to buy me one?"
"Mm. Seolhwa can read texts now, so I thought you needed one. There might be times you're waiting for Mom at the rink, too."
She nodded at her mother's words, but a strangely complicated feeling rose under the surface.
They were going to a smartphone store.
In modern society a smartphone was basically essential. Still, a five-year-old carrying one around — not even an elementary schooler — struck her as a little ridiculous.
Of course, she was on the side that could understand why it looked ridiculous.
"So what do you want to do on a phone, Seolhwa?"
"Um… schedule management and listening to music? And I want to look up skating videos."
"Haha. Is that a five-year-old's answer?"
Her mother laughed as she said it. Seolhwa didn't laugh back.
To her, a smartphone was one of her most important training tools.
Slow-motion jump analysis, competition video review, looping program music on repeat… for her it wasn't a toy. It was a weapon.
The shop they walked into was packed with phones in every color.
When an employee approached, her mother spoke first.
"Do you have any smartphones for kids? Not the expensive ones — something that handles calls and texts well."
Seolhwa gave a small cough beside her.
"Something that plays video smoothly, with plenty of storage. And good battery life, please."
The employee lost words for a second, then smiled carefully.
"Uh… kids these days really are smart."
Her mother laughed, embarrassed, but she looked even more startled than Seolhwa was.
"Seolhwa, where did you learn that kind of thing?"
"Um… from Coach. She said if you're going to do figure skating, you need a good smartphone."
She mumbled her way through the answer and studied the models in front of her.
She wasn't hoping for the absolute latest, but a mediocre budget phone wouldn't cut it. Figure skating videos were mostly high definition, and program music was more stable stored locally. Screen ratio mattered too.
If we're buying one, we buy it right.
A few minutes later she walked out of the store with a smartphone box in her small hands.
It wasn't as heavy as she'd expected.
What she held wasn't a simple toy. It was another weapon for the life she'd started over.
From now on, training, records, review — all of it would be in her own hands.
"I'll use it well."
"Mom trusts Seolhwa, so I won't set up any app restrictions. But you know you shouldn't go looking up anything too weird, right?"
"Yes."
Maybe because Seolhwa already came off more mature than kids her age, her mother didn't put the usual child phone limits on her.
Figure skating videos sometimes got age-restricted for content reasons anyway. A kids' version of a phone would have made watching those difficult — so this was a relief.
.
.
.
The first night with the smartphone in her hands, she watched figure skating videos on repeat.
Last year's World Championships. Routines a little different from the era she'd competed in, but still breathtakingly beautiful.
Watching the rotations and steps beyond the screen, the countless emotions and calculations woven through them, a thought suddenly struck her.
I wonder if it's still there.
A place she'd drifted in and out of in her past life. A poisoned chalice for athletes.
Somewhere she'd never wanted to go again — but curiosity won.
Slowly, she typed the address into the search bar.
Figure Skating Gallery.
The familiar and unfamiliar board loaded, and her eyes went wide.
— Hot Posts —
[If you're Korean you gotta buy Jin Sehee coin lol]
[Miyu's skill is real… but her fans though…]
[Been kinda boring since Yeorim retired;;]
[Isn't a 5-year-old doing a double loop combo crossing a line?]
…What was this.
Chaotic gold-cup wars, fans tearing into each other, absurd rumors, pointless bickering.
It was even more vicious than in her past life.
And right in the middle of it, one title snagged her eyes hard.
She tapped the link. A familiar rink background, familiar music — and a familiar her.
It was her performance video from the competition.
Someone must have taken what her mother posted on social media and spread it around.
Most of the comments were shock and admiration.
She scrolled down — then her hand stopped on one comment.
She knew her own body better than anyone.
Injury? Overwork? She managed herself better than anyone alive, living every day by careful calculation.
To the her of now, words like that meant nothing.
But once she'd seen them, she figured she ought to say something back.