Proof of Existence (2)
The Association President's Cup Combined Figure Skating Competition.
It wasn't a ranking event, but thanks to a newly arrived sponsor, even the elementary division carried prize money of ten million won—an unusual tournament by any measure.
The category I was entering was elementary Level 5.
...Everyone here is going to be a monster.
Age restrictions were generous: any elementary-school student could enter. That was exactly the problem. An elementary skater already holding Level 5 status meant one of two things—mostly upperclassmen on the verge of junior, or prodigies who had earned the rank absurdly young, like Jin Sehee.
Neither type would be easy.
Kids about to step onto the junior stage would already have plenty of experience. Conversely, the young geniuses would flaunt the unfair advantage of raw technical power alone.
I was buried in those thoughts on the drive to the venue when the car stopped at a red light and Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
"Our little princess is nervous, isn't she? Your face is a disaster."
Was it really? I pulled out my phone, flipped to selfie mode, and checked. I looked as pretty as usual.
"I'm not nervous."
"Oh my. From where Mom's sitting, you look like you're shaking."
Mom laughed from the passenger seat. Come to think of it, I had gone more than thirty minutes without saying a word—unusual for me. It wasn't nerves so much as mental overload from a big competition after so long. Still, I opened my mouth to lighten the mood.
"...I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"Sehee's in this competition... and there's a girl who came from overseas, too."
"Really?"
"She has Korean nationality through her dad, so she got clearance to compete here."
I played one of her competition clips on my phone.
"Wow, she looks exactly like a doll. Still not as pretty as our Seolhwa, though."
Blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs. Her style leaned bright and cheerful—the complete opposite of my own performance aesthetic.
...She's going to score high with the judges from the first mark.
My mind had already jumped into calculation mode. Figure skating was an artistic sport. Technical scores might be fair enough, but artistic marks always carried human subjectivity. A striking face and an eye-catching image alone could swing a few points either way.
"Still, Seolhwa's performance is the one I'm looking forward to most. It's the first time Dad gets to watch you compete."
Dad spoke up suddenly.
"You've been preparing beautifully even while going to school, so don't worry about anyone else."
He was the kind of person who would let me quit the moment I said I wanted to stop—even once. The only reason he kept cheering was because I kept choosing this path. That quiet faith of his ran hotter underneath than he ever let show.
"Okay..."
A little later, the car pulled up in front of the venue. The second we arrived, I scrambled to check my gear—costume, skates, spare blades, gloves, and the hoodie in case it got cold. Everything was there.
"Seolhwa, I added extra reflective points to today's costume so it'll catch the light and stand out for sure. Fighting!"
Leaving Mom's voice behind me, I headed for the athletes' corridor. At the waiting-room door, Yerim—who had arrived first—greeted me.
"How's your condition today?"
"Good."
"Great. Let's go get ready."
After a TS regression, I can actually meet a Yerim who doesn't reek of alcohol on competition day, I thought as I opened the door.
A few skaters were already warming up inside. Two of them stood out immediately.
One was Jin Sehee. Her softly waved black hair was tied back neatly; she was reviewing her program routine with her coach up front. Her eyes didn't waver, and her mouth held an unbroken confidence. She glanced over when the door opened, then turned straight back to her coach.
The girl who usually barreled toward me like an excited puppy was acting like this for a reason.
So this is the real match, huh.
She had declared she would beat me no matter what and hadn't even shown up at Yerim's rink for the past two weeks—refusing to give her opponent any free information. I didn't mind. Competitive fire that clean was something I could respect.
Chloe.
And the other one. In a far corner, a blonde girl was brushing her hair back in the mirror. Her blue eyes met my reflection. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she murmured,
"Hi, Seolhwa. I heard about you."
Her gaze was clear, but she made no effort to hide the challenge underneath. A face I'd never seen before, yet she already knew exactly how to rattle someone.
Not even Sehee does that.
I had passed Level 5 at eight. I had a decent domestic record, and lately my name had been popping up in figure-skating communities often enough. Of course people would be watching me—but this was blatant. Most kids my age would have frozen at that opening line alone. She looked like a princess stepped out of a picture book, yet she was playing the perfect villainess.
I looked straight at her and answered, quiet and clear.
"Yeah. I heard about you too."
Chloe's eyebrows flicked upward the tiniest bit—as if she hadn't expected me to answer in English.
"...Good luck today."
"Thanks. You too."
She was the one who had thrown the first punch, yet she looked more flustered than I did.
Still works after all this time.
After the international-interview disaster in my previous life, I had studied English like my life depended on it. That old knowledge still lived in my bones.
Belatedly, Sehee—who had been watching the whole exchange—sidled over and whispered,
"...Why are you so good at English?"
"Because I'm a genius."
"...Unfair."
She puffed out her cheeks at my unhesitating answer.
"Fine. Then I'll win today's competition."
"If you can."
What had started as teasing banter hardened, in that instant, into the language of true rivals.
"Fighting, both of you."
Yerim, who had been watching with a smile, stepped between us.
"No injuries. Let's finish this beautifully."
"Yes!"
Sehee and I answered in short unison, then returned to our own spots to prepare. I gathered the hair I had grown to my shoulders into a neat bun, leaving a little of my bangs swept to the side for emphasis. Once I changed into my costume, the reality of competition finally settled into my skin.
"Seolhwa, you're fifth. Ahead of you... Sehee, and that blonde girl's student is there too."
After warm-up, as we stepped off the ice, Yerim ran through the final details. My order for the day was fifth.
I keep drawing five.
I kept landing in the fifth slot a suspicious amount—probably just imagination. Checking the list, Sehee was first and Chloe fourth. Out of twenty skaters in elementary Level 5, fifth was still quite early. Whether early or late numbers were better remained an endless debate; I personally preferred early. Finishing fast simply calmed my nerves.
"Sehee's going first."
"She'll be fine. I don't think she'll get nervous."
Yerim seemed to have grown fond of Sehee over time; she fretted that the opening slot might rattle her. But Sehee was Sehee. I knew better than anyone that nerves weren't in her vocabulary for things like this.
And the performance I watched from the waiting area proved it.
...Perfect.
A bold program built around triple loops and attempt-heavy jump combinations—as if she meant to throw everything she had at the ice. Aside from the triple flip she missed at the end, there were deductions, but nothing that completely fell apart.
"The other kids are good too."
"It's a Level 5 event."
The skaters who followed delivered solid, high-level performances befitting the stage. And then, at last, Chloe's turn.
I took my place at the rink entrance to watch while I waited.
She's different, all right.
From the moment she stepped out, her presence seemed to rewrite the air over the ice. The aura was a full grade above the kids who had skated after Sehee. Then the music began.
...Fast?
Her first jump came far earlier than I expected. But the speed never broke the performance or made me wince. Instead, she used it for dynamic contrast—bright, bouncy, perfectly controlled. She rode the music with her whole body, flowing across the ice so naturally it looked effortless.
Too complete.
Behind the cheerful presentation, every movement was calculated.
"Those long arms really sell the performance."
Yerim murmured under her breath. She wasn't wrong. Long limbs, a flexible frame, and above all, polished finishing positions—everything made each of Chloe's gestures look more refined. Her exotic looks were just the bonus.
Jump quality is solid too.
Mid-program, Chloe landed a clean triple Lutz. Height was good, rotation exact, landing steady. The emotional expression, though, still felt a little calculated—a highly finished performance that left an impression of safety more than risk.
Composition's good as well.
In the final step sequence she spun once with a triumphant smile, then stretched her right arm long and sank to one knee as the music faded. Applause erupted. Several spectators couldn't hide their admiration; one of the judges even nodded.
Yerim, who had watched the entire thing, looked briefly unsettled.
"Uh... Seolhwa, I mean this for real—you're the best one here. Don't get swept up in the atmosphere. Just do what you came to do and you'll win."
It was a reasonable worry. After a dominant favorite's performance, the next skater often got swallowed by the rink's mood. Some skaters even half-gave up and skated through on autopilot, deciding they already couldn't win.
But—
"Don't worry."
"Huh?"
Favorite? Atmosphere?
Those words meant nothing to me at a rising-star competition like this. In my previous life, the skaters who had gone out right before me—and whom I had beaten—were real medalists.