Junior World Championships (1)
"What should we do? Should I come with you even now?"
"I'm fine."
"But you're still only in middle school. Sending you overseas alone..."
"Coach is going with me."
"Well, yes, but..."
On the morning of departure, Mom stood in the entryway with her arms locked around me, refusing to let go.
Dad had work, and Mom was buried under a design deadline, so neither of them could come to this competition.
"I'll do well and come back."
"Mm. My daughter's cooler than anyone."
Mom ruffled my hair firmly, then finally released me.
The moment I opened the front door, the tension I'd been holding down all this time rose up sharp and clear.
In the parking garage beneath the building, the cold air of a winter morning pressed in as I stepped out of the elevator.
"Seolhwa!"
Yerim was waiting without a hint of lateness, waving from the other side.
I adjusted my bag and nodded in greeting.
"Why's your face so stiff? Nervous?"
"It just feels real now."
Yerim studied my expression, then wordlessly opened the trunk. With the same offhand, gentle efficiency as always, she stowed my bags and opened the passenger door for me.
Once we were inside, she flicked on the radio for a moment and pulled out.
For a while we said nothing.
Winter sunlight stretched long across the road outside the window.
"Oh, right—Seolhwa, did you know?"
I tilted my head at Yerim's sudden question.
"You really timed this perfectly. Until two years ago, the junior age cutoff was fourteen. Did you know that?"
"Really?"
"It used to be. But lately kids are landing triples from novice already, so they just lowered the junior age limit."
In my past life, I had started figure skating at exactly this age.
So my first junior competition had also been my last.
The next year I was bumped straight up to seniors.
Because of that, stepping onto the junior international stage the moment the age restriction loosened carried real weight.
It meant this life had given me more chances.
Chance... and a gamble.
The road widened little by little, and airport signs began to appear in the distance.
An unfamiliar pop song spilled from the radio, but I barely heard it.
Inside my head, the opening of my program music was rising again, slow and clear.
The shifting rhythm, the first slide, the quiet buildup of momentum—I carved every piece of it into memory once more.
It was morning on a weekday, so the airport was almost empty.
Taiwan.
This year's host country was Taiwan.
At least it was still Asia—that much I could count as a relief.
I've never been, though.
Unlike China or Japan, Taiwan was a place I had never visited even in my previous life.
Maybe we just had no connection. Every time a competition was held there, I had failed to make the selection team.
We waited in the lobby for maybe ten minutes before people began arriving one by one.
Federation staff and officials being sent for overseas broadcast commentary.
And with them, the four of us skaters, myself included.
Aside from Chloe, the remaining two—both entered in men's singles—were familiar faces.
Kim Minho. Ha Yejun.
I had seen both of them plenty of times in my past life.
"Seolhwa, want to say hello?"
At Yerim's words I turned, and the two of them, who had been standing a short distance away, started walking over.
Ha Yejun raised a hand first.
"Hey. You're Cha Seolhwa, right?"
"Hello."
I bowed my head in greeting, and he continued with a bright smile.
"I watched your free skate video. It was kind of wild—almost felt like a men's program."
"...Thank you."
I couldn't quite tell where the compliment ended and the pure observation began, but at least he didn't leave a bad impression in this life either.
Beside him, Kim Minho gave a more expressionless nod—then suddenly closed the distance between us.
No way.
Was the genderbent-beautiful Cha Seolhwa irresistible no matter where she went?
But I couldn't accept that kind of feeling.
Even juniors get ruined by scandals.
In figure skating, mixed-gender travel was common. And for athletes who had to hold the spotlight and pull sponsors, baseless rumors were the last thing anyone needed.
I was about to deliver the natural rejection I'd practiced at school when—
"...I heard you're close with Jin Sehee."
"...?"
"How close...? Did you exchange numbers? I've asked her forever and she never tells me."
It had been so long I'd completely forgotten.
This guy was an absolute Jin Sehee devotee.
"...I, uh, want to get closer to her too. Is there any way..."
Kim Minho covered his face with one hand, ears already burning from his own words.
I was still floundering for a reply when Yerim rescued me.
"Everyone's said hello. Let's go check in. It's a group process, so stick together."
Yerim smoothly stepped between us and put an end to it.
We moved with the rest of the party after that.
Departure formalities went quickly.
The federation booked us business?
Unlike my past life, they were putting even junior skaters in business class. So this was what it meant to be in a popular sport.
Once we reached the boarding lounge, everyone filled the time their own way.
Some scrolled their phones. Some did light stretches.
I went over the program layout with Yerim one more time.
"Short stays as is. Free skate?"
"We change the concept in the middle section."
"Right. And the key?"
"Until the midpoint, feminine no matter what."
A women's singles skater saying she would perform femininely was almost a contradiction.
But what I needed wasn't simply to skate "like a girl."
In every single movement.
Crossing my legs on purpose instead of opening them. Letting my fingertips drape instead of lifting them sharp.
Even the smallest detail had to make the audience feel it.
"And the second half?"
Yerim asked again.
I drew a short breath and answered.
"We flip it. Center of gravity, gaze, emotional line—everything."
"You have to show all of that inside four minutes."
"I can do it."
Yerim nodded at my answer and scribbled something down.
Her program notebook was still in her hand.
...Will this be okay?
If I was honest, I felt a little guilty toward her.
I was a junior—and the youngest on this entry.
If the sudden program change blew the competition, Coach Yerim would take the full hit.
Knowing that and still agreeing... the only thing I could do for her was this:
Win.
Win, and everything gets resolved.
Changing the program would go from recklessness to challenge.
And that challenge would become proof.
I had already chosen. I had decided not to regret it.
So I wouldn't look back. Only forward.
Sitting in my seat, I watched through the window as the plane began its slow roll toward the runway.
Service vehicles slipped past between us, and clouds filled the sky overhead.
It starts now.
From this moment, the competition had already begun.
We arrived toward evening.
The aircraft door opened, and the humid air peculiar to foreign airports touched my skin first.
Warmer than Korea, and somehow heavier inside the terminal.
"Seolhwa, grab your bags and follow me. We have to clear immigration first."
I nodded at Yerim's words and pulled my suitcase along.
We lined up with the others, passports out, waiting our turn.
Long queues. Unfamiliar language. Air that didn't feel like home.
I had traveled abroad with my parents more than once, yet coming for a competition alone made the whole atmosphere different.
That tension that rose every time I faced something new.
But I already knew it didn't have to mean fear.
Once we cleared immigration, a car arranged by the association was waiting outside.
"About forty minutes to the hotel. Rest on the way."
I leaned my head against the window and watched.
The deeper we went into the city, the denser the lights became. Motorcycle engines and shop signs glittered in a language I couldn't read.
I had been watching for only a few minutes when I felt the car slow to a stop.
"...Understood."
Yerim, who had been talking with someone up front, looked back at me.
"We're right in front of the rink. They say if you want, you can get off here, practice, and walk to the hotel after. It's about a fifteen-minute walk. What do you want to do?"
"Practice?"
"Ice quality, home advantage—people talk about those things. So?"
"Hmm..."
There was an official practice day tomorrow either way, so there would be enough time to adjust.
Rest after the flight, or get even a little ice time now. Both had clear pros and cons.
While I was still weighing it—
"...I'll get off."
Chloe, who had been speaking with her coach, raised her hand.
She hadn't said a word until now; I'd almost thought she was locked into some new concept.
Apparently not.
Thanks.
I'd been worried about standing out if I went alone. With her taking the lead, there was nothing left to hesitate over.
I raised my hand as well.
"I'll get off too."
Yerim turned toward me.
"You sure? You must be tired."
"I think it's better to get a feel for it, even a little."
"Yeah? Then I'll drop the bags at the hotel and come back this way."
"Okay."
I answered shortly and sat up straighter.
It was one of those moments when I could feel the timing—when focus was calling.
And at times like this, stepping onto the ice was always the best choice I could make.