Junior World Championships (2)
"Korea?"
"Yes."
The only ones who got out in front of the arena were Chloe and me.
No adults had come with us, yet getting inside was no trouble. Both of us were wearing national-team jackets stamped with the Taegeuk mark, so the staff recognized us at once. We held out our passports, went through a quick check, and were waved straight in.
The air along the street still hung heavy with moisture, so we hurried indoors.
Huge.
This competition’s venue was Taipei Arena—a multipurpose indoor stadium that boasted fifteen thousand seats. Ordinarily it hosted basketball and other court sports, but for these four days the ISU had rented the whole place. That meant a rink had been built and filled solid with ice, nothing like its everyday look.
Low lighting lay across the ice; every seat in the stands was empty.
"Quieter than I expected," Chloe said beside me. She was gazing slowly out at the rink.
"Doesn’t look like they’ve resurfaced it yet, either."
I stepped closer and peered through the clear glass wall. A few thin trails of someone’s edges still marked the ice—proof that skaters from other countries had already held unofficial practices today.
Might as well warm up first.
I unrolled one of the shared mats beside the bench and started stretching. I loosened my hips, then slid into a full split. Legs that usually opened without pain refused to stretch as far as I wanted. Three hours on a plane had left my body stiffer than I’d realized. What normally took ten minutes stretched past thirty.
"…Aren’t you taking way too long?"
Chloe, who had already finished a lap of the rink, gave me a puzzled look from the side.
Guess that’s what being young is like.
At an age when the body still feels indestructible, she clearly didn’t grasp how vital stretching was. One day, once she hit senior age and everything tightened up, it would hit her all at once. Feeling a little sorry for her, I finished the last pose and folded the mat away.
"You wouldn’t understand even if I told you."
With that I tightened my skates, pulled off the blade guards, and carefully stepped onto the ice. Tapping the tip of a blade against the surface, I felt the perfect balance of slip and firmness. A few scratches remained from before the resurfacing, but overall the ice had a lively spring that felt good.
I began moving slowly along the boards—easy edge changes, light turns, arms reaching as if to part the air above the ice. After a few circuits my body settled fully into the surface. I gradually built speed. In the empty arena only the clean rush of wind and the sound of blades carving ice echoed.
Chances like this don’t come often.
Having a ten-thousand-seat rink almost to yourself was rare. Official practice the day before a competition always drew crowds; with eyes on you, most skaters stuck to the elements they already owned. A fall there could come back as crushing public pressure the next day. But right now the stands were empty and the only other person on the ice was Chloe. An isolated space—the ideal setup for practice right before the real thing.
Actually, having Chloe here is even better.
If I’d been completely alone I might have gotten a little loose; knowing someone was watching kept just the right amount of tension in my body.
I drove hard across the rink, building speed. Eyes forward, body in a perfect line. Weight on the left foot, right leg swinging powerfully through. The moment the toepick bit the ice cleanly, my body lifted into the air.
"…Hwa… Seolhwa, wake up."
"…Yeah."
I rubbed my sleepy eyes and pushed myself upright. Changing beds never kept me from sleeping, so I’d rested easily at the hotel—maybe even better than usual because the place was so nice.
"Just wash your face and let’s go get breakfast."
"Okay."
After a quick wash I left the room with Yerim. We headed for the breakfast buffet on the hotel’s top floor.
"We’ve got practice before lunch, so don’t eat too much."
I nodded and picked up a plate. I never ate a big breakfast anyway, so I took only light things: two eggs, a single slice of toast, a few pieces of fruit.
Yerim eyed my plate with genuine concern.
"I didn’t mean that little. Just a bit less than usual."
"I’m only taking this much on purpose."
"On purpose?"
"I still have to skate the free."
Today’s order was ladies’ singles, men’s singles, then pairs and ice dance. Ladies opened the day, so I would be on the ice within five hours at most. Better to finish early and eat properly afterward.
I put a whole egg in my mouth; soft-scrambled pepper spread across my tongue. The empty, clenched feeling in my stomach eased, and some of the tension drained with it.
"Today let’s focus on steps and choreography," Yerim said, stacking her empty plate. "Jumps only up to triples—we’re skating the short tomorrow anyway."
"Right. About the back-foot stroke right before the music shift in the second half—can I delay it one beat?"
"That’s fine. Just load the weight and go right after that beat."
I voiced the ideas that had come to me during yesterday’s practice; Yerim gave short, precise feedback. The program had been thrown together in a hurry, so we were still adjusting it whenever something new occurred to me.
Delay it, then…
I pictured the sequence I’d sketched on the ice yesterday: soft left inside edge, a turn that wrapped the body, then the theme change. Fingertips and gaze flipping as the music crossed into the masculine section.
"If you’re finished, shall we go?"
Yerim’s voice scattered the image.
"Do your morning stretch in the room and drink plenty of water. Promise."
"Yes."
"I’m going to meet the federation people for a bit and then come up. Want to head back first?"
"I’ll do that."
Outside the restaurant the sunlight was stronger; the warmth on my shoulders felt like a quiet signal that the real competition was close. I was walking toward the elevators at an unhurried pace when someone called from behind me.
They didn’t say my name exactly. But that word—
"Sparkle sparkle!"
I turned. Standing there was a familiar… no, a girl who had grown even taller than I remembered. Anyone who didn’t know her might have mistaken her for a senior. Yet the lines of her figure were unmistakably feminine.
Honda Reina—the Japanese skater I’d met before.
What now?
When we messaged on social media the auto-translate function handled everything. Face to face again, I had no idea what to say. I was debating whether to pull out a translator when—
"Annyeonghaseyo!"
Familiar words came out of Reina’s mouth.
"Korean?"
I asked, surprised. Reina waved both hands in denial.
"Sukoshi…! Small? A little?"
"Still, that’s impressive."
"YouTube. Benkyo."
"Really impressive. Your pronunciation’s good."
"Really? Happy!"
Reina covered her face lightly with the back of her hand, then lowered it and whispered,
"Seolhwa, still sparkle sparkle. Last competition was cool."
"You’re still cute too, Reina."
"Ehehe…"
I wasn’t sure calling someone twenty centimeters taller than me “cute” was accurate, but she seemed pleased, so that was fine.
"Um… Seolhwa, what number?"
Her word choice was a little off here and there, but I could roughly follow. She was asking which group I was in for official practice today.
I held up two fingers.
"Ni!"
She said it in Japanese, but I knew that meant two. So Reina was in group two as well.
"Let’s do well together."
Nod-nod-nod. She bobbed her head so fast she looked like a puppy. Watching her, I thought she and Jin Sehee would probably get along great. I hoped there would be a competition someday where the two of them could meet.
A few hours later, practice began.
Official practice worked like this: one skater performed their program in the center while the others circled the boards warming up. Ideally only one person would be on the ice, but with limited time the rest simply skated around the edges.
When my turn came I ran through both the short and the free. The moment I finished—
"Sparkle sparkle sparkle!"
Reina, who had been watching out of the corner of her eye because she was next, came flying over in full excitement, gushing. I let out the breath I’d been holding and offered her a quick word of encouragement before stepping off the ice.
Yerim was waiting; she draped a towel around my neck and murmured,
"Look at everyone’s faces. They’re staring like they just watched some genre show."
"No risky calls from the judges?"
"None. Edges clean the whole way. Just drop the arm angle a little lower if you want to lock in the spin levels."
She added a check mark to her notebook at once. Listening, I became aware of the gazes fixed on me—curiosity mixed with wariness. Two of them in particular were staring hard.
Chloe, and—
Akane.
Because she skated last, Akane had been sitting on the bench watching the others. From the moment my performance ended she had not looked away.
