First Competition (2)
On the stretching mat outside the rink, Jin Sehee stretched her arms high above her head and slowly rotated her body, repeating the motion as she focused only on her breathing.
"Hah... hah..."
She was nervous. But she wasn't afraid.
It had been that way since she was little. She had always been better than the others, and the coaches had always said the same thing.
Talent.
She knew it was meant as praise, but Jin Sehee had grown increasingly sick of the word.
Just keep going like this? Then how far can I actually go?
Even when other kids were gasping for air, Sehee finished every routine to the end.
The day she first landed a single jump. The day she first stuck a double.
She had always been faster than anyone. Better than anyone.
Condition feels good.
At seven years old, Jin Sehee was already a prospect who had claimed victory at two competitions.
No matter what anyone said, being able to land double combinations at this age made her a literal monster in the figure skating world.
Maybe that was why.
When she was assigned to this competition's Girls' Level 1, Ages 5–7 division, she had honestly expected it to be a little dull.
Everyone else will only manage single rotations, right?
Even landing just a double loop would lock first place by the score gap alone.
So she had decided not to bother putting a double Lutz into the program.
"Sehee, you ready?"
Her coach called over, and Sehee gave a short nod.
"Yeah. I'm taking first again today."
It wasn't so much a declaration as a certainty.
There was no one she couldn't beat.
At least, not until now.
She turned her gaze back—and that was when a girl with a strangely familiar presence walked toward her from straight ahead.
A black dress glittering with stones.
Light, sharp steps.
Sehee tilted her head slightly without thinking.
Who is that kid...
In that moment, their eyes met.
Something about that look felt... unpleasant.
She was observing her. Analyzing her. Almost enjoying it.
Sehee narrowed her eyes and spoke.
"What are you staring at."
But the girl said nothing—only smiled quietly.
That smile was irritatingly calm, the face of someone who was certain she could win.
Jin Sehee felt a sudden, inexplicable irritation, and a faint tension coiled into her fingertips.
But even at her young age, experience from multiple competitions let her recover her composure quickly.
I'm going to win anyway.
Judging by her looks, that girl was six at most.
And the muscles she needed hadn't fully developed yet.
Look at those skinny calves. What's she going to do figure skating with those?
Before she could finish the thought, warm-up time for Group A arrived.
It was the last chance before the competition to confirm the feel of the ice.
Maybe I should establish dominance a little.
On the surface, figure skating looked elegant and refined.
But a single mistake—or even without one, every movement scored under relentless scrutiny—could decide the result.
That was why psychological warfare before a performance mattered more than people thought.
For example.
"Hup."
Jin Sehee dug hard into the ice and launched her body upward.
A flashy double Salchow—and it didn't end there.
The instant she landed, she snapped her toe pick and jumped again: a double Salchow–toe loop combination.
How about that.
Figure skating wasn't a sport where you won by simply being good, the way you scored a goal or earned a perfect ten in other events.
No matter how well you skated, the moment someone better appeared, it was over—a hollow kind of contest.
So what happened if you showed an overwhelming gap in ability right before the competition?
At this age, even one double jump is hard for most of them.
Instead of bringing out their own skill, they would already believe they had lost—and fail to score even what they should.
That was why she had burned the energy to show off a high-difficulty combination jump like a taunt.
"...Huh?"
The girl in the black dress from earlier started skating at high speed as if none of it concerned her.
Then a jump. Another jump.
A clean double toe loop chained after a double Salchow.
The exact combination Jin Sehee had just shown.
As if.
Normally during warm-up, people tested jumps one at a time, broken into pieces.
But when someone provoked me that openly, I had no choice but to answer in kind.
Didn't even burn that much stamina, surprisingly.
After answering Jin Sehee's challenge, I checked the remaining elements.
Once I was actually on the competition ice, nothing locked up. Everything landed. Condition was perfect.
Group A warm-up has ended. Everyone, please exit the rink.
Following the announcement, I headed off the ice.
After everyone else had gone out, someone stepped into my path just as I was leaving last.
"...Unnie's sorry. I slept a little rough last night."
A faint smell of alcohol drifted from Yerim as she said it.
...Considering my past life, maybe I should just be grateful she showed up at all.
The first time I went to the Olympics, she hadn't even managed to get out of the lodging until after the competition was over.
Haa. I'll just put up with it.
I knew about her trauma, so I had no intention of saying anything.
As a coach, her ability was more than enough anyway.
"Seolhwa, I was watching just now—you finished testing all the jumps, right?"
"Yes."
"The double combination too?"
"I landed everything."
"Good. That's more than enough for us to win. Don't get tense."
As she spoke, Yerim fitted my guards over the blades so they wouldn't get damaged off-ice.
"We're fifth in the order, but the programs won't be that long, so it'll come around soon."
"Okay. I'll stay ready."
"Hey, if you stay too tense, your body locks up and you mess up things you'd normally land."
"So I should relax?"
"Then you fall on the landings."
...So what am I supposed to do, then?
I looked at Yerim with that exact question in my eyes.
"Don't get too tense, and don't get too loose either. Hard, right?"
"Yes."
"That's the hardest part of figure skating—shutting out every other factor and delivering the absolute best you can do."
At the elite level, skaters' technical ability was more or less the same.
How perfectly you could execute without nerves deciding it—that was where a 0.1-point gap opened, and where winners and losers were made.
I know that better than anyone.
How many medals, how many first places, had I lost over those tiny margins?
In this life, I had no need for that kind of experience again.
"They're all so cute."
Watching from the skaters' waiting area, Yerim made a casual remark.
Not good—cute. An obvious reaction, if you thought about it.
How much could five-to-seven-year-olds really do, after all?
"Huh?"
The moment Jin Sehee's program began, her reaction changed.
"Jin Sehee, was it? I remember she skated well last year too. This year she's got a double Salchow."
"She's good."
"She is. I wonder how many times people have called her a genius. She's probably never failed anything since she started."
A double Salchow–toe loop combination, clean single jumps including the Axel, and after that she never broke her speed for the entire program.
On the final spin, she held her upper body long and open with her arms extended, turning at a steady rate without losing her center—impressive.
Every movement was sharp and clear.
Young as she still was, her skating was complete enough to make you think of the word finish.
At the seven-year-old level, there really was no one who could match her.
"What a waste. Such a waste."
"What is?"
I asked when Yerim kept murmuring about how regrettable it was while watching Jin Sehee.
"Well, in the five-to-seven division at this competition, she was originally supposed to win."
Yerim reached out as usual to ruffle my hair, then stopped when she remembered it had been styled.
"It's just pitiful for her that our genius Seolhwa is here."
Maybe because I was still young enough that we hadn't done any facial makeup, Yerim stretched my cheeks instead and soothed her own disappointment that way.
A little later, Jin Sehee's turn ended, and a voice called my name.
"I'm going."
"Let's do this. Just like I said earlier—moderately. Do it the way you always do."
"Got it."
I pulled the guards off my blades and slipped on the half-gloves I had taken off earlier.
I exhaled calmly, then walked slowly out onto the ice.
Competitor number 5, Cha Seolhwa
The moment I stepped onto the rink, a familiar chill welcomed me.
I moved to center ice and offered the judges the bow that said I was ready.
Not long after, the music began.
In figure skating, the music announces the start of the competition.
From this moment on, not a single mistake would be allowed.
The one standing on the ice was clearly Cha Seolhwa.
But my body had already finished preparing to move with Cha Yunsung's senses restored.
...Here I go.
As if diving into water, I threw myself into the music.
The first steps began with a simple spiral.
I glided across the ice as if flowing, twisting my upper body to the music and lifting my fingertips.
My strength.
In figure skating, completeness isn't measured by jumps alone.
Performance quality is a technique in its own right.
Careful, soft, so my fingertips wouldn't tremble.
As if tracing a thread-thin melody with my hands—connected all the way to the tips of my fingers.
Even now, I stayed conscious of the angle of my smaller fingers, the flow across the back of my hand.
Not just a pretty pose, but making the breath of the music visible.
Breath rising from my chest traveled through my shoulders and down my arms to my fingertips, completing the performance timed to the music.
My stage.
Every breath controlled. Every glance designed. My movement.
From these fingertips to the ends of my toes, everything was figure skating.
And on my stage, I had no intention of losing.