Measuring the Prodigy

Hoshino Emiri glided across the ice with the effortless confidence of a reigning Juniors Champion, every movement crisp and hungry. Her jumps snapped upward with startling power, and her spins tightened into such perfect centripetal force that it was hard to tell where the girl ended and the blur began.

Ayaka watched from the boards, studying each beat of the routine with a practiced eye. She was not intimidated; she was taking measure. This newcomer might have had the momentum of youth and the spotlight’s favor, but Ayaka had spent a decade carving her name into this world. She was not about to let anyone, least of all a prodigy with sharp edges and an even sharper tongue, waltz in and claim her throne.

“She is not bad. Not worth all the hype, though,” Mori Kanae said between sips.

Of course, she was not threatened; she already had an Olympic medal. Ayaka glanced at her best friend, studying her for a moment. Kanae was an enigma: rarely on the podium at international events, yet when she did make the Olympics, she walked away with silver. And now she sat there, relaxed as ever, drinking a juice box meant for kids half their age.

“She has not caught me yet,” Ayaka admitted, “but I swear she is improving faster than I would prefer.”

Kanae waved off the concern with a flick of her wrist. “She is not beating you anytime soon.”

Kanae turned her back to the ice and studied her friend, instantly catching the tension gathering in Ayaka’s shoulders.

“I saw your interview,” she said, giving a small, unimpressed snort. “Can’t believe the media actually thinks she can replace you.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder toward the rink. “She probably took your comments as a personal challenge.”

Ayaka exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall as if the weight of the last few days had finally settled on her. The support of the boards and her friend, hopefully, helped her bear it.

“I know she did. That is exactly her personality,” she murmured, her voice thinning with fatigue. “But I was the one they were challenging.”

Kanae somehow produced another juice box from nowhere and held it out. Ayaka blinked, trying to figure out where her friend had been hiding it, before accepting. She stabbed the straw through the foil with more force than necessary and took a long sip, eyes drifting back to Emiri’s routine.

“If she weren’t so annoying, I might tell her how to fix that,” Ayaka muttered, lifting her chin toward a subtle mistake in the footwork.

“She’s too arrogant to listen anyway,” Kanae said. “I tried helping her when she first arrived.”

Kanae turned back toward the ice, squinting as if she could catch whatever Ayaka had noticed, but she was too late. She nudged Ayaka with her elbow and flashed a bright, teasing smile.

“Are you really feeling pressure from her? Personally, I think Tanabe is the bigger threat.”

Ayaka shot her a puzzled look. “Nakahara retired, remember? Saki’s taking her spot for sure.”

“Oh. Right.” Kanae shrugged, unbothered, and took another sip from her juice box.

They fell quiet as Emiri’s routine came to a graceful close. Out of habit and sportsmanship, both women clapped politely. Emiri dipped into a deep bow in their direction, and when she lifted her head, her stare was as cold as the ice beneath her blades.

Reiko, who was placed in charge of the group practice, was staring straight at Ayaka. Ayaka failed to notice the attention until she finally broke eye contact with Emiri. Her coach gave a small wave, signaling her onto the ice. Ayaka drew in a steadying breath and bent to adjust the top of her right skate, fingers lingering a moment longer than usual.

Kanae caught it immediately. “Something wrong with your skates?”

Ayaka looked up, offering a thin, reassuring smile. “I did some night practice. I’m… feeling it this morning.”

Kanae smirked over the rim of her juice box. “If Sakamoto‑sensei finds out you’re sneaking in solo practices again, she’ll retire you herself.”

Ayaka placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder as she stepped past. “Which is why she will never find out… right?”

Kanae laughed, watching her go. Ayaka moved toward the ice with that familiar, effortless grace — the kind that made even walking on skates look like choreography. For a moment, Kanae simply admired her friend and whispered, “No one can match you on the ice.”

Ayaka settled into her starting pose, Kanae’s voice ringing from the sidelines in loud, unfiltered encouragement. The music swelled, and Ayaka’s smile flickered to life. Her opening movements were steady and deliberate; a slow, precise dance carved into the ice before she burst forward with sudden speed and power.

She glided with her back to the wind, cutting through it with the confidence of someone who had lived her entire life on blades. Her first jump came effortlessly: a clean, soaring triple axel that landed with textbook precision. Kanae hopped up and down, nearly spilling her juice box as she cheered.

The success fed her momentum. Ayaka pushed into her next element, a triple flip–triple toe combination. Two tight spins, a sharp takeoff, and she landed both jumps in perfect sequence. Skaters around the rink paused mid‑stretch, their attention pulled toward her.

She transitioned into a flying split spin, her body slicing through the air with elegant control. Reiko gave a small, triumphant fist pump; everything was unfolding exactly as they had planned. Kanae’s cheers grew louder. Across the rink, Emiri’s expression tightened, her irritation barely concealed.

Ayaka held her head high. Only one jump element remained: a triple loop she had performed more times than she could count. She launched into it with practiced ease, the rotation flawless. When she landed, a sharp wince flashed across her face. Everyone saw it.

Her glide faltered. Then slowed. Then stopped entirely as she collapsed to the ice, clutching her foot in sudden, unmistakable pain.

Reiko and Kanae were on the ice within seconds, skates scraping sharply as they rushed toward her. The entire venue fell into a stunned, breathless silence.

“What happened?” Reiko asked, her voice unsteady, whether from the sprint or the shock, Ayaka couldn’t tell.

Ayaka’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I don’t know… I felt a sudden, sharp pain on the top of my foot.”

Kanae hovered beside them, jittery and frantic, her body moving as if she wanted to do ten things at once but couldn’t decide on a single one.

“Is she going to be okay, Sakamoto‑sensei?”

“Calm down, Kanae‑san. We need to get her to Morita‑sensei immediately.” Reiko’s voice was firm, but Ayaka could hear the strained panic beneath it. “Help me get her up.”

Ayaka draped her arms over their shoulders, letting them lift her. As they guided her off the ice, Emiri and the other skaters stood frozen in disbelief.

With her two closest supports literally holding her upright, Ayaka could not help noticing the irony.

“I never thought you two would become my actual supports,” she muttered, half laugh, half pained groan.

“Now is not the time to be joking,” Reiko scolded, though Kanae let out a shaky laugh anyway.

The three of them made their way toward the medical wing.

Behind them, Emiri’s voice cut through the quiet. “I was wondering how she’d back out after making such a fuss on TV.”

A few girls laughed; some out of spite, others simply afraid to take a side.

Reiko stopped. She turned her head just enough for her gaze to land on the group.

“Seems like some of you want extra work this weekend.”

The laughter died instantly. Only Emiri held Reiko’s stare, unblinking.