Under the Fluorescent Lights

The physician’s coat bore a small Japanese flag stitched neatly into the collar; a quiet symbol of pride for Morita, who carried the responsibility of safeguarding the nation’s top athletes. He sat at his desk, enjoying the rare stillness of a quiet morning. In his line of work, quiet meant everyone was healthy. Quiet was good.

The peace was shattered with a breathless voice echoing down the hallway.

Morita stood and stepped into the corridor just in time to see Sakamoto‑sensei half-carrying one of her athletes, another woman supporting the other side. The skater refused to put even a hint of weight on her right foot.

Morita winced. This was never how he wanted to start a morning.

He stepped in immediately, relieving the struggling coach, who looked one breath away from collapsing. As they hurried past the nurses’ station, Morita’s voice snapped into command mode, issuing rapid instructions to prep whatever equipment might be needed. He guided the three women down the hall and into an examination room, the urgency in their footsteps echoing off the sterile walls.

They eased Ayaka onto the examination table with as much gentleness as urgency allowed. Morita pulled up a chair, while Kanae slipped behind Reiko, close enough to help, far enough not to interfere.

He took Ayaka’s foot in his hands, his expression tightening at the obvious swelling. With practiced care, he began to probe along the arch and sides, watching her face for any reaction. When his fingers reached the top of her foot, Ayaka jerked back, a sharp breath escaping her.

Only pride kept her from crying out. She could have told him that spot would hurt; he didn’t need to test it. But when she finally looked down, even she was startled by how severe the swelling had become. Last night, it had been a dull discomfort. This was something entirely different.

Morita exhaled and turned to Reiko. “She’ll likely need to be out of practice for a couple of months at least.”

Reiko stepped forward, tension radiating off her. “Is it broken? Will it heal properly?”

Ayaka blinked at her coach, who suddenly looked more like a worried parent than a stern professional. She rarely let her guard down in public.

“Are you trying to worry the patient?” Ayaka said, managing a pained grin.

Morita’s mouth twitched, amused as he began to understand the closeness between the two.

“I’ll know more after some tests,” he said, slipping into the calm, vague reassurance he usually reserved for anxious families.

A nurse slipped into the room as if on cue. Morita turned toward her. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, sensei. Everything is prepared,” she replied, moving to Ayaka’s side to help her sit up.

Morita offered Ayaka a calm, reassuring smile. “Let’s go identify the exact problem so we can get you back on the ice.”

Something in his tone steadied her. Her breathing eased, her shoulders loosened. “Yes, Morita‑sensei. I am trusting you to get me back to where I belong.”

“You’ve put your trust in the right man,” he said gently.

The nurse guided Ayaka off the table and into the wheelchair she had brought with her, careful not to jostle her injured foot.

Coach Reiko stayed behind with Morita‑sensei, hoping to pry out any additional information. Kanae trailed after Ayaka and the nurse, her steps quick and uncertain. When they reached the imaging room, the nurse turned to her with a gentle but firm expression.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait here.”

“Oh…” Kanae blinked, snapping back into herself. “Of course. I will wait right here, Ayaka.”

She tried to smile, but it faltered. All she could do was stand there as the nurse guided Ayaka through the doorway. The door swung shut with a soft click, leaving Kanae staring at the empty space where her friend had just been.

The nurse repositioned the X‑ray machine several times, taking images of Ayaka’s foot from every angle. Through the glass, Ayaka noticed Morita slip into the imaging room, likely fleeing Reiko’s relentless questions. He leaned toward the scans, studying each carefully, pointing out something she could not see.

When the nurse finished, they stepped out of the glass enclosure. Morita offered her another smile, but this one did not soothe her. It felt too practiced, too careful.

“We’ll need to run a few more tests,” he said, his tone steady. “We want to make sure you get the care you need.”

He did not look worried, but Ayaka suspected that was simply the benefit of decades spent delivering bad news gently.

A moment later, she was back in the wheelchair, being guided toward the MRI suite. The hallway felt colder this time. Her optimism, which had survived the X‑ray, was beginning to thin.

As she lay inside the machine, Ayaka’s mind drifted despite her best efforts. She tried to cling to the positives, to push the darker thoughts aside while the MRI hummed around her. But the longer she stayed still, the harder optimism became.

Back in the doctor’s office, Morita reviewed the results of the imaging. Ayaka sat on the examination table, a fresh cast replacing the skates she had worn only an hour ago. She tried to listen, but her attention kept drifting to the soft cast that had been placed on her foot, a relentless, suffocating physical reminder of everything she stood to lose.

“She’ll likely need ten to fourteen weeks of rehab,” Morita said. “I wouldn’t expect her back on the ice for at least three months.”

Those words snapped her back into the room.

“Three months?” Ayaka turned to Reiko, panic rising. “Will I have time for All Japan?”

Reiko met her eyes. She saw the fear there, but she could not offer false hope.

“It’s going to be tight,” she admitted. “We’ll do our best.”

“Sensei, I can’t miss the championships.” Ayaka’s voice wavered, but her determination did not. “Just tell me what physical therapy I need to do.”

She aimed the plea at Morita instead of Reiko, as if the doctor might give her a loophole the coach could not.

Morita stood, smoothing the front of his coat. “I’ll see what I can do as well,” he said gently, then stepped out of the room to begin arranging her treatment.

Now that they were alone, Reiko turned to Ayaka with eyes that had shed their worry and settled into something colder.

“You were doing solo practices again,” she said, not hiding the disappointment in her voice. “Weren’t you?”

Ayaka leaned up against her coach and smiled. “I got a little restless last night.”

Reiko knocked her lightly on the head; more playful than punitive. “Do you expect me to believe it was only one night?”

Ayaka let out a small laugh, the first since everything had begun. Reiko caught the shift and allowed herself to relax too. She rolled her eyes in defeat; she had never been able to stay stern with Ayaka.

From the back of the room, Kanae raised a hand as if confessing. “I told her not to do it, Sakamoto‑sensei.”

“Oh, you knew?” Reiko arched a brow. “Perhaps you’d like to join the other girls this weekend.”

Kanae straightened immediately. “I think I have plans this weekend, sensei.”

The three of them laughed, half relieved that things were not worse, half weighed down by the reality of what lay ahead.