Chapter 1

If Mr. Sato asks, I am currently deeply engrossed in the socio-economic impacts of the Meiji Restoration.
In reality? I have my phone propped up behind my textbook, brightness turned all the way down, watching Kaito "The Blizzard" Takahashi land a flawless triple axel at the Winter Crown Championships.
I let out a soft, dreamy sigh, resting my chin on my hands. It wasn't even Kaito’s handsome face I was staring at it was the skates. The sleek, pristine white boots. The silver blades that cut through the ice like glass. The sheer, gravity-defying freedom of it all. I wanted that. I wanted to glide across a frozen surface looking like an elegant, untouchable fairy, leaving a trail of sparkling frost in my wake.
"Momose."
I jumped, nearly knocking my textbook off the desk. Mr. Sato was staring at me, adjusting his glasses. "Care to share your thoughts on the samurai class dissolution?"
"They were... very dissolved, sir," I squeaked out.
A few kids snickered. Two desks away, Yukimura Nagi didn't even twitch. He was currently face-down on his desk, using his arms as a pillow, completely dead to the world. Nagi was the human equivalent of a wallflower. He had this neck-length, perpetually messy black hair that looked like a bird had nested in it, and when he was actually awake, he wore these massive, thick-rimmed nerd glasses that hid half his face. He slouched. He mumbled. He was practically invisible.
Honestly, I envied him. At least Mr. Sato didn't catch him watching ice skating videos.
---
"Yui, I say this with love," my best friend Rina shouted from the safety of the bleachers, clutching a hot cocoa. "You look like a newborn baby giraffe trying to walk on jello!"
"I am learning!" I yelled back, my voice echoing across the indoor community rink.
I gripped the side barrier so hard my knuckles were turning white. Okay, maybe Kaito made it look a little easier than it actually was. I took a deep breath, channeled my inner ice fairy, and pushed off the wall.
For half a second, it was glorious. I was moving. The wind hit my face.
Then my left ankle wobbled. My right skate caught an invisible groove. My arms started doing the Macarena as I tried to regain my balance, and with a spectacular, highly un-fairy-like shriek, my butt met the ice for the seventeenth time that afternoon.
Thwack. "Oww..." I groaned, staring up at the fluorescent lights.
Mika, my other friend, skated over with frustrating ease and looked down at me. "Do you want to just go get crepes? You're going to bruise your tailbone so bad you won't be able to sit through math class tomorrow."
"I'm fine!" I laughed awkwardly, forcing myself to roll over onto my hands and knees. My cheeks were burning, but I forced a huge, goofy smile. "Just testing the structural integrity of the ice. It's very solid. Ten out of ten."
I didn't feel bad, really. I knew I was clumsy. But deep down, beneath the jokes and the awkward laughs, a tiny, stubborn part of my heart burned. I just wanted to do it *once*. Just one smooth glide without eating pavement.
"Hey! Momose!"
Oh, great. The cavalry was here.
I hauled myself up just in time to see a group of tall, sweaty guys in tracksuits pushing through the rink doors. Leading the pack was Daiki, my childhood friend and the star point guard of the school's basketball team. He had a sports bag slung over his shoulder and a loud, booming voice that completely shattered the peaceful vibe of the rink.
He didn't even put on skates. He just walked right onto the edge of the ice in his sneakers, which was practically a sin.
"Daiki, get off the ice, you're tracking dirt!" I scolded, wobbling toward him.
He reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me, pulling me a little closer than strictly necessary. "You're gonna crack your skull open, Yui. We just finished practice and saw you guys through the window. What are you even doing?"
"I am practicing my triple axel," I lied smoothly.
Daiki laughed, a loud, booming sound. He ruffled my hair, which I instantly batted away. "Right. And I'm joining the ballet. Seriously, skating is dangerous stuff. Leave the risky sports to us, yeah? Come on, take those death traps off. The guys and I are walking you girls home."
I caught Rina and Mika exchanging a knowing look. Everyone in school knew Daiki had a massive crush on me. He was sweet, sure, and conventionally attractive in that loud, golden-retriever jock kind of way. But to me, he was just the guy who used to eat dirt in the sandbox when we were seven. I didn't feel my heart flutter when he smiled. I just felt annoyed that he was treating me like a fragile glass doll.
"I can walk myself," I muttered, but I was already defeated. My legs felt like jelly anyway. I let him drag me off the ice, casting one last, longing look at the smooth white surface.
I wasn't giving up. Not yet.
---
The air in my family’s restaurant, Momose Noodles, was thick with the rich, savory smell of pork broth and soy sauce.
"Table four needs a spicy miso, Yui!" my dad hollered from the kitchen, the steam from the giant pots making his face shiny.
"On it!" I grabbed the tray, pasting on my best customer service smile.
We lived right above the shop, which meant my evenings were usually spent wiping down tables, serving ramen, and doing homework in the back booth. By the time 10:00 PM rolled around and Dad flipped the sign to 'CLOSED', my feet were aching and I had a fresh smear of chili oil on my cheek.
"Good work today, peanut," Dad said, untying his apron. "Your mom and I are gonna do inventory in the back. Lock the front door, will you?"
"Yep! Goodnight!"
The moment the kitchen doors swung shut, my customer service smile dropped. I looked at the clock. 10:15 PM.
The community ice rink officially closed at 9:00 PM. But I knew a secret. The side door near the Zamboni garage had a busted lock. If you wiggled the handle just right, it popped right open.
My heart hammered in my chest. I wasn't the rebellious type. I didn't sneak out, I didn't break rules, and I definitely didn't trespass. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw those silver blades. I heard Daiki’s voice telling me to leave the risky sports to him.
I grabbed my duffel bag from under the counter, stuffed my white skates inside, and slipped out the front door into the freezing winter night.
---
The rink was entirely different in the dark.
It was silent. Eerily beautiful. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, casting long, silvery shadows across the freshly smoothed ice. It looked like a private, frozen lake just waiting for me.
I tiptoed into the bleachers, shivering as the cold air bit through my jacket. I sat down on a bench to lace up my boots, my breath puffing out in white clouds.
Alright, Momose, I pumped myself up. No friends to laugh at you. No Daiki to hover over you. Just you and the ice.
I pulled the laces tight. I stood up.
And then, I froze.
Swoosh. Skrrrtt.
My heart leaped into my throat. I wasn't alone.
Someone was on the ice.
I immediately ducked down behind the front row of the bleachers, peering through the gap between the seats. Panic warred with curiosity. Was it a security guard? A ghost?
Out of the shadows, a figure glided into the center of the rink.
I stopped breathing.
It was a guy. He was moving with a speed and grace that made my jaw literally drop. There was no hesitation, no wobbling. He owned the ice. He gained speed, his lean body coiling like a spring, and then he launched himself into the air.
One. Two. Three.
He spun a perfect triple jump, landing backward on one foot as silently as a cat, his arms extended in a pose so elegant it belonged in a museum.
Who is that? I thought, my eyes wide. He didn't have the bulky build of a hockey player, nor the stiff posture of an amateur. He was wearing a simple black turtleneck and dark fitted pants.
He slowed down, turning in a lazy circle near the center of the rink, the moonlight finally catching his face.
My brain short-circuited.
Gone were the massive, cartoonish nerd glasses. Gone was the terrible, slouching posture. The cold wind from his skating had swept his messy neck-length hair back, revealing sharp, incredibly striking features. He had high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and dark eyes that looked intense and completely focused.
He wasn't just handsome. He was beautiful.
And I knew exactly who he was.
Yukimura Nagi?! The class wallflower. The guy who slept through math. The guy who looked like a gentle breeze could knock him over was currently skating like a national champion in the middle of the night.
I was so shocked I physically recoiled. As I leaned back, my foot caught the strap of my heavy duffel bag.
Oh no.
Physics is a cruel mistress. My skates slipped out from under me on the rubber matting. I flailed, my hands desperately grasping for the bleacher rail, but I completely missed.
With a yelp that echoed through the silent arena like a gunshot, I tumbled forward. I crashed right through the little swinging gate that led to the rink and slammed onto the ice, sliding forward on my stomach like a very ungraceful penguin.
My duffel bag spilled open, my phone skittering across the frozen surface.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the cold, hard humiliation to set in. But I was sliding too fast. I was heading straight for the boards.
I'm gonna crash. I'm actually gonna die here, and the class nerd is going to be the only witness.
Suddenly, the frantic sound of my sliding was interrupted by the sharp, aggressive  skrrrt of blades stopping hard.
A pair of hands grabbed me.
They didn't grab my arm or my collar. They caught me securely by the waist, strong and steady, completely halting my momentum. I gasped, the air rushing out of my lungs as I was pulled up and suddenly pressed against a firm chest.
Everything smelled like crisp peppermint, laundry detergent, and cold winter air.
I slowly, very slowly, opened my eyes.
Yukimura Nagi was looking down at me. Up close, without those ridiculous glasses, his eyes were a piercing, deep obsidian. He was breathing slightly heavily from his routine, a faint dusting of pink on his usually pale cheeks. His hands were still firmly planted on my waist, holding my clumsy body perfectly balanced on the slick ice.
For a second, neither of us breathed. The silence was deafening.
Then, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in a dark scowl.
"Momose?" he whispered, his voice lower and smoother than I had ever heard it. "What the hell are you doing here?"