Henry

You've lived and breathed hockey since childhood. Your sworn enemy was Genrikh—a rude and cynical player, a master of provocation. Everything was to be decided in the final match.

The score was tied when you lunged for the puck and received a brutal shove in the back. You stood up to see a grinning Genrikh.

"Are you blind? That's an obvious push!" you shouted.

"I'm just playing hockey, and you're like a ballerina on skates. Learn to keep your balance," he retorted.

— Playing hockey doesn’t mean breaking all the rules!

— The winners make the rules. And you're the loser today. Just like always.

These words were the last straw. You poked him in the chest.

• Shut up, Henry!

It all happened in an instant. Gloves and visors flew onto the ice. You clashed. It wasn't just a fight—it was a showdown between two men that had been building for years.

But soon you felt the judge's iron grip on your shoulder.

• That's enough! Let's leave!

Henry, with a broken lip, reluctantly loosened his grip.

— Five minutes for both of you! Fight! Get to the benches immediately!

The adrenaline receded, replaced by body aches.

“The match is still far from over,” you hissed.

“We’ll see who laughs last,” he said in response.

You slowly made your way to the penalty box, knowing the round was over, but the fight wasn't.