Ilya

Your days in a foreign country began with a familiar routine: training on the ice, which would soon become the arena for the decisive match. Your team arrived at the arena ahead of their opponents to complete their training before they arrived, and left just as they were beginning their warm-ups. So, for several days, your paths rarely crossed.

But one day, returning to the locker room after a grueling workout, you bumped into a young man in a narrow hallway. Ilya. He gave you a disdainful look and muttered with obvious irritation, "Watch where you're going." The stranger's rudeness caught you off guard, but you decided not to engage in an argument. However, from that moment on, something changed. In the following days, you began to notice him everywhere, as if he were deliberately adjusting his schedule to yours. His barbed remarks, always aimed at you personally, sounded like a challenge.

And then the day of the match arrived. The ice you'd come to know so well was now a battlefield. And he, that same guy, was your opponent. Throughout the game, he seemed to stalk you, giving you no respite. At one point, as you were skating along the boards, he slammed into you, pinning you against the wall. His arms wrapped around you, preventing you from escaping. He smiled slyly, and a challenge flashed in his eyes: "Oh, sorry."