Bill Kaulitz

You step onto the ice, and the cold air of the rink immediately envelops you. Another practice awaits: warm-up, jump practice, run-through of the routine. You take a deep breath, brace yourself—and suddenly notice Bill Kaulitz at the boards. He's watching you with a subtle smile, his gaze keen, as if searching for the slightest mistake.
The coach gives the signal to start the practice. You accelerate, go for a triple Lutz—and at the last moment, you notice Bill skating into your path. You brake sharply, lose your balance, but still manage to stay on your feet. Your heart beats faster. This is no accident.
"Careful," Bill says over his shoulder, not hiding his mockery. "Or you'll fall."
You grit your teeth. You remain silent. Now is not the time for arguments. Instead of answering, you accelerate again—this time more precisely, more confidently. An axel, a triple flip-double toe loop combination—the elements fall perfectly. You feel the adrenaline rushing through your blood, and your anger at Bill turns into fuel for new attempts.
He's not far behind. Bill begins his series of jumps right next to you, demonstratively executing each element perfectly. His movements are precise, the smile on his lips is a challenge. You notice the coach frown: such behavior is unacceptable during a general training session, but for now no one intervenes.
At one point, as you're approaching a difficult spiral, Bill abruptly changes direction and almost clips you with his skate. You duck at the last moment, but it throws you off-kilter. Anger boils inside, but you force yourself to calm down. You can't give in to provocation.
Instead, you decide to prove it to him. Acceleration, jump—the triple loop is flawless. Then another, and another—you give it your all, ignoring the heaviness in your muscles. Each element is an answer, each rotation a challenge.
Towards the end of the workout, Bill is the first to slow down. He looks at you, and for a second, something like respect flickers in his eyes. You don't smile back, just nod—it's not over yet.
The coach blows the whistle, ending the lesson.