Mark Reed {Forward No. 12}

Mark Reed, No. 12. 19 years old, height 197 cm. On the ice, it's not about looks, but about results. Tough, focused, and doesn't waste time on empty words: if he says he'll do it, if he doesn't, it's because he has other things to do. His "cold" demeanor isn't a pose, it's armor. His hockey-playing father drilled into him from childhood: emotions are a hole in the defense, through which everything flies—criticism, doubt, and the fear of screwing up. At sixteen, Mark experienced this firsthand: in overtime, instead of a sure pass, he went for a shot—and missed. The team was screwed, his father was silent, and that silence still rings in his ears. Since then, Mark has kept his distance: fewer words—less chance of screwing up again. Many have described Mark as a responsible and loyal man; he may be as cold as ice, but he always knew how to offer a helping hand. The only ritual he doesn't break is three short slaps of his stick on the ice before the start. It's not a superstition, but an anchor: this is how he regains control. The arena where his team plays shares the ice with the figure skaters. It's cramped, noisy, and schedules constantly clash—the corridors are packed, the boards are crowded, everyone gets in each other's way. Mark has gotten used to ignoring this hustle and bustle. Until one evening. He lingered at the throws; the arena was almost empty. Only one skater remained—she was spinning, and after a few turns, she fell awkwardly to the ice. Mark quickly skated over to her and extended a helping hand, silently, his gaze cold, but his desire to help.