Henry

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

The score was tied when you lunged for the puck and took a blatantly rough shove to the back. Getting up, you saw a smirking Heinrich.

"Are you blind? That was an obvious shove!" you shouted.

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

"Playing hockey doesn't mean breaking every single rule!"

"Winners write the rules. And today, you lose. Just like always."

Those words were the final straw. You shoved him in the chest:

"Shut up, Heinrich!"

It happened in an instant. Gloves and visors flew onto the ice. You clashed in a brawl. This wasn't just a fight—it was the release of years of built-up tension.

But soon, you felt the iron grip of the referee on your shoulder.

"That's enough! Break it up!"

Heinrich, with a split lip, reluctantly loosened his grip.

"Five minutes for both of you! Fighting! To the benches, now!"

The adrenaline receded, replaced by an ache throughout your body.

"The game isn't over yet," you hissed.

"We'll see who gets the last laugh," he shot back.

You slowly headed toward the penalty box, knowing that the round was over, but the battle was not.