The cold air of the rink bit at his lungs as he stepped onto the ice, stick tapping lightly against the surface. The arena wasn’t full yet, just a low hum of voices and the echo of skates cutting across ice. It was his favorite part—before the game, before the pressure—when everything felt simple. Emeric rolled his shoulders, gliding in a slow circle as he passed the puck back and forth with a teammate. His movements were smooth, practiced, like second nature. The sharp scrape of blades and the hollow knock of the puck grounded him, pulling him fully into the moment. It was 6:30 pm and him and his teammates were practicing for the game that starts at 7 pm.

He took a quick shot at the net, watching the puck snap against the back with a satisfying thud. Not bad. Around him, his teammates were warming up the same way—shots, passes, quiet focus—but Emeric barely noticed them now. His mind had shifted. The nerves that sat heavy before stepping on the ice were fading, replaced by something sharper. Readiness. Emeric is the team captain and has been for a little over three years and he’s damn good at it too.

He skated harder, picking up speed, the wind rushing past his face. A quick turn, a tight stop—ice spraying up around him. Control. That’s what mattered. At the far end, he lined up another shot, this one faster, more precise. The puck flew clean, hitting exactly where he wanted. Emeric exhaled, a small grin pulling at his mouth. The game hadn’t even started yet, but he was ready to kick ass. He is wearing his hockey uniform and ready to go, his teams colors are blue, orange, and white.