It was only the first day, and Han Shaoqi had already started training with Aurora Edge's hockey team.
The rink was colder than the ones he was used to—cleaner, quieter, more polished. Even the way the players moved felt different. Aurora Edge's team carried a calm, measured discipline that contrasted sharply with Shaoqi's raw energy.
But once training began, calm didn't stand a chance.
Within minutes, the sound of blades scraping against ice filled the arena. Shaoqi skated fast—faster than most of them could keep up with. Every movement was sharp, controlled chaos, a storm given form. He darted between defenders, his stick slicing the air with effortless precision before sending the puck straight into the goal with a resonant clang.
Cheers and gasps rippled through the rink.
Director Liu watched from the stands, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The man had seen hundreds of players in his career, but there was something magnetic about the way Shaoqi moved—his speed, his control, his confidence. It was untamed brilliance, raw and dangerous.
By the end of the scrimmage, Shaoqi had beaten nearly all of Aurora Edge's best players—men who had competed at national level tournaments.
Yet the most surprising part wasn't that he won.
It was the way he looked while doing it.
Eyes sharp, jaw set, expression fierce—but never reckless. Not today.
For once, there was no shouting, no thrown gloves, no angry outbursts. Just focus.
Director Liu leaned forward slightly, murmuring under his breath, "Impressive…"
He had heard about Han Shaoqi's reputation—the temper, the fights, the chaos that followed wherever he played. But seeing him now, the director found himself wondering:
How could someone this skilled stay hidden from the spotlight for so long?
Then again, perhaps that was the problem.
Maybe people never forgot Shaoqi's talent. Maybe they simply stopped looking the moment his anger took center stage.
Down on the ice, Shaoqi caught his breath, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. His eyes drifted toward the other end of the rink—where the figure skating team was beginning their own warm-up.
And there, under the white glow of the lights, was Li Yuchen again—watching quietly from across the ice.
Their eyes met.
For just a second. Then Yuchen turned away, skating off with effortless grace.
Shaoqi scoffed softly to himself, grabbing his stick again. "Huh. Guess even ice dancers like to watch."
But for some reason, his heart felt a little less steady than before.
* * *
Practice ended as the evening sun cast a warm glow over the rink. Most of the hockey players were already packing up, chattering about how "that new guy" nearly wiped the floor with all of them.
Han Shaoqi, of course, pretended not to hear. He sat on the bench, helmet tossed aside, sipping water as his breath fogged in the cold air.
At the far end of the rink, the figure skating team was finishing their drills. The music echoing through the speakers was soft, graceful—completely different from the sharp energy of hockey. Shaoqi leaned back, watching absently.
Li Yuchen was among them, spinning effortlessly across the ice like he'd been born on it.
Shaoqi squinted. Does he ever mess up?
He didn't notice when Yuchen glided to a stop a few meters away, expression calm but eyes slightly narrowed.
"You're staring," Yuchen said flatly.
Shaoqi blinked. "What?"
Yuchen crossed his arms, posture perfect even off the ice. "If you're that impressed, at least try not to look like a fanboy."
Shaoqi choked on his water, coughing once. "Fanboy? Are you serious? I was just—" He gestured vaguely. "—seeing how figure skaters waste perfectly good ice."
Yuchen raised an eyebrow. "Waste? You call art a waste?"
"Art?" Shaoqi snorted. "I call it spinning in circles with glitter on."
A few nearby skaters gasped softly, whispering behind their hands. Shaoqi smirked—he hadn't meant to say it that loud, but it was too late now.
Yuchen's expression didn't change much, but his tone cooled. "Then I suppose what you do is just chasing a puck and hoping no one knocks your teeth out?"
Shaoqi blinked, caught off guard by how quick that comeback was. "…Touché."
Yuchen gave a faint, polite smile. "Have a good evening, hockey boy. Try not to break anything before tomorrow."
He turned away, skates gliding smoothly toward the exit.
Shaoqi watched him go, a half-annoyed, half-impressed grin tugging at his lips. "Tch… cold and sharp. Figures."
From the bench nearby, one of the Aurora Edge players chuckled under his breath. "Careful, Shaoqi. He's not the type to let things go."
Shaoqi scoffed, grabbing his stick. "Good. Neither am I."
* * *
Two days passed quickly.
Han Shaoqi had already blended into Aurora Edge's hockey team as if he'd been there all along. His sharp humor and fearless attitude turned the once-cautious team into a pack of laughing, bruised comrades. Even Director Liu admitted privately that Shaoqi's presence had brought unexpected fire to the rink.
But not everyone was pleased.
Li Yuchen, for one, couldn't seem to stand him.
Every time they crossed paths—whether at the rink, in the hallway, or even in the cafeteria—something had to happen.
* * *
"Watch where you're skating," Yuchen muttered one morning when Shaoqi nearly slid into his path.
Shaoqi raised an eyebrow. "It's a rink, not your personal runway."
"At least I know how to stay upright on it."
"Oh really? Want me to prove otherwise?"
Yuchen didn't even spare him a glance. "I'd rather not waste time teaching a hockey player how to balance."
"Wow, thanks, coach," Shaoqi said dryly. "Should I bow too?"
Yuchen just turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, 'unbelievable.'
* * *
Later that day, they met again—this time, in the cafeteria.Both reached for the last bottle of lemon tea on the counter.
They froze.
"…Let go," Yuchen said flatly.
"I grabbed it first."
"You think you did."
"I know I did."
"Are you always this stubborn?"
Shaoqi grinned. "Only around people who think they're better than everyone else."
Yuchen gave him a cold smile. "Glad to know I bring out your true personality."
Before Shaoqi could reply, Wei Lan—Yuchen's best friend—stepped in between them with the patience of someone used to this nonsense.
"Really? Over tea? There are literally ten other drinks."
Neither of them moved.
Wei Lan groaned. "I swear, you two argue more than my grandparents."
That shut them both up—though not for long.
* * *
It became an almost daily occurrence: the sarcastic remarks, the pointed stares, the quiet one-upmanship.
To everyone else, it was exhausting.To them, it was… routine.
Somehow, arguing with each other had become part of their day—like a habit neither could quite break.
And though neither would ever admit it, both were starting to look forward to their next encounter— not out of affection, but because nothing else in Aurora Edge was quite as infuriatingly satisfying as winning an argument against the other.