Chapter 2
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Hardly any kids wanted anything to do with me.
Lucas Lane was one of the few who actually talked to me.
A year younger than me, he was all skin and bones when he first showed up at the rink.
But there was something resilient about him—he'd fall, get up, and never once cry out in pain.
I later learned his family was struggling financially.
Figure skating is a money pit—skates, costumes, training fees, competition fees—each one bleeding you dry.
He only managed to keep skating because his mother worked three jobs.
Then his father's investments tanked, leaving them drowning in debt and unable to afford even basic training fees.
My father approached Lucas and asked if he still wanted to skate.
His eyes welled up as he nodded firmly.
After that, Dad took him on as a student, free of charge.
That arrangement continued for years.
The ceiling for singles skating was beyond my reach, and my physical attributes had limitations.
Dad suggested I transition to pairs.
Lucas was the natural choice for my partner.
We'd trained together since childhood, and our height difference was perfect.
More importantly, we had that rare, inexplicable chemistry on the ice.
When he lifted me, I could feel the reassuring warmth of his palms.
During landings, he'd instinctively shield my waist.
Once we partnered up, our scores skyrocketed, and we started making waves internationally.
Everyone called us the future of Chinese pairs skating.
Until that overseas training camp changed everything.
Figure skating may be niche, but its appetite for money is world-class.
Two months of overseas training cost a staggering three hundred thousand yuan.
That was half a year's income from Dad's rink.
Yet he registered both Lucas and me without hesitation.
"Go for it—this is a rare opportunity," Dad said, patting my shoulder. "Make the most of it. Don't leave room for regrets."
The training camp was far more brutal than I'd imagined.
To make matters worse, I hit my growth spurt right in the middle of it.
I shot up five centimeters practically overnight, with my weight following suit.
Suddenly, familiar movements felt alien—my jump timing was off, my spin axis shifted, and even basic positions became wobbly.
Every athlete faces the growth spurt hurdle.
Some sail over it; others crash and never recover.
I had no idea which category I'd fall into.
Then there was Emily Sinclair—the prodigy everyone couldn't stop talking about.
Three years my junior, with a willowy frame and freakish flexibility.
She'd get two or three pointers from the coach and immediately nail the execution.
Meanwhile, I'd practice the same moves dozens of times just to reach baseline competence.
She needed just three to five attempts to achieve perfection.
For the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to be utterly outclassed.
What made it worse was how Emily started gravitating toward Lucas.
When she smiled, her eyes crinkled into perfect crescents, her voice honey-sweet and deliberately girlish.
My possessiveness kicked into overdrive.
After training, I'd monopolize Lucas, making sure he couldn't spend time with Emily.
Lucas's voice remained gentle.
"Sophia, she gets certain techniques better than I do. Once I learn from her, I'll teach you everything, okay?"
After being blocked repeatedly, even good-natured Lucas grew irritated.
"Sophia, I get it—you've never handled competition well. Emily outperforms you, and you're jealous of her talent, so you try to keep me away from her?"
"When she explains techniques, I get it instantly. But with you? How many times have I tried teaching you the same moves? Have you mastered any of them?"
His words squeezed my heart like a vise.
"If you're so damn capable, you could teach me too. But you can barely get it right yourself!"
"With you clinging to me like this every day, are you trying to hold me back? Or can you just not stand to see me succeed?"
I had no comeback.
With Emily's guidance, Lucas improved rapidly.
His movements grew more fluid by the day, while I remained stuck in place.
I swallowed my pride and asked Emily for advice too.
She'd just say "practice more and you'll get it" or "I can't really explain it."
I knew the truth—she simply didn't want to help me.
