Chapter 217
Chapter 217
Elora
The silence that follows is heavy with recalculation. These are smart competitors—they know Yuki isn't wrong.
I meet Yuki's gaze and find myself grudgingly impressed. She's warning them because she's confident enough in her own abilities not to need the advantage of their complacency. That takes guts.
"Thanks for the analysis," I say dryly. "Though I'm not sure helping your competitors is a winning strategy."
"I don't need help to win." Her smile is sharp as a blade's edge. "I just prefer my victories to come against opponents performing at their best. It's more satisfying that way."
"Is that so?" I step closer, matching her energy. "Then I hope you're ready, Tanaka. Because in the free skate, I'm going to show you exactly what I'm capable of. And when I'm done, you're going to wish you'd kept that warning to yourself."
Her smile widens. "I'm looking forward to it, Frost. Don't disappoint me."
---
The free skate begins two hours later.
Yuki Tanaka goes first, and from the moment she takes the ice, it's clear she's operating on a different level than the rest of us. Her music—a haunting arrangement of traditional Japanese melodies woven with modern orchestration—sets the tone immediately.
She opens with a triple axel that's so perfectly executed it looks effortless. Then comes the element that makes my breath catch: a quadruple Salchow.
No.
The quad Salchow is one of the most technically difficult jumps in women's figure skating—four full rotations in the air, requiring explosive power and perfect timing. Only a handful of women in history have successfully landed it in competition, and none of them in over thirty years.
Yuki lands it like it's nothing.
The arena erupts. Even the other competitors are on their feet, shock and admiration warring on their faces.
But Yuki isn't done. Her program is a masterclass in blending technical difficulty with artistic interpretation. Every jump is massive—triple lutz-triple loop combination, triple flip, another triple axel. Her spins are impossibly fast and perfectly centered. And through it all, her choreography tells a story: cherry blossoms in spring, beautiful and delicate, but with an underlying current of steel. Softness and strength, woven together seamlessly.
When she finishes, the standing ovation is immediate and universal.
Her score: 154.73. A new personal best, and comfortably in first place.
"Jesus Christ," Petra mutters beside me. "A quad Salchow? That move hasn't been seen in three decades. She just made first place untouchable."
"No one's catching that score," Isabella agrees, shaking her head. "Tanaka's got this locked down."
But Chen Wei's voice cuts through the resignation: "No."
We all turn to look at her. She's standing with her arms crossed, her expression cold and determined.
"I didn't come here for second place," she says flatly.
"But to beat that score, you'd need—" I start.
"A quadruple toe loop," Chen Wei finishes. "I know. And I've been training that jump for ten years. I was born for this moment."
The confidence in her voice isn't arrogance—it's absolute certainty. And when she takes the ice minutes later, I understand why.
Her music is epic—a sweeping orchestral arrangement inspired by the Great Wall of China. The opening is all power and grandeur, and Chen Wei matches it with a triple axel that soars higher than Yuki's. Her next element is a triple lutz-triple toe combination that she makes look easy.
And then comes the setup for the quad toe loop.
The entire arena holds its breath as she approaches the jump. The takeoff is explosive, her rotation frighteningly fast, and when she lands—clean, stable, perfect—the roar from the crowd is deafening.
She nailed it.
The rest of her program is equally stunning—technically flawless and performed with the kind of fierce pride that transforms skating into something more than sport. By the time she strikes her final pose, there's no doubt in anyone's mind: she just threw down the gauntlet.
Her score: 156.82.
First place.
The other competitors sit in stunned silence as the numbers flash on the screen. Petra looks like she might be sick. Isabella has gone pale. Even Natasha, usually so confident, seems shaken.
"That's it," Petra says numbly. "We're skating for third now. First and second are decided. Those two are on another level entirely."
"Completely inhuman," Isabella mutters. "How are we supposed to compete with quad jumps?"
"We can't," Natasha says flatly. "Best we can hope for is a clean program and a spot on the podium behind them."
I lean back against the wall, my arms crossed, and let a slow smile spread across my face.
"Is that so?" I say softly.
They all turn to look at me.
"Funny," I continue, my voice carrying just enough edge to cut through their defeat. "Because from where I'm standing, first place is still wide open."