✨❄️The First Clash✨❄️

The cold sank deep into Hana Lee’s bones as she stepped onto the rink, her blades carving smooth lines into the ice. The bright arena lights reflected off the frozen surface, turning everything into a glittering world of white and silver.

She pulled her helmet tighter and flexed her gloved hands around the stick.

This was her place. Her battlefield. Her heart.

“Hana!”

Minho’s voice echoed across the rink.

She turned to see him grinning like he always did — warm, familiar, a lighthouse in the storm. Her best friend since forever.

“You ready to destroy them?” he called, skating over with practiced ease.

Hana chuckled, bumping her shoulder against his. “Always.”

The charity match was a tradition at Silverbrook High — girls’ team versus boys’ team, all for a good cause. But charity or not, neither side would hold back tonight. Pride was on the line. And for Hana, winning wasn’t just about pride — it was about proving she belonged here, just as much as any guy.

The boys’ team lined up across the rink, a wall of jerseys and confidence.

And at the very center of it — Kang Seojun.

Tall, effortlessly handsome, and way too arrogant for his own good.

The captain of the Storm Kings. The boy who acted like the ice was his throne and everyone else just visitors.

Hana’s stomach twisted, though whether it was irritation or something else, she wasn’t sure.

Kang Seojun caught her looking.

He tilted his head, smiled — a slow, infuriating smile — and gave a small mocking salute.

Hana scowled and turned away, determined not to let him get into her head.

The referee dropped the puck.

The game exploded into action.

Hana sprinted forward, skating low and fast. The chill nipped at her cheeks as she dodged one of the boys, slid around another. She caught a glimpse of Minho defending behind her, steady and reliable as ever.

Focus, Hana. Focus.

Her stick met the puck.

She sprinted toward the goal, adrenaline roaring in her ears.

Ten meters. Five.

Then —

WHAM.

A shoulder checked her mid-stride. Not hard enough to knock her down, but enough to throw her off balance.

She stumbled, nearly falling — and a strong hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

“Whoa there,” came a low, teasing voice.

Hana looked up into Kang Seojun’s smirking face, too close, too warm despite the ice around them.

“Careful, Captain,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to break something.”

Her cheeks flamed. She jerked away from his grip, her voice sharp. “Stay out of my way, Kang.”

Kang Seojun only chuckled, pushing off with a smooth, powerful stride. “Can’t promise that.”

She stood there for half a second, heart pounding way harder than it should, before Minho slid to her side.

“You okay?” he asked, concern flashing across his face.

“Fine,” Hana muttered, shaking herself.

But she wasn’t fine.

Because even as she pushed back into the game, even as Minho passed her the puck and cheered her on, she could feel Kang Seojun’s gaze — burning against her skin.

The minutes blurred into a fierce, beautiful war.

Skates cutting into the ice, jerseys flashing past, the cold wind against her face.

And every time Hana thought she had a clear shot, Kang Seojun was there — blocking her, challenging her, smirking like he enjoyed every second of it.

Minho, on the other hand, played the way he always had — steady, supportive, making sure she had openings, covering her back without hesitation.

When Hana scored the first goal for their team, it was Minho who lifted her into a quick hug, laughing in triumph.

“That’s my girl!” he shouted.

For a second, Hana’s heart squeezed — warm, safe, familiar.

But across the rink, she caught Kang Seojun watching her, his expression unreadable.

Final minutes. Tie score.

The pressure was suffocating.

Hana streaked toward the puck again, breath coming in short gasps. This was it. This was the moment.

She reached for the puck — and collided headfirst into a wall of muscle.

Kang Seojun.

They both went down hard, tumbling across the ice in a mess of tangled limbs.

The crowd gasped.

Hana struggled to untangle herself, her palms pressed against the hard armor of his chest. She froze when she realized Kang Seojun was staring at her — really staring — his face so close she could see the little scar above his eyebrow.

Neither of them moved.

The world narrowed until there was only the sound of their breathing and the wild hammering of her heart.

For a terrifying, electrifying second, Hana thought he might kiss her.

“Get your hands off her!” Minho’s angry voice shattered the moment.

He skated over, grabbed Hana by the arm, and pulled her up so roughly she almost stumbled again.

“You okay?” he asked, glaring at Kang Seojun like he was ready to fight him right there.

“I’m fine,” Hana said quickly, brushing snow off her pants, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Kang Seojun got up slowly, brushing ice off his shoulders. His lips twitched like he found the whole thing amusing.

The whistle blew.

Game over.

A draw.

The teams lined up to shake hands, but Hana barely heard the cheers from the stands. Her mind spun, dizzy and aching.

When she reached Kang Seojun, he held her hand for a second longer than necessary.

“Nice hustle, Lee,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He winked and skated away, leaving Hana frozen in place.

Behind her, Minho came up quietly, his voice softer than usual.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” he said, not looking at her.

Hana forced a laugh, too high, too fake. “It’s just a game.”

But even as she said it, she knew she was lying — to herself more than anyone.

Because something had shifted tonight.

And it had nothing to do with winning or losing.

As Hana skated off the ice, her heart still racing, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled with her gloves and pulled it out, her fingers trembling slightly.

A message from an unknown number popped up on the screen:

“I know what you’re thinking, Hana. You’re not as in control as you think. But don’t worry... we’ll see who wins this game.”

Hana’s breath hitched.

The message had no name, just a chilling tone. Her stomach dropped.

Seojun? Or someone else?

Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure if the game had ended.

In fact, she had a terrible feeling it was just beginning.

As Hana skated off the ice, her heart still pounding, her phone buzzed urgently in her pocket.

Frowning, she tugged off a glove and checked the screen.

A message from an unknown number blinked at her:

“You think you have a choice. But soon, your heart will betray you... Choose wisely, Hana. Not everyone plays fair.”

Her fingers went numb.