I Love You On Thin Ice // kazuscara

1

"Quad Axel Triple Toe Loop!" An excited TV broadcaster announced, in complete awe of the figure skater's performances. 

The third global skating competition he has ever participated in, he is but only mesmerized by his own capabilities to perform such arduous tricks on the ice. Having only succeeded in such a trick only a few times compared to his failures during practice sessions, his head buzzed with gratification, almost forgetting his choreography for a split second. 

Scrambling to pick memories of his routine back up, he rounded his temporary memory loss with a cute little twizzle. Not following his skating composition, but at least gaining a few points from nice execution. 

Then, he performed a series of spins. Going from a typical camel spin transitioning into a sit spin. He has done more of these spins than he has eaten meals, leaving it almost as second nature to him. 

The crowd cheered louder as his spin went on longer, heated applauses filled the arena; enough to overwrite the background music he does his choreography around. Thank God he remembered all his movements at the back of his mind, he would've completely missed the beat drop leading up to his next jump. 

A generic Triple Axel jump with Triple Toe Loop, gaining louder cheers. He sneered, he could've been doing as much Triple Toe Loops as anyone wanted; as much until he collapses from fatigue. 

He landed a Triple Flip. He knew that execution was not going to generate plausible points. His weighing was entirely off, his leg barely supporting himself up. Though he managed to pull that one off with a sick kick after the trick, successfully fooling the uneducated crowd.

He ended his choreography with yet another spin stretching into eternity, stopping abruptly when the music came to an end; posing in a victorious manner as his mouth gaped to huff for air. His chest rose and deflated at a rapid pace, like he was trying to take all the air in the world for himself only.

He bowed, skating towards the exit as the announcements call his name once again and the projected camera angle switching to his coach, throwing his fists around in excitement of his wonderful execution.

Scaramouche sat on the bench anxiously, waiting for the judges to finally tally up the points. He always hated the waiting game, especially now since the judges would always take all their time in the world to tally up his points. His skating program was not rudimentary a double-edged sword, nothing in his choreography gave a duality, so it was quite abnormal for the judges to be taking so long.

When the score finally painted itself on the screen, Scaramouche jumped in his seat. He expects at least a 95. If not, an 100. He was feeling pretty confident in his routine in this program, more relieved than nervous than the other programs.

He lifted his head slowly, revealing to himself his final scoring. His breath is heavy, he cannot mess up this round. The short program is what matters the most to him, it's a judge's first impression and an impression on the entire audience. 

He blinked, then devastation crashed onto him.

He had earned a total of 87.79 points for men's figure skating short program.

Why? Why? Why? Thousands of questions flew around his mind, his brain struggling to piece together the information.

There was no way he scored a mere 87.79, there had to be more to it. Did the editor accidentally type eight instead of ten? Or perhaps they've displayed the wrong figure skater's points? Praying that it was only a mistake, the female voice in the announcement rang in his ears once again.

"Kunizukushi, Scaramouche. Japan, men's figure skating short program with a total of 87.79 points. Congratulations." It rippled into his head.

This isn't right. He was supposed to get more.