Evaluate Me, Helmsman

Asher’s POV

The transfer students file into the arena one by one, and I couldn't care less about any of them.

My skates are already laced, my stick taped fresh this morning, and my mind locked on one thing only—the captain title I've been chasing for three goddamn years.

Coach Wellington hinted that today's scrimmage would seal the deal. Three years of six AM practices, bloody knuckles, and muscles screaming for mercy. Three years of being the first one on the ice and the last one off.

This is my moment, and nothing is going to take it from me.

I stretch my shoulders, rolling the tension from my neck, when a laugh cuts through the noise. Not just any laugh. A laugh I'd recognize anywhere, even after all this time.

My heart slams to a stop.

I turn, and there he is. Blaze Wilson. Messy hair falling into warm brown eyes, that same easy confidence radiating off him in waves. Taller now, broader in the shoulders, but unmistakably him.

The boy who learned to skate because I dragged him onto frozen ponds when we were ten.

The boy who cried when his family announced they were moving across the country.

"Promise me we'll meet on the same ice again someday." His hand was gripping mine so tight it hurted. "Promise me, Ash."

I promised. I meant every word.

For years, that promise fueled me through brutal mornings and aching muscles. Every time I wanted to quit, I remembered his face. I never imagined it would come true like this.

Blaze walking into my arena, wearing my school's colors, grinning at me across the rink.

"Ash! It’s you!" He closes the distance between us in long strides, and his face breaks into that smile I remember. The one that used to make everything feel okay. "Told you we'd end up here!"

My chest floods with something warm and unfamiliar. My best friend is back. We're finally on the same team, same ice, same dream.

"Blaze." His name feels strange on my tongue after so long. "I can't believe you're actually here. When did you… How—"

"Transferred last week. Wanted to surprise you." He throws an arm around my shoulders, squeezing briefly. His grip is stronger than I remember. "Missed you, man. We've got a lot of catching up to do. You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

I want to grab him, ask about everything I've missed, tell him how much those childhood memories carried me through lonely nights when hockey felt pointless. The words pile up in my throat, but before I can say anything, Coach Wellington's whistle pierces the air.

"Alright, listen up!" His voice echoes through the arena, cutting through conversations. "Today's scrimmage determines your positions going forward. I need to see what you're made of. Everyone on the ice in five!"

The transfer students scramble to gear up. Blaze squeezes my shoulder one more time before stepping back, that grin still plastered on his face.

"See you out there, Ash. Try to keep up."

I watch him go, something uneasy stirring in my gut.

Try to keep up.

What does that mean? He's competing for captain too?

The scrimmage starts, and I throw myself into every play with everything I have. This is what I've trained for. Every drill, every sacrifice, every moment of pain—it all comes down to this. I push harder, faster, determined to prove I deserve that C on my jersey.

Then I noticed Blaze.

He moves across the ice with a fluidity that makes my stomach drop. Every pivot, every shot, every defensive read comes to him effortlessly. Naturally. The techniques I spent years mastering through blood and repetition, he executes without even trying.

I steal the puck from a defender and drive toward the goal, legs pumping, vision tunneled on the net. But Blaze appears out of nowhere, checking me clean off my line with a hit that rattles my bones.

The puck lands on his stick, and three seconds later, it's buried in the back of the net.

"Nice try." He skates past me, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne beneath the ice and sweat. He winks. "Almost had me there."

My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache.

Almost.

The story of my goddamn life.

The scrimmage continues, and every minute makes it clearer. Blaze isn't just good—he's extraordinary. He reads the game three moves ahead, anticipates passes before they happen, commands the ice without raising his voice.

The other players gravitate toward him instinctively, following his calls, trusting his decisions. I trained for years to be this good. Sacrificed parties, relationships, sleep.

And he just... is.

By the time Coach blows the final whistle, my lungs burn and my legs shake. Sweat drips down my spine, soaking through my jersey. But the physical exhaustion is nothing compared to the cold dread pooling in my chest.

"Gather around!" Coach Wellington waits until we form a loose circle. His eyes scan the group, landing briefly on me before moving to Blaze. "Solid performance today. Exactly what I needed to see."

I straighten my spine, ignoring the tremor in my muscles.

This is it. Everything I've worked for.

"We need a new captain who can take us to championships," Coach continues, his voice carrying across the silent arena. "Someone who can lead on and off the ice. Someone the team will follow into battle."

My heart pounds against my ribs.

Three years. Three years of being overlooked, of waiting my turn, of proving myself over and over.

"Based on today's performance..." Coach pauses, and the silence stretches. "Blaze Wilson will lead this team."

The words hit me square in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

For a moment, I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except stare at the ice beneath my skates while the arena spins around me.

All teammates clap and cheer. Someone slaps Blaze on the back. He accepts it all with that easy grace, nodding to the team, smiling that perfect golden-boy smile. Then his eyes find mine across the circle.