Chapter 17
Some regular podcast about space was playing from her phone, Tora loved anything related to space, even though she had never been destined to become an astronaut, although sometimes, during training, spinning endlessly in rotation simulators, she caught herself thinking that maybe she could have been one, because there were so many rotations, so many moments of dizziness and control, that it almost felt like preparation for something beyond Earth; she smiled faintly at the thought as she placed her mug into the coffee machine and continued packing her bag.
She added a pair of clean, thick socks for skating, the ones with a small pink chrysanthemum embroidered on the side, her mother loved to embroider, and she often decorated Tora’s clothes with these cute details, even though Tora didn’t visit as often as she should.
For a moment, she ran her fingers over the soft stitching, feeling the familiar texture, before placing the socks into her bag, folding them neatly into each skate, and adding the foot warmers on top, the ones her mother had knitted as well, which she adored, because skating in them felt a thousand times softer.
Once everything was packed—skates, gloves, a hat, headphones, a cloth for the blades, foot warmers, spare socks, a bottle of water—she returned to the kitchen, poured her coffee into a thermos, and took everything outside to the car.
The sun had not yet risen, and wouldn’t for another couple of hours; the morning was still completely dark.
Tora wrapped herself in a warm jacket with the logo of her national team and hurried to the car, placing her bag and thermos on the front seat.
She turned on the heater immediately, it was only +6 degrees, cold enough to make her shiver as she sat there, waiting for the warmth to spread, sipping her coffee in small gulps.
After a couple of minutes, she turned on some music, something louder this time like a Brazilian phonk, “MONTAGEM – PR FUNK” and as the bass filled the car, a bright smile appeared almost instantly on her face, her head moving slightly to the rhythm as she pulled out and drove toward her favorite sports palace, toward the arena that had become her second home over the years.
She stepped onto the ice at 5:15, after a quick warm-up in the lobby, already holding her thermos of black coffee for that extra push of energy. Pulling her headphones over her ears, she switched the track to Zkave – At The Edge and began to move, running through simple elements first.
A few other singles were already there, the same ones who always came at the earliest possible hour.
Tora went to practice her jumps early in the morning; quads were still unattainable for her because of her body type, but it didn’t matter, because what she did, she did perfectly: every jump was clean, every triple refined to precision and carried with her natural grace.
Of course, even she fell sometimes, especially when she was tired or entered a jump incorrectly, it happened to everyone, but each time she simply laughed it off, pushing herself back up with a smile and starting over again as if it were nothing.
Later, of course, her body reminded her of those mornings when her hips and ass were aching, insisting on training harder, especially now, so close to the Olympics, but she needed that balance, and Loke was her balance.
He always told her not to come so early, but she wanted this, so before 7:30, before training with him even began, she often claimed this quiet time on the ice for herself, skating alone to her own music, running choreography she loved with all her heart, proving again and again that she didn’t need anyone holding her together out there.
She moved across the ice with a smile on her face, literally flowing into each element, each spin was done perfectly with ease, and today everything felt especially good, maybe because she was counting the days until she left for Beijing, her flight scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
Loke hadn’t been so thrilled when she told him, had muttered something under his breath and lectured her in his usual way, but in the end he let her go, on the condition that even there she would keep training, and not lose herself in the chaos of her rival’s competition.
Out of all the jumps, Axel remained the one she disliked the most, because launching forward into it, face-first, always carried a different kind of fear compared to the backward takeoffs of the others.
Gliding into the entry, balancing on her right foot, she lowered slightly, preparing, then shifted to the left, her arms swinging through the motion as she pushed off the ice and rose into the jump, completing the three and a half rotations before landing cleanly on her right foot, flowing straight into the exit position without breaking the line.
Through her headphones, she faintly caught the sound of clapping and turned her head, noticing Loke standing by the boards.
“Bravo, great triple Axel, Tora.”
He stepped onto the ice, brushing a hand through his blond hair as he removed the blade guards and skated toward her, pulling her into a quick hug.
She hugged him back, feeling his scent that was a mix of rum, coffee and sandalwood, smiling, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the effort she had poured into the ice.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, and Tora glanced toward the large clock on the wall, it was already 7:45.
“You’re later than usual today… was the party so good yesterday?” she teased, bumping her hip lightly against his.
Loke let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I had two girls with me all night, so I figured I’d sleep a little longer. Sorry.”
Tora rolled her eyes. “Well, I hope you didn’t bring anything back with you.”
“Oh, listen to you,” he shot back, nudging her harder with his hip before playfully tapping her with his skate guard.
“Hey!” Tora protested, pushing him away slightly before taking the guards and placing them by the boards, next to her phone and water bottle.
“So,” Loke said, his tone shifting as he looked at her more seriously, “ready to run our choreography today?”
“Always,” she replied, nodding without hesitation. “Let’s go.”
Together they pushed off, beginning their joint warm-up, the ice slowly filling as they waited for the coach and choreographer to arrive, ready to go through everything step by step with every jump, every spin, every movement that would have to be perfect.
* * *
Tora had never been to Asia before, and when she arrived in Beijing, it felt as if she had stepped into a completely different world, one that followed its own rhythm, and here, for the first time, she ran into something as simple yet unsettling as limited Internet access, and suddenly she understood what Alisa must have felt when she couldn’t log into the familiar apps she used every day…
At first, it brought a sharp, almost irrational anxiety, especially because she had arranged a personal transfer to the InterContinental Beijing Hotel, and everything depended on things working the way she expected them to, but they didn’t.
The taxi driver said something in broken English that Tora couldn’t understand, and she only smiled apologetically, shaking her head slightly, and then he quickly pulled out his phone and showed her a translation written in hieroglyphs that turned into clear text: “Welcome to Beijing, I’m glad to take you to the hotel. ”
Tora smiled more warmly this time and replied in Chinese, a little uncertain but trying anyway, “xièxie,”10 and the driver’s face immediately lit up, as if she had done something much more impressive than simply say thank you, and he nodded with visible approval before driving off into the city.
As the car moved through the streets, Tora pressed her gaze to the window, taking everything in, because she had never seen anything quite like this, at least not in Europe, or not even in America or Canada or Brazil, where she had been before, because here everything felt different in a way she couldn’t fully explain, as if modern technology, ancient architecture, and the long, layered history of China had merged into something alive that surrounded her completely.
It felt like a kind of cultural shock, but not unpleasant, it was overwhelming in the best way, so beautiful that she couldn’t even properly describe it to herself, and more than once she caught herself just staring.
At some point, the driver spoke again, and when she didn’t understand, he once more turned to his translator, typing quickly while they stood in slow-moving traffic, and then showed her the screen: “I know you are a famous Norwegian figure skater. You are going to the 2026 Olympics. I like figure skating very much and watch many competitions. You skate beautifully. I will support you.”
Tora blinked in surprise, then smiled, a little shy this time, and said “xièxie” again, because that was still the only word she could confidently use, although she remembered that “ni hao” meant hello, but beyond that, her Chinese ended there.
The taxi ride passed quickly after that, accompanied by soft music on the radio, something distinctly Chinese, but with hints of funk woven into it and Tora found herself liking it, making a mental note to look up more traditional music later.
The driver showed her the route on his map before they arrived, pointing out where they were and where the arena stood, probably assuming she was here for the Beijing qualifiers as well, and she nodded in understanding, thanking him again before stepping out of the car in front of the hotel.
The building rose before her—wide, tall, and impossibly spacious—and that was the first thing that struck her, this sense of scale, and for a moment Tora felt almost small in comparison.
She stepped inside, approached the reception desk, and after a respectful bow spoke clearly, “Hello, I’ve booked a room. Tora M?ller. Here is my ID.”