Chapter Text
The sound of the blades sliding across the ice echoes in the silence of the empty ice rink. No one but the boy and his skates. No sound but his heavy breathing and the sound of cracking ice when he takes off for a jump. Then complete silence for a fraction of a second. As if time itself stops and stares, expectant. Finally a landing. The skate hitting the ice, tension dropping. If there was an audience, a few relieved breaths and the beating of hearts starting again. But no one is here to watch. Nothing but silence to welcome his landing. He keeps skating and skating. Not paying attention to the world around him. To the sun setting slowly behind the large windows of the rink. He keeps skating until his feet hurt and he can barely breathe correctly. Even then he doesn’t stop.
Only when his phone rings, alarm loud in the deafening silence of the empty rink, only then does he finally stop skating. Smoothly sliding across the ice, wincing at the pain in his feet and ankles, he retrieves his phone on the side of the rink. After quickly checking the caller, he discards it again, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
Minho knew he was going to be in trouble for staying so late to practice and he didn't want to deal with it yet. He knew it wasn't his best idea ever, especially the day before a competition. But he didn't have a choice. He will be there. And he will be perfect, as always. Minho needed to work to reach his level. He was tired of always being looked down upon by everyone. Always compared. Always the one in the shadow. He wanted to be better, needed to be better. He needed to stand on the podium with him. So he would look at him. So he would finally see him.
Minho knows he’s not enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it won’t stop him from trying. He doesn’t want to keep disappointing everyone. He doesn’t want to keep seeing the look in their eyes when he walks out of the ice after his program. His coach, his mother, everyone. With a sigh, Minho exits the ice, taking a moment to assess the state of his feet when he removes his skates. They’re red and bruised, with a thin line of blood dripping down the side of his ankles where the skates were digging into his skin. He pours a small amount of water on them to clean the blood, wincing at the sting. After rubbing some ointment on his feet and slipping inside his regular shoes, he retrieves his bag, throws it carelessly on his shoulder, and exits the rink. It was already well after regular closing hours but during the Grand Prix season, the rink was open 24/7 for skaters to practice. Minho always went in the evening when everyone else was getting rest before the competition. It was so quiet and empty it helped him focus better. Plus he didn't like having people in his way.
When he gets to his hotel room, he only removes his shoes, throwing his bag carelessly in the entrance before flopping down on the bed with an exhausted sigh. He’s feeling quite proud of himself for managing to avoid his coach even though he knows he won’t be able to escape it in the morning. He would be ready tomorrow for the disapproving looks and reprimands. Hugging the pillow close to his chest, Minho turns around, looking at the plain white ceiling of the hotel room.
Tomorrow was the Grand Prix Final.
Minho didn’t know how he had managed to qualify, most likely by some kind of miracle since this season had been nothing but average for him. Apparently, his score had been just enough to guarantee him sixth place and compete at the Final in Turin, Italy. So there he was now, dreading the competition for the short program on the next day. In an attempt to distract himself so he doesn’t start panicking, he retrieves his phone from his back pocket and scrolls aimlessly, almost dozing off until something catches his attention. Eyes suddenly open and awake, he taps on the article.
A face he knows all too well awaits him on the next page.
Hwang Hyunjin.
Korea’s most promising figure skater. Korea’s top skater. Korea’s hope. Korea’s pride. Minho knows him all right. He knows him way more than he would like to admit after spending his whole childhood having to hear about everything Hyunjin did better than him. Minho taps away from the article before locking his phone, his reflection on the black screen looking back at him with an almost judging look. Minho puts it away on his bedside table, it was a bad idea to seek some sort of comfort on the internet where Hyunjin’s face was always plastered. He removes his clothes and slides under the soft and comforting covers. The weight of the blanket on his body makes him feel safe and comfortable. So much that he hopes if he closes his eyes it won’t take him long to drift to sleep. But that was without counting on Hyunjin’s face haunting his thoughts. There is no escaping Hwang Hyunjin even from his own eyelids.
Minho passes a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as the unpleasant memories all flood back to him. He can still remember Hyunjin’s face from when they were kids, both skating at the same rink preparing for the junior events. Even though Minho was older than him by two years, he had started training to skate competitively about a year after Hyunjin did. Minho couldn’t remember a single moment where Hyunjin had actually looked at him or considered him an equal. Although they were a few kids training at the same rink, Hyunjin had never actually trained with them. He was always alone with his coach, away from them on the pedestal built from his greatness from which no one could reach him. Despite it all, whenever they had breaks or when they were waiting for their families to pick them up, kids would swarm around him all desperate for his attention.
Not wanting to join in on the boot-licking and resenting the boy’s haughty attitude, Minho ended up alone more often than not. But he didn’t mind. He wasn’t here to make friends anyways.
Minho’s brows furrow and he sighs loudly. He doesn’t like remembering this time. It only serves to remind him that even though they have both grown up, nothing has changed. Minho was still far behind him and Hyunjin was too great to even look in his direction. Not that he got to interact or even see the boy much ever since he had left their training rink. Hyunjin had started preparing for his senior debut way before any of them at the rink did. He had left when Minho was seventeen and suddenly without his shining presence on the ice, everything had felt so empty. Hyunjin was fifteen at the time, the youngest age to be able to debut as a senior. Minho sometimes found himself wondering just how hard he had to work for it. Then his own bitterness drowned out everything else. Minho only reached a level enough to debut with the seniors a year later, at eighteen years old. He hated how slow he was progressing compared to how quickly Hyunjin kept rising. No matter how much he reached out to him, Hyunjin's silhouette kept getting smaller and smaller in front of him as he moved forward, leaving Minho behind.
As Minho’s thoughts meander through the maze of his memories, he slowly drifts to sleep, images of empty skating rinks and golden blades flooding his mind.
The Torino Palavela, where the Grand Prix Final was about to take place, was already packed with people. A crowd from all over the world had taken their seats inside the arena, patiently waiting for the competition to start. Minho’s parents had both traveled all the way from Korea to see him perform. It was his first time being qualified for the Senior Grand Prix of Figure Skating. It was a major deal.
Minho paces around the waiting room backstage, trying in vain to calm his nerves before the crackling voice in the microphone calls them to get ready for the warm-up. He wipes his moist hands on the side of the smooth yet stretchy fabric of his pants. Minho had never been the type to panic before an important competition but it’s different this time. It’s different because Minho is actually facing him. For the first time in senior competition, he’s going up against his long-time rival. It is his one chance to prove himself to everyone. That he actually is enough to match Hyunjin.
Hyunjin who hadn’t been in the waiting room with the other skaters and Minho had actually looked for him. He was probably somewhere else being interviewed or attending more important business Minho could never even dream of understanding. Once Minho has tightened the laces of his skates around his feet, the skate guard safely secured on the blade, he walks to the side of the rink where a crowd of staff along with photographers, cameramen, coaches, and other skaters awaits him.
That’s when Minho sees him. He’s a few meters away from him; it has been a couple of years since Minho has seen him this close in person. He hasn’t changed much from when he was younger. His traits are more defined, a little sharper than they used to. He lost some of the baby fat in his cheeks giving him a thinner look. His hair has grown too, the blonde strands prettily braided on the side of his head. The darker eyeshadow around his eyes gives him an intense look and he’s perfect. Minho didn’t expect anything less coming from him. He had always been beautiful, even if Minho hated his guts, he still had eyes . And as much as he hated to admit it, Hyunjin was indeed one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. Minho is almost glad when a voice rings out through the quiet rink, interrupting his thoughts.
“Competitors can now take the ice for the warm-up.“
With his heart beating loudly against his ribcage, Minho enters the ice first, followed by the other skaters as the announcer lists their names and countries. Hyunjin is the last one to step in since he has ranked first in both qualifying competitions. The roar of the crowd rings in Minho’s ear when Hyunjin’s name is announced. They’re all here for him.
Minho tries to focus on his own breathing, taking a breath in then slowly letting it out. It’s going to be okay . The smoothness of the ice against his skates and the soft sound of his black blades on the cold surface somewhat succeeds in calming his nerves. He skates across the rink, just executing a couple of easy elements as he goes. He tries a single jump, then a triple salchow that he overrotates. The crowd still cheers for him, they always do whenever a skater jumps. The six-minute warm-up goes by in the blink of an eye.
“Gentlemen, the warm-up has ended, please exit the ice.”
Minho’s breathing quickens again, his chest rising irregularly as he tries to calm himself down. Eventually, he’s all alone on the ice, holding onto the side of the rink facing the expressionless eyes of his coach.
“You okay Minho?”
Minho swallows with difficulty before nodding. He doesn’t say anything more. He isn’t one to seek reassurance in other people; besides he knows he wouldn’t have gotten it from his coach anyways. The ice seems immensely big now that he’s standing there alone in the center. A white infinity stretching all around him and he can barely see anything else. Nor the crowd nor the judges. The silence of the arena sounds almost ominous as he stands in the middle of all their stares. He waits, in this overwhelming quietness, until the music finally starts.
As soon as the first scores resonate through the arena, Minho starts moving as if on auto-pilot. His body reacting to the sound. Of course, he knows his program by heart ─ he could do it with his eyes closed. Yet there's a feeling in his chest he can't shake off, something grabbing at his heart and guts and squeezing . Between the mess of his thoughts and the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, Minho can't seem to focus. He misses a beat. A triple jump turns into a double. Not enough rotations for his Axel. Too many rotations for his toe loop and a hand on the ice. Minho knows that means a deduction on his score. The mistakes pile up so much that it's hard for him to keep skating. He does it anyway. He isn’t sure how he's able to keep enough composure for it but when the final score rings out through the silent rink Minho drops to his knees, unusually out of breath. It’s over .
His program doesn't have a difficulty level enough that he would be this tired after it. Especially since Minho has pretty good stamina. Yet he feels like he can't breathe. His chest feels so tight . He pulls himself together enough to stand up on wobbly legs, reminding himself that he's on TV for the world to see. He slides smoothly to the door on the side of the rink, his coach handing him his skate guard while tapping twice on his shoulder. Minho doesn't want to know what the gesture means. He doesn't want to look into his eyes and see the disappointment. He doesn't want to meet anyone's eyes after this, and especially not cameras.
Waiting for his score in the kiss and cry is like torture. Facing the cameras and the stares of the audience. His coach sitting by his side silently, not having said a single word since Minho came out of the ice. Minho considers running away then and there, escaping the heavy gazes fixated on him. Escaping the judgment, the disgust, the disappointment.
“The scores please,” the announcer finally says after what feels like hours of Minho blankly looking at the screen supposed to display his score.
“Lee Minho has earned a total of 76.82 points placing him in first place.”
Minho sighs, burying his head in his hands. This isn’t the grand debut he would’ve liked to make at the Grand Prix Final. It’s not as terrible as he originally thought but with the five skaters remaining to perform, he knows it won’t be enough. He will probably rank last or second to last. The next skater, a Korean-American representing the United States that Minho has seen a few times on TV, is already on the ice, ready for his own short program. The cameras have lost interest in Minho, focused on the new boy on the ice. With a sigh of relief, Minho swiftly leaves the kiss and cry. There are people everywhere backstage, the skaters waiting for their turn, interviewers, cameramen, and… Hyunjin. Minho cannot face him. Out of all of the people around him, Hyunjin’s gaze is the one he’s not strong enough to face. He feels shame rising in his belly and his cheeks flare up, eyes teary and red. He needs to get himself together.
A few skaters are gathered around the big TV screen backstage that lets them see the current competitor’s program as he skates it. Minho can hear their exclamations when the boy successfully lands a difficult jump. He doesn’t want to join them, not if it is just to see everyone else perform better than he did. He feels terrible enough about himself, he doesn’t need to feel even worse. He turns away from the TV, plugging his noise-canceling earphone in his ears and wandering through the hallways of the arena. If it had been up to him, Minho would’ve already been on his way back to the hotel so he could hide away in his blankets and never come out again. Unfortunately, he needed to stay until the ranking was announced, which would take a little less than an hour for all the skaters to perform. He finds the men’s bathroom easily and locks himself in one of the stalls, planning on waiting it out until the scores are out. It’s stupid really, considering this ranking is not the definite one yet since they still have the free skate to perform the next day. Minho can do without knowing. He’s also pretty sure he would find out either through his coach or his parents anyways so keeping him here is unnecessary. Yet he doesn’t leave, he has already not done well on his performance, it wouldn’t be a good idea to also upset the International Skating Union.
With the music drowning out every sound around him, Minho doesn’t hear the few knocks on the door at first. He notices the feet he can see from under the stall first and removes an earphone, slowly turning off the music. He doesn’t recognize the shoes so he wonders what this person could possibly want with him. Aren’t the other stalls free? Why would he need this specific one? Minho couldn’t even brood in peace.
“The show is nearly over, I thought you’d like to know,” the boy says in Korean with a voice Minho doesn’t recognize either.
When Minho doesn’t reply, he expects the intruder to leave him alone. He’s not even sure how he found him or why he has come to tell him that when they don’t know each other.
“My name is Kim Seungmin,” the boy continues after a moment of silence.
Minho tries to remember where he heard the name before. It sounds familiar. It hits him when the boy keeps talking. Something with his accent. Kim Seungmin . He is the Korean-American competitor that skated after him, Minho remembers seeing his name in a couple of articles before. He didn’t talk to many people during practice in the morning. Minho hadn’t paid much attention to him but they had exchanged looks from opposite sides of the rink. The both of them were the only ones not mingling with the friendly chatty atmosphere that had settled between the four other skaters.
“We never really met before but I’ve heard some things about you, they all say you’re promising. Although they keep comparing you to…” he stops himself mid-sentence as if realizing it might not be the right thing to say, “Well you probably know that already. You looked like you were trying to kill him with your eyes during practice earlier.”
In another situation, Minho would have maybe laughed at that. He has put both his earphones away, back in their case, to fully listen to whatever else the boy has to say. Still, he doesn’t reply, sitting with his knees to his chest, leaning on the cold surface of the stall.
Minho can only see his feet when the boy starts walking away, dragging his sneakers on the floor. He stops before the door leading out of the bathroom.
“Don’t think about it too much,” he says trying to sound casual, “You’ll get another chance to prove yourself.”
Then the door closes behind him and Minho is left alone once again in the silence of the bathroom. Left thinking about the words this perfect stranger had said to him. How he had been able to understand Minho this well after only seeing him in person twice was beyond him. After pondering about it for a moment, Minho finally decides to get up and face the fear that ties knots in his stomach. The ranking.
Said stomach drops when Minho sees the number six next to his name. It’s nothing he hadn’t been preparing himself for in the bathroom for an hour, but it hurts more than he thought it would. He knows it will be hard to catch up to the others with the free skate with this low of a score. He would need to break his season’s best for a chance of even reaching the top three.
Minho doesn’t know how he manages to hold it together until he reaches his hotel room. If there’s anything to praise himself for today it’s probably his self-control. Once the heavy door closes behind him with a loud beep, Minho lets himself drop on the floor, his sports bag abandoned in the entrance, not even bothering to walk to the bed. He leans his back on the wall of the dimly lit hotel room, the only source of light coming from a slit in the thick dark curtains. It doesn’t take long for tears to start streaming down his face. Tears of frustration. Tears of anger. Anger at himself mostly, but also anger at his coach, at his mother, at everyone for putting so much pressure on him, and at Hyunjin. Was all of it justified? Minho wasn’t sure, but at the moment it didn’t matter. He lets himself be angry at the whole world and cries until he can’t anymore.
Minho doesn’t usually cry. He actually almost never does. Never lets himself cry. He hates feeling vulnerable. The emotions of today combined with the sleepless nights of practice and bruises on his feet had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. There was only so much pressure Minho could take, no matter how strong he was.
When he finally dries his tears, his head hurts with how much he has been crying. He swallows a painkiller and half a glass of water and heads to bed. Practice for the free skate starts early in the morning and he needs to be as rested as he can if he doesn’t want to embarrass himself like he did today again. He passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow, a dreamless night, only waking up when his alarm rings at 6:30 in the morning.
The day passes in a haze, as if he’s not in control of his body, as if he’s watching himself move and talk from afar. He can register people talking to him, but he only vaguely replies to them. He avoids his parents too, not able to bear to look them in the eyes after his poor performance on the previous day.
There is not much in him left to fight for the free skate. Before Minho gets into position, he catches Hyunjin’s look from the side of the rink. Their eyes lock for a second and Hyunjin mouths “Fighting” with a small smile. Minho isn’t sure why it angers him so much. He hates it. He hates the fake sympathy. It feels mocking, belittling even, coming from him. As if he’s cheering on a kid taking his first steps on the ice. Minho feels half defeated, half frustrated, anger boiling in his veins as he readies himself to start skating. The cheers of the crowd as he steps into position and waits for the music feel muffled as if he’s underwater. He can’t hear anything but the loud beating of his heart against his temples.
Without any expectations for himself except to finish his program, Minho actually doesn’t mess up as bad as he thought he would. In fact, he just remembers his skates taking him around the ice, knowing the steps by heart. Then suddenly he’s back in the middle of the rink, the crowd cheering around him, throwing him flowers and soft plushies. He blinks once, twice. He can’t remember how it actually went, he hadn’t been focusing on too much technicality or even anything, he only let himself be carried by his program, almost like an automat.
He has no idea what to expect, sitting in the kiss and cry, his coach silent, as usual. Minho thinks if he ever uttered one word of encouragement it’d probably burn his tongue. The score that appears on the screen surprises Minho. It was in all honesty way better than he would’ve imagined although there is one thing he can’t ignore about it.
170.25. With a total of around 250 points including the short program, his overall score places him in first place so far until the other skaters perform.
The breakdown of his score is what bothers him though. Over 90 points for his presentation and barely 70 for his technical elements. He knew he hadn’t been completely focused on them for this specific performance but it still made him feel awful about his skills. His programs this season didn’t have complex elements he couldn’t execute. He was supposed to land every jump easily, his combination spins and step sequences were not anything complicated either. He should have been able to do them with his eyes closed. And yet the bright numbers on the screen imprinted themselves in his brain, the 70 dancing in front of his eyelids even when he closed them. He knows that he’s not the only one and that his coach will probably bring it up at every practice from now on. And Minho just knows he’ll spend more sleepless nights making his feet bleed to get the technical elements perfectly right.
This time, curiosity gets the best of him. He hasn’t watched Hyunjin skate in person in a few years. After having put on some more comfortable clothes and regular sneakers, Minho slips on his Korea jacket, shivering slightly from the temperature in the arena. He walks to the bleachers, the section booked specifically for skaters. A few girls are already sitting there and some pair skaters. Minho slouches down on one of the back row seats, his feet propped up on the back of the chair in front of him. He watches the other skaters perform, they’re definitely good, but Minho doesn’t think his own level is much lower than theirs. However they’re better at dealing with pressure than he is, that’s for sure. The second skater to perform is that American guy that talked to him in the bathroom. Kim Seungmin, if Minho remembers correctly. Before stepping away from the railing, Seungmin finds Minho’s eyes and nods in his direction. Minho does the same in response, their own way of cheering on each other. Seungmin’s skating is impressive. It’s smooth and precise. Each movement seems calculated yet flows easily. It’s easy for Minho to be immersed in the story he’s telling. The program ends, the atmosphere it had settled in the arena breaking along with the crowd breaking into loud applause and cheering.
The next and last skater to perform is Hwang Hyunjin. His whole silhouette is elegant when he places himself in position, his golden blades reflecting the lights from the bright spotlights of the arena. His arm is stretched out in front of him, his body bent in a pretty curve towards the side. He’s motionless, waiting for the music to start, his presence rendering everyone else in the arena motionless as well, breaths caught in their throat. Minho himself can feel his own heartbeat almost slowing down as he expectantly waits for Hyunjin to start skating. Minho is enthralled when Hyunjin finally moves, the motion of his body dragging him in, unable to look away. His quad jumps are beautifully executed. Not a single mistake in the rotation, the landing smooth and easy. Hyunjin makes everything seem so easy . Even the most complex of jumps. Even the hardest step sequences. His arms spread out behind him as he bends his forward knee, his other leg straight behind him making his skates form two parallel lines. He bends himself backward, instinctively following the motion of the element, the Ina Bauer. He's utterly beautiful. The embodiment of grace. Minho can't take his eyes off him, kept in suspense the whole performance. He releases a breath he had started holding at some point during the skate when the final score rings through the arena.
Once he has come back to his senses enough to pay attention to the reality around him, Minho stands up, not giving another look behind him before leaving the bleachers. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed .
If anything, Hyunjin was even more incredible than he used to be. And Minho was still average. Minho was still behind him. The fire of competition still burns bright, consuming him from the inside. He has to catch up to him. No matter what.
He doesn't need to stay for the score, knowing well who has climbed to the top spot. Already knowing he'll have to settle for fifth place. He doesn't need to be there for the medal ceremony. His whole life he has seen Hyunjin accomplish things he wasn't good enough to do himself. He knows exactly what it feels like and he's tired of it.
"You're coming to the banquet tomorrow at least?" Minho's coach says when he passes by him, hands buried in his pockets and a gloomy look on his face.
"Do I really have to?" Minho asks, stopping in his tracks.
"Yeah. We don't need more bad press after your... performance this weekend," he explains, voice cold and emotionless.
His words are like small icy daggers in Minho's self-esteem. He doesn't bother answering, bringing the hood of his sweater up so it hides his face from everyone else and pulling his black mask up to his nose, trading the packed noisy arena for the quietness of his hotel room.
Minho does as he's told. Sitting, almost sulking, in a corner of the lively banquet, his hands in the pockets of the fancy suit jacket he was forced to wear for the occasion. There's soft music playing and the constant background noise of conversation and laughter. All of the skaters are either wearing dress suits or fancy dresses. Minho had never understood why the banquet, held on the last day of every Grand Prix Final, had to be such a formal event. Coaches and skaters alike attended it and it was a moment to create friendships and congratulate each other or talk about plans for the rest of the season. Minho decides to do none of that, as he stays glued to his chair for most of the night, only honoring them with his presence at the pressing request, or rather demand, of his coach.
A burst of loud laughter actually drags Minho out of his drowsiness, his head turning in the direction of the sound. There's a huge crowd in the middle of the room suddenly and only when he sees who's standing in the middle does he realize why. Hwang Hyunjin has arrived at the banquet. Minho glares at him but keeps looking from the corner of his eyes as Hyunjin takes pictures with some pretty girls and younger kids excitedly asking him for his autograph. Hyunjin catches him staring and flashes him his brightest smile to which Minho just rolls his eyes before turning his head the other way. Hyunjin knew exactly how to get on his nerves.
"What a crowd, I didn't know he was this famous," a now-familiar voice says from behind Minho's chair.
Seungmin drops down on a seat next to Minho with a sigh.
"It's always been like that," Minho replies, sounding exasperated.
Seungmin only chuckles in response, understanding from Minho's tone that he did not carry Hyunjin close to his heart. Not that he hadn't already realized this from the death glares Minho had been throwing his way the whole competition.
"If you guys are rivals, why does he keep smiling at you? Does he think you're friends?" Seungmin questions.
"He doesn't take me seriously, that's why," Minho says, voice dripping with bitterness.
Minho doesn't explain anything more, crossing his arms across his chest, visibly annoyed by Hyunjin's very existence. He was already disappointed in himself for how poorly his Grand Prix debut had gone, he didn't need to deal with Hyunjin's haughtiness.
"I think I'm just gonna go," Minho eventually says when his thoughts start spiraling into a territory he would rather avoid in public.
He gets up, downs his half-empty wine glass before setting it back on the table, and starts walking out. He doesn't care what his coach will say or if he'll get scolded for leaving early at this point. At least he showed up.
"Wait up!" Seungmin calls for him.
Minho stops, turning around to see Seungmin walking towards him with something in his hands. He stretches his tightened fist in front of him, prompting Minho to open his hand. As he does, he feels a paper drop in his palm when Seungmin opens his hand. There's a messily scribbled phone number on it. Minho looks up curiously.
"Just in case you need anything," Seungmin says casually, "Or if you need to complain about someone ."
Minho closes his fingers around the piece of paper, dropping it in his pocket before burying his hands there.
"Thanks," he shrugs, turning on his heels and finally exiting the stifling banquet hall.
It's only when he gets back to his hotel room that Minho lets all the pressure of the competition out. As he lies in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling, he realizes just how much he had been pressuring himself. Now that the competition is finally over, Minho feels lighter. As if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. The iron grasp that had seized his insides was slowly releasing him and Minho feels like he can finally breathe again.
Minho had successfully avoided meeting his parents. He had avoided their calls and texts. He wasn't ready to see the disappointment in his mom's eyes. Especially not her. He's not sure he could bear it. Once he went back to Korea, to his training rink, he would make sure to train harder. So he doesn't ever have to disappoint her again. She had always wanted him to be at the top. She wanted him to be Korea's top skater. Like she once was.
Minho's competitiveness and resentment towards Hyunjin hadn't stemmed from nothing. It had been sowed and grown from everyone's expectations of him. Minho feels like he will never be enough as long as he isn't able to surpass Hyunjin. And he knows he has a long way to go until then, but he won't stop until he proves to everyone he's worth more than they think. Until Hyunjin acknowledges him as his equal. Until Hyunjin acknowledges his existence for who he is.
With this thought spreading like a plague in his mind, rooting itself so deep inside his brain it becomes the only thing he knows, Minho starts preparing for the next competitions.