Chapter 177: Disqualified

Lorali

It had been a full week of absolute, bone-crushing intensity at the national figure skating championship, and up until this very minute, the leaderboard had been predictable.

For seven straight days, in every single event, freestyle, technical, artistic choreograph, I had taken second place. Always just a hundred points behind Zetana. Always staring at her back on the podium while the press took photos of the country’s favorite golden girl.

Today was the final event. Freestyle Part Two. The ultimate decider. If I managed to land this routine and score anywhere above 400 points, the gold medal for the entire championship was mine.

I sat on my seat section at the edge of the arena, adjusting my skate guards, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The stadium was packed to full capacity. It was fuller than it had ever been in previous years, mostly because hundreds of Omegas across the world had begged their Alphas to buy tickets so they could watch me in person. Even if half the crowd thought I was a crazy, rabid girl, they couldn’t deny I was making history as an Omega out-skating Delta’s, Alphas and Betas on national television. Of course, the other half of the audience was strictly here, praying to see me loose.

"Lorali Spade! Please prepare to enter the ice!" the intercom blared, echoing through the cavernous arena. Scarlett stepped into my personal space, adjusting the sequins on my dark crimson dress. "You’ve got this, Lorali. Don’t blow it."

I didn’t even look at her, scoffing under my breath as I shoved past her shoulder. "Don’t tell me what to do, Scarlett."

I had been plain rude to Scarlett for the last two weeks, ever since I overheard her calling me a "crazy cash cow" outside her husband’s office. Every time she opened her mouth, I felt a deep, violent urge to shove a sharp HB pencil straight into her eye. I only tolerated her presence because I still needed her to teach me more. The exact microsecond I learned every single thing I needed to know from her about managing contracts and skating, I was going to dump her off somewhere and leave her in the dust.

Glancing past the curtain toward the VIP box, I caught sight of the sparse support I had from the Spade Pack.

Only Oracle and Torin were sitting there. Oril was on sick leave, he is not sick but said he would be if he had to be in my presence.

I hadn’t wanted him here anyway or these bimbos, but Torin insisted on playing the supportive fiancé for the media cameras, and Oracle... well, Oracle was bound to me by that stupid. The rest of the pack including Oril were all at Augi’s hockey match across town.

Augi’s team, the Falcons, was playing in an exhibition game on the exact same day, but his arena was practically empty compared to mine. People had given up hope on the Falcons; everyone knew they were going to lose another embarrassing match, including me. But here, on this ice, the outcome was an absolute mystery.

The arena lights dimmed, leaving a blinding, solitary white spotlight centered on the pristine ice.

"Representing the Falcons Ice Rank, Lorali!"

The crowd erupted into a deafening wall of sound, cheers mixed with frantic boos. I stepped out onto the ice, the rubber guards coming off my blades, and glided into the center of the rink.

The moment my blades hit the ice, the noise of the ten thousand people in the stands faded into a muted hum. The sheer, biting cold of the air rushed into my lungs making me want to cough. I closed my eyes for a single heartbeat, feeling the slick, frozen plane beneath my feet, feeling the wind bite against the fresh stitches on my cheek.

Music swelled through the arena speakers, a dramatic, sweeping violin piece that cut straight through the atmosphere.

I pushed off my back edge and picked up speed, the cold wind whipping through my hair as I carved a deep, clean arc across the ice. I leaned hard into my outside edge, wind gathering around my dress, and launched myself into the air for my opening move, a quad toe loop.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The world spun into a blur of blinding spotlights and white frost before my blade struck the ice with a razor-sharp CRACK. A clean, mathematically perfect landing. I didn’t pause for a microsecond; I instantly transitioned into a high-speed camel spin, my leg extended parallel to the ice, spinning so fast the colors of the stadium melted into a swirling vortex of light.

My edges were silent, fluid, and dangerously fast. I glided into the sequence, executing a combination jump that no skater (other than Scarlett who never competed and who I learned from) in the country had ever dared attempt in a live championship, a triple Axel directly into a triple Loop. I rose into the icy air like gravity was merely a suggestion, my body tight, rotating in perfect axis, before coming down smooth as velvet, my edge tracing a flawless crescent across the surface. The air burned in my throat, my lungs screamed for oxygen, but I pushed harder, sinking deeper into my edges until the friction threw white frost into the air like diamond dust.

With a final, dramatic spin that brought me to my knees, arms extended toward the high rafters, the music cut out.

Silence hung over the arena for one breathless second.

Then, the entire stadium blew up. Roars, cheers, screaming, and applause thundered off the concrete walls. Stuffed animals and flowers rained down from the stands onto the ice. I pushed myself up, breathing heavily, my chest heaving as sweat trickled down my neck.

That has to be it, I thought, a breathless smile breaking across my face as I glided off the rink. That has to be the winning strike. I couldn’t have skated better if my life depended on it. I sat back on my chair and unlaced my skates beside Scarlett. "Next skater... Zetana!" the intercom announced loudly.

The stadium went dead silent for a fraction of a second before the crowd went completely feral. "ZETANA! ZETANA! ZETANA!" they chanted, the stands literally shaking as people stomped their feet on the bleachers.

My jaw was tightening as I stared at the monitors. Scream her name all you want, I cross my arms tightly over my chest. Let’s see if she can top a 400 with a routine like mine.

"Zetana to the ice, please!" the announcer called out again. Nothing happened. The ice remained empty, illuminated by the single, glaring spotlight. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. The chants in the crowd slowly died down into confused, anxious murmurs.

What is going on? I wondered, leaning forward with a deep frown. Where the hell is she? Scarlett stood up, grabbing her phone. "I’m going to find out what’s taking her so long." Scarlett vanished down the back hallway. I sat there on the bench for thirty long, agonizing minutes while the arena atmosphere turned entirely sour. The crowd was restless, reporters were craning their necks over the press barrier, and the judges were whispering frantically amongst themselves at the technical table.

Finally, Scarlett came jogging back down the corridor, her face white with complete, utter bewilderment.

"What happened?" I asked instantly, standing up. "Zetana is a no-show," Scarlett whispered, her eyes wide with joy. "Her team isn’t even in the locker room. Apparently... they forfeited!"

"What?!" I gasped, staring at her like she had grown a second head. "Forfeited?! Zetana?!" Before Scarlett could answer, a loud, static-filled chime rang through the arena speakers, and the announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium, sounding completely shaken.

"Attention, spectators and officials... due to unforeseen circumstances, Zetana has been officially disqualified from the match!"

The entire stadium exploded into chaos. "DISQUALIFIED?!" people shouted from the stands. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN DISQUALIFIED?!" I whirled around on Scarlett, glaring at her. "Disqualified?! Scarlett, you literally just said she forfeited!"

"It’s my first time hearing it too!" Scarlett stammered, raising her hands defensively. "I swear her manager said they withdrew!"

"Please remain seated!" the announcer’s voice cut through the noise over the PA system. "We will now calculate the final standings for the national championship!" We sat in tense, suffocating silence for another ten minutes. Scarlett hovered over my shoulder, wringing her hands. "I’m sure you’re going to win, Lorali. I just know it."

I closed my eyes, letting out a harsh, irritated breath. "Please just shut up, Scarlett." Her constant, fake-encouraging presence was irritating me to my absolute core. I stared at the main digital scoreboard, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my ears.

BZZZZT!

The main scoreboard lit up with giant, glowing gold numbers.