I feel something tighten in my chest, pride, maybe.Or something worse.
And right then, I know.
I'm screwed.
Because it's hard to stay professional when you get a front-row seat to brilliance.
Especially when you still remember what that brilliance felt like against your skin.
***
Thomas
The first run felt good.Nobody could beat it.I made sure of that.I feel alive this season.No pain in my right knee, the skis are perfect, the techs made minor upgrades to my boots, and they fit better than ever.It's going to be a great season.
I'm in the start area, waiting for my second run.Since I won the first, I'll go last.The second run goes in reverse order.That also means I'll get the worst of the terrain.I don't mind.I'm used to skiing through broken courses and deep ruts.I've won more first runs than I can count.
Just kidding.I can count every single one of them.When they start blending into a blur, I'll know it's time to call it quits.
Niko is staring at the screen, chewing his lip like the numbers might change if he worries hard enough.He'll joke about nerves later, but I know he's still learning how to keep his head from spinning.
Earplugs in.Music on.Tyrolean folk music.I like that.Most guys listen to hard rock or some brain-melting pop.I like to think of home.
Stretching.Warming up my legs.Watching the others do the same.
Lukas re-tapes a pole grip with the patience of a surgeon, eyes half-lidded like he's saving energy for when it matters.
Not a GS master, so he's happy to have made the second run.He's starting early.First race of the season, just testing the waters.
I already bumped fists with Martin—he's a few meters away doing squats, face set in sheer determination.We don't talk.We're all in our own worlds now.No distractions.
Except one.
I close my eyes and replay the moment from earlier.
Katharina came to congratulate me on the run while I was still sitting in the red leader's chair.She'd been around most of the time, filtering the press eager for a quote, sponsors looking for handshakes, friends stopping by to catch up.But every time she spoke to me, her blue eyes sparkled with awe, admiration even.
God, I loved that look.
A flicker of doubt sneaks in, though.Was it real, or am I just chasing shadows in her eyes?My body reacts like it was real.Heart thudding, skin too tight.I hate how much I want to see that look again.
I'm used to people looking at me like that after I nail a run.Used to that expression: like I'm not quite human.And honestly?After a run like that, I feel it too.Until one of my teammates makes a smartass comment and yanks me back to earth.
I'm also used to fangirls watching me like I'm candy they'd like to unwrap.
But this—this look from Katharina—is something else, becausesheis something else.
Brilliant.
The word lands like a hand on my spine, steadying and dangerous.That’s what she said earlier, and it turned me on more than anything, because it came from those sweet lips.
Maybe I need it more than I’d admit.Not the compliment—the belief.I’ve raced for medals, points, and records.But lately?It’s her belief that makes me feel like I’m not faking it.
When she congratulated me, our hands touched, and a shiver ran through my whole body.A shiver I’ve come to expect.
The Katharina effect.
And when she told me I was brilliant, her eyes sparkled—not with pride.With desire.
