The gates of Tracen Academy stood tall beneath the bright spring sky, yet for Frost Heart, they seemed less like a beginning and more like a threshold between worlds. Japan was warm compared to the English countryside she had left behind, where mornings were cloaked in mist and nights were sharpened by frost when it enters winter season. Even so, as she stepped forward with her suitcase rolling quietly over the path, there was a kind of stillness in her chest, as though the snow she carried inside had followed her across the sea.
Students bustled about, voices overlapping in cheerful waves. Some called to friends, others dashed across the courtyard in a rush to make morning practice. She passed unnoticed for a few moments—an unfamiliar face among familiar ones—until a cluster of second-years slowed their steps. Their laughter faltered as their eyes caught on her silver hair, shimmering faintly in the sunlight like the glint of frost before dawn.
"Who's that…?" one whispered.
"She doesn't look like she's from around here," another murmured, a touch of awe in her voice.
Frost Heart didn't turn to meet their eyes. She moved with measured grace, suitcase in hand, posture straight, steps unhurried. Her expression was calm, poised, as if she had been here before and knew exactly where to go, even though she didn't. To some, her silence might have seemed intimidating, but to her it was simply natural. Noise was unnecessary when stillness spoke louder.
'It's noisier than I imagined. But… warm. Different from home.'
Home. The word tugged at a memory—snow swirling across the training grounds back in England, boots crunching into the frozen soil as she ran with the wind slicing at her face. Her father's voice had followed, low and steady like the sound of distant bells: "Keep your stride true, Heart. Snow is no enemy of yours. It will carry you, if you let it."
The memory faded as quickly as it came, dissolved by the spring breeze carrying cherry blossoms across the courtyard. She lifted her chin slightly, the petals brushing her hair like faint traces of snowflakes, and crossed into the academy proper.
Her classroom greeted her with the low hum of conversation. First-years, her new classmates, already settled into clusters of chatter. The teacher introduced her with a nod toward the board where her name was written neatly in chalk: Frost Heart.
Gasps, murmurs, a ripple of curiosity swept the room. "Pretty name…" "She's so tall…" "Half-foreign, right?"
She bowed politely, voice calm when she finally spoke. "Frost Heart. I transferred from overseas. Please take care of me."
Elegant, precise, no more or less than needed. She caught a few smiles, a few shy glances, and more than a few stares. Choosing a seat near the window, she settled down, the sunlight spilling over her silver hair and catching on her pale lashes. Her classmates' chatter soon resumed, but it came with occasional peeks in her direction. She ignored them gently, hands folded on her desk, her gaze drifting outside where petals fell in slow spirals.
'It's warmer here. But… snow would suit this view better.'
The day passed in introductions and explanations, teachers outlining schedules, classmates scribbling notes with varying degrees of attention. Frost Heart listened quietly, offering soft nods when spoken to, her replies kind but measured. The impression remained: distant, elegant, but not unkind.
It was in the afternoon, on the training grounds, that her classmates truly began to understand who she was.
The track shimmered with sunlight, the air alive with the pounding rhythm of hooves against turf. Students stretched, jogged, prepared for laps. Frost Heart changed into her training gear, the standard academy outfit, yet somehow it seemed almost tailored to her. Her posture was flawless, her movements unhurried as she tied her hair back, silver strands catching the light like spun frost.
"Frost-san, you run too?" one classmate asked, voice uncertain, as though the question were foolish—of course she did, they were all here for the same dream.
She smiled faintly, her calm blue eyes meeting theirs. "I do."
No arrogance. No hesitation. Just certainty.
When practice began, she lined up with her classmates at the starting mark. Whispers passed down the line—how she looked, how she stood, whether she would lag behind or surge ahead. She breathed in once, deeply, the faint scent of turf mixing with the memory of snow.
The whistle blew. And the gate open
She moved.
From the first stride, she took the lead—not by force, not by aggression, but by simple, undeniable rhythm. Her strides were long, fluid, her form controlled, hair streaming behind her like a silver banner. The pack scrambled to keep pace, startled by the decisiveness of her start. She didn't glance back, didn't measure the distance; her focus was forward, her breathing steady.
'The front is where I belong. The air is clearer here.'
Her classmates pushed harder, determined not to be left behind. She could hear their effort, the harsh breaths, the scuff of turf, the competitive shouts—but they seemed far away, distant, muffled beneath the quiet certainty of her own rhythm. The track curved, the sunlight pressed down, but she held her pace with the calm of someone who knew she would not falter.
By the time they crossed the final corner, she was still ahead. Not straining, not desperate—simply steady, leading without apology. As she gracefully cross the finish line
Her classmates gathered afterward, some panting, some laughing nervously. "She's incredible…" "Did you see how smooth her stride was?" "It's like she wasn't even trying…"
Frost Heart offered a polite nod, a small smile that warmed her features. "You all ran well. Thank you for pushing me."
The words, simple as they were, melted the tension. They saw then that the snow-queen aura wasn't cold dismissal but calm assurance, a steady warmth that encouraged rather than intimidated. She wasn't untouchable; she was simply composed.
That night, in her dorm room, she unpacked slowly. A photograph rested on her desk—England, the fields blanketed in white, her father's figure blurred in the background. She touched the frame briefly, then drew the curtains open. Outside, the campus glowed softly beneath lanterns, students still chattering in the distance.
'Different from home. But maybe… I can find my place here.'
Days passed in rhythm. Classes, training, quiet meals where she listened more than spoke. Gradually, her classmates grew used to her presence. Some still whispered about her elegance, others hesitated before asking for advice—but when they did, she always answered kindly. Correcting a stance here, adjusting breathing there, a gentle hand on a shoulder when frustration set in.
She wasn't loud, wasn't flashy, but her presence was steady. A quiet pillar among her peers.
It was during the end-of-week practice race that her name truly began to spread through the academy.
The stands weren't full, but enough students gathered to watch. The chatter swelled with curiosity: "That's the transfer student, right? Frost Heart?" "I heard she's a frontrunner." "She looks so calm… like she's already won."
On the track, she lined up with her classmates. The turf stretched out before her, green under the fading sun. She exhaled slowly, steadying her heartbeat.
The whistle blew. And the gate open
She surged forward instantly, her stride decisive. The air was hers, the track her path. Her classmates chased, determination burning in their eyes, but Frost Heart's rhythm did not waver. Her silver hair streamed like a banner of ice, her gaze locked forward.
'The race belongs to no one until it ends. But if I am to claim it… I will do so at the front.'
Each curve tested her, each straightaway demanded resolve, but she welcomed it. The sound of the crowd blurred into a single hum, the beating of hooves fused into one rhythm, and she ran as though she were back in England, snow underfoot, her father's voice carrying her forward.
When she crossed the finish first, there was no triumphant cry, no boast. She slowed, breathing steady, posture unbroken. Her classmates followed, panting, some frustrated, others exhilarated. The crowd murmured louder now, excitement mixing with awe.
"She's the real deal…" "Like a snow queen…" "Beautiful, and strong…"
Frost Heart offered her classmates a soft smile, voice gentle. "Thank you for the race."
And in that moment, the whispers began to change. Not just "graceful" or "intimidating," but also "kind," "reliable," "a big sister type."
Later, alone in her dorm again, she sat by the window. The moonlight painted the campus silver, faintly reminiscent of frost. She touched the glass lightly, breath fogging against it.
'Father… I wonder if you can see me now. This place is different, but the track feels the same. The front is where I belong. The snow inside me still carries me forward.'
Her eyes softened, reflecting the moonlight. Calm, elegant, unshaken.
Tomorrow, the whispers would grow louder. Tomorrow, the races would become harder. Tomorrow, she would take another step toward proving herself not just as Frost Heart from overseas, but as Frost Heart of Tracen Academy.
But for tonight, she simply sat in the stillness, the warmth of Japan folding around her, and let the snow within her heart settle gently, ready for the races to come.