Phichit's phone buzzes. christophe-gc has posted a new photo, it tells him. When he thumbs the screen, it brightens to reveal a shot of Christophe Giacometti, lounging on a bench, wearing nothing but a Speedo and his skates. greetings from your local king of selfies, says the caption. Phichit doesn't actually know Chris - not personally. He has nothing to prove. But Phichit is also, categorically, a competitive little shit, and he knows he can do better. So it begins.

"No, see, we've all been trained a certain way. The training system is traditional; it's centuries old. Nobody taught you. You ballist like it's got nothing to do with war at all." A sleepy, extraordinary smile crawls over Victor's face. "Nobody else does it like that. That's why we're going to win."