As the evening wore on, Moritz grew increasingly nervous. He tried calling Florian, knocking on his room repeatedly, and searching the bar. Yet Florian was nowhere to be found.

As the sky darkened and the snowstorm intensified, Moritz chose to stay put at their meeting spot. Aprés-Ski was supposed to be a fun time of relaxation and celebration, a moment to unwind with your favorite people and favorite drinks, but Moritz didn't do any of that. His eyes continued darting to the entrance until a familiar face entered the bar.

Amélie Leclerc immediately caught his attention with her French tricolor jacket, her form-fitting leggings that hugged her athletic body, and her messy, snow-sprinkled braids. For a brief moment, Moritz considered approaching her, drawn in by her confident demeanor and contagious smile. But then, with a jolt, he remembered why he was there—to find Florian. Duty overruled desire, so he grabbed his red backpack and walked right past her.

Not daring eye contact, he failed to notice how her eyes followed him. They followed him up until they couldn't, up until he disappeared through the doors she had just come from. Moritz had an attractive face, she thought, but also a forgettable one. As if not even fate took a single risk in composing it. But at least she would always remember that impeccable green helmet of the man she wished had made eye contact with her.

Exiting the warmth of the bar, Moritz was immediately met with darkness and heavy snowfall. He pulled his jacket tighter around his chest, feeling the bite of the icy wind cutting through his layers. It wasn't until his eyes landed on the ski racks that he realized Florian's snowboard was neither here nor at the hotel. This led Moritz to believe that his stubborn and ignorant friend must be somewhere out there, somewhere on the mountain.

Panic crept up quickly, and the countdown began to tick. "What if he's hurt? Or lost? He's going to die out there!"

The gondolas and helicopters were not operating in those weather conditions. All Moritz could do was call the ski patrol team and coordinate a search operation. They had no choice but to travel by snowmobiles, and depending on how long Florian had been out there, Moritz feared the situation might end up becoming a recovery mission, rather than a rescue.

Moritz made his way to the snowpark while the others searched the slopes. The snowfall thickened the higher up he got, making it hard to see anything but TV static. Especially with the headlights reflecting off the swirling snowflakes, his vision was almost completely blocked by a solid white curtain. It wasn't until a rail suddenly loomed up out of the whiteness—almost too late to avoid a collision—that he realized he had reached the snowpark.

Racing against time now, he scanned the area with squinted eyes. If he didn't find Florian soon, the harsh conditions could lead to frostbite, hypothermia, or worse.

"Florian!" he shouted up the steep hill. His voice could not compete against the howling wind. He could only hope that Florian would spot his vibrant clothes from the distance and give him some kind of sign that he was there.

It took multiple runs up and down the snowpark before Moritz discovered Florian's body. He lay flat in the snow, his eyes closed, his skin pale, blue almost, and there was a gash on his forehead, indicating he had hit his head hard. Moritz also found traces of blood around Florian's unprotected scalp. It was enough to cause concern, but thankfully not enough to make him contemplate whether he should scold or mourn his friend during the eulogy.

Moritz carefully roused Florian by gently tapping his cheeks and calling his name. He avoided any sudden movements or loud noises to prevent further injury. Florian's eyelids opened slowly. He could barely keep them from shutting while his unfocused eyes searched the busy sky for a point of orientation. "What... What happened?" he mumbled, his voice slurred.

"You took a nasty fall," Moritz explained, checking Florian's pupils for any irregular dilation. "Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?"

Florian blinked slowly, still trying to make sense of his surroundings. "Yeah... I feel sick," he mumbled.

Moritz nodded, recognizing the signs of a concussion. "Okay, take it easy. Let's get you sitting up slowly." He carefully helped Florian into a seated position, supporting him as he swayed unsteadily. It was unclear how long he had been laying there, unconscious and cold, but judging by his purple lips and the layer of snow covering his legs, he wouldn't have lasted much longer.

Suddenly, Florian leaned over, retching violently. Moritz held him steady, rubbing his back in soothing circles until the Älplermagronen and RedBull came back up.

"Easy now," Moritz said softly. He opened the binding of the snowboard and removed it from Florian's boots. "We need to get you out of the snow. Can you stand?"

Florian nodded weakly, his head still throbbing. "Yeah... I think so." But when they tried, he whaled in agony, "Fuck!"

"What is it?" Moritz asked, supporting the weight of Florian's whole body.

"My damn knee feels like it got caught in a blender!" Florian knew what this meant for his career. Moritz knew it too. But both were determined not to say it. "I'm such an idiot! Moritz, I'm a fucking moron!"

"You're gonna be okay. I'll call the other ski patrol members for help. We need to find some shelter in the meantime and wait for the blizzard to pass."

"We don't have time to wait around. I need emergency surgery on my leg as soon as possible."

Moritz shook his head. "Traveling in this weather, with your injury and concussion... it's too risky."

"Sometimes risks are good! Sometimes risks save lives!"

"And sometimes they kill!" Moritz fired back. "We could get lost, or your condition could worsen!"

"It's worth trying if it means I have a chance at snowboarding again!"

Moritz tried but failed to hold back his anger. "Damn it, Flo! You already had your second chance and you wasted it! Your knee just healed, yet you had to risk it all! And for what? Don't you have enough medals already?"

"It was never about the medals."

"Then why!"

"O'Brien," Florian rasped.

"What?"

"Lucas O'Brien!"

"Who is—" but then Moritz remembered. "You mean that kid from earlier?"

"And all the other kids that have looked me in the eye and told me I'm the reason they snowboard!" Florian paused for a moment, his eyes aimed at the dormant board. "Those kids... they see me out there, pushing my limits, chasing my dreams. It gives them hope, you know? Makes them believe they can do it too! They look up to me... I can't let 'em down."

Moritz fell silent. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. There was no denying the gravity of Florian's words, nor the weight of his responsibility as a role model. But was it worth risking his life for? He studied Florian carefully. All these years, he never understood that thrill for risks. But he did understand what it meant to be passionate about something. Painfully so.

"Have it your way." His mind made up, Moritz secured the snowboard to the back of the snowmobile. 

There was a moment of hesitation, a silent struggle playing out within him. Then, with a steadying breath, he unclipped the strap of his helmet and lifted it off his head. The soft glow of the snowmobile's headlights cast just enough light across Moritz's features to reveal a long and thick scar etched into the side of his scalp. 

He turned to Florian, who was too stunned to say a word, and placed the helmet in his trembling hands. This was the first time Florian put on a helmet without a single complaint.

Navigating through the haze of the storm on their way back was a monumental challenge. The snowmobile's headlights barely cut through the swirling snow, casting ghostly shadows that played tricks on Moritz's eyes. He kept a firm grip on the handlebars while Florian, cradled behind him, clung to his waist, his body racked with shivers from the cold and pain.

The snow-covered trails were almost invisible, and the relentless wind howled around them, threatening to knock the snowmobile off course. Each bump and jolt sent fresh waves of agony through Florian's injured knee, but he bit back his cries, focusing on the rhythm of the engine and Moritz's steady presence. Moritz glanced back at him, seeing the pain etched on his face but also the determination that had always defined him.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed and the snowmobile skidded, almost tipping over. Moritz quickly adjusted their path, narrowly avoiding a hidden crevasse. His heart pounded as he regained control. "Hang on, Florian," he shouted over the wind. "We're almost there!"

The faint glow of Laax's town lights pierced the foggy air. Relief washed over both of them as they approached the outskirts of the town. Moritz carefully guided the snowmobile through the familiar streets, finally pulling up in front of the local hospital. Florian was swiftly lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled inside, with Moritz following close behind, his own exhaustion starting to show. Nurses and doctors took over, barking orders and checking vitals.