Wake up. Train. Eat lunch. Get to the arena. Train with the team. Get in the equipment. Prepare for the game. Play 60 minutes on the league’s best 3rd line as a supposedly elite player. Get home. Eat dinner. Sleep. Repeat. That’s been Edžus’ life since he decided to sign with the San Francisco Pride as a free agent. Could he really complain? The entire team welcomed the Latvian winger with open arms and made him feel at home… but he yearned for the spark of challenge, not to be the complementary piece of a third line. Sure, it got him a second Cup, and sure, he was still scoring at a point per game rate, but the Latvian needed… more. When the coach trusted him to play alongside Viktor Hargeeves and Oskar Scholz on the first line, Ozolins gladly took the opportunity, only to blow it in monumental fashion. So, really, could he in good faith be upset at the Pride? He decided to join them, after all, and he even to stay there. Besides, he couldn't be more happy, he had a solid group of friends and even started coaching rookies in the offseason. Something was missing though. Helping rookies was fun, yeah, but he wanted to be someone’s Jack St. Clair, Edžus’ role model when he got drafted to Edmonton. But young studs waiting to be trained and developed don’t run in the street in front of your house, one might think. However, what if they did? What if they came knocking at your door? 


Enters E.S.O., Edžus’ niece. She had been watching her uncle play hockey on the big familial TV and she wanted HIM to show her how to play. How could the “favorite” uncle say no to the 9 years old’s puppy eyes? That’s how the Latvian winger finally found a spark again, by mentoring what seemed to be his younger self, but more talented and dedicated than he ever was. He couldn’t believe how the youngest Ozolins had progressed in two years, she reminded Edžus of the biggest stars of the SHL- 
*CRASH*
“Eleanor Sofija Ozolina. What happened to the window?”
A cold disappointment could be heard in the voice, immediately met by an afraid but still adorable English accent:
“I- I don't know, I must’ve shot too high…”
Sighing, Edžus took back his thoughts – she still had a long way to go to become a top player in the best ice hockey league out there. 
“It’s fine… I’ll call the window people later, don’t tell your mom it was you.”


That small yet marking moment was 2 years ago. Eleanor hadn’t broken a single window ever since, something she took pride in. And Edžus could easily notice how much she had improved in those two years, whether he was looking at her hockey sense, skating or puck handling. Two years already he’d been playing with the Pride, training Eleanor - with a purple jersey on because she loved the sweater-like clothing so much - whenever she visited, during the summer or whenever he had the chance to fly back to Rīga during the season.
He now believed she could make it to the SHL, and even be a top performer. The jump in her development fueled his play, and it was noticeable, too. He now had finished yet another season, but this time, Edzus was centering the third line, not just flanking it. And suddenly, his stats looked like the player he once was bound to become, back in his SMJHL glory days. 97 points. Over 40 goals. A wonderful season that filled the skater with much joy. Nowadays, Eleanor wasn’t talking about the cool Vik or Dominik highlights (that is a lie, she still talked about them because she loved her “distant uncles” so much), she would go on about the “wonderful” Edzus Ozolins, her teacher and model. 



Ty for reading me, back into mediocre storywriting, expect more at some point idk

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