Miraculous! On Ice

Chapter 1

The wafting scent of home-cooked katsudon tickled Yuuri's nose. He sighed dreamily, not yet awake, as he imagined bowls of katsudon dancing around his bedroom in little rows. Some were jumping around his desk, some were sitting on his many bookshelves, one was sitting right on top of his body pillow of Viktor Nikiforov, the world's greatest skater, and three were doing the cupid shuffle on his nightstand next to his bed. He reached out to grab one-

"Ow." Yuuri pulled his face off the hardwood floor and inched back up his bed, legs still entangled in his blankets. He blindly reached for his glasses and his phone to check Viktor Nikiforov's twitter feed.

"Yuuri!" His mother was calling him down to eat. Not now, not while he was sobbing over the talented skater's pictures from the previous showcase that was held at the local rink last week. Viktor was a god. A beautiful, talented, sculpted-

"Yuuri, if you don't eat now, your katsudon will get cold!" His mother again, this time eliciting an innate response that signaled it was time for him to stop scrolling through Twitter. His stomach panged rather painfully. Yuuri sighed, slithering down his bed, and inched towards his door on his stomach.

"Yuuri! Last chance or I'm giving this to a customer!"

"I'm coming, Ma-" Yuuri's misstep on the stairs could be heard throughout the entire restaurant his parents owned on the first floor of their three-story Parisian townhouse. His parents ran a quaint Japanese restaurant on the ground floor of the building. The top two floors was reserved for their living space. While the restaurant truly reflected their heritage and culture, as Yuuri's parents prided themselves on running such an authentic Japanese cuisine in the middle of Paris, France, the rest of the house mirrored their current location. It was decorated with a rustic, quaint lifestyle in mind. However, the upstairs kitchen was the only room that matched the restaurant.

His mother, washing dishes in the sink, sighed. "Oh, Yuuri, my delicate boy." His father, sitting at the dining table, flipped to the next page of the newspaper, printed in Japanese. He ignored Yuuri's presence as he shuffled sheepishly into the kitchen, rubbing his bruised forearm.

The bowl of Katsudon was still steaming. Yuuri licked his lips, anticipating the fragrant, flavorful pork slices to finally coat his tastebuds.

"Sleep alright?" His mother asked, ruffling his hair as he tucked eagerly into the meal. He nodded vigorously to spare himself from speaking. This heavenly meal was meant to be-

"Celestino, your skating teacher, called and wants you to audition for this prestigious academy called the Papillion Skating Guild."

Yuuri choked and spit out his mouthful of rice. Viktor Nikiforov, the one and only Viktor Nikiforov, skated under that Guild, and now Celestino wanted him to audition for a spot in the academy? His father folded the newspaper neatly and looked at him over his glasses.

"Isn't that where the Nikiforov boy skates? France's greatest skater or something?"

"Yes!" Yuuri clamped his hand over his mouth, his face turning redder by the second. He didn't know he could squeak like that. And in his front of his father?

His father raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess the training paid off. And here we thought you were wasting your time-"

"Your father means well," His mother interjected earnestly. "In Japan, a boy your age would be studying hard for college entrance exams, not skating."

Yuuri's face fell.

"B-but! Your teacher thinks you're doing a really good job and should go to the next level with your training! And we're proud of you, Yuuri!" His mother nudged his father, who grunted in agreement.

"I'll make you guys proud," Yuuri said quietly, eyes lowered, his katsudon bowl forgotten, chopsticks scattered across the table, sticky rice kernels covering his cheeks. "I'll get into the academy and qualify for the Grand Prix. I'll bring home gold. Or, at least, silver." His mother smiled widely.

"Oh, Yuuri," She sighed, trotting over to hug him fiercely. She patted his cheek. "I am always proud of my beautiful, delicate flower. You're my son, after all."

"Don't you have school, son?" Yuuri's eyes widened.

"What time is it?" He asked his father, who promptly checked his watch.

"7:46 AM. Doesn't school start at 8?" Yuuri yelped, and picked up his bowl of katsudon.

"I'm gonna be late!" He rushed upstairs to change into his school uniform.


How does one simply describe Paris' greatest skater?

He was a living legend.

Piercing blue eyes, the softest silver hair that framed the skater's face, a heart-shaped smile, long legs and a muscular torso- Viktor was David, Michelangelo's greatest sculpture.

Yuuri had seen every performance, every interview, every article written about him; his idol, the reason why Yuuri found solace in figure skating. Why he put the hours, the effort; why every bruise on his shins were welcomed as signs he was getting better. Every scraped knee would bring him closer and closer to the skater who stole his heart. Viktor was shining and untouchable, a standard for him to reach, despite being so distant. Viktor, always so charming and always put together, always wanting to surprise people and always improving and raising the bar higher. Yuuri wanted to be like him. In his snapchats for his fans, he seemed so friendly and bubbly and sociable- he wished he could meet Viktor at least once in his mundane life.

And his skating. His skating was art, perfection and-

A nearby bell tower sounded the melodious sounds signaling the 8th hour of the morning.

"Aw, crap! I'm definitely late for school now!"

Anyone walking along Boulevard Saint-Michel would be able to notice a boy, sloppily dressed in the crested uniform of College Sevigne, sprinting at full speed with a bowl of rice, eggs and pork. Anyone walking along the Boulevard would also be able to notice that the running boy had his bookbag open, and loose papers were flying out from the open zipper.

Anyone attempting to enjoy the scenic view on their morning commute clearly could tell that not only was the dark haired boy with blue-rimmed glasses losing his much-needed homework, but that he was also very late for school.

An old man sat on a bench along Boulevard Saint-Michel, feeding the pigeons. He hummed quietly to himself, as he got up and hobbled away on his cane. He had some pressing matters to think about, but the issue was resolved. For now, he had some gifts to deliver.

Yuuri, although a good eight minutes late, was making solid time running to school, instead of taking the bus like he usually did. He laughed manically to himself, earning a couple of stares from random passerby, but that was probably because he was so running so fast. Maybe he could make it by the time his homeroom teacher called his name for roll call.

He sharply turned the corner onto Rue Val de Grace. He was gonna make it, he could feel it.

"It always works in the animes," he muttered to himself, as he held up his breakfast a little higher to avoid tripping over a kid with his toy truck playing right outside a grocery store. Yuuri squinted his eyes as he jumped over the toy truck, turning his head slightly to watch the child gape in awe. He turned his head, facing forward.

WHAM. A force hit Yuuri so hard upon impact, he fell back, the bowl of katsudon launching up into the air, making a grand arc, and upending itself upon Yuuri's already ruffled school uniform. He sighed- this was a great way to start off a Monday. He brushed his hair away from his eyes, and straightened his glasses.

An old man lay upon the sidewalk, his cane tossed aside. Yuuri gasped in shock. He killed a man- he killed a senior citizen, a grandpa- right before school!

"Sir," He wailed, shaking the old man and checking for his pulse. "Are you alright?" Yuuri sighed in relief when he felt the old man's strong pulse beating in the apex of his neck. The old man opened his eyes. Yuuri carefully pulled him to a standing position, and handed him his cane.

"Thank you, son." The old man smiled warmly at him.

"S-sorry! It was an accident, I didn't even see you-" Yuuri's babbling was cut off when the old man pulled something out of his coat pocket.

"Take this," The old man rasped. "As a token of my appreciation." He left Yuuri clutching the small box in shock, the contents of his bowl of katsudon all over his uniform, and his backpack nearly empty save for a few composition notebooks, papers scattered- swirling all over Rue Val de Grace.

There was a note on the box. It read- "Open this at home. :)"


Viktor sighed, flipping his silvery hair out of his face, as he bent down to tie his laces. Yakov was increasing the intensity of his fitness regimen in order to avoid plateauing before the skating season. Viktor stood up slowly, reaching out towards the sky as he began to stretch, his body languidly extending up to the sky.

He was feeling out of sorts, lately. Surprising his fans was starting to become difficult. It was what he lived for.

Viktor tensed, getting into a starting position to begin his run. He quickly started a timer on his Fitbit.

Two years ago, he had said in an interview that his motto was "you have to do the opposite of what people expect." How else will you surprise them? But after 4 years of doing exactly that, Viktor was starting to run out of ideas.

After 5 miles, Viktor took a break, chugging a liter of water that he had gotten from a nearby grocery store on Rue Val de Grace. The street was oddly littered with papers. They seemed to be someone's homework.

Back at his apartment, Makkachin greeted him with a loud bark.

"Hello, sweetie," he cooed to his fluffy monster, as he shut the door behind him. "Want some breakfast?"

He shuffled into the kitchen, mammoth dog in tow, and pulled out a box of cereal and a bag of dog food out of a cupboard by the fridge. Makkachin, at the sight of her food, gave another loud bark in excitement. Viktor turned around, opened another cupboard, and pulled out two bowls. After pouring the appropriate nourishments into their respective dishes, Viktor set Makkachin's meal on the floor next to the kitchen table. Grabbing his laptop, he began to scroll through his Tumblr feed.

After 16 aggravating minutes of artisan coffee cups, aesthetically-pleasing images of tumblr boys who had great taste in fashion, and various puppy pics, Viktor slammed his laptop shut. Makkachin tilted her head at him.

There was absolutely nothing that inspired him at all anymore. He was motivation-less, his will to create and compose nearly depleted, gone. And there was no amount of exercise or scrolling through social media to get him back to what he was before. He needed a miracle to happen. Something unexpected and amazing- something to change his life forever, for better or worse.

"Makkachin," He sighed, long lashes striking against his pale, angular face. He slumped in his chair, cereal forgotten, as Makkachin pressed her snout into his hand, begging for a pat. "I wish something interesting would happen to us." He opened his eyes, and began to play with his dog's long ears. Makkachin panted happily.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" Viktor called weakly, as he nearly tripped over his huge dog as he tried to get to the door fast enough. Makkachin excitedly barked, turning around and around and around her exasperated owner's legs, as he tried to make it to the door in time.

Who could it be? He wasn't expecting any company.

"Makkachin, darling, please move?" Makkachin promptly sat down, her tongue lolling, as Viktor tripped over a dog toy, nearly hitting his head on the coffee table. He pushed himself off the ground, promptly brushing off stray dog hairs, his own hair escaping the clutches of his messy bun.

He opened his door. No one was there.

"Curious," He murmured, as Makkachin pushed past him and sniffed the doormat interestedly. Makkachin gave a loud bark, and promptly ran back into the apartment.

"Makkachin, what is it, darling?" Viktor whirled around and spotted her clutching a dark object in her mouth. His eyes widened.

"Makkachin, give that to me right now. Put that down." Makkachin began to run behind the sofa, as Viktor attempted to chase after her, worried that his pup was about to swallow a weird, strange thing. Viktor cornered Makkachin in between the wall and the sofa, effectively tackling her. He wrestled the box(?) out her vice-like grip and pulled it out of her mouth. Makkachin barked loudly in his ear, and tried to nip his shoulder. Holding the box high above his head, he scolded his naughty dog.

"Sweetie, what did I tell you about taking things that don't belong to you?" Makkachin whimpered quietly, her tail between her legs, as she picked up a chew toy off the floor, heading for her dog bed in Viktor's room. Viktor sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. It was hard raising a poodle alone.

He placed the ornate box on the coffee table. He had to get to the Academy soon. Yakov needed him to sit in for an important meeting concerning the Guild later on. Right now, however, he needed to find out what the deal was with the box.

The box glared at him as Viktor sat in front of it, inspecting it with his eyes. It had weird Chinese characters written across the front and the sides, forming an interlocking pattern that resembled a hexagonal shape. The box, made of a dark mahogany, was beautiful. The only thing that kept it closed was a small clasp.

"What's in the box?" he murmured to himself, as he reached out a long, manicured finger to unlock the clasp. He gently lifted the top open. Viktor gasped.


After a long day of school, all Yuuri wanted to do was to jump into bed and go into hibernation. Not only did he lose all of his homework, all of which he worked especially hard on, but his clothing was soiled and dirty, which the headmaster scolded him on and gave him a total of three (three!) demerits. After that, but the teacher made him get up and recite the manifesto of Robespierre from the French Revolution, but public speaking made him very anxious, and the snickers from his fellow classmates over his current state of dress (he had pork sauce all over his white button down) made him leave the classroom in tears. He spent all of lunch sobbing in the boys bathroom.

He shed his school uniform, and rushed into the bathroom for a hot steamy shower. The most peculiar thing about the day was, he thought, how he was given a peculiar box, inscribed with Chinese characters, to only open when he got home.

The steam from the hot shower clouded Yuuri's mind, as he lathered soap all over his tense, shivering body. He began to calm down. The box would have to wait. He needed a long nap. After his nap, he was going to catch up on schoolwork, and write in his journal. Then, he would have to work out a compositional piece with Ciao Ciao at the rink, for his audition with the Papillion Guild.

Yes, the box would have to wait.