December 10,

Capital Gymnasium, Rink B

Beijing, China

"Do you have the call-sheet?"

"It's right in front of you."

"Oh." Matthew, a greying man of around sixty, rubs his eyes tiredly. "Sorry, son. When you get to my age, you have to start injecting coffee into your bloodstream just to stay awake."

"Or maybe it's something to do with your eyesight." Harry grins, motioning towards the top of Matthew's head where his glasses have been long-forgotten.

"That too." He chuckles, although the embarrassment seeps out in the lilt of his laugh. Despite wearing the glasses, Matthew has to squint at the small letters on the sheet, pulling it up towards his eyes to see clearly. An awkward silence fills between the two of them.

Matthew doesn't know how to break it. For all intents and purposes, Harry was as old as his son. Matthew shouldn't even be here in Beijing, he had given up commentary decades ago. Nobody wants an old face latching onto the system, no matter how renowned he once was in the field.

Matthew Evans wasn't the three-time European Champion he once was. The eyes that followed him everytime he stepped back into the skating world were more than ambivalent, they were near-unbearable. He could've been the best, been the Olympic champion England had been dying for, and instead what did he have to show for it? A fifth place finish - not even on the podium.

When he had received the email, (well- when his granddaughter had received it, Matthew was terrible with technology) , he hadn't even questioned whether he would accept the role as a commentator. It had been a resounding no .

What use did a washed up, sixty year old skater from a bygone era have for this new generation? The scoring system was far too strange for him to understand, no - there was no way Matthew would accept Eurosport's proposition.

And then Richie had come to his little cottage on the outskirts of Yorkshire, hidden away in the muck and dirt of farmlife, and begged him to return. It turned out that Johnny, their usual commentator, had been in an accident, not life-threatening, but enough for him to have to stay hospitalised.

("It won't even be for Seniors, we have another commentator for that, you know, Harry - the Scottish skater from a few years back. He'll be doing the Senior commentary. We just need someone for him to bounce off of for Juniors, because it's not his speciality."

"So you thought it would be a better idea to have two people who have no idea what they're doing?"

"Nobody cares about juniors anyway. You won't have to worry about the scoring system, Harry will know about that since it's the same as Seniors.)

Richie, the little fucker, had always had Matthew in the palm of his hands. Even after the complete disaster of the Olympics almost forty-nine years ago, he still would try and get Matthew to return to the skating world, in some capacity or other. In the end, he exploited Matthew's greatest weakness, a heinous crime that he will never forgive Richie for.

He told his granddaughter.

("You are going to Beijing."

"Veronica, darling. I have so much to do on the far-"

"Bullshit. You haven't left the house in ten years. I've already called mum and she's packing your bag as we speak.")

So that's how Matthew found himself here, in Beijing, China at sixty four years of age. It's a wonder he even survived the plane journey here. He hasn't commentated in years, and according to Harry, he'll only be required to talk about the Juniors. It would be an honour anyway, if Matthew wasn't fretting the entire time.

"You'll be fine." A hand comes into his eyesight, placing a steaming styrofoam cup on the table in front of him. Harry smiles in what he assumes is meant to come across as reassurance, but only serves to make Matthew wither even more.

"Have you kept up to date with the recent skaters?"

"I'd be lying if I said yes." Matthew flicked through the stapled wad of paper, fingers fidgeting with energy.

"That's fine, I can introduce you to them. Maybe we should start with men's, since we're both more familiar with the discipline than most." Harry settles down next to Matthew, and the two lean over the call-sheet.

"So, Nathan Parsons is the favourite to win. He just turned seventeen, American with good jumps, but his skating skills could use a little more finesse. Oh here, Eric Smirnov is another favourite, Russian, sixteen with a mean triple lutz."

"Both of them have won their respective Grand Prix qualifying events, and so have the highest score coming into the Finals. And then there's Michele Crispino. I wouldn't count him out of the running because he's the only junior who lands triple loops at the end of combinations instead of triple toes. His go-to is the triple lutz-triple loop. If he's consistent with his jumps, then there's no-one who can really touch him base-value wise."

"Crispino, where have I heard that name from?"

Harry smiles, ever so slightly. "He has a twin sister who competes in the senior field. Sara Crispino is the reigning-Junior Champion from last year. She's made waves by qualifying for the Grand Prix final in her first year competing at senior-level."

"Yes, I think I've heard of her. My daughter and granddaughter are fans, I believe. Italian, right?"

"Yes. Hmm, who else do we have in the running? There's the other Russian skater, Drozd. He's got a mean triple flip, but his interpretive skills need a bit of work, nothing more experience can't fix. He's the youngest competitor, aged fourteen. Canada has a skater, Andrew Carpenter, age eighteen. He's the only skater who has a triple axel at the event, but it needs more consistency."

"He's doing a triple axel? Why isn't he competing at senior competitions?"

"Having a triple axel, especially a temperamental one, won't do him any good nowadays. His coach is smart to keep him in juniors for now. It's all about quads in the senior-field. Why try and compete with Viktor Nikiforov when you can get gold medals here?" A disgruntled sound erupts from Matthew's gut before he even realises. Harry laughs loudly, and the two seem to ease whatever tension there had been in the air from before.

"The sport's come a long way since the 70s, Matthew."

"Well, with this whole point system, it's no wonder artistry is being thrown out. A kid has a triple axel and he won't even make it in seniors."

"It's a sad reality." There is a story there, Matthew realises, in the subtle changes of Harry's voice. It's melancholic, the way Harry's shoulder's sag, eyes glazing over the call-sheet.

"So, that's five skaters. Who's the sixth?

Matthew realises, watching as the other man freezes slightly. Bingo, he thinks. Harry takes a deep breath, as if to calm himself, before pushing the call-sheet away, leaning back into his chair with a sudden act of indifference.

"Katsuki. Japanese, just turned eighteen around, a week ago, I think? He's… he's good. Not as consistent as the others though. There's no telling how he'll do in the competition." The ' or seniors ' is not said but implied.

"You sound very... blasé ."

"I- well, Katsuki's good , he's really good, but there's nothing that can save him when he's so inconsistent with his jumps." It's like there had been a muzzle wrapped around Harry's mouth, and suddenly he's bursting, words slipping out of his mouth with no remorse. "The boy's such a gift to watch, but there's nothing anyone can do when he freezes up before a jump. Matthew, it's ridiculous how good of a skater he is, but nobody even knows because during every competition, it's like somebody's replaced his bones with jelly - he flounders, every single time ."

Harry heaves in an enormous inhale of oxygen, sounding resoundly upset. "His step sequences are better than senior male skaters, he does spin on the same level as the ladies, but he can never land his jumps well enough."

"There's something there, and you have to tell me." Matthew sips his coffee, eyes narrowing. "You're hiding something."

Harry's mouth drops open, eyes widening. "Wow. You really have been in this business for a long time."

"Forty plus years, darling. Out with it."

Harry bites his bottom lip, taking in their surroundings. An ominous feeling swoops at the bottom of Matthew's gut, and he rests his coffee back on the table, following Harry's eyes that sweep over the entire rink.

Closed rinks like this one always seem claustrophobic to Matthew, even though the Capital Gymnasium is far bigger than any rink Matthew has performed in before. The seats curl up towards the curved ceiling, and there are only a handful of people scattered around. He can see below the decks a few reporter's are setting up cameras, but all-in-all, the rink is as empty as if it was closed.

After all, senior practice wouldn't start until tomorrow morning. Unless you're a family member, no fans would come to watch the juniors practice. The seats are almost always empty.

It also means that Matthew and Harry's voices, despite only talking to each other, could easily be picked up by others because of the silence. They're sitting in the commentator's area, a few rows of seats with long tables nailed in front of them, wires and microphones feeding into little outlets at the side.

It very much reminds him of lecture halls at university, and there are only a few rows, three or four give or take. But it's not the other commentator's area that has Harry quietening, because there aren't any other commentators sitting in the rink besides the two of them.

No, Harry's eyes are trailed in front of him, looking down at the bottom of the steps where a row of chairs are placed by the rink-side. Right in front of the commentator's tables is the empty judging panel, and Matthew already knows what Harry is going to say before he even opens his mouth. "His inconsistency kills him in the judges eyes."

"Yeah." Harry whispers, folding himself so that the two are close together and no-one else could hear them without straining their ears. "Katsuki almost always gets underscored. Smirnov got better PCS scores at Budapest - they graded Katsuki a level two even though everyone with eyes could see he was at least a level three, if not level four! Smirnov can't even do multi-directional skating! All he's got is a triple lutz combo, but they still graded him higher in components!"

"It's a travesty, a blight on the sport, but no-one can even say anything unless Katsuki delivers. It's not fair that other skaters are given the benefit of the doubt when he has to scrounge for every point."

"And, it's- it's not even the judges fault, really. They're human after all, and if you have one skater that's always falling on an easy jump and another who lands some of the hardest combos in the competition, who are you putting your money on? Especially now when Katsuki is at the age where a lot of his peers have already moved up to Seniors. Heck, Nikiforov was meadaling when he was sixteen. It's no wonder they started to shave back his PCS."

Matthew's stomach twists in realisation. "But if his technical scores are already down the drain, then there's no way he can fight because he doesn't have the component score to help him."

"Exactly." Harry pulls away, eyes closing. "I feel so bad for the kid."

"What happened? Has he always been this inconsistent?"

Harry laughs humorlessly. "No. That's what's so fucked up." He sits up in his seat, legs curling into a cross-leg which is highly inappropriate for the professional setting they are in, but well, they shouldn't be bad mouthing judges in a professional setting either, so Matthew lets it go.

"Japan has not had a prominent male figure skater, in like, ever. I'm sure you of all people know more about their skaters than me, since they were pretty big around your time. Anyway, when Katsuki was fourteen, he qualified for the Finals in his first year of competing after winning both of his qualifying events. He was also pretty consistent with his jumps, they weren't lutz or flips, but his double axels were huge. Then he went on to win the silver medal ahead of pretty big names at the final. Then at Junior Worlds, he was one-point off the championship title from Giacometti-"

"The Swiss skater? The one in Seniors?!"

"Yes. That same one. Suddenly, Japan had this prodigy skater that was beating older skaters at their own game. Then, when he was fifteen, he actually won the title, the first Japanese male skater to win a World title at all, even if it is in Juniors. Of course, Giacometti had left by then so he didn't have that much competition, but that didn't change the fact that he was one of the youngest Champions since Nikiforov won when he was fourteen. So you can imagine how the Japanese media reacted."

"Shit."

"Shit is fucking right." Harry runs a hand through his hair, evidently distressed. "The poor kid was getting hounded by the media at home, there were at least twenty reporters watching his every move at competitions. It didn't help that there were no senior skaters that Japan could focus on, Katsuki was literally the only skater that was bringing home gold.

"So, you have a federation that used to be a powerhouse but has fallen into obscurity, suddenly gifted with a skating prodigy that has to hold the weight and expectations of the whole country on his shoulders. The pressure must've been too much."

Matthew's eyes narrow. "What do you mean 'must've'?"

"Nothing slips past you, does it?" Harry barks out, laughing loudly. "I didn't want to say anything because of speculation, but it's pretty much well-known in the field that Katsuki has, well, a nerves issue."

"What, like stage fright?"

"Like anxiety, the clinical kind."

"Oh."

Harry sighs, resting a hand on his cheek. "But, that's not what I want to talk about. I'm not too informed about junior skaters since my specialty is the senior division. The two of us were called in because of Johnny's sudden withdrawal, but I do have a really close friend, Mina Hasegawa, she's a commentator like us, but for NHK Sports. And this is where the speculation comes in, and I don't want to be held accountable by anyone-"

"Oh, just spit it out already."

"Alright, alright." Harry stretches his hands over his head, taking a quick survey around the room, before crouching down closer to Matthew. "There's rumours that he got sabotaged."

"The fuck does that mean?!"

"Well, Mina was telling me that in Japan, the skating world is run by these three famous schools. Apparently, Katsuki declined their offers because they were all too far away from his home so he wouldn't be able to commute. He and his parents weren't willing to move halfway across the country, and so, Mina thinks there was a soft block on Katsuki in the country. If those three schools couldn't get Katsuki, then no-one could."

"Anyway, Mina was saying that you can sort of track Katsuki's downfall from after he earned the Junior World title - every single coach he asked to meet suddenly couldn't make it to his hometown, even though before people were clamouring to come and visit him. And so then what option does he have but to hire the first coach that says they'll stay in his hometown for him?"

"And the coach wasn't any good?"

"The worst . Look, I don't want to comment on someone who I've only ever seen their interactions from afar, but Mina would always get so angry every time his coach would talk to Yuuri. Apparently, he said some not-nice things towards the kid, which Mina refused to translate."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, so you have a fourteen year old skater who's rumoured to have anxiety and has the weight of an entire nation on his shoulders being coached by a narcissistic novice teacher who blames him for all of his failures, even though it's obvious to everyone with eyes who the real problem in the team was."

"It's no wonder that he imploded, my god."

"He somehow was able to stay afloat the last few years, but that's just him running on sheer willpower and luck. Even in the final now, he got in because a skater withdrew. Mina's worried that luck will run out by the time he enters seniors next year. If he even decides to carry on competing, that is." Harry turns back to the call-sheet, picking at the edge of the paper.

"I don't want to see him quit, but figure skating is an expensive sport, especially for the ones who aren't medalling. I keep thinking back to when he won his first title three years ago, the special quality he holds, it was like he is the music, the two of them meld together. It's captivating. You can't teach that sort of quality. It's inherent."

"You see it happen so much, young skaters who have such big potential but they don't have the backing that they need. If Katsuki was Russian or American, there's no way he would be treated like this."

Matthew nods in understanding. "The federations would've stepped in before things got out of hand."

"It's not like the JSF doesn't like Yuuri, it's quite the opposite from what Mina tells me. But they just don't have the resources or power that they once used to have, you know?"

"So, Katsuki's fucked either way."

"Yeah," Harry sighs, defeated. "Unless there was some kind of cosmic intervention, he's fucked."

Matthew fist starts to clench. There is a flushed sheen across his neck, and his jaw is clenching. He knows all too well the feeling of being abandoned as soon as things became hard. "What time is practice starting?"

Harry says nothing, but his eyes are turned to his wristwatch.

"In about five, they should be coming to the rink- there ." Matthew's head swivels towards where Harry is pointing.

The all-encompassing silent environment that had been so stifling earlier now started to rise in activity, as a cluster of six skaters and their coaching staff made their way towards the rink.

"Which one is Katsuki?"

"There, the one behind, oh- what?" Harry stands up, rotating his entire body around to lean over his seat, mouth dropping open like a net for flies. " Who is that?"

"What? Who are you looking at?"

"There's… there's a different person, walking by Katsuki- that's not his coach! Did he change? Since when though?" He digs into his jacket pocket, flicking open his phone and pressing the keypad frantically. "Ugh, this is why I can't trust Mina with anything-"

"Why am I being shouted at?"

A pretty woman, perhaps in her late twenties, is rushing towards the two of them, a frown on her face. This must be Mina , Matthew realises.

Her hair swishes by her chin as she hops down the stairs towards them, eager and far too enthusiastic for how early it is in the morning. Her arms are tightened across a folder and portable laptop, and she rests it on the aisle adjacent to Harry.

"Who's the person next to Katsuki?"

Her eyes widen, before she leaps up from her seat, rushing towards the handles by the stairs nearest towards the rink. She clasps her hands together, excitedly vibrating. "They're here! I thought they wouldn't be at practice yet!"

Harry rolls his eyes, before grabbing Mina's arm and pulling her back to sit down next to Matthew. After a quick introduction, he crosses his arms and forces Mina to calm down before repeating his question.

"Okukawa-sensei- oh, er teacher ? She's Yuuri-kun's new coach."

" What ?"

"Nobu apparently dropped him - there is definitely some validity to my points about it all being a conspiracy to blacklist him, since he apparently had a job offer from one of those schools, but it doesn't matter! Yuuri-kun is going to do so well!"

Harry blinks slowly, as if he can't believe the figure in front of him is his friend. "... Mina, are you alright?"

She was positively buzzing with animation, Harry could almost see the flowers blooming around her face. "I'm great . Oh you will not believe what's been happening in Japan with Yuuri-kun."

"Do tell."

"Look at the program sheet."

"A- a new program?"

"It was glorious . You should've seen it, at Nationals everyone was on their feet. Get this as well, he's listed as the main choreographer. And it 100% shows, when he performs it, he just lights up."

Harry scrambles for the call-sheet. The first page is all that Matthew and he had looked at, in particular because it had the order of performances on. Matthew leans over to take a look.

"Gnossienne No.1 and Metamorphosis II - they're by two different artists, I've never heard-"

"Let me see." Matthew grapples the paper out of Harry's hands, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Gnossienne is definitely Satie, he's a French composer. Metamorphosis could be Philip Glass. They're both piano pieces. I wonder how he remixed the two songs together."

"Oh, they're very complimentary. I was there at Nationals, the short program was an experience . And he's completely changed the choreographic elements and jump sequences for Longherin, it's like a completely different piece all together. But you'll see that at practice yourself when he's up later. It's his components I want you to look at. Here."

"Step sequence first, triple lutz- he can do a triple axel?!"

"He what?!" Harry rips the paper out of Matthew's hand, jaw dropping. "There's no way he regained his axel, he's been doing double all year because he lost it last season."

Mina hums with anticipation, a huge grin stretching across her face. "No, he's never lost his triple axel because he never actually had it - his axel from last season was always slightly under-rotated, ergo why he'd always flub the landing. But, at nationals he landed three perfectly rotated jumps. One in the short, two in the long."

" Three triple axels? After only doing doubles all season? How did they look?"

"Oh, you won't believe me at all if I tell you- no, no we're going to watch him practice. I want to record your face when he lands it."

"That's a lot of faith considering we've never seen him land it once in competition over a year."

"Well, ever since he split with his old coach, he's been different, like- I don't know how to explain it. His aura- I, look I don't want to overhype him, but I got the chance to see him after Nationals. It felt like when Nikiforov walks into the room - like there's no way in hell he would ever lose ."

"I've always believed he'd bounce back to how he once was, but I never thought it would come this quickly. I thought, maybe, maybe during seniors, if he found a good enough coach outside of Japan. But, ever since Nationals… He surprised me. He's always surprising me."

The three of them lapse in silence, and Mina can do nothing but stare out into the slowly filling arena, eyes completely on Katsuki.

December 11,

Capital Gymnasium, Rink B

Beijing, China

In the end, Katsuki didn't do a triple axel at practice. In fact, he didn't do any jumps at all.

It didn't matter in the slightest to Matthew because Katsuki was a sight to behold .

The speed of his transitions, the elements, all of the step sequences in and out of what had to be his jumping passes- it made Matthew's heart leap . Skating had been his only love, it had to be, with how much time he had given up for the sport. As the years passed by, it was Matthew who understood the change that his sport had undergone. He had seen as jumps had evolved, how spins had picked up more variations, the difficulty rising and rising.

He had seen a skater land a quadruple flip, a jump that should, by all accounts of physics, be impossible to land. And yet, he had lived long enough to see it happen.

With all the technical advancements that the sport had made, there had always been one area that Matthew could never forgive the world for. The lost art of grace.

He missed the elegance of the sport, the artistry, the passion . Matthew was not like his peers, he understood the need for progress, for growth . But, by god, he missed the time when beauty and poise were the cornerstone of figure skating. Jumps had been simply an extension of that, floating in the air was just another way to glide .

But as the goal-posts were moved and the judging criteria changed, skating had become a situation of choice - to choose artistry over athleticism was to rot away in the sport. Technical expertise would earn you medals, and would always be rewarded that way.

Matthew understood this, had engrained it deep within his bones when he had lost the chance at an Olympic medal because he could not complete that bastardly double axel rotation. No matter if he was first in presentation points, technique would always be the deciding factor.

So why? Why was watching Katsuki during practice, refusing to practice any of his jumps, making his heart burst out of his chest. Nostalgia was a powerful thing, but to be reminded once again of the past, of how beautiful his sport truly was, Matthew could not understand how he had left skating so abruptly, without an inch of remorse.

He had lost everything that day at the Olympics, when he had fallen. It was at this moment, that single practice run, when Matthew was confronted with the reality - no matter how old he became, skating could always make him feel young again.

"You ready for the show, Matthew?"

Matthew looks up at his partner, headphones clasped over his head and micset positioned for their cue to begin. He takes one more look at the loud screaming of the fans, at the senior skaters who are wearing their countries' colours, front and center at the rink.

All eyes are on Viktor Nikiforov, the red of Russia's team jacket bouncing off the cold ice. He waves toward the audience, who in response let out a roar of screams. But Matthew's eyes are on one person. Right there, at the back, circling the rink with the other junior cohorts, was Katsuki, a single figure clad in Japan's black and blue training jacket.

Matthew had not been a professional in over twenty years, but he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and nods.

Mark, their sound technician, makes a quick note of their microphones, before motioning towards the cameras below. He takes one more look at the call-sheet in his hand, before turning towards Harry and Matthew. He lifts up his thumbs with a comforting smile, before Harry takes a deep breath. "Three, two, one- go ."

"Welcome, everyone to Capital Gymnasium Arena in Beijing, China. You are joined here today by myself, Harry Donovan and Matthew Evans, three-time European Champion. Usually, we'd be only commenting on the seniors for the Grand Prix Final, but as the sport is changing, so are we at Eurosport!

For the next three days, myself and Matthew will be guiding you all through the wonders of figure skating, starting with the Junior Grand Prix final and all the way through till the seniors. Right now, we are watching the Opening Ceremony of this year's Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final. Medals are awarded in men's singles, ladies' singles, pair skating and ice dancing."

"On the ice, right now, are our athletes. The best of the best, the top six athletes in their discipline."

"Of course, this year is a little special, isn't it, Matthew?"

"Yes, for the first time since the conception of The Grand Prix, or back in my day, when it was called the Champions Series, the Junior and Senior disciplines will be occurring simultaneously!"

"It will surely be one for the history books. There, you can see Viktor Nikiforov, the reigning Grand Prix Champion, with his excess of charisma! Nikiforov made history only three weeks ago by being the first skater in history to break the 100 point barrier."

"Yes, it caused quite the stir. There has never been a skater before who has earned 100 points in the short program."

"Of course, you're quite used to the old scoring system-"

"With the sixes, yes, but I watched, as I'm sure everyone else has, the Shanghai event - and even then, I'm sure he would've gotten sixes all around. He was absolutely spectacular."

"Nikiforov is looking to win back-to-back Grand Prix titles, a feat which has not been repeated since 1997 when the USA's Alex Meyers won his second title in Melbourne."

"That's all the skaters of the finals, you can see the seniors and juniors mingling on the ice for what is a historic moment - I wish them all the best of luck."

"Most definitely. The skaters are now leaving the rink, they're done with greeting the audience it seems, and now the judges are currently being introduced, and the technical panel administrators. Whilst this is happening, we will tell you all about the schedule for this year's Grand Prix Final."

"So, the first day of the Grand Prix Final will be given to the Junior competitors! Junior ice dancing will take place first, where the original dance segment of the competition will commence at four-forty-five. Then, soon after at six, we have the junior men's short program, followed by pair skating short at half seven and finally, the beautiful junior ladies' short program at nine."

"It will be a long and tiring day, but I hope you all stay tuned to watch the future of figure skating here at Capital Gymnasium Arena. For day two of the Grand Prix Final, we will have the junior pairs and men's free skating late in the afternoon, followed imminently by the arrival of Senior events - Ice Dancing, Men's, Ladies' and Pairs short programs will happen in the evening..."

Yakov should not be here.

In five hours, Mila would be performing in her first ever Grand Prix Final. He should be helping her prepare, going over the short program component scores, helping her to get into the right mindframe to compete. Instead, he had motioned for Yulia to take over, going through the step-by-step preparation that Yakov himself usually undertakes.

Mila had not questioned it, in fact, she seemed almost ecstatic at the chance to escape from Yakov's claws, immediately turning to the other assistant coach with a jump in her step.

He had not given a reason for his sudden departure, after all, he would only be gone for half an hour at most. No, Yakov had slipped past as undetected as one can be when they are as renowned in the field as he is.

None of the skaters were a threat to Viktor, (or, if he's being realistic, Georgi.) But it's Katsuki who Yakov's eye is on, Yura's face constantly whirring in his head. There had been a niggling feeling in the back of Yakov's mind ever since Yura's outburst at the rink, and he had taken it upon himself to do a little scouting.

There was not a lot about Katsuki in the Russian press, and neither was there in the international community. It took all of Yakov's resources to finally find out what had caused Yura to be so adamantly infatuated with the other skater, ( because there was no other word for his obsession) - he had seemingly changed his programs mid-season after switching coaches.

If it were any other country, Yakov was sure he would've been able to find clips of the competition in which Katsuki had unveiled his new routines, but alas, Japanese copyright laws were much more of a hindrance to him than he ever could've expected. All Yakov had found on the internet were obscure Japanese-written articles that he could not, for the life of him, translate. Google had failed him spectacularly.

So that's how Yakov found himself here, hiding his face from those who could recognise him, sitting high up in one of the empty aisles of the audience seating area. Soon after the Opening Ceremony, many of the seats had emptied out in favour of waiting in the lobby to catch a glimpse of seniors walking about and talking to press. The ones that stayed behind were not paying attention, at all. It left a sour taste in Yakov's mouth, but it was a reality all skater's had to face.

There were too many empty seats at Junior competitions, but that was the way it always was. It works in Yakov's favour, as he settles down in his seat, eyes trained on the rink.

The skating program showed that Katsuki would be skating first, Yakov realises with a grimace. That meant he was the lowest ranked skater, and Yakov wonders once again why Yuri would idolise a skater who had only just scraped into the finals.

There are things that Yakov has learnt after being in the business for so many years, things that turn experience into gut instinct - the biggest lesson? Never underestimate your competitors.

There is something fishy about Katsuki. Something big that nobody is paying attention to. Yes, maybe everyone at the rink might think it's cute that Yuri has someone he looks up to, even if it's a no-name skater that nobody has on their radar. But Yakov knows his skaters inside and out, Yuri Plisesky does not respect skaters. And yet this Japanese skater has Yuri's entire attention.

That means something.

Yakov watches as the tannoy announces "Yuuri Katsuki, Japan" to a smattering of low-level applause. He's decked out in whites and blues, a figure of stark contrast against the ice. Katsuki takes a deep breath, and skates across the clean ice, warming his body up.

Nobody is paying attention, nobody but Yakov.

His eyes are trained on the screen lifted above the rink, televising Katsuki to the entire audience and the world. It zooms into his face, and Yakov realises what the feeling in his stomach is, the clamminess of his hands, the acceleration of his heartbeat - it's anticipation .

He doesn't look anything like the rumour mills sprout about him. Katsuki is calm and collected, as if he's been doing this for years, there is none of the anxious demeanor that always seems to follow him whenever he steps on to the ice. There is no hint of tension in his body as he skates to the center of the rink, eyes narrowed in concentration.

There is a small banner filling the bottom of the screen with all the details of the skater, his name, age, coaching staff and Yakov lets out what he hopes is a miniscule gasp of shock. Next to the name of his musical piece, the space where the photographer's name should be, was Katsuki's own name, along with his coach. He… he choreographed his own piece?

The placing of the names is not unintentional. By having his name first, it establishes Katsuki as the main choreographer. Immediately, Yakov's thoughts start to run wild.

Katsuki's face fills up the screen. Yakov watches with bated breath, and then the music starts.

He glides out on the ice, flowing single-footed with such grace and elegance, Yakov is entranced . Every elongation of his arms is completely attuned with the way his legs sweep across the ice so that every single movement he makes hits the same beat as the music.

It's lyrical, supple, and as easy as breathing. No excess motion. Every movement is important. There is no tightness in his muscle, no locking before his feet carry him into an exuberant step sequence.

Katsuki's performance had grabbed Yakov from the beginning, so entranced that he had forgotten for a minute what exactly he was watching - a competition. A competition where jumps were key.

It hits him in the middle, when Katsuki finally throws himself into his first jump - a fully rotated, perfectly executed triple lutz that lands at the same time that the music changes.

He lifts his head up, expression turning from spirited to sombre instantly. The routine enters its second half, and Katsuki has only jumped one of his required three jumping elements.

There is a flurry of vibrant music, Katsuki leading it forward, as if his body is calling to every note that burns through the speaker. He is a conductor, restraining every note to his complete control. Then, with complete ease, he steps into a flourish of step sequences, calling everyone into his performance-oh.

Oh.

Yakov bolts up, his eyes widening and the breath catching within his lungs. Because at that moment, when Yakov had thought Katsuki had thrown himself into another choreographic sequence, he had turned his body into a back-counter, a difficult step movement. He had thought Katsuki would use the back-counter to propel himself into another flurry of skating steps. But he did not use the back-counter step to extend his sequence.

No. Katsuki had used the back-counter step as an entry into a triple axel.

All of Yakov's energy leaves him suddenly, and he finds himself slumping against his seat. A back-counter entry. Into a triple axel.

He has never seen it before.

Those are not step sequences. They are transitions .

He lands his last jumping element, the combination jump of a triple flip-triple toe, with the same flourish of musicality that the entire program encompasses, pushing himself on tired legs to finish a beautiful choreographic sequence, complete with biellmann spins, Ina Bauers and beautiful flexible spin variations that Yakov still struggled to teach his female skaters on how to execute.

Katsuki is heaving by the end of his program, bent over in silence to gather his breath, but the audience is not. At a time when the crowd is filled with only family members and uninterested skating fans, Katsuki earns the biggest applause Yakov has ever heard at a junior audience.

With his legs extended in a simple but beautiful plie, as his arms arc above his head, he bows towards each section of the audience in gratitude. He bows as if he had not just shaken Yakov to his very core.

Katsuki makes his way towards his coach, and finally looks like the teenager he actually is, arms thrown around her shoulders in excitement as the two jump up and down in shared satisfaction.

Yakov stares at the screen, showing replays of all of Katsuki's highlights - a close up of his feet during the take-off for the triple lutz, a deep back outside edge so textbook perfect, Yakov can barely believe his eyes, the height of his triple axel, extending both vertically into the air and across the ice, the triple flip-triple toe that moved with such speed and precision, the ina bauer marking the end of his program, coiling his entire spine backwards and curling his hands in an extension of ease.

It was a masterpiece, a thing of beauty.

But that did not stop Yakov's brain from spinning. Nobody understood the gravity of what the audience had just witnessed, nobody but coaches and judges. Katsuki had pushed all of his hardest elements into the second half of his programs - the two major jumps, the triple axel and the triple-triple combination, would receive a ten percent bonus.

It's a style Yakov would never have expected from a Japanese skater, one that he himself had tried to implement with both Viktor and Georgi before they realised the monstrous stamina needed to even be capable of doing them.

By the middle of a program, skaters legs would be burning with exhaustion - to try and do jumps would be suicidal. Even Viktor had decided to not tempt fate - the two had strategized together to put his most stable (and here, it was important to note that stable did not mean easy) jumps at the end. For Viktor, that meant some of his triple-triple combinations and his triple flips.

It sounds all good in theory, throw all your jumps at the end of the program and get extra points. But in reality, it's a pipe dream. Or, it was .

Katsuki though, Katsuki had pulled off a back-counter triple axel, something Yakov had never even seen before at the later stage of his program. Yakov had never in all of his many years of coaching, seen a person be able to land a back-counter entry into a triple axel with that much perfection .

It was an aggressive approach, one that placed so much on the skater's ability to flourish under pressure during the performance. And it was Katsuki's own piece. A winning scheme packaged into a beautiful presentation. It was a figure skating wet dream.

Pure athletic ability. Unparalleled musicality. A desire to win.

For four years, skaters had attempted the impossible, trying to break Viktor's unbeatable record of 79.21. For over four years, Viktor had held on to the title as unbeatable. It was a myth, a legend . As the years progressed, to break it was unthinkable.

Yakov did not have to wait for the judges mark. He already knows what is about to happen. Throughout the performance, he had made a tally in his head, had watched with his fist clenched tightly as the number rose and rose, and rose .

"Skater Yuuri Katsuki of Japan has earned in the short program ...84.04 points!"