A/N: This has been sitting in my computer since August, and I figured it was time to get it out there. This was written shortly after the Olympics, and much of this is inspired by the NHK documentary on Filipino gymnast Caloy Yulo and his Japanese coach Munehiro Kugimiya. Yes, I watched this after Caloy got two (!) gold medals! He won the Olympics under a different coach, but he was already winning international medals while he was still with Munehiro. The documentary was shot shortly after Caloy moved to Tokyo, so you can see why I was inspired to write a fic set shortly after Yuuri moved to Detroit.
Celestino's experiences with Yuuri are lifted directly from Munehiro's experiences with Caloy. There were a lot of other things I wanted to add but didn't feel like I had it in me to keep going. Title is taken from the ZUTOMAYO song of the same name. Hope you enjoy reading!
Minako Okukawa warned him that Yuuri was a quiet boy. Celestino was starting to feel like "quiet" was an understatement.
It had been three weeks since Celestino fought through hell and back to bring Yuuri Katsuki to Detroit. Every difficult discussion with the Katsuki family, every penny of support from Hasetsu, and every disgruntled, passive-aggressive argument with the Japan Skating Federation had brought them here — and by the heavens above, Celestino knew that it would be worth it someday. The musicality in Yuuri's skating was phenomenal, and if he could bring out its full potential, he would be the happiest coach in the world.
But it was days like this that Celestino's hopes for Yuuri often got challenged.
A loud bang startled him out of his reverie. Celestino saw Yuuri fallen on the ice, clearly having just crashed into the boards. He approached the edge of the rink as the young teenager gingerly wobbled back upright.
Yuuri's breathing seemed steady. Good, Celestino thought. If there was anything that the Japanese skater didn't need improvement on, it was how disciplined he was with his body. His mind, on the other hand…
"What do you think went wrong, Yuuri?" he asked.
Yuuri kept looking down.
Celestino internally sighed. "Where did you make a mistake this time?"
No answer still. His student's hands were tightly gripping the rails.
"Mis-tek-u doko?" Celestino tried, with what little Japanese he knew.
"Will fix it and do better," Yuuri said stiffly. After a short bow, he skated off.
And that was how their training proceeded for the rest of the afternoon. Business as usual, Celestino thought wryly.
Another coach was calling his attention. He put down his notes for Yuuri's short program and walked away, wondering whether the Americans would find it scandalous if he indulged himself with an early bottle of wine.
I ate a ham and cheese sandwich for breakfast, as well as an apple. I had lunch and dinner at the skating club's canteen.
I trained for four hours today. I practiced ballet again. At the rink, I focused on landing my double lutz - triple salchow combination for the free.
I plan to sleep at 9 PM tonight.
Celestino put his head in his hands. Coach Delaney's suggestion to make Yuuri write a training diary seemed great in theory — I made my old Vietnamese students do it, she said proudly — but not so effective in practice.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't like the diary was entirely useless. If he took Yuuri at his word, then it seemed that he was taking his new diet regimen seriously. Taking ballet rather than trying any of the other club activities meant that Yuuri was planting his feet firmly in his comfort zone. Though it wasn't the richest source of insights, it was better than nothing.
A double lutz - triple axel combination? At that, Celestino raised his eyebrows. They hadn't talked much about the free yet other than deciding on the music.
It was nice to know that Yuuri was thinking ahead, at least. But it didn't change how much Celestino felt like he was talking to a brick wall. He wanted to know how Yuuri criticized himself when he double-footed a landing, how Yuuri looked back on the sit spins that he was rapidly gaining speed in. Did he like the training rink? Was he struggling with the move? Who were the skaters he wanted to surpass? Food and training activities were important things for a coach to track, sure, but Celestino wanted to know whether he was successfully building the mindset of a champion.
There was potential there. He felt it. The other coaches felt it. Japan could feel it too — it was exactly why they were willing to swallow their pride and hand off their rising star to a foreign coach. It wasn't the first time that Celestino had a wary skating federation breathing down his neck, but their constant badgering was making him antsy. If he didn't show results by the time Yuuri left Juniors, the JSF made it very clear that they were all too eager to take their darling budding prodigy back.
Call him selfish, but Celestino wouldn't let them. He wanted the pride of knowing that it was him who brought Yuuri his first international gold.
Him, an Italian immigrant who didn't speak a lick of English until he was twelve. Him, who was deemed a lost cause at eighteen after a botched fall cost him his ankle and competitive career. Him, who saw the same fire in Yuuri Katsuki that he had when he was twenty-three, swearing to God that if he couldn't crawl his way to a podium, then he would pave the road for someone else.
Celestino had coached over a dozen skaters in the past two decades. He didn't give up on anyone unless they told him to. And despite his silence, Yuuri hadn't told him to give up just yet.
He checked his watch. 9:37 PM. Yuuri should already be asleep by now, gearing up for a new day.
"We'll make this work, kid," Celestino said to himself. "Just you wait."