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The news that Katsuki Yuuri had split from Celestino just four weeks before the Grand Prix Final in Sochi sent waves through the skating community, whispers that Katsuki was self-destructing from the pressure. A week later an article by Japanese reporter Morooka stating that Yuuri was spending the last few weeks practicing at his home rink, without a coach present gave the rumours more credibility and racked up the tension as the competition grew closer.
. . .
The news that Viktor Nikiforov spoke fluent Japanese didn’t reach the ears of any reporters, but it did cause his rink-mates much confusion over his sudden linguistic abilities.
It was late afternoon when the skating forums and websites blew up with the news about Katsuki Yuuri training coachless, and the Russian skaters under Yakov were getting close to the end of their practice when they all gathered to one side to gossip. Yuri of course, was spitting curses and criticisms that someone sharing his name was such an idiot. Mila had learnt long ago to just tune the junior out and let him get everything he felt off his chest. She was much more interested in Viktor’s take on the situation, however calling for him across the rink was for naught.
Georgi skated over to join in the conversation, and gave her a pointed look.
“He’s talking in Japanese again, same as every day so far this week. He’ll be useless for the rest of the practice.”
Mila aimed a pointed look at Viktor’s back, then a curious glance back at the headline currently on her phone before shrugging away her suspicions, there was no way the two situations could be related – Viktor probably hadn’t even heard of Katsuki, with how awful he was at remembering other skaters. Still, she would force the details of his sudden Japanese interest out of him if it were the last thing she did, no matter how well he was suddenly able to avoid her questions with a smile and wink.
. . .
The rumours hadn’t died down when the Sochi Grand Prix Final arrived, only stirred more when Yuuri arrived alone, and only made small talk with some of the competitors he had been on good terms with in the past, mostly keeping to himself. Those who had closely followed his career so far, few as they were, noted he walked with more confidence and seemed much less nervous than in previous competitions. There were a few, very quiet voices that began to wonder if maybe this was a new start to Katsuki’s skating career, rather than the end they had assumed, but the thought was small, and hesitant, eclipsed by the bolder headlines predicting his collapse.
. . .
The news exploded after Yuuri’s short program left him 0.4 points behind Viktor, and far beyond any of the other competitors, blowing all predictions out of the water. The forums were full of questions, exclamations, and disbelief; the reporters desperate for answers as the competitors left the arena that night, and determined to pin Yuuri down, literally if necessary, to get the real story. Somehow, Yuuri managed to dance through them with ease: a few teasing smiles, rather reminiscent of his demeanor during his performance; a vague comment about improved confidence; and a promise to give them a full interview tomorrow at the medalists’ press conference. Yuuri was leaving in a taxi – was that a wink as he got in? – before the reporters recovered enough from the shocking personality change to realize he had so confidently declared he would be a medalist tomorrow. They barely had time to think on it before Viktor exited the building with his Russian entourage around him and a similar ability to leave them speechless with his smiles and vague replies that gave them no answers at all.
. . .
None of the news sites heard anything about Yuuri slipping into the room a competitor’s room that night, or sneaking back to his own room as the sun rose.
. . .
Katsuki Yuuri’s shocking triumph at the Sochi Grand Prix Final was the talk of skaters everywhere. Seeing Viktor Nikiforov knocked down to silver rather than taking his fourth gold medal was unexpected to everyone, or so it seemed.
Barely twenty minutes after the results were announced, leaving Nikiforov a whole 1.2 points behind Katsuki’s record-breaking score, the three medalists and their coaches, those who had coaches anyway, were sat at a long table, medals pride of place around their necks and reporters frothing at the mouth to ask questions of the newly crowned champion.
“Katsuki Yuuri, how do you feel right now?” a reporter in the front row asked breathlessly, as if she still couldn’t comprehend what had happened.
“I’m obviously overjoyed by the result," he started with an honest smile. "There was a lot of tough competition over the last two days and I’m sure, in the past, I wouldn’t have scored nearly as highly as I did today. I’m very proud of the progress I’ve made to reach this point.”
Almost before he finished speaking, a reporter was shouting from the midst of the crowd. “And what would you say was the main factor in the change that we’ve seen in you at this competition?”
Yuuri smiled softly to himself for a moment before replying. “It’s all about confidence. At competitions in the past, I would get too anxious: I would start thinking that I couldn’t do it, that I wouldn’t be able to beat anyone. Now, I’ve learnt to ignore that voice, to have faith in myself. I’ve been working with my coach to improve my-"
His answer was cut off by the cacophony of questions that filled the room, unable to differentiate one from the other, Yuuri gave an (entirely false) look of innocent confusion, until the organizer took the stage to calm the reporters down once more.
Finally one man in the very center spoke up. “Katsuki Yuuri, can you expand on what you just said? It's been widely believed that, since you split ways with Celestino Cialdini, you’ve been working without a coach!”
For a second Yuuri simply stared at the reporter, as if not comprehending the question, before suddenly he started to laugh with bemused disbelief.
“Of course I have a coach, I’ve just been working with him mostly long-distance as he wasn’t available to come to Hasetsu because of his other commitments.” There were a few murmurs at a coach not being on site with such a high profile skater, but they quickly hushed again as Yuuri continued to speak. “He’s been here with me the whole time! He’s been a bit busy with his own work to always be by the rink with me, but he’s the most supportive and helpful coach I could have asked for. It’s because of him that I gained the confidence I did and was able to take my first gold medal at the Grand Prix…”
The reporters, of course, perk to attention at the implication he would be aiming for gold at future competitions, but Yuuri plowed on regardless.
“Actually, I’d like to take a moment to thank my coach. Having the opportunity to work with such an amazing person really changed my life and I am 100% certain that, if I hadn’t met him and had his guidance, I would have been reconsidering my career.”
The reporters buzzed once more with that declaration and hands were starting to be raised with questions about his career plans now when he finally smirked with such devious glee that they stayed silent for one more moment as Yuuri turned to look finally at the silver medalist.
“So thank you Victor, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t coached me these past few weeks. I’m looking forward to working together more in the coming year.” And with that he stood from his chair and bowed to the reporters, “That’s all I have to say today, thank you for your support” before leaning over a smirking Viktor, and grasping the silver medal to pull him up into a crushing kiss that left the whole room in shocked silence, Yakov on the verge of an aneurysm, and bronze medalist Chris whistling.
Katsuki Yuuri escaped before anyone found their voice again, leaving a room of shell-shocked reporters and one blissfully, well-kissed Viktor to turn back to them with a raised eyebrow.
“Any questions?”