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“And here we are at the first big competition of the season, Skate America! Already, it’s shaping up to be an exciting start, since everyone’s predicting it to be another face-off between Katsuki and Nikiforov!”
In the hotel room, there was a loud groan. “Phichit, turn it off please.”
“What, you don’t want to hear about round-whatever-we’re-at between you and Viktor?” The younger skater in the room snickered as Yuuri gave him a flat look.
“It’s just the media trying to stir up some drama,” Yuuri grumbled. “It’s the same crap they always do. You know Viktor and I don’t talk.”
“Only because you and the coaches all know that if you do, the fans will jump all over it,” Phichit acknowledged. “I keep forgetting to ask—did you two ever interact before the media came up with this faux rivalry?”
Yuuri’s cheeks heated. “No,” he admitted. “I was looking forward to it a few years ago, when I finally made it to Worlds for the first time, but that was when the media started hyping things up and I started losing my nerve. I might’ve still tried afterwards, but he didn’t recognize me—you know, the commemorative photo situation.”
Phichit laughed again. “Ah, the infamous turn-away,” he recalled. “That probably didn’t help.”
“I know,” Yuuri groaned. “I never expected that one incident would turn into something like this.”
‘This’ was the now-infamous Katsuki-Nikiforov rivalry. Three years ago, two things had happened. First, Viktor became the only skater in the world to land all five possible quads—a feat which still hadn’t been repeated, though J.J. was getting close if the rumors were to be believed. Second, Yuuri made it into the Grand Prix Final without any quads in his repertoire and then, a few months later, made it onto the podium at the Four Continents Championship without landing a single quad as well. Nearly unheard of, in today’s world. Even skaters newer to the Senior division—like Phichit and Guang Hong—had at least one quad. Yuri Plisetsky had landed two different types of quad in his Senior debut two years ago and had added two more last season.
Of course, the media had noted the differences between the two skaters, especially after Yuuri had gotten bronze at Worlds that year. And then, it had become a thing. Five quads vs. none. Technicality and jumps vs. interpretation and musicality. Nikiforov vs. Katsuki.
And now, Yuuri and Viktor’s “rivalry” was the most well-known thing in figure skating. Not just men’s singles figure skating. Figure skating as a whole.
It was, frankly, quite ridiculous, especially since the only words ever exchanged between the two skaters directly had been Viktor asking Yuuri if he wanted a commemorative photo three years ago at Worlds and Yuuri turning away because he’d been so embarrassed. Other than that, the extent of their interactions with each other entailed sharing the ice during warm-ups and sharing the podium occasionally.
Where they didn’t even look at each other.
“Plisetsky ran his mouth off,” Phichit announced as he opened the Twitter app on his phone. “‘The only way Katsuki would ever be a threat to me is if he grew some balls and started attempting quads,’” he read.
Yuuri snorted. “He’s got such a way with words,” he murmured.
“Want me to—” Phichit started to ask, but already Yuuri was shaking his head.
“It’s too early in the season,” the older skater remarked. “Maybe if he makes similar remarks in the press conferences, but for now, let’s just enjoy competing together at a Grand Prix event. Let’s save the media drama for the Olympics, if I make the team.”
“You mean when you make it,” Phichit countered. “Make it on to the Olympic podium, at that.”
Yuuri gave his rinkmate a wry smile. “I know my chances, Phichit,” he said. “Leo’s added a quad now. I’m literally the only skater that qualified for the Grand Prix series that hasn’t attempted a quad yet. Compared to Viktor and Plisetsky and J.J. and Emil…”
“The only skater that hasn’t attempted a quad in competition,” Phichit corrected, giving Yuuri a pointed look.
“In competition,” Yuuri agreed. There were some secrets Phichit and Yuuri shared between each other and that was one of them.
“Are you—”
“I don’t know yet,” Yuuri replied, before the other skater could finish asking the question. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
“There’s never been a greater rivalry than the one between Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki. These two have divided the sport in ways that no one could have expected!”
“That’s right. These are two very different skaters—Nikiforov is known for his technical capabilities, while Katsuki is known for his high PCS scores—so it seems almost unfair to compare them in a way, but the success of these two has led many to wonder where the sport of figure skating is going in the future. With all five quads ratified and the talk turning now to quintuple jumps—and with ladies’ skaters such as Mila Babicheva and Sara Crispino now known for their triple axels and quads—it seems next to impossible for anyone to succeed in international competition without a quad, but Yuuri Katsuki keeps defying that perception time and time again!”
“I don’t think anyone ever expected the point where we would be having face-offs between technical skaters and artistic skaters such as the ones between Nikiforov and Katsuki.”
“Especially when you consider that when Nikiforov first started competing, he was hailed as the greatest of all time, the complete package, the perfect blend between technical jumps and artistry. But his artistic capabilities have not kept up to his technical development, especially in recent years, and he’s very much a technical skater now.”
“How the hell are they still on this crap?” Yuri demanded as he slumped beside Viktor. “You and Katsuki, of all skaters? Not you and me? Hell, you and Georgi would be a better rivalry than you and Katsuki.”
Viktor merely hummed under his breath, blocking out the media like he’d grown so used to doing. “Just ignore it,” he said. “That’s all we can do.”
“Ignoring it is what got you into this mess,” Yuri muttered. “The more you ignore each other and refuse to interact on the podium, the more they’re going to continue to spin this rivalry crap. If you want to keep this up, at least give them some new content. If I see that commemorative photo clip one more time, I’m going to hurl.”
Viktor winced. That had not been his best moment. But it had been the only thing he could think of at the time to try and talk to Yuuri Katsuki, to get to know the new skater better. Viktor was a friendly person, but at Worlds three years ago, Yuuri had not made getting to know him easy. That had been his first—and only—opportunity to actually talk to Yuuri.
Because Yuuri Katsuki was an enigma.
He excelled in areas of the sport where Viktor was struggling in. He was just as confident in his jumps as Viktor was with his quads. But there was next to no information on his training routine, or what gave him inspiration. He refused to give interviews, outside the ones required for press conferences at each event. He wasn’t on social media. Even when he was at an event, he stuck to practicing his step sequences and triple axel at the public practices. Not even any of the other triples.
He had to practice his jumps somewhere, Viktor knew. His triples were steady, nearly flawless. But the triples were all he practiced—publicly, at least.
It was something that drove Viktor almost mad. Given how steady those triple jumps were, he was confident that Yuuri Katsuki had the ability to land quads. He had the speed, the power, the height—all of the necessary skills.
He simply refused to attempt quads.
It would’ve been a waste of talent and potential, except that Viktor was sure that there was something else to it.
And Viktor couldn’t ask what that might be.
Why had he let this rivalry thing spin out of control? Why hadn’t he given comments to the media that he respected Yuuri as a competitor and the things that made Yuuri’s skating unique?
Oh, wait, he had. And Yuuri had done the same. For several seasons, including this season. All throughout the Grand Prix series and after; even just a few weeks ago, Yuuri had made a statement along the lines of, “Viktor drives me to work hard and to become a better skater. It’s an honor to compete against him.”
But the fans and the media desired the rivalry aspect. They saw two skaters with two very different skill sets that fit into the current scoring debate that was ongoing within the ISU. It didn’t matter how Yuuri and Viktor interacted with each other. They could be the best of friends and there would still be a so-called rivalry between them.
After all, it had been that way between Viktor and Chris before Yuuri had taken the figure skating world by storm.
“He didn’t have a quad during the Grand Prix.” Viktor didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Yuri snorted and crossed his arms.
“Yeah, no surprise there. He might as well retire. There’s no way he’s pulling out quads at his age now.”
Viktor winced again. After all, he was four years older than Yuuri and one of the oldest figure skaters still competing in their division. And his age was the sole reason he hadn’t tried for the sixth and final quad.
“It’s kind of amazing that he podiums so consistently, though,” Viktor murmured. Third at Skate America, second at the NHK Trophy. Gold at Nationals. Skate America had been especially impressive, since he’d only been less than a point away from silver—the silver medalist, J.J., had managed four quads in his free skate alone. And Yuuri had beaten out Emil for the bronze, who had three quads in his free skate.
“It’s kind of annoying,” Yuri contradicted. “You can’t get anywhere in this sport anymore without quads. He should just stop trying.”
It was something that Viktor had heard countless times before—it was practically a mantra in Russia. But this time, it irked him more than anything else.
He’d once been known for his artistry, before the desire to learn all the quads had overtaken him. Since then, his artistry had slipped as he excelled technically.
Maybe it was time to fix that.
“Is it even a rivalry if we all know Nikiforov is going to win? Sure, Katsuki has made it onto the podium consistently but it’s never been gold. Nikiforov has five consecutive Grand Prix Final golds, five consecutive World golds, and countless Nationals and Europeans golds. He’s going for his second Olympic gold at Beijing. What does Katsuki have? A handful of Nationals golds and a number of silvers and bronzes from Grand Prix Finals, Four Continents, and Worlds. I’d hardly call him a rival to someone like Viktor Nikiforov.”
“Harsh,” Phichit murmured as he read the comment.
“It’s true,” Yuuri said with a sigh. “If you go simply by medal count. Then add in that he was the first to ratify the quad flip…” He shrugged. “Besides, at least there’s someone saying it—it’s not a rivalry.”
“Because you and Viktor have never had a full conversation ever,” Phichit countered. “Not because of something stupid, like medal counts. It’d be one thing if he was trashing you like Plisetsky trashes you, but he doesn’t. And you don’t trash him back. Neither of you have ever done anything but compliment and be respectful of each other.”
“There’s been plenty of professional rivalries where others are respectful of each other,” Yuuri said, not for the first time. “This is nothing different.”
“That’s not the way the media is making things sound,” Phichit muttered.
Yuuri couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The media’s capability to make drama out of nothing was something he was still trying to get used to and he had been competing internationally for five seasons now. Especially the Russian and U.S. media. At least with the Japanese media, they focused on his achievements and had learned not to mention the supposed rivalry by now.
Or at least Morooka had.
“It’ll stop eventually,” Yuuri sighed. When he or Viktor retired. Yuuri would probably retire first, since he’d already been thinking about doing so at the end of the season. He wasn’t sure if he could completely give up competition ice, though. He could continue skating in professional shows, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t have that same love-hate relationship with the ice as he did when it came time to compete.
Phichit threw a pillow at him. “Stop that. Don’t you dare start thinking about retiring. You still owe me a few seasons yet, since we haven’t competed together at the Grand Prix Final.”
“We’re competing together at the Olympics,” Yuuri replied. “Isn’t that enough?”
Phichit gave him a look that definitely said that was not enough. They’d made a promise when they first became friends and rinkmates to compete at every major competition together. The Grand Prix Final was the last one on the list and he refused to let Yuuri retire until that one could be crossed off as well.
Want to give the media something to REALLY talk about?
Phichit blinked at the message on his phone in disbelief. The last thing he’d expected was for Viktor Nikiforov of all people to DM him, but apparently he had. Silently, he passed the phone over to Yuuri for his friend to read the message, since it really wasn’t meant for Phichit.
Yuuri really had to get his own public social media accounts.
Phichit winced when his phone was promptly dropped, sighing silently in relief when it fell on Yuuri’s bed, not the floor.
“Do you think all the rivalry hype in the media is getting to him as well?” he asked after a few minutes.
Yuuri shrugged, still too stunned to be able to speak. Viktor had reached out? To him?
When he got no response, Phichit rolled his minds and grabbed his phone back. “I’m going to ask him what he has in mind.”
Yuuri gave no response.
After a few minutes, Phichit tilted his head, staring at his screen. It was an interesting proposition—fake-rivals to fake-dating at the Olympics, very fanfic worthy—but he couldn’t do that to Yuuri. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, it would be too real for Yuuri.
So he sent back his own proposition. Late night practice ice for Yuuri—because if anyone could get the impossible in Beijing, it was Viktor—for a Nikiforov-level surprise during the free skate. Because Phichit knew that he could convince Yuuri to land his first quad in competition, as long as Yuuri got a feel for doing them on Olympic ice first. But knowing his friend, Yuuri would refuse to do them in public practice. He’d always refused to practice them in public because he knew his nerves would get the better of him.
If Yuuri started doing quads in competition, it would change the conversation going on in the media completely. Would if be worth it? That was something only Yuuri could decide.
“Katsuki yet again proves his uniqueness in this field by completing a quad-free program. With any other skater, we’d expect for that to put him at risk for not qualifying for the free skate, but his presentation and musicality is unparalleled. He doesn’t have the quads, but he is right on the beat with the music when he lands, every single time. He might not have the TES scores that we see from Nikiforov and Plisetsky, but he’ll make up those points with his PCS scores.”
“The rivalry between Katsuki and Nikiforov has never been more apparent, with both skating to the same song, just different variations. But even though it’s the same song, it still definitely shows that these are two very different skaters. Nikiforov’s piece is vibrant and upbeat and clearly shows how confident he is—he has to be, to skate a song titled History Maker at the Olympics when he goes for his second consecutive gold. Katsuki’s version of the song, on the other hand, is new to us this season—I don’t think anyone expected him to come out with a completely new short program. But it’s perfectly suited for his style of skating, the piano a nice match to his delicate movements and the artistry he always brings with him on the ice.”
Viktor was practically vibrating with excitement as the second-to-last group of skaters took the ice for the short program. He knew he should be warming up—Yakov was going to give him quite the lecture—but he was excited to see Yuuri Katsuki skate. It was driving him crazy, trying to figure out how Yuuri would surprise him, and even though Phichit had promised the surprise for the free skate, Viktor couldn’t help but feel that there might be a few surprises in store for the short program as well.
To his delight, he wasn’t disappointed. Yuuri debuted a completely new short program, set to a piano cover of Viktor’s own short program music. Still no quads—Yuuri had gone for the max base value in points jump-wise that didn’t have any quads, meaning there was a triple flip, a triple axel, and a triple lutz-triple loop combination in the second half—but it was as close to a direct challenge that Viktor was going to get.
It was exciting, but that didn’t mean that Viktor was going to go easy on Yuuri. He was after his second Olympic gold medal, after all—a historical feat, which was the exact reason he had chosen that short program music in the first place—and he’d tailored his short program to allow for the maximum points possible for jumps—quad flip, triple axel, and then in the second half, a quad lutz-triple loop combination. It was a program that he knew he would be able to pull off for only one more season or so, so it was the perfect program for an Olympic season. He’d almost hoped that one of the Yu(u)ri’s would match it, and little Yura had tried, but no one had come quite close enough.
What would it be like to have a season competing against a true rival, one that could match his jumps? Viktor hadn’t had one of those ever since he’d debuted his signature quad flip, which was probably why he enjoyed the rivalry with Yuuri Katsuki that the media portrayed. Their idea of a rivalry had been a pleasant surprise, but even now that seemed it might come to an end.
Pity.
“We had a wonderful short program, with no real surprises going into the free skate. For ROC, Georgi Popovich is in 8 th , Yuri Plisetsky—making his Olympic debut—is in 2 nd , and Viktor Nikiforov is in 1 st . Nikiforov will be going last. Phichit Chulanont from Thailand made it in to the top ten, while his rinkmate and Nikiforov’s antithesis Yuuri Katsuki sits in 7 th place and will be going last in the second-to-last group. It’ll be interesting to see if Katsuki can make up that gap and make his way on to the podium—anything can happen after all and both his coach and rinkmate have hinted that there’s a few surprises in store. And of course, everyone is waiting to see how Nikiforov will surprise us at this Olympics. In Pyeongchang, he shocked the audience by ratifying the first quad flip in international competition, a jump that no other skater has yet to land since. What do you think it’ll be this time, the quad axel?”
“Doubtful. Yakov Feltsman, Nikiforov’s coach, has been very vocal about his thoughts that the quad axel is an impossible jump. Maybe in a few years we’ll see it from Nikiforov’s teammate, Yuri Plisetsky. After Yuuri Katsuki, he’s got the most solid triple axel, which would be absolutely critical for landing the quad axel. He’s also shown that he’s not afraid to try such jumps, already landing quads while skating at the Junior level, against Feltsman’s advice. I almost wish that we could see a quad axel out of Yuuri Katsuki but he’s one of the older skaters here at the Olympics and he’s shown no interest in any of the quads. I’ve never seen him attempt one even in practice, so I doubt that we’ll see him attempt any in competition. You usually see one or two quads from skaters in their warm-ups, just to get a feel for the ice. It would be too risky to attempt a quad in competition without that preparation.”
“It’s such a pity that there’s no interest in quads from Katsuki, because if anyone could do the quad axel, I’m sure it would be him. He’s got a textbook perfect triple axel, getting nearly the maximum GOE possible.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Yuuri gasped, sucking down the last of his water in the bottle that Celestino passed him once the warm-up had finished. “Phichit, I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” Phichit murmured. “This is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, Yuuri. If not now, on Olympic ice, then when? What was all that effort, all that practice for, if you’re never going to do it? If you don’t do it now, Yuuri, I swear on your mother’s katsudon that I’m going to release all of those practice videos I’ve been holding back. The world needs to see what you can do—what you can truly do. Show them—show Viktor—or I will. Remember what we’ve been saying for the past month?”
“If the media wants a rivalry between me and Viktor, they’ll get one,” Yuuri muttered quickly, quietly, the words barely audible.
Phichit nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Now say it again louder, for the cameras over there.”
“Phichit!”
“If the media wants a rivalry between me and Viktor, they’ll get one!”
Beside him, Yuri snorted as the words echoed on the camera. “That’s ballsy for him,” he muttered in Russian, carefully minding the various cameras circulating in the back warm-up room.
“Maybe he took your advice from earlier in the season,” Viktor teased. “What was it that you said again? Ah, yes.” He pulled up a screenshot of the tweet he’d saved—and favorited—on his phone. “The only way Katsuki would ever be a threat to me is if he grew some balls and started attempting quads,” he read. He gave his younger teammate a look. “Really, Yura? Such elegant words.”
“Oh, shut up, old man,” Yuri grumbled. “Someone had to say it. It’s ridiculous that he’s lasted so long without any quads. He should have retired after Juniors if he was never going to be at that level.”
Viktor tried not to roll his eyes, minding the cameras as well. While it still annoyed him that Yuuri hadn’t attempted any quads as far as he knew—really, he would be marvelous at them if he tried—Viktor honestly thought it was quite refreshing that there was still someone competing at their level without the jumps, proving that it was still possible to be successful without them.
“Shall we go watch the next group in person?” he asked Yuri loftily instead. As much as the blond ragged on the Japanese Yuuri for never attempting quads, Viktor knew that he still admired the other skater for his spins and step sequences and wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch him live, in person.
Yuri scowled but nodded reluctantly. “Might as well. Gotta be more interesting than this.” He gestured to the warm-up room, a place that he wanted to stay no longer than was absolutely necessary. He glared at Viktor. “Not a single word,” he warned, voice dark.
Viktor simply smiled.
“Now taking the ice, representing Japan, Yuuri Katsuki!”
The roar of the crowd whenever he took center ice was always surprising to Yuuri, but for once he could tune it out. The ice felt right, he’d been practicing late at night whenever he could. As Phichit said, only he could skate this program. Not even Viktor would be able to perform this program, now that Yuuri had made the decision to go all out. If he landed all of his planned jumps—not the jumps currently shown on his planned elements list—then his free skate would have the highest base value of all the skaters here.
So far, the rivalry had been framed as technical versus artistry, but now, Yuuri would show them that he could also be Viktor’s rival points-wise as well.
If the media wanted a rivalry, they would truly get one now.
Yuuri took a deep breath and twisted into his starting position.
At times, he could barely hear the start of his music as the beginning was so soft, but that allowed him to focus completely on his first jump, the jump he tended to have the hardest time with—a salchow.
He leapt and counted the rotations in his head.
One. Two. Three.
Four.
His landing was wobbly and he stepped out on it, but he’d got all the required rotations in. Distantly, he could hear the screams of the crowd as they realized what he’d done, but he didn’t let his mind linger on that or the mistake he’d made. The next jump required all of his focus.
He could be excused if his expression fell for a few seconds as he entered this particular jump, since he’d only started landing it cleanly a few weeks before Nationals. It was still hit or miss in practice, but as he launched into the air, it all came together. Everything was right—the ice conditions, his speed going into the jump, the height, his body position.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four and a half.
Yuuri allowed himself a tiny triumphant smile as he landed the quad axel, his free leg scant inches away from the ice. Then he did what he did best and let himself get immersed in the music, in the story it told. He could handle the rest now.
A spin before his next jump, a quad lutz.
Then another spin before the jump that he would land right before he went into the second half of the program—a quad loop. Yuuri was ever so grateful to be friends with Phichit and that he made it obvious he was a fan of dogs. Those two facts had made Seung-gil like him and he’d gotten a decent amount of tips about that particular quad from the Korean skater over the past few years.
His step sequence started as the music picked up, the steady beats in the song he’d chosen allowing for an easy pace throughout the complicated steps. It was almost a relief to finish them and go into his first combination jump.
Quad toe, triple toe. Followed shortly by his second combination jump, a triple axel-euler-triple flip.
A small choreographic sequence and then he entered his final jump of the program, the jump that had been his original goal four years ago and had driven him through so many private practices, practices that only four people in the world knew about—him, Celestino, Phichit, and the jump coach at their rink.
One. Two. Three.
Four.
As much as he would hate it, Yuuri knew that this would be a program that fans and commentators would talk about for years. No matter how he placed, no matter what success he had in future seasons, this would be his defining skate.
The first skater to ratify a quad axel in competition—at the Olympics, no less. The second skater to land a clean quad flip in competition. The first skater to land six quads in a free skate—unthinkable, practically impossible, for a skater who had never landed a quad in competition before.
He was done with being underestimated now. This was what he was truly capable of, provided his nerves didn’t get the better of him.
He’d gotten standing ovations before, but never one this raucous. He was sure that the crowd had been standing before he’d even entered his final spin at the very end of the program.
However, despite their clear excitement and joy over a fairly clean skate, there was only one reaction he cared about.
Yuuri bowed to the judges and then he bowed to all sides of the rink, brown eyes scanning the people near the boards in search of hair that he could recognize even without his glasses.
He would probably regret this in the near future, but he gave one final bow when he spotted it, looking directly at Viktor as he straightened.
The media had wanted a rivalry and now they had plenty to work with.
“Six quads! A skater known for never landing a quad in competition just became the first skater to land all six kinds of quads, including the quad axel—a jump that many in the figure skating world have said to be impossible!”
As soon as he had seen the first jump with four rotations, Viktor had promptly reached over and clapped a hand over Yuri’s mouth—just in time, as an infuriated noise erupted from the blond. His other hand reached up to cover up his own mouth as he watched the second jump land, never having expected to see it in his lifetime, let alone while he was competing.
He was smitten after the quad axel. He was completely in love with the marvel that was Yuuri Katsuki when he landed his final jump—a quad flip, Viktor’s signature jump.
The choreography in the free skate had been a wondrous piece of work all season, but what he had just seen was on a completely different level. It had been a statement, and a magnificent one at that.
Yuuri hadn’t attempted any quads in competition before not because he lacked the skill to land them, but because he truly hadn’t needed them. Viktor was sure that Yuuri would have still been a podium contender here at the Olympics even if he hadn’t landed any quads.
Now…
Now, even without seeing the scores, Viktor knew a new world record had just been set. For the first time in years, someone other than Viktor Nikiforov had broken a world record.
He beamed widely in Yuuri’s direction as the other skater gave his final bows, only resisting the urge to wave because his waving hand was currently covering Yuri’s mouth.
And remembering the blond’s presence, Viktor decided that now was probably a good time to go back into the warm-up area, before the press got the chance to interview either of them. As it was, the press conferences after the event were sure to be … interesting.
“That—that—that—” Yuri let out a screech as soon as Viktor let him go once they were well away from the press and started swearing profusely in Russian.
“I think you’ve got a threat now,” Viktor said cheerily, referencing Yuri’s comments at Skate America. “Oh, did you see that quad flip? He did it at the very end! His free leg might have been a bit wild on the landing, but there will definitely still be a positive GOE on it. He probably should have included another combo in his jump layout, but six quads is nothing to sneeze at.”
Yuri screeched again and his hands began to clench, as if he was resisting the urge to strangle someone—Viktor, probably. “Who does that asshole think he is? He’s never done a quad in his life and all of a sudden he knocks out six of them? Including a fucking quad axel? How is that even possible?” He resumed swearing in Russian.
“He’s never done a quad in competition,” Viktor corrected idly, sighing happily as he recalled Yuuri’s performance. It had been a huge surprise, one that Viktor knew he wouldn’t be able to top. Not that he wouldn’t try, though. “From how steady most of them looked, he’s probably been practicing them in private for several years, though. Maybe even since the very beginning of his senior career…” Though, if he’d had the quads for that long, Viktor couldn’t understand why Yuuri had never attempted them in any competition before.
“Then he’s an idiot!” Yuri snapped. “Maybe an even bigger one than you! Do you know how many podiums he could have made if he’d even put one quad in his programs? Why has he been sabotaging his own career?”
“I wouldn’t call it sabotaging,” Viktor murmured. “He’s still been the top figure skater in Japan for practically his entire senior career and he’s made plenty of podiums over the years.”
Yuri looked like he wanted to hit Viktor at that moment, making the older skater realize that it was probably a good time to find Yakov. They had to be on the ice for introductions and warm-up soon anyways.
Unfortunately, Yakov wasn’t in a much better mood than Yuri, having watched Katsuki’s performance on one of the nearby televisions in the back area set aside for skaters and coaches. At least for Viktor it was easier to ignore Yakov than Yuri—he had years of experience, after all.
Usually when Viktor skated last, he stayed in the back and didn’t bother to pay attention to the incoming scores. The Olympics were always a special occasion, especially since it was usually the last chance he would get to see several skaters perform live. Now, he had more reason than ever to pay attention to the scores, because Yuuri Katsuki was sitting on the top of the scoreboard, a free skate world record score to his name.
A world record that Viktor was slowly but surely becoming convinced that he could beat. It would just involve…
Yakov would kill him—he was always going on about how poor Viktor’s stamina was on the ice, especially now that he was getting older—but that was nothing new. And really, it was Yakov’s fault if he wasn’t prepared for Viktor’s surprises on the ice, after all these years.
It was a risky plan, but Viktor hadn’t gotten where he was in his career by playing things safe.
“Now taking the ice, representing the Russian Olympic Committee, Viktor Nikiforov!”
Viktor had a wide grin on his face as he waved to the crowd for a few seconds before taking his starting position. It was the first true smile he’d been able to bring to the ice all season, if not for years.
He really needed to buy Yuuri a drink after everything was over, for bringing a little bit of light and love for skating back into his life again. He had been starting to doubt that it was possible.
When his music started, Viktor let muscle memory take over for the most part—he’d practiced this free skate so many times not just this season, but last season as well, long before he’d performed it for the first time. He could probably skate it in his sleep—not that he would try that. Yakov might actually kill him for that.
But the benefit of practicing it so much was that it allowed his mind to focus on other things—the entries into his jumps, making sure that his axis in the air was tilted correctly enough to ensure a smooth landing, the emotions he needed to portray to reflect the story he’d chosen for his free skate.
And now it allowed him to focus on the final change he’d made to the program.
The jumps in the first half of the program were almost textbook perfect—he’d gotten his reputation as a technical skater for a reason. Quad lutz, followed by a quad flip, followed by a triple axel, followed by a quad salchow. He could feel himself starting to get tired as he went into the first combination—a triple axel, triple loop, triple loop sequence.
And he still had three jumps left in the second half.
His legs would be tired but he knew that he could pull it off. His body was fresher than others who were competing—little Yuri had been chosen for the team event, causing quite the uproar, and Yuuri Katsuki had done the team event as well.
As he came out of his step sequence, Viktor smiled widely as he geared up for his sixth jump, the jump he was changing up.
He was just barely aware of the crowd’s reaction as his triple lutz became a quad toe instead. Just enough for his smile to widen and take on more of a heart-shape—a true smile, not the one he reserved for the press. A smile that only the ice and skating could bring out of him.
As he went into his triple flip, Viktor momentarily thought it was a pity that he didn’t have the stamina of Yuuri Katsuki. Another quad flip would be the perfect highlight for this performance, but putting four quads in a performance was pushing his limits. Quad toe, triple toe. Adding the fifth quad like he had just did was a once-in-a-lifetime performance for him.
“Five quads! Viktor Nikiforov does it again!”
“Presenting your bronze medalist, Russian Olympic Committee—Yuri Plisetsky!”
“Your silver medalist, Japan—Yuuri Katsuki!”
“And presenting your gold medalist and Olympic Champion, Russian Olympic Committee—Viktor Nikiforov!”
The media was in an uproar, all three of the medalists knew. This had not been the podium that anyone predicted.
Which made receiving his medal all the sweeter, Viktor decided.
Beside him, Yuri was silently fuming, glaring daggers at the silver medalist.
Viktor would have to find time to tell Yuuri that meant his teammate was impressed, not actually angry. Preferably sooner rather than later, because the Japanese skater looked absolutely nervous standing on the podium, receiving his medal and bouquet of crocheted flowers.
“Will we get to see an encore performance at Worlds?” Viktor asked once the makeshift anthem had played and as they were standing, waiting for the press to finish taking their photos.
“I’m not sure I’ll go to Worlds,” Yuuri replied, stuttering a bit when he realized that Viktor had spoken to him.
“Pity,” Viktor replied, trying not to pout. Still, understandable. Not many of the top skaters went to Worlds after the Olympics. The extra competition just made the season a bit too long for them. “Well, I’m excited to see the quads next season then.” It only made sense that Yuuri would incorporate them now, when everyone knew he could land them.
Yuuri shrugged. “I haven’t decided about next season yet. That performance I gave was meant for the final skate of my career, to make a statement and then retire.”
Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. What? No.
“What?” Yuri screeched from the other side of the podium. “You can’t retire!”
The press leaned in closer as they clued in to the drama that might be occurring on the podium. Viktor tried not to wince. The mixed media zone and the subsequent press conferences were going to be crazy now—crazier than they had been before, right after their skates.
Yuuri simply gave the blond a bemused look.
“Sounds like my time is running out, then,” Viktor said.
“Time for what?” Yuuri asked, a nervous look on his face.
Yakov was going to kill him. Yuri was going to kill him even harder.
It would be worth it, though.
Because for the first time in years, Viktor was smiling—truly smiling—again.
Not exactly he thought would be the result of a rivalry that had existed solely in the media.
“To ask you out for dinner!” Viktor replied cheerfully. He purposefully raised his voice, to give the media even more to talk about. Rivals to boyfriends would be a nice story. One for the history books maybe. “What do you say, Yuuri—will you go out on a date with me?”