Chapter Text
Yakov sighs, setting the file in front of him back on top of a larger-than-he’d-like-to-admit stack of papers. He doesn’t like being stuck behind his desk, he much prefers being out by the rink, coaching his pupils to perfection in person instead of having to wait for papers to get through layers of red tape and bureaucracy.
It’ll be worth it, he tells himself.
Knock knock-
“Enter.”
The door creaks open to reveal just the person he wanted to talk to. “Mr. Yakov, you asked to see me?”
Otabek Altin looks much different off the ice than he does off. He still has the same imposing, masculine aura and hard eyes; but there’s something about the way he stands in the doorway, eyebrows scrunched together ever so slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned down just a tick more than is usual. He looks like the naïve teenager he never had the chance to be- if he did he wouldn’t be standing here.
“Yes, sit down Altin.”
The boy takes a seat on the chair in front of Yakov’s desk. Yakov sighs and allows himself to think back to previous students. Many greats had taken that same seat in decades past- even Viktor Nikiforov had sat in that seat nearly fifteen years ago to begin his journey to the top.
The silence stretches long enough for Otabek to wonder if Yakov called him in here just to intimidate him. It takes all of the courage he has to ask, “Why did you call me in, sir?”
Yakov blinks back to the present, burying memories of champions past to focus on the future of this boy. “I’ve had my eye on you for some time now, Otabek Altin. You’ve changed a lot since that training camp five years ago.”
He can see the surprised look on Altin’s face, before it is tinged red in embarrassment. So he remembers it too. He just wasn’t cut out for the style of skating he and Lilia focused on the way Yuri was. But he paved his own way in the skating world and through the Grand Prix series, just narrowly missing the podium.
“When I heard about that mishap with your national anthem…” he trails off and sees Altin’s eyes lowering in shame at the memory. An ugly feeling bubbled low in Yakov’s gut; he could never imagine throwing any of his skaters alone against the world the way Otabek was. And to be disrespected so deeply when he should be celebrated… “I see potential in you, Altin. And it angers me when a skater with such great potential being treated the way you have been treated.
“I’m offering you a chance to skate here. We can provide you great opportunities here, access to resources you wouldn’t in Almaty, and we will support you until you can fight for the top of the podium with the best of them. In return, I need your complete trust and willingness to work to be the best… Of course, you’ll have to agree. I know you’ve just returned to Almaty after years abroad; are you willing to give up your home so soon?”
He thinks back to a flustered Grand Prix silver medalist that had recently occupied the seat in front of him, still bright eyed and brimming with determination despite being so close to retiring just a year before. That had been an interesting conversation, he had been more willing to relocate to Russia than Yakov had expected. Maybe Georgi was correct in his overdramatic proselytizing that Katsuki had found his true home in Viktor- regardless of where they skated.
Yakov suppresses the shiver threatening to crawl up his spine at the thought of Georgi being correct about anything concerning love.
“Sir?”
Again Yakov finds himself being pulled from his mental tangent. He looks expectantly at the boy.
Otabek hesitates for the barest of moments, a hard look rests on his clenched fist before he directs his gaze to Yakov.
The old man almost smirks in satisfaction. There it is, he thinks, there’s a fire in his eyes.
“I would like to accept your offer!” Otabek barks.
Yakov nods and allows himself the barest of smiles, “You and I both know that I only train the best of the best. Current and future champions to take the world of skating by storm.” He locks his eyes with Otabek who now looks all the man he had been forced to become. The fire of determination burning bright within him- not that Yakov would expect anything else. If Otabek was intimidated by his statements, he would not be worth pursuing as a student. Instead, he took them as a challenge, exactly what Yakov expected from his students. “You had better be ready, boy. I expect you here one month before the start of the season. That gives you enough time to enjoy the rest of your off season and to tie up any… loose ends in Almaty.”
With the confirmation that his life will change so quickly, he can tell Otabek is overwhelmed, looking once more like a child. Yakov lets this moment of uncertainty pass; he wouldn’t be the coach he is today without scaring his students a little bit.
“You’ve made a good decision, Otabek,” Yakov assures, “you’re dismissed. I will send you information soon.”
When Otabek is finally dismissed, he leaves the room in a daze. Without meaning to he finds himself back at the rink, standing by his bag and skates. He picks them up from the floor and gives them the smallest of smiles.
This past season was just the beginning.