Chapter Text
Figure Skating Legend Viktor Nikiforov Vanishes Before the Next Season
Katerina Andreev
The skating world was rocked this week by the sudden disappearance of living legend Viktor Nikiforov. The five-time world champion was slated to compete in the upcoming Grand Prix series, but failed to show for official practice sessions in Saint Petersburg. His coach, Yakov Feltsman, refused to comment, fueling wild speculation.
Rumors quickly surfaced that Nikiforov had been spotted in the small Japanese town of Hasetsu, the hometown of fellow skater Yuuri Katsuki. Katsuki, who represents Japan, had a disappointing showing at last year’s Grand Prix Final and the Japanese Nationals. He has been conspicuously absent from the ice and the spotlight in recent months.
Eagle-eyed fans claim to have seen the striking silver hair of the Russian champion at Hasetsu’s Ice Castle rink, as well as the local hot springs resort owned by the Katsuki family. Neither Nikiforov nor Katsuki could be reached for comment.
The sighting has led to rampant theories about the nature of the skaters’ relationship. Some suggest Nikiforov is taking a break to secretly choreograph programs for Katsuki. Others believe the two are romantically involved, evidenced by their dance at the previous year’s GPF banquet.
“It’s all very strange,” said a source close to the Russian skating federation. “For Viktor to just abandon his career like this, in his prime…It’s unthinkable. And for what? Playing coach to some has-been?”
The news sent shockwaves through the skating community. Sponsors are scrambling to verify Nikiforov’s status, while fans bemoan the loss of the reigning champion in the upcoming competitive season.
As the figure skating world holds its breath, all eyes are on the sleepy seaside town of Hasetsu. Will Viktor Nikiforov emerge to take the ice once more? Or has the world seen the last of the vivacious skater? Only time will tell in this unfolding saga of mystery, skating, and international intrigue.
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Yakov scowled as he shoved his phone back into his coat pocket, the offending article still imprinted in his mind. Ever since Viktor’s disappearing act, he’d been inundated with calls, emails, and texts, everyone wanting the scoop on the scandal.
“Bah"!” The man spat, his breath misting in the chilly air outside the rink. As if he had any more idea what that idiot boy was thinking than the rest of them. Vitya had always been impulsive, ever since he was a precocious teen charming the pants off sponsors and fans alike. But to abandon his career now, at the very height of his success? It was insane.
Yakov knew Viktor loved surprising people, but this stunt took the cake. And for what? To play coach to Katsuki? Yakov snorted derisively. He’d seen the Japanese skater fall apart at last season’s Final. The boy had talent, sure, but he crumbled like a stale piroshki under pressure. If the rumors were true, what could Viktor possibly see in him?
Shaking his head, the coach entered the rink, preparing himself for another barrage of questions from the press that always lurked in the lobby this time of year. He’d have to cook up some sort of statement soon, if only to get them off his back. Privately, he seethed at the mess Viktor had left him to deal with.
“Yakov!” A voice cut through the din, and Yakov turned to see Yuri Plisetsky stalking toward him, his lithe frame vibrating with teenage angst. “Did you see that bullshit article? I can’t believe Viktor ditched us for that loser !”
Yakov leveled him with a glare. “Watch your language, Yura. And focus on your own skating. You think whining about Viktor will help your step-sequences?”
Yuri scowled petulantly but shut his mouth. The boy had the makings of a champion, but his temper needed work.
Yakov shook his head and turned to move toward his office, already dreading the inevitable flood of messages that would be waiting. As he walked, his thoughts churned with frustration and worry. Viktor had always been the golden child of Russian figure skating - a prodigy whose talent and charisma had captivated the world. Under Yakov's strict tutelage, he'd risen to unimaginable heights, shattering records and expectations with equal ease. And now, at the peak of his career, he'd thrown it all away on a whim.
For what? To chase after some second-rate skater who'd choked on the world stage? It made no sense. Yakov had seen them at the banquet, of course. Viktor, champagne-flushed and starry-eyed, twirling around the dance floor with a clearly inebriated Katsuki. At the time, Yakov had dismissed it as just another one of Viktor's flirtations, harmless fun to blow off steam after a hard-won victory.
But then the weeks had stretched on with no word from his star pupil, and the unease had begun to set in. Now, with the damning evidence plastered all over the news, Yakov could no longer deny the truth. Viktor had well and truly lost his mind over the Japanese skater.
Settling heavily behind his desk, Yakov pulled up his email with a sense of grim resignation. As expected, the inbox was overflowing with urgent messages from the RSF, sponsors, and media outlets, all clamoring for a response to the breaking story. He'd have to craft a statement, something to reassure them that the federation had the situation under control, that Viktor would come to his senses and return to fulfill his obligations.
Even as he began to type, Yakov knew it was a futile effort. Once Viktor set his mind to something, there was no dissuading him. Yakov had learned that lesson the hard way over the years, watching his headstrong protégé defy his edicts time and again. He'd hoped that age and experience would temper that reckless streak, but it seemed Viktor was as unpredictable as ever.
With a heavy sigh, Yakov sent off the brief, carefully worded response and leaned back in his chair. His eyes fell on the framed photo perched on the corner of his desk - a much younger Viktor, all long hair and brilliant smile, proudly holding his first gold medal. The sight sent a pang through Yakov's chest.
Where had the years gone? It seemed like only yesterday that a gangly teen had walked into his rink, all raw potential and burning ambition. Yakov had molded that potential into greatness, had watched with gruff pride as Viktor took the world by storm. And now, when he should be savoring the fruits of his success, the foolish boy had thrown it all away for...for a pair of warm brown eyes and a drunken dance.
Yakov shook his head, trying to dislodge the unwelcome thought. This was no time for sentimentality. He had a crisis to manage, sponsors to appease, and a sulking teenage prodigy to keep in line. He couldn’t afford to dwell on whatever madness had possessed Viktor to upend his life.
And yet, even as he threw himself into damage control, Yakov couldn’t quite quell the flicker of curiosity that echoed beneath his frustration. In all the years he’d known Viktor, he’d never seen the skater so much as hint at genuine romantic interest in anyone. Oh, he’d played the part of the playboy often enough, wining and dining pretty young things at galas and banquets. But it had always been a calculated act, as much a part of his celebrity persona as his signature flirty wink.
This, though…this felt different. The way Vitya had looked at Katsuki in that viral video, his eyes soft and wondering, his smile achingly sweet…it was a side of him Yakov had never glimpsed before. And now, if the rumors were to be believed, he’d jetted off to Japan to be with the other skater, sponsorships and titles be damned.
Rising from his desk with a grunt, Yakov headed for the door, resignation settling heavily on his shoulders. There was nothing for it but to weather the media storm and hope that Viktor came to his senses sooner rather than later. In the meantime, he had a rink full of ambitious young skaters to corral, chief among them a seething Yuri Plisetsky.
As he strode out into the chill of the rink, Yakov cast one last glance at his phone, the damning headline still glowing on the screen. Wherever Viktor was, whatever he was thinking...Yakov could only hope he knew what he was doing. For all their sakes.
Across an ocean and a continent, in a sleepy seaside town nestled among green hills, Viktor Nikiforov sneezed.
"Caught a cold already?" Yuuri asked, glancing over at him with a small, teasing smile. "I warned you about the sea breeze."
Viktor shook his head, a matching grin tugging at his lips. "Just someone talking about me, I expect. I'm sure Yakov is cursing my name to the heavens as we speak."