But Not For Me [Yuri!!! on Ice]

But Not For Me

Nothing is impossible. All my life, Grandpa has told me that. He has told me that with bright eyes, dazzling with hope and brilliance. He has told me that while dewy-lidded with his face scrunched, the smile lines on his face faltering. He told me that with a little luck, I could accomplish anything—everything  I wanted.

And I believed him. Like the naïve boy that I was, I believed every word he told me. Trusting in the power of determination and luck, I set forth into the world, believing it was my oyster. With his words in the back of my mind, I was fearless and chased after everything that I wanted—after all, if all I needed was a little luck, what was there that I couldn't have?

With luck, I am able to skate brilliantly, mastering each and every turn, spin, axel—anything the art throws at me. With luck, I was able to enter the skating world and overcome any and all obstacles that crossed the ice. With luck, I was able to win multiple awards, dominating the Junior circuit with little competition. With luck, I was able to meet my favorite ice skater: Victor Nikiforov.

Victor Nikiforov—a legend among legends, the reigning king of figure skating since he was around my age. He has more medals and awards than his hands can hold and is the five-consecutive winner of the Grand Prix Finals. However, even without his skating credentials, he is without a doubt perfect. Able to maintain his position as a man—even while in a skin-tight suit with a ridiculous flower crown on his head—he is known to make any man or woman swoon with his dashing looks and charming personality. Everywhere he turns, everyone adores him. Laced with perfection, he is the epitome of the perfect Russian man—something I strive to be. And luckily, I was able to talk face to face with him.

He came to me—not the other way around. And it was just a normal day, too. After all, I was, as Yakov would put, "gloating after winning a noncontested competition." While I was doing that, the old man was bickering and screaming at me, complaining about something like how I was ruining my body or something from doing so many quads. To be honest, I don't really remember—I don't worry about the little details.

But then I saw him—Victor Nikiforov. He was standing there, in the empty stands, dressed in his typical suit and cloak-like army green jacket. Although I knew he was training under Yakov—which is the main reason I had forced myself on the old man—I didn't expect to see him there. At least, not to watch me, the young hopeful in training. I definitely didn't expect him to be interested in me. Vividly, I remember the look of astonishment on his face as he congratulated me on not only my skating ability but also my ability to "go against the man." Then, he suggested something I couldn't release: the opportunity to have my program choreographed by him.

Excited and overjoyed, I agreed, exclaiming, "If I win without quad jumps, then choreograph a program just for me!"

And then he, with a slight smile streaking across his flushed face, said, "Sure."

That moment, despite being short, gave me hope. I began to see how everything Grandpa said was true. With a little luck, I could accomplish anything—even meeting the best figure skater in the world and getting promised a choreographed routine.

But then, that came tumbling down.

Like nothing ever happened, he forgot his promise and left me years later, right after I finally won the Junior Prix. And then, he had the courage to say he forgot, saying, "I'm guessing I forgot some promise I made" like it meant nothing to him. Sure, this was just Victor being Victor, but it was different this time. After all, he left me for a Japanese Yuri, the taller one with the stalky hair and inflated body. Not only that, but he left to fulfill his promise to him, leaving behind mine.

Of course, like any normal person, I gathered all the things I needed and flew to Japan without saying a word. We were both going to go back home, back to Petersburg—where we belonged. At least, that's what I thought.