Ace of the New Age
At seventeen, I made my senior debut according to plan. I hit a growth spurt at that age, afflicting me with intense growing pains at night and rendering me unable to make the jumps I had learned during my novice years.
My surroundings changed dramatically around this time as well. The media started to hound me, often causing my condition to worsen in the chaos. However, despite the setbacks, I was still able to deliver favorable results, leading to me being chosen as a representative athlete.
Now that I look back on it, the transitionary period between my junior and senior years felt frantic. All I could do was complete the tasks that were in front of me, leaving me with no time for anything else.
“The Eye of the Storm.” My generation was frequently called as such, attracting unwanted attention.
“The new age is coming. This generation will breathe new life into the figure skating world.” The news outlets that made this claim grew increasingly passionate each year, and when I turned twenty, they hit a fever pitch.
The cause was last season’s world championship. All of JPN’s male athletes had withdrawn due to illness or injury, leading to one of the most crushing defeats in the country’s skating history. As a result, the national team following this event only had one skater.
In the present day, the media look back on this era as the “Dark Age of JPN Male Figure Skating.” Whether or not it was a direct effect of this tournament is unconfirmed, but top skaters started retiring across the board, and an immense amount of pressure was put on my generation to revive JPN’s male figure skating scene. This generation had me, who consistently achieved results in overseas contests, and a colleague my age, who had won a gold medal at the World Junior Championship. The general public and mass media had pinned their hopes onto us.
My father’s expectations far exceeded that of the press. He would always raise his voice at me, putting me through grueling training for days on end. It was as if he was possessed by something that wouldn’t be satisfied unless I brought home gold.
“Once you perfect your quad toe loops and salchows, you could very well be at the top of JPN.
“You deserve to represent our country on the world stage.
“Win. You will win. You have to win!”
I even heard his voice echoing in my dreams.
Relentless practice. Cameras and voices that followed us at any chance they got. The dizzying heat of it all almost made me lose my sanity.
Something was hurting.
More than the brutal amount of practice, more than the feeling I wasn’t skating the way I truly wanted, more than the inconsiderate commentary that came from the media.
…Something was hurting me.
Deep down, I didn’t truly want to win gold. I knew I had to, but even though I knew, I kept wondering if there was a point to it all. What value was there in achieving that glory? Was I only skating to win? Not to make someone… Someone dear to me happy?
It hurt.
It hurt because I knew those thoughts made me unworthy of winning. I didn’t deserve that honor. I wouldn’t win unless every part of me wanted to. This sport wasn’t kind to those who thought otherwise.
I blamed myself for never truly wanting to win. I had doubts about the program my dad put together. It was meticulously crafted to give me the greatest chance of winning, but I wasn’t sure if it aligned with what I wanted to do. It was worlds apart from the style I saw in my dreams…
While carrying that dissonance with me, I decided to take on the JPN Championship. Before I was able to compete on a global level, I first had to win gold there.
I told myself to put my thoughts to rest, and I skated my short program with an empty mind. I had managed to beat my rival and secure a provisional first place.
Everyone standing on the rink side was wrought with worry leading up to the free skate. My own feelings were also at war in my head. After the allotted six-minute warmup, we began from the top of the starting order. Anxiety caused my body to start shaking and my breathing to shallow.
…I don’t think I can do this. I won’t make any of my jumps.
As a hopeless feeling started to stain my heart, I unconsciously stuck my hand in the pocket of my jersey. The tips of my fingers brushed against a soft piece of felt. I took out what I was holding to look at it.
It was an omamori
At that moment, I also remembered the bento he made me that I ate on the bullet train. On top of a helping of rice was a thin tamagoyaki cut into a circle with “GOLD” written in seaweed scraps—a “gold medal bento.” It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.
“Bring home the gold, Yuki-nii.” His innocent smile as he wished me good luck flashed in my mind.
The tension that was wracking my body suddenly eased up. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I fought them back as a comforting warmth started burning in my heart.
That’s right. How could I forget? You said you wanted it. You want me to win, so I want to win too. I want to know what the look on your face will be when I show you my gold medal.
My mind relaxed.
It’s okay. It’s okay for me to think that. I want to win gold. It’s okay for me to want that.
Without a doubt in my mind, I knew I wanted to win at that moment, and I wanted to skate the program that would bring that win to me.
The pointed words from my father, the clamor from the mass media, the personal contradictions I was mulling over—all of the tumultuous emotions I had felt disappeared in an instant.
“Number 23… Kamina Yukikaze, Kamina Ice Arena.”
The announcement signaled my entrance. I headed to the center of the rink. A countless amount of cameras were fixated on me. You were probably watching me from the footage they were broadcasting. I knew you were.
“Concerto No. 4, ‘Winter’…”
The song that was chosen for my free program started to play, leading with a string section singing out in sorrow. It was a piece that brought to mind pine trees covered in a layer of white and a lake of ice.
The sound took over my body. With the music as my guide, I accelerated to my top speed, adding some rotation along the way.
My first jump was a quad salchow. I took off at the same time the string section grew louder. At that moment, all of the troubles vanished from my heart, like snow melting under the sun. Everything became clear as I fell deep into the illusion that the only two things in the world were me and the music.
My mind was free. I was even having fun. No, I knew for sure that I was happy.
I continued into a combination of a quad toe loop and a triple toe loop. The second jump in a program can be prone to slip-ups and point deductions, but I executed it without any mistakes.
A triple axel into a graceful spread eagle… Ah, I thought of a harsh winter, of the snow.
From the next spin to the choreo sequence, all I did was dance. I was to become a single snowflake swirling above a thick sheet of ice.
As I hit the halfway point of my program, fatigue started to settle in, but at my skill level, I could keep going. My father told me the same.
So I bent my body and jumped a quad toe loop. After a beautiful landing, the audience erupted in applause.
Three consecutive combinations, a triple lutz, a change-foot sit spin… My legs were getting tired, and I was starting to breathe heavily.
But I still had the will to continue.
The back of my eyes grew hot, almost as if my optic nerves were burning. My vision seemed to extend infinitely outwards. The music was like ice, piercing through violently, or perhaps it was more like a powerful snowstorm, destroying everything in its path. Heading into my step sequence, I expressed the cruel beauty of winter.
My final spin synchronized with the swelling string section. I was in my own world. The music and I melted into each other as I spun at a high speed, the two of us becoming a raging blizzard.
There was nothing left in my head. I knew at that moment, I was doing what I had always wished for, skating in the way I truly wanted to. It was as if the world opened up right in front of my eyes.
The instant I settled into my final pose, raucous applause and cheering slammed into my eardrums. I knew he was watching me too. I smiled at the cameras and exited the rink.
My emotions were sky-high. For the first time, the dissonance within me had disappeared, and I was confident that my program was what I desired it to be.
I walked up to my father, and although he would usually greet me with criticism, all he said was “nice work.” When they revealed that I had achieved a new personal best at the kiss and cry, he gently patted my shoulder. My cheeks grew hot. Gold was within my reach. I could practically feel it. I’d bring home a gold medal to show him.
I was then directed towards the back corridors, where I was surrounded by reporters in the interview area.
“Do you realize that you’re the ace of the new age?”
I thought about my answer carefully so I wouldn’t say anything untrue.
I never thought of myself as an ace. I always avoided that topic when it came from the media, because to me, it just brought on a pain I couldn’t swallow.
But at that moment, the gold medal was right in front of me, so I felt that I could finally accept the title, if only a small bit. I had the feeling I had skated well, as well as I did when I landed my first axel.
Suddenly, something cut me off.
A loud commotion came from the rink, shaking the ground like an earthquake. A man whom I assumed was a member of the press shouted as he ran towards us.
“Kisu Dogma just… He just landed a quad lutz combo!”
The reporters around me started murmuring, cutting my interview short. They parted from me like a receding tide, and I was left alone in the corridor, unable to say anything.
Another round of thunderous cheering came from the rink. In contrast to the audience’s frenzy, my excitement fizzled out as my heart grew cold, left outside in the middle of winter. There was one thing I knew at that moment.
The gold medal had escaped from my fingertips.