[2016.03.25] YUZURU METHOD (Sports graphic Number books)

[yuzurujenn]

Info: https://www.amazon.co.jp/王者のメソッド-Sports-graphic-Number-books/dp/4163903976

https://www.amazon.co.jp/羽生結弦-王者のメソッド-文春文庫-野口-美惠-ebook/dp/B078CQFX1B

 

Yuzuru Hanyu: The Absolute Champion's Method (Sports graphic Number books)

 

[NumberBOOKS: How was Yuzuru Hanyu the absolute champion?]

Yuzuru Hanyu, who won the first-ever Olympic gold medal in men's figure skating for Japan at the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics.

At the age of 12, he became the youngest skater in history to stand on the podium at the All-Japan Junior Championships. At 14, in his first appearance at the World Junior Championships, he had already declared, “I will become the second gold medalist from Japan.”

He won the World Junior Championship at 15, earned a bronze medal at the World Championships at 17, and at 19, he achieved a remarkable triple crown: Olympic gold, World Championship title, and Grand Prix Final victory. At 20, he became the first skater in history to surpass the 300-point mark.

"It was so frustrating, it actually made me happy."
"I want to become a legend. I want to engrave the name Yuzuru Hanyu in history."
"From now on, I need to create battles within myself."
"I'm going to become the absolute champion."

 

From his gentle and refined appearance, it's hard to imagine the strong will he possesses. Yet, what emerges is the “Hanyu Mind” driven by that will, and the resulting “Method of the Absolute Champion.”

 

Prologue: The "Hanyu Method" that opened the door to becoming a world champion
Chapter 1: Junior years 2008-2010 Age 13 to 15
Chapter 2: Senior debut 2010-2011 Age 15 to 16
Chapter 3: In the days of the Great East Japan Earthquake 2011 Age 16
Chapter 4: One year after the disaster 2011-2012 Age 16 to 17

Chapter 5: Crossing the ocean 2012-2013 Age 17 to 18
Chapter 6: Sochi Olympics 2013-2014 Age 18 to 19
Chapter 7: Proof of champion 2014-2015 Age 19 to 20
Chapter 8: The adventures of an absolute champion 2015-2016 Age 20 to 21
*Includes unpublished photos taken by Number

[yuzurujenn]

*machine translation, inaccuracies exist. please do not reply other than translations here*

 

Prologue

 

Spoiler

Up until the age of 21, he spent his skating life constantly thinking.

 

And so on this day too, he was deep in thought, tracing the memories stored in his mind.

 

It was December 2015, and my first competition as a 21-year-old was the Grand Prix Final held in Barcelona, Spain. Just two weeks earlier, I had set a new world record score of 322.40 at the NHK Trophy. At that point, the only person who could surpass that score was Yuzuru Hanyu himself. It was a battle in solitude.

 

Below the venue, the Barcelona International Conference Center, was the calm blue Mediterranean Sea. The lobby shimmered with the blinding reflection of Barcelona’s sunlight and buzzed with the murmur of spectators. Everyone longed to see the performance of Hanyu, who had just set a new world record, and if possible, witness history being rewritten with yet another record-breaking skate. The audience was yearning for an unforgettable, emotional experience.

 

The more excitement swelled around him, the calmer Hanyu’s mind became. Thoughts surged through his head.

 

“The world record I set at NHK—322 points—is now a new wall I have to climb. Every point of that score weighs on me as pressure. I need to develop the mental strength to overcome it.”

 

His mindset had been entirely different just two weeks before. In September and October, he had made mistakes in his jumps and lost to his rival, Patrick Chan. Driven by frustration and a sense of challenge, he attempted for the first time a short program with two quadruple jumps at the NHK Trophy in November.

 

“As the reigning Olympic champion, I need to become overwhelmingly strong to win again at the PyeongChang Olympics in 2018. That means doing two quads in the short program. It’s a skill I must master. Let’s enjoy the challenge. I’m not anxious at all. I’m going to be the champion, no matter what.”

 

He repeatedly voiced bold, combative words to fire himself up. This was his method for fueling the strong motivation needed to break a world record.

 

But after achieving that record, mental control for the next competition entered unknown territory. Hanyu didn’t fear the unfamiliar. He embraced it, exploring it with thoughtful curiosity.

 

He looked back on past moments of success. When had he last skated with such burning determination?

 

“It was the 2012 World Championships in Nice. I skated 'Romeo + Juliet' there—the performance that made many fans fall in love with skating. No matter how many times I repeated that program in ice shows afterward, it never came out the same. That performance could only be born on that day, in that place, at that age. I don’t need to top my NHK Trophy free skate. What matters is the heart behind each performance, what I was feeling when I skated it.”

 

His mind settled. Even so, as the moment of performance drew near, tension heightened. He stepped back to observe himself objectively once again.

 

“Yeah, I’m nervous. At the Olympics, I got nervous because I desperately wanted the gold medal, but I couldn’t see that part of myself clearly, and I got swallowed by the pressure of the Games. But at this year’s NHK Trophy, I clearly saw myself thinking, ‘I want a clean skate. I want to break 300 points overall.’ Because I could recognize that part of myself, I was able to accept it. If I can understand the cause of my nerves, I can control them to some extent. So now, I’ll accept the part of me that wants to surpass the NHK Trophy. And I’ll focus on each performance, doing what I can right now.”

 

These words held within them the distilled essence of 21 years of method. He had already grasped it: which words to speak to himself, how they would affect his heart. The commands born in his mind guided his spirit and moved his body. He etched his records into history, and his memories into the hearts of those watching.

 

On that day, he became a legend.

 

Six years earlier, when he was a 14-year-old junior skater, he had spoken these words: “I want to become a legend! I want to show everyone something no human has ever done before, something only I can do. I want to carve the name Yuzuru Hanyu into history!”

 

He never let that declaration end as just a child’s dream. The boy already knew. Humans are creatures who can think and accumulate experience. That’s why he thought deeply through every day.

 

How did Hanyu’s fiery heart take shape? How was his unique method developed? Let us trace the journey of his mind and spirit up to the age of 21.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*machine translation, inaccuracies exist. please do not reply other than translations here*

 

Chapter 1: Junior years 2008-2010 Age 13 to 15

 

Spoiler

“There are still 99% of people in the world who don’t know about me, so I want to work hard to increase that by even 1%. I want to perform in a way that no one in the world can forget.”

 

These are the words of Yuzuru Hanyu on the day he first competed in a competition called "World". He meant every word.

 

He competed at the 2009 World Junior Championships at the age of 14 years and 2 months—the youngest in the field—his heart racing at the chance to meet the top skaters in the world.

 

But make no mistake, this wasn’t a boy seeking fame. Wanting to be known by the world was the mirror image of his desire to know the world. He wished to leave his mark, even just a trace, on the vast unknown world that lay ahead of him.

 

It had been ten years since he first stepped onto the ice at age four. Now, finally, he stood at a competition with “World” in its name. He saw those ten years leading to this moment as “just 1%” of his skating life. He was always analyzing—where he stood, what he was capable of. He loved thinking strategically, planning, and then putting those plans into action.

 

To reach his goal, 99% remained. His journey had only just begun.

 

“There’s a genius mushroom in Sendai.”

 

Yuzuru Hanyu was born on December 7, 1994, in a suburban area in the northern part of Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture. The town, once a lush region of rice fields central to Miyagi’s agricultural production, was transformed in the 1990s into a growing residential area as part of a major development initiative aimed at turning Sendai into a city of one million people. It quickly became a popular district for young families, with a reputation as one of the best places to raise children.

 

Lined with residential complexes, large shopping malls, and sports and cultural facilities, the area offered both convenience and natural beauty. A ten-minute drive could take you to hills and marshes; in thirty, you could reach ski resorts and hot springs. The blend of city life and nature made it a place people always returned to—a city rich in spirit.

 

It was in this town that Hanyu, at age four, first encountered skating. He tagged along to a lesson his older sister was taking at the Izumi D.O.S.C. Ice Arena, which was part of a nearby shopping mall within walking distance from their home.

 

About twenty years ago, many suburban areas in Japan had facilities that combined supermarkets and sports centers. It became common for mothers to run errands while their children trained in sports. This pattern had also taken root in the Hanyu family’s neighborhood.

 

From then on, he visited the rink nearly every day outside school hours, and his talent began to grow rapidly. By age ten, he was already being talked about as “the genius mushroom from Sendai,” a nickname that spread among those in the skating world.

 

The “mushroom” referred to his haircut. Inspired by his idol, Russian skater Evgeni Plushenko, he styled his hair into a round bob, just like Plushenko’s.

 

“My goal is Evgeni Plushenko. He’s amazing because he makes hardly any mistakes in his programs while also captivating the audience.”

 

At the time, no other sports-playing boys in Miyagi had longish hair. And when you add talent to that? There was no way he wouldn’t stand out. In fact, he loved being noticed. The whispers and attention from those around him became part of his motivation.

 

At age twelve, he was given a special invitation to compete at the All-Japan Junior Championships held in a gymnasium in Sendai. The event was normally for skaters aged 13 to 18, yet he placed third.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to stand on the podium at a junior event, so I’m really happy. But next year, I want to win. If I’m going to enter a competition, I want to go for victory.”

 

At that moment, he clearly recognized the hunger for victory growing inside him. Almost as if to test that feeling, he said “I want to win” over and over. It wasn’t just a child’s spontaneous remark. He deliberately voiced it to set a challenge for himself. This marked the beginning of Yuzuru Hanyu’s method for becoming a champion.

 

“I’ll be the second Japanese to win Olympic gold.”

 

In the 2008–2009 season, he moved up to the junior class at last. During the summer of 2008, he trained relentlessly and learned to land the triple Axel. In a domestic competition that November, he pulled it off flawlessly, showing no sign of pressure. He was just 13 years old.

 

With that confidence in his heart, he competed later that same month at the All-Japan Junior Championships held at the Nippon Gaishi Sports Plaza in Nagoya. For the upcoming 2009 World Junior Championships in February, Japan had only one spot available. That means only the winner would qualify.

 

“I’m going there to win.”

 

When the small-framed 13-year-old made this declaration in his still-high, prepubescent voice, it came across as more adorable than intimidating—but his eyes told a different story. He was serious.

 

In the short program, he made mistakes on two jumps and finished in fourth place. But in the free skate, he made a comeback and won the competition.

 

"I just moved up to junior level this year as a second-year middle school student, so there’s still an age gap between me and the others. But I’m approaching it with a strong mindset that I am now part of the junior field. There's still a significant gap between me and overseas skaters, so at the World Junior Championships, I want to show clearly that I’m the same skater who won the All-Japan Junior title. I’ll also be able to compete at the (senior) All-Japan Championships in December, so just like when I competed in the All-Japan Junior Championships as a novice, I hope I can bring everything I have with the mindset of a challenger."

 

By putting his goals into words, he raised his own motivation. Almost as if testing this strategy, he repeated phrases like “second-year middle schooler” and “age gap,” etching them into his heart.

 

Now holding two tickets—one to the All-Japan Championships and one to the World Juniors—the 13-year-old spoke nonstop, full of momentum.

 

That December, he stepped into the senior division for the first time, making his debut at the All-Japan Championships.

 

The 2008 All-Japan Championships were held during the golden age of figure skating popularity in Japan, led by stars like Mao Asada and Miki Ando. Naturally, the venue, Big Hat in Nagano, was packed to capacity.

 

As soon as Hanyu arrived at the arena, other skaters told him, “The crowd’s amazing, it’s packed,” and his excitement grew uncontrollably.

 

During warm-up, he was so overwhelmed with emotion that he got a nosebleed. It stopped in time for the 6-minute warm-up, allowing him to skate, but while waiting for his turn and hearing the cheers for the other skaters, his nose started bleeding again.

 

In his free program, his attempt at the triple Axel overreached and became a 1.5-rotation jump. He made three consecutive mistakes in the first half, prompting the audience to give him encouraging applause.

 

Fired up, he landed the rest of his jumps cleanly in the second half. Skating to Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, his hair flying, he finished his free skate amid claps in rhythm from the crowd. It was the first time he felt the raw energy of a full house cheering him on.

 

“It was my first time performing in such a huge venue with a full audience. I even got a nosebleed, it might mean I’m still mentally weak. I managed to pull it together in the second half, but I couldn’t stay focused at the start. Still, despite all that, I kept telling myself I would land those jumps, that I wouldn’t fall. Being able to skate with real emotion was a huge breakthrough for me.”

 

Though only 14 and competing as a special entry, he placed a respectable 8th. Yet that day, the media’s attention was fixed on Nobunari Oda and Takahiko Kozuka.  Naturally, TV and newspapers featured only their comments. Right after his performance, standing in the mixed zone where reporters seemed uninterested in him, Hanyu declared:

 

“Japan already has Shizuka Arakawa’s Olympic gold medal. I want to be the second Olympic gold medalist for Japan.”

 

It was such a sudden statement that it sounded like a far-fetched dream from a kid with stars in his eyes. None of the media outlets reported it.

 

But as we’d come to understand later, the boy’s declaration was calculated.

 

By voicing a big goal out loud, he made it impossible to back out. This was how he created his own drive. And it was precisely because he was standing there, for the first time, surrounded by dozens of journalists at a senior event, that he said it. Whether it made the newspapers didn’t matter. What mattered was using the adults in the media as witnesses to his vow.

 

It was his first senior-level tournament, and he was the youngest there. His face still childlike, but his eyes sparkled with quiet intelligence.

 

The Two Titles Given to Hanyu

The first competition with the word "World" in its name that the 14-year-old Hanyu ever entered was the World Junior Championships, held in Sofia, Bulgaria, in February 2009.

 

During the international flight to Bulgaria, he kept his earphones in, listening nonstop to his favorite songs and the music from his competition programs. In his hands was a brand-new iPod nano, a reward from his coach Nanami Abe for successfully landing a triple Axel for the first time at a competition in November. Along with it, she had given him the phrase: "Never forget your original intention." It would become one of Hanyu’s lifelong personal mottos.

 

As he mulled over those words, he listened to his program music over and over, mentally rehearsing his performance. In the end, he arrived in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, without having slept at all.

 

Even after arriving, there was no sightseeing. His mind remained completely focused on the competition. He spent his time shuttling between the airport, hotel, and the venue.

 

Unlike in Japan, the roads, even the main ones, weren’t paved with asphalt, and dust constantly hung in the air. Some buildings had a beautiful Russian-style appearance, but the residential areas were underdeveloped—an unmistakably Eastern European landscape.

 

“So I’m actually in Europe right now? It really feels like I’ve come to a foreign country!”

 

Even the hotel breakfast was different from the usual continental fare common in the West.

 

“There were herbs mixed into the rice at breakfast, which really surprised me. I’m more used to the pre-packaged rice I brought from Japan, so I’ve been eating that as emergency food.”

 

It was clear he felt deeply that this wasn’t just another competition, but he had come somewhere special.

 

He bore two titles: “the youngest competitor at 14” and “representing Japan.”

This World Junior Championship was known as the gateway to becoming a top-level skater. The entire experience served to heighten his motivation.

 

The Challenge to Become the Junior World Champion

At the competition venue, he observed how the top junior skaters warmed up before practice and incorporated some of their training methods into his own routine. He did his usual jog around the venue, followed by stretches and light strength training. Then, using the reflection in the glass, he visualized his jump form while checking his posture, something he hadn’t done before. But it turned out to be a method that helped him focus right before the actual performance.

 

Even on the morning of the competition, he was still actively trying to absorb anything he could from those around him.

 

For the short program, he wore an all-black costume and skated to Bolero (from the movie Moulin Rouge). As usual, the excitement got to him, and he had a nosebleed before the performance. By now, almost a trademark of his pre-competition state.

 

When it was time to compete, he cleanly took off into his opening triple Axel. But at that very moment, his youth showed.

 

Just as he felt, “I’ve got this,” a wave of joy overtook him. In mid-air, his concentration slipped, his body tilted slightly. Even though he completed the 3.5 rotations cleanly, he couldn’t hold the landing and had to put one hand on the ice.

 

Still, he finished the short program in first place, scoring 58.18.

 

“Coach Nanami told me, ‘A jump isn’t just the takeoff. Don’t let your guard down until you’ve landed.’ But the moment I thought I had it, I relaxed too much.”

 

In the free skate, placements 7th through 12th are grouped together, so those skaters usually skate among the top juniors from each country. For Hanyu, who started in a lower group for the short program, it was like being suddenly thrown into the deep end.

 

During the six-minute warm-up before the free skate, he thought he was going through his usual motions, but he was stunned by the speed of the skaters around him.

 

“I was so focused on dodging them, I couldn’t do much else. In Japan, if you get close to another skater, they’ll usually move out of the way. But here, they just come straight at you... I was doing my best just to stay out of the way. It was scary.”

 

He hardly landed any jumps during the warm-up. In that flustered state, he went into the main program, and fell on the opening triple Axel.

 

Then he remembered Coach Abe’s advice: “Practice is practice. The real thing is the real thing. Focus on each individual element.”

 

He reset his mindset immediately. When he landed his next jump, a wave of applause broke out in the arena.

 

Once he heard the applause, the switch flipped inside him, and the boy entered his zone.

In the second half of his free skate, when he executed his signature Ina Bauer, the audience responded with a wave of even louder applause. He arched his back more than ever, almost as if to say, “Take a good look at this!”

 

“It makes me really happy to be on the world stage and to be applauded for something that’s uniquely mine.”

 

Then, he let slip a comment that revealed a quiet ambition nestled deep inside:

“Right now, more than 99% of the world doesn’t know who I am. I want to work hard so that even 1% more people get to know me.”

 

He placed 13th in the free skate, finishing 12th overall. The champion, Adam Rippon, successfully landed two triple Axels, as did second-place finisher Michal Březina. It had been a very high-level competition.

 

“I couldn’t stay focused during the six-minute warm-up. That’s still something I need to work on. But I think this experience will help me next year. Dennis Ten is just a year older than me, but his skating is so beautiful. I really admire him. He’s so fast too. My first goal is to catch up to him.”

 

The day after the competition, March 1, happened to be Baba Marta Day, a Bulgarian celebration marking the arrival of spring. People traditionally exchange red-and-white woven charms called Martenitsa with family and loved ones, wishing for health and happiness.

 

Stepping outside the hotel, he found the streets lined with stalls selling Martenitsa trinkets. The city was wrapped in red and white, creating a festive, vibrant atmosphere. It was as if the town itself was cheering on this 14-year-old boy setting out to conquer the remaining “99% of the world” that didn’t yet know his name. He compared several small, charming Martenitsa keychains and bracelets before buying some as souvenirs for his classmates back home.

 

“I was only able to come here as the All-Japan Junior Champion thanks to the support of so many people, my parents, of course, Coach Nanami Abe, the Japan Skating Federation, and so many others. I’m truly grateful, and I want to work hard so I can come back to the World Juniors next year.”

 

And so ended his first season challenging for the title of Junior World Champion. Tucking away the fierce competitiveness that had driven him so far, he looked back with gratitude on the ten years of skating that had brought him here.

 

Be confident, but never overconfident.

 

After placing 12th at the World Juniors, Hanyu held what he called a "one-man reflection meeting."

 

This reflection session, a long-standing routine that has continued for over ten years since his childhood, would go on to become a key method that led the boy to become an undisputed champion.

 

On the flight home, he plunged into a cycle of intense reflection and internal questioning.

 

The sting of defeat returned vividly. Then came a realization:

“Losing hurts. And if I don’t want to feel that hurt, then practice is the only answer. That pain, that frustration, is what drives me to train harder.”

 

He understood clearly that frustration fuels motivation. And so, he decided to deliberately say the words “I’m frustrated” to himself, over and over again.

 

“Whenever practice gets hard, I’ll remember how frustrated I felt at the World Juniors.”

 

Then he analyzed the real cause of his loss.

 

“What I lacked was mental strength. When I was a novice, I had never competed at a stage this big, so even though I came in wanting to win, I just ended up realizing how much I still had to work on. That frustration... I could only experience it because I moved up from novice to junior. I learned just how amazing the top skaters in the world are. Ah, but still, it frustrates me so much to know how weak I was!”

 

Indeed, it wasn’t just a technical issue. What also held him back was a feeling of intimidation, something he experienced for the first time. He had landed his triple Axel in Japanese competitions before, but in this unfamiliar setting, he couldn’t bring out his true ability.

 

“I won the 2008 Japan Junior Championships without needing to land a triple Axel, so I must be improving in overall skating. That’s why it’s important to keep building confidence, but not to become overconfident.”

 

'Be confident, but don’t be overconfident.' nThat paradoxical phrase was already characteristic of Hanyu even as a junior. There is not just one answer to anything in the world. You can't stick to just one strategy for winning. Hanyu instinctively sensed this, and after saying "Be confident," he began to restrain himself by saying "But don't be overconfident."

 

Hanyu dove into training for the next season with total focus.

 

But of course, it wasn’t just about practicing blindly. His method was always to reflect and use that reflection to grow, even if it meant just one step at a time. Taking the lessons learned from the World Junior Championships, he made a conscious shift in his mindset.

 

In the off-season, he shared his thoughts with the media:

“I’ve learned to value each day of practice. Rather than just skating more seconds, I want to land even one more successful jump. That’s why, if I go a whole day without landing a single clean jump, it really gets to me. And then I remember the World Juniors. That competition changed me. It made me want to become stronger from the bottom of my heart.”

 

Who do I want to become? Who can I become? He was still feeling his way forward, nurturing the desire that had taken root inside him. It was the spring of his 14th year.

 

From junior to senior in just two years.

 

He swore to make every lesson from the 2009 World Juniors count. Training became his whole world, commuting only between home, rink, and school. He didn’t even own a cell phone. His young heart was so focused on the world stage that he’d effectively cut himself off from the rest of it.

 

Entering his second year as a junior at 14, Hanyu quickly became unstoppable.

 

He won two consecutive Junior Grand Prix events, and claimed victory at the Junior Grand Prix Final as well. In November 2009, he also won the All-Japan Junior Championships in Yokohama, earning another shot at the World Junior Championships.

 

Though the season was a blur of momentum and triumph, it was the All-Japan Junior Championships that gave him a lasting lesson he would never forget.

 

In the short program, he landed a perfect triple Axel, scoring 76.00 points and taking the lead. With an 11.35-point gap over second-place Kento Nakamura, his victory seemed all but guaranteed.

 

And that’s when a new desire arose in the heart of the boy who had fought so hard to overcome the pain of the 2009 World Juniors.

 

“I’ll go clean in the free. I’ll land both of my triple Axels.”

 

He had already scored 201.15 points at a Junior Grand Prix event in October and felt confident. Now, he wanted to prove that he could break 200 points in a domestic event too.

 

However, to borrow Hanyu's words, at this point he was "overconfident."

 

He stumbled on his opening triple Axel. And with that one misstep, his momentum crumbled.

 

“I can’t go clean anymore.”

 

He went on to make mistakes on his triple flip and triple loop, and even fell on a triple Axel. In total, he missed four out of seven jumps.

His free skate score was 118.15, placing him second in that segment. Though his lead in the short allowed him to win overall, the score was actually lower than the previous year’s.

 

Naturally, he couldn’t accept a version of himself that felt like he was regressing. At the press conference, despite his win, he appeared with a serious expression.

 

“I’m really frustrated. Even if I couldn’t land the triple Axel, I should’ve been able to make up for it elsewhere. But today, I was thinking too much about going clean. I knew that what matters most is executing each element, one by one… But because I was thinking about breaking 200 points, this is the result I got.”

 

Even though he won, he was not satisfied in the least.

 

“Today, after watching the wonderful performance by (Nakamura) Kento who skated after me, I honestly couldn’t believe I was in first place. I did win, but the goal of this All-Japan Junior Championship wasn’t just to win, it was also to figure out what I could take away from it in preparation for the Junior Grand Prix Final in December and the World Junior Championships in March 2010. In the end, I think this was a moment meant to make me taste my own weaknesses now, while I still can.”

 

Mistakes would become fuel for his next performance. There was no time to sulk or feel sorry for himself.

 

On the way back from Yokohama to Sendai, the usual self-reflection session began. He thought about the gap between how well he had been doing in practice over the past few weeks and how he performed in the actual competition. He also recalled the All-Japan Junior Championships from the previous year.

 

He compared the self of last week and the self of today. The self from a year ago and the self of now. By looking honestly at himself across time, he naturally began to develop his ability to manage his mental state before competitions.

 

There is nothing stronger than Hanyu with a calm and focused mind.

 

Sure enough, in December, he became the Junior Grand Prix Final Champion, and in March 2010, he claimed victory at the World Junior Championships held in The Hague, Netherlands.

 

It was a double win for Japan, as Kanako Murakami also won the women’s title. Together, they etched their names into the lineage of Japan’s skating legacy. Welcomed by a countless number of flashes and smiles, he objectively viewed himself as the junior world champion.

 

“I want to see what the senior level is like soon.”

 

The moment he cleared one goal, his sights were already set on the next. That constant hunger, that relentless ambition, is what carried him
from junior to senior in just two years.

 

 

[yuzurujenn]

*machine translation, inaccuracies exist. please do not reply other than translations here*

 

Chapter 2: Senior debut 2010-2011 Age 15 to 16

 

Spoiler

In the fall of 2010, he made his senior debut. His very first competition was the NHK Trophy, where he would compete alongside stars like Daisuke Takahashi and Takahito Mura. Naturally, the tickets were completely sold out. It was the season following the Vancouver Olympics, and Japan’s figure skating fever was at its peak.

Promotional segments and special features about the NHK Trophy aired continuously on TV. As the reigning World Junior Champion moving up to the senior level, Hanyu was frequently spotlighted in the media as “Japan’s next ace.”

 

For his programs, Hanyu chose “White Legend”, arranged from Swan Lake, for his short program, and Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen for the free. Both pieces showcased his fluidity and passion to great effect.

 

The NHK Trophy was held at the Nippon Gaishi Sports Plaza in Nagoya, and the ladies’ events began a day earlier. On October 22, the ladies’ short program took place. Hanyu, resting in his hotel room in preparation for his own short program the next day, watched the competition on TV.

 

Kanako Murakami, who had won the World Junior Championships alongside Hanyu that February, was also making her senior debut. Hanyu watched her skate with a sense of camaraderie, as a fellow skater of the same generation.

 

Murakami performed her upbeat program to “Jumpin’ Jack” in a charming black costume with pink polka dots, brimming with youthful energy. Her fresh, lively performance earned her second place in the short program. An impressive debut.

 

At the time, Mao Asada had just changed coaches and was struggling with consistency, so the media quickly hailed Murakami as “the new idol of Japanese women’s figure skating.” That day, she was the star.

 

For Hanyu, the NHK Trophy was not only his senior debut but also a competition featuring Japan’s top male skater, Daisuke Takahashi. Originally, he hadn’t felt pressured to make the podium, but seeing Murakami perform so well made him suddenly nervous. He reminded himself to keep things as normal as possible.

 

Back in his hotel room, he tried to relax by playing video games, but sleep wouldn’t come. Though he got into bed at 10 p.m., he lay there restlessly, watching the clock tick. The last time he checked, it was 1:30 a.m.

 

The next day: just before the short program.

 

“Make sure your shoulders are level, so your jump axis stays on the right side.”

 

Repeating those two reminders in his head, he made the sign of the cross over his body. This was a movement he’d developed based on advice from Coach Nanami Abe, something he had been doing since his first year as a junior. It was his routine to help him focus.

 

He struck a swan pose as he looked inward and centered himself.

 

He opened his program with a spectacular triple Axel, as if throwing open the door to the senior stage. With height, flow, and sharp rotation from his lean frame, it was a graceful and elegant jump. He continued his performance with emotional intensity and delivered a clean skate, placing 5th in the short program.

 

“I was able to get into my own world. I still need more speed, but I was able to skate with feeling. It’s a powerful piece of music, so next time, I want to express that power from deep within.”

 

Successful quadruple jump in first senior competition

The following day’s free skate included a challenge: his first attempt at a quad toe loop in competition. In truth, his success rate in practice wasn’t yet high.

 

At his home rink in Sendai, Hanyu was the top skater, and there were no others practicing quads around him. He had little opportunity to observe the jump live while training.

 

But here, during official practices, top skaters like Takahashi and Mura were landing quads one after another.

 

Seeing it in person was entirely different from watching video. The timing of their breathing, the sounds of their blades shaving the ice, the soft elasticity of their full-body motion, he could sense it all up close.

 

Hanyu began visualizing himself in Takahashi and Mura’s movements, entering the jump path with their image in mind. He forgot the overthinking that had been holding him back and focused only on their rhythm. In the morning’s official practice, he simply followed those images and landed a clean quad toe loop. It felt like their quad jumps had fused with his own body.

 

He was overjoyed. That evening, the long-awaited performance began. The venue was packed, and the energy inside the Nippon Gaishi Sports Plaza was electric.

 

Just before the program, Coach Abe kept her words simple: focus only on “getting onto the right axis.” There was no pressure. He had nothing to lose.

 

As the powerful strains of Zigeunerweisen filled the arena, Hanyu opened with a beautiful quad toe loop. It was supple and fluid, as if his body had known how to do it for years.

 

He couldn’t help but smile with joy.

 

But senior competition isn’t that easy. Executing the quad, something he rarely landed even in practice, had drained him more than expected. A successful quad requires tight muscle control to fight against centrifugal force. It’s physically demanding.

 

He managed to land his triple Axel midway through the program with sheer willpower, but the moment he did, his focus broke. He missed the landing on the following triple Lutz, and the loop became a single. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he pushed through the final step sequence.

 

“Landing the quad wore out my legs and drained my stamina. I lost concentration after the Axel. The program is supposed to express a range of emotions starting with sadness and ending in joy, but this time I ended up expressing exhaustion.”

 

He said this with a wry smile, breathing heavily.

 

“But landing such a clean quad toe loop in this intense atmosphere was more than I expected. And I also managed a triple Axel + triple combo in the second half. Now I just need to build stamina. I want to skate better at the next event and aim for the podium. Competing at the senior level really makes you feel like you’re representing Japan. Reaching the podium in a senior competition, that’s what a true podium finish is.”

 

His first senior competition. He absorbed all the stimulation and it led him to land his first quad. Everything he saw became fuel. This competition was also the starting point for his aggressive growth.

 

“I won’t lose. I'm going to be the best in the world!”

 

After the NHK Trophy, Hanyu could be seen holding 4-kg dumbbells in each hand, going up and down the stairs. For an hour each day, he trained hard, climbing until he was breathless.

 

“I realized during the NHK Trophy free skate that I didn’t have enough stamina. That’s when I started working on my core. Once I strengthened my core, my jumps started stabilizing.”

 

Until then, he had avoided off-ice strength training to keep from gaining muscle that would add weight. But now that he was over 170 cm tall and his body had matured, the timing felt right. At 15, he was beginning to transition from a boy to a young man, so he decided to begin building strength.

 

After finishing fourth at the NHK Trophy in October, Hanyu had his sights firmly set on the podium at the upcoming Rostelecom Cup in November.

 

“At my debut at NHK Trophy, I didn’t know how I’d be judged. But finishing fourth, and only about five points shy of the podium, I realized that I can fight at the senior level. I really want to make the podium at the next event in Russia.”

 

In November, Hanyu arrived at “Megasport” in Moscow, the venue for the Rostelecom Cup. Located in the outskirts of the city, the arena was shaped like a bowl and surrounded by colorful red, blue, and yellow seats, instantly giving off the unmistakable atmosphere of an overseas competition.

 

As official practice began, his desire to reach the podium made him hyperaware of the other skaters. Looking around at the roster, it was packed with skaters who landed quads with ease. At NHK, Hanyu had approached his quad attempts with a challenger’s mindset, absorbing jumps from skaters like Takahashi and Mura without overthinking. But now, he was aiming to land a quad for the second time in his life. Rivalry stirred inside him. He began paying attention to how others were doing, and how well they were jumping.

 

In the short program, he didn’t include a quad and skated cleanly, earning 70.24 points and placing sixth. Being in sixth place meant that he’d skate in the final group during the free program.

 

In the lead-up to the free skate, his eyes were once again on the quads of other competitors. And of course, when you’re overly focused on others, you’re not fully focused on yourself. That kind of scattered attention is no match for a quad jump.

 

At the start of the free skate, nerves got to him during the takeoff for the quad toe loop. He tensed up, the entry became shallow, and he reacted a split second too late once airborne.

 

It was a delay of just a fraction of a second. He quickly tightened his body and built his axis, managing to complete a full triple rotation and land the jump. He had anticipated the possibility of completely missing the timing and ending up with a single rotation or a fall, but the mistake that happened was unexpected.

 

Later in the program, he fell before a step sequence and couldn’t find his rhythm. The final score of 132.42 was lower than expected. Only after seeing his score did he realize he had also committed a rule violation.

 

According to the rules, only two types of triple jumps are allowed to be repeated. The triple Lutz + double toe loop in the second half was considered a “repetition violation” and received zero points. It was a mistake that cost him about 8 points. He had never made an error like this before.

 

Slumped in the Kiss & Cry, Coach Abe quietly told him, “Next time, let’s prepare a backup plan in case your quad ends up as a triple,” and Hanyu nodded silently.

 

But when he faced the press, his frustration outweighed any sense of regret.

 

“I always had the feeling that I didn’t want to lose to the quadruple jump. Even if I fell or died, I absolutely had to rotate the quad. That’s why I didn’t want to think about it turning into a triple, and I didn’t even simulate it. I didn’t want to admit that possibility existed.”

 

It was a statement true to Hanyu’s spirit. For an average skater, there’s a high chance that a slight lapse in confidence could cause a quad to turn into a triple during competition. That’s why most make sure to anticipate mistakes and simulate how to recover with triple jumps in the second half. But Hanyu believed that even considering such “slight weakness” meant you’d already lost.

 

“More than being upset about not having a contingency plan, what really gets to me is the fact that I didn’t rotate the quad. I can’t even remember the last time I did a triple toe loop. It’s frustrating.”

 

He would never say something as tame as “I’ll learn from this and have a backup plan next time.” To him, a strategy that assumed weakness was already a step backward. That wouldn’t count as overcoming anything.

 

“There are a lot of walls I still have to overcome. At the very top, there’s the wall of skaters like Patrick Chan and Daisuke Takahashi. But the very first big wall for me is landing the quad. I felt like I conquered that wall at NHK Trophy. That confidence turned into overconfidence. I convinced myself, ‘I can land quads.’ But I guess I overestimated myself. After all, NHK was still in Japan. Competing abroad is an entirely different experience. There's no point in regretting it, because you can't change the past. But quads are fun. It’s because they’re so difficult that they’re fun. I'll practice every day.”

 

He said this with clarity and composure. This was still his first season challenging the quad. The very fact that his “confidence had turned into overconfidence” was proof of just how fast he was growing.

 

“Next is the All Japan Championships. I swear I won’t skate like this again. I don’t care about the ranking, what matters is staying focused on myself. I’m going to refine my quads, build my stamina. I’ve got a lot to work on. It’s frustrating, but it’s fun. I’ll overcome all of it in this short time.”

 

As he answered reporters, Hanyu glanced at the monitor showing final placements. Artur Gachinski, who had placed third at World Juniors the previous year, had finished sixth.

 

“Ugh. The Junior World Champion from last year losing to someone who placed third. I can't forgive myself for losing to a skater I beat once. It felt like I was being told, ‘The way I am now isn’t good enough.’ Ugh! Just thinking about it makes me angry at myself. But it’s because I have rivals like this that I can become stronger, and I have to include the quadruple jump even in the short program. What an intense era this is. I haven’t felt this frustrated in a long time.”

 

As expected, facing even stronger competitors in the senior division is more stimulating for him than last season, when he was winning consecutive titles at the All-Japan Junior Championships.

 

“I don’t care about being World Junior Champion anymore. No, I’m not a junior anymore. I won’t lose, I’ll going to become the real number one in the world. I already realized back at the NHK Trophy (in October) that I couldn’t keep fighting with the same mindset I had in juniors, but part of me still had that junior mindset left. This time, I felt like I was really made to realize that. Ah, I just want to hurry back to Japan and train. I don’t need to watch the exhibition, this practice rink is fine. I want to skate, run through my free program! My mind is already far ahead of me.”

 

He spoke his thoughts forcefully and quickly. Unable to sit still, he kicked his legs restlessly in the stadium seats, as if itching to move.

 

I'm so frustrated, I'm starting to feel happy.

 

Meeting a destined rival is something that happens really suddenly.

 

For Hanyu, who is the type of person who grows by being inspired by the skaters around him, the presence of a good rival will determine his future. The stronger the rival at that time, the more rapidly he will overcome the obstacles.

 

Even from his novice days in elementary school, there were many overseas skaters he saw as rivals. Among them, when he encountered Denis Ten at the 2009 World Junior Championships, he was immediately captivated. During official practice, he noticed the difference in Ten’s skating.

Denis Ten would later go on to win bronze at the 2014 Sochi Olympics. Hanyu had already recognized his talent.

 

“The way he skates is wonderful. He has speed, precise edges, and beautiful body lines. He’s only a year older than me, and I want to be able to surpass him,” he said, keeping a close eye on him throughout the competition.

 

He also took note of Artem Grigoriev, who placed third without even landing a triple Axel, and said the following at the venue:

 

“I went through a time when I struggled with the triple Axel, so I understand how he feels. But even without the Axel, his performance was the most memorable. I want to be the kind of skater people say they want to watch over and over again.”

 

However, as soon as he returned to Japan, he made a bold statement: “There wasn’t anyone in the junior ranks who I saw as a goal.”

 

“I want to beat Adam Rippon, the champion, and Michal Brezina, who came in second. I wouldn’t say they’re my goals, though.”

 

The following season, Hanyu won the World Junior Championships and moved up to the senior level in 2010 with high expectations. What seemed like a bold claim at the time had been a realistic target all along.

 

After entering seniors, his goals shifted again. When asked about Evgeni Plushenko and Johnny Weir, his idols from his junior days, he said without hesitation:

 

“They’re not idols anymore. I just think they’re amazing skaters. But they are definitely the ones I’d most like to emulate. Plushenko is my hero, and Johnny is like an idol.”

 

As someone who grows through rivalry, Hanyu needed a clear target among the senior skaters.

 

And then, he met one.

 

A skater he can’t compete with now, but someday he wants to surpass him and become a true rival. The moment came on November 19, 2010, at the Rostelecom Cup in Moscow.

 

Hanyu, who placed sixth in the short program, entered the top-six group for the free skate practice. And there was Patrick Chan.

 

He knew that Chan's skating skills were well-known as the "best in the world." But this was his first time seeing him live, his first time practicing alongside him.

 

Unable to contain himself, Hanyu couldn’t focus on his own quad practice. Instead, he trailed behind Chan on the ice. By following him, he could observe how Chan timed his movements, how deep he leaned into his edges, and how he generated speed. Just keeping up was a challenge. Even the deep edges of Chan’s footwork were enough to trip Hanyu up, but Chan maintained that speed and effortlessly landed a massive quad toe loop. It was overwhelming.

 

“Patrick’s incredible because he translates that amazing skating directly into his program. He pushes into the ice and maintains speed. Watching him made it clear. Unless I skate like that, I won't get the scores. Seeing a skater that strong in person is invaluable. It shows you exactly what’s required to get those kinds of component scores and move up the rankings.”

 

In the end, Hanyu placed 7th at the Rostelecom Cup. He had focused too much on Chan and other competitors and lost sight of himself.

 

Still, he felt he had gained something far more important than the placement.

 

“I’m really glad I came to the senior level. It’s so much fun. I’m so frustrated that I’m actually feeling happy. There’s still so much I can do to get stronger, and now I know exactly what kind of skating will lead to higher scores. I really believe I can become stronger.”

 

Hanyu wasn’t selected for the exhibition gala. But he had to return to the venue the next day for a media interview. There, he saw Chan and others practicing for the exhibition.

 

“"There’s no way I wouldn’t pay attention to Patrick. You can’t help but watch an amazing skater. Even watching from off the ice, he immediately catches your eye, and when you practice together, you can feel his aura. During practice, I even think, ‘I have to get out of his way.’ It’s like, ‘The world’s top has arrived! I have to move!’ Actually, I wish Patrick would carry me on his back while skating. If we were paired like in ice dance, I’d definitely trip and fall."

 

He spoke with a bit of modesty, but then strengthened his tone and said:

 

“But if I can beat the top of the world, that means I’ve reached the summit. I can’t help but look at him. Right now, I still have to get out of the way, but it’s fun because it means I still have a long way to go.

 

His rivals and admired skaters were all walls he believed without doubt he would someday overcome. Then, he suddenly imagined the landscape far beyond those endless walls.

 

“By the way, this is my first time coming to Russia. Each building is large, the area is wide, and there is a strong presence. In this country, the Olympics will be held in three years... Now that I have come this far, I want to participate in the Sochi Olympics. I will definitely come to Sochi!”

 

It was his first competition in Russia. Feeling the wind of rivalry, Hanyu left the venue, entrusting his dream to the Sochi Olympics that will be held in three and a half years.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*machine translation, inaccuracies exist. please do not reply other than translations here*

 

Chapter 3: In the days of the Great East Japan Earthquake 2011, Age 16 

 

Spoiler

The Impact of 3.11

 

His first year as a senior was a time of learning from every single experience. In December 2010, Hanyu turned 16 and placed a respectable fourth at the All-Japan Championships.

 

When he was selected for the Four Continents Championships held in Taipei in February 2011, he landed a beautiful quad toe loop and, despite it being his first time at the competition, won the silver medal. Returning from that dreamlike performance, he spoke of his season.

 

“I absolutely want to compete at the Sochi Olympics in 2014. I think I’ll definitely feel the pressure, since it would be my first Olympics, but I also think I’ll be able to really go all out while soaking in that atmosphere, with feeling of, ‘I’m skating at the Olympics!’ And at the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics, I’ll be 23, a great age, I think. That one, I’m aiming for gold.”

 

His words brimmed with excitement at the boundless possibilities ahead of him.

 

He tried to restart practice for the upcoming season, but the joy from his successful senior debut lingered so strongly, it left him unfocused and unmotivated to train.

 

“I kind of ended up with burnout syndrome. I landed my first clean quad toe loop in competition at the NHK Trophy in October 2010, and again at Four Continents in February 2011. So I had this careless attitude, like, ‘It’s okay if I don’t train for a while,’ and even when things weren’t going well, I practiced without really worrying about it.”

 

After Four Continents, his focus shifted to preparing for his school final exams, and he didn’t really get back into full training mode until March. By March 10, he finally began to feel that his quad toe and triple Axel were returning to form.

 

Then it happened. At 2:46 p.m. on March 11, a magnitude 9.0 earthquake struck eastern Japan. At the rink in Izumi Ward, Sendai City, where Hanyu was practicing, the shaking measured a strong 6 on the Japanese seismic scale. Since the area was originally a rice paddy with soft ground, the tremor felt even stronger. It was shaking so violently that it was hard even to stand.

 

The ice surface rippled violently. At first, he couldn’t even register that it was an earthquake.

 

In his skating boots, Hanyu evacuated the rink. Normally, you put blade guards on before stepping off the ice to avoid damaging the edges, but there wasn’t even time for that few seconds of precaution. Taking off his skates would take longer still, and there was no time to change into regular shoes.

 

His older sister, who had a part-time job at the rink, had just left and was walking home. His mother was at home, and his father was out of town for work.

 

His sister, immediately concerned for her younger brother’s safety, ran all the way back to the rink. After confirming he was safe, she ran home, brought their mother, and returned to the rink. Within an hour of the disaster, the three of them were reunited.

 

“My sister was the calmest and most composed. She checked on everyone and made sure we could all be together right away.”

 

But the real hardship began from there.

 

There was no water, no electricity, no gas. The supermarkets hadn’t reopened, and there was no way to get food. Gasoline had disappeared from gas stations, and all trains had stopped. Even just staying alive was no longer something to take for granted. They took refuge in the gymnasium of a local elementary school, which had been designated as an evacuation center. There, they listened to the radio and tried to understand what was happening.

 

Information about areas hit even harder than Sendai was impossible to ignore. There was no knowing what tomorrow would bring.

 

The only thing he could think was, “Just surviving is all I can do.” For days on end, he felt, “Maybe I should just give up on skating.”

 

Naturally, figuring out when or where he could resume skating wasn’t even on the table. The rink in Sendai had no prospect of reopening. His coach, Nanami Abe, was overwhelmed with checking on the safety of each of her students. Even though Hanyu was one of the top skaters in her group, it wasn’t a situation where he could expect special treatment.

 

During this time, Hanyu got in touch with his coach, Shoichiro Tsuzuki , who he had trained with as a child.

 

At the time, Coach Tsuzuki had relocated from Sendai to Yokohama, where he was coaching at the Kanagawa Skating Rink. He said he could take Hanyu in temporarily.

 

Ten days after the disaster, on March 20, Hanyu finally made his way to Kanagawa, with nothing but his damaged skate boots and the clothes on his back.

 

“I was planning to skate the very day I arrived, but at that exact moment, the ice resurfacing machine broke down. I thought, ‘Seriously, what now?’”

 

At skating rinks, the ice is smoothed with a resurfacing machine roughly every two hours. That very machine had broken.

 

The skates he had been wearing when the disaster struck were badly damaged during the evacuation. Sharpening them wasn’t enough to fully fix them. His equipment, like his body and spirit, was in pieces. Even so, he stepped back onto the precious ice for the first time in ten days.

 

He thought, “I probably won’t be able to jump at all on the first day,” but as expected, his body—trained since he was four years old—responded. There were moments that surprised those around him, like when he fell on a single loop, but he also landed a triple Axel. All he felt was deep gratitude toward the people who had helped him, and toward the ice itself.

 

Appearing in 60 Ice Shows

 

Though he managed to resume training in the short term, he couldn't make the Kanagawa Skating Rink his new base. The club’s membership was already full, with a months-long waitlist. And due to the quake, many other rinks in the Kanto region had shut down, leaving skaters scrambling to find places to train.

 

He was allowed to join one-hour private practice sessions in the early morning and evening, but those were emergency measures. It wasn’t a stable environment where Hanyu could train with peace of mind.

 

But for those who persist, opportunities emerge. Ice shows around the country began to reach out, hoping to offer even a bit of ice time. Performing in shows gave him a chance to practice during intermissions. His first appearance was at a charity ice show in Kobe on April 9.

 

He skated to many different pieces, but the one he performed most often was White Legend, a reimagined exhibition version of his senior debut program.

 

“I skated a lot of different programs, but I performed White Legend the most. It starts with a feeling of struggling, then gives an impression of spreading wings, and finally moves forward toward a new journey. That perfectly matched how I was feeling, and where I was at that time. Because I went through something so painful with the disaster, I think that’s why White Legend really came to life in performance.”

 

Including the shows through September, he performed about 60 times.

 

“Even though it was a show, it was still a real performance, so I had to stay focused, and I couldn’t just skip jumps. I had to skate through to the end. When it’s just your own practice, you tend to slack off, but performing in a real setting helped me build physical strength. Mentally, it was hard, but in the end, it became good off-season training, a new kind of conditioning.”

 

Even in the disaster-stricken environment, he still accepted it with a positive attitude. During a time when the entire country was in turmoil amid destruction and recovery, a new kind of strength was beginning to grow within him.

 

As a Skater, As a Native of Sendai

 

Using the ice shows as training, Hanyu steadily prepared physically and technically for the 2011–2012 season. But emotionally, it wasn’t that simple.

 

He was often introduced in the media and at shows as “a skater from Sendai who suffered through the disaster,” and was frequently asked to speak on behalf of the victims.

 

“The rink in Sendai had to close, but even in that situation, I hope people can see that I’ve been doing my best. If they can feel something from how I’m giving it everything I’ve got despite the disaster, that makes me happy.”

 

It was a model answer. But deep down, because he was a citizen of Sendai, he became acutely sensitive to words. His own comments began to feel off.

 

After the Great East Japan Earthquake struck on March 11, even in just the area surrounding Sendai, every aspect of daily life had changed dramatically.

 

The coastal area around Sendai Airport suffered the most severe tsunami damage in the city. The beach communities of Arahama in Wakabayashi Ward, Yuriage in Natori City, and the airport area in Iwanuma were known as the “Shonan of Tohoku” and had been popular spots for swimming and surfing. An 8-meter tsunami struck the area, sweeping away nearly everything but the elementary and middle schools. The Sendai Tobu Road, a highway running along the coast 2.5 kilometers inland, acted as a seawall. Everything east of the highway was completely engulfed by the tsunami, while the area to the west escaped its damage.

 

Sendai Airport, located 14 kilometers south of Sendai Station along the coast, was submerged. About 1,600 people were stranded on the third floor of the terminal building, and dozens of small planes and helicopters were washed away into surrounding areas.

 

Even so, because it was a critical part of the infrastructure, the airport’s flight operations were prioritized, and some routes resumed by April 13. This meant Hanyu had to travel by plane when performing in far-off shows.

 

For Hanyu, who lived in central Sendai City, getting to Sendai Airport meant exiting the Sendai Tobu Road at the "Sendai Airport Interchange" and driving straight along the road that leads directly to the coast. It was during such a drive, riding in a car being driven by a family member and heading toward Sendai Airport, that Hanyu witnessed a scene he could hardly believe with his own eyes.

 

“You’re not supposed to be able to see the sea from here. But... I can see it.”

 

That place had once been a residential neighborhood stretching all the way to the coastline 2.5 kilometers away. Now, not a single house remained. The sludge-covered land stretched out in a full 180-degree view, and far in the distance, the black, churning sea came into view. On either side of the road were mountains of debris—walls, roofs, things no longer identifiable.

 

It was a scene that far surpassed the words he had read in newspapers, like “cruel scars” and “severe damage.”

 

Hanyu himself wasn’t directly affected by the tsunami. But precisely because he witnessed the devastation so close to home in Sendai, he began to seriously reflect once more on what he, as a figure skater, should be doing. Would showing people his skating truly encourage those affected by the disaster? Was it really that simple?

 

Because he had seen the extent of the devastation in the disaster areas, words like "I want to inspire the victims with my performance" began to feel hollow.

 

“No one can truly grasp the full severity of the damage. How could anyone say with confidence that my skating would genuinely help the disaster areas? Saying I want to encourage people by showing them how hard I’m working, that’s just self-serving. But then, is volunteering what I should be doing to support them? No, that’s not it either. So what should Yuzuru Hanyu do as a figure skater...?”

 

He struggled with his identity. On the one hand, as someone from Sendai representing disaster victims; on the other, as a skater facing a crucial second season as a senior competitor. Caught between these two roles, his heart was in turmoil.

 

Seeing firsthand the catastrophic state of the disaster areas made him painfully aware that he couldn’t be of real, tangible help. And it was precisely because he felt the emptiness of phrases like "for the disaster victims" that he began to return to the mindset of a pure athlete.

 

“After all, I'll be competing as an athlete. I may be a representative of the disaster victims, but the reason I am sent to compete is not because I am a victim, but because I am a chosen skater. I don’t want to forget the pride of being from Sendai, but I have to make sure I am not swept away by the label of 'disaster victim.' I have to skate well as an athlete. I am not a representative of the disaster victims. I am a figure skater representing Japan."

 

He repeated these words to himself over and over again.

 

By the middle of the off-season, the administrative procedures for the 2011–12 season began. Despite being affected by the disaster and having no home rink, spending unreal days moving from one ice show to another, he was designated as a special strengthened athlete for the next season, and entries for competitions were being decided. Gradually, he began to face the reality of being a competitive skater again.

 

In the summer, the new season’s “Japan jersey” arrived. The jersey, white with gold and black stripes, had the word “JAPAN” written in red letters across the back. When he held that jersey in his hands, a tightening excitement ran through his body.

 

In the summer, he received the new season’s Japan national team jacket. The white jacket with gold and black lines had the word “JAPAN” boldly printed in red on the back. Holding it in his hands, a wave of pride and determination surged through his body.

 

“Ah, I get to compete as a representative of Japan again... After living on the edge, not even knowing if I’d be able to keep skating after the disaster, being able to represent my country again makes me truly happy.”

 

He remembered the first time he received a Japan team jacket when he went to Finland for his first international competition in fourth grade. That was the moment he felt he had finally become part of Team Japan. The joy he felt then came rushing back.

 

For Hanyu, who was forced to repeatedly face the conflict of whether he was a disaster victim or a skater, this feeling became a trigger to remember his true self.

 

He began skating at the age of four, a little boy who followed closely behind his older sister. As he practiced at the "Konami Sports Club Izumi" in the northern part of Sendai City, within walking distance from his home (formerly known as Izumi DOSC Ice Arena), he quickly became a standout figure locally. He was coached by Shoichiro Tsuzuki, who had also trained Minoru Sano, the first Japanese medalist at the World Championships, and under his guidance, his talent grew at an accelerated pace.

 

Coach Tsuzuki was known for his demanding practice regimen. Hanyu would train in the morning, go to school, then take private lessons after class, and train again in the evening. His days were spent entirely between the rink and the classroom.

 

By fourth grade, his skating had naturally improved to a high level, which boosted his overall performance scores. He went on to win the All-Japan Novice Championship and took first place in a novice competition in Finland as well.

 

"At that time, I realized that practice is important, and I gained confidence that if I practice hard, I can perform well in competitions. From then on, I started thinking, 'I love practicing,' (laughs). I thought that I had to enjoy skating."

 

He once again remembered the time when he could practice as much as he wanted and truly enjoyed participating in the competitions he loved.

 

By Saying ‘I Want to Win,’ I Create My Own Pressure

 

A victim of the disaster, and a skater. Gradually, he was beginning to regain a sense of responsibility as an athlete, but whenever he was interviewed by the media, he was repeatedly asked to give comments as a “disaster victim.”

 

One day in August, while answering interviews, he had the opportunity to repeatedly put into words what was in his heart. By organizing the feelings inside his mind, he once again sorted out what his true feelings really were.

 

“I’m sloppy, I get flustered easily, and I’m a classic B-type personality where I just go my own way. So when people say 'Do your best,' it makes me happy, and I think, 'Alright, I’ll do my best.' I want to be praised by everyone. It’s not that I have to meet expectations, but I absolutely will meet them. It’s not about winning or losing against pressure, but about converting pressure inside my brain into positive thinking so I don’t feel it too much. Of course, there have been many times I was crushed by pressure, but I should be able to carry as much pressure as I want and turn that into motivation."

 

He also spoke about something he had realized thanks to performing in so many ice shows. Normally, during the off-season, he would only see his coach and his local rinkmates. But by continuously performing in shows, he constantly met top skaters and media people. Everyone was concerned about him as a disaster victim and would say things like, “It’s amazing just to compete.” But those words did not motivate him at all.

 

“Of course, when I think about the disaster area, I want people to be happy seeing me healthy and doing well. And I understand that people will naturally ask about the disaster before competitions. But a competition is still a competition, and in the world of sports, that means responsibility. I’m a figure skater, so I have to compete as a representative of figure skating. I want to focus on my performance as a skater. And then, maybe during the post-skate bow or when I sit in the Kiss & Cry, my feelings for the disaster area can be conveyed. If I do my best, show my ability, get results, and everyone is happy to see that, then I have to prioritize being an athlete, right? Having gone through the disaster and thought about many things, my feelings as a figure skater have actually grown stronger. What used to be a vague sense of just being a skater has now become a clear image of what being a skater really means."

 

Putting all those conflicting emotions into words brought him a sense of peace and resolution.

 

After a long and intense inner struggle, Hanyu made up his mind.

 

“There’s so much media attention now, and precisely because people are watching, I feel I have to say ‘I want to win’ as an athlete. By saying I want to win, I create my own pressure. If I lose after saying that, it’s embarrassing. So I push myself even harder. I throw myself at the challenge by making bold statements. It’s not the media forcing me to say it. I say it myself, to tell myself, ‘This is the mindset I need to have.’ Sometimes, even in TV interviews, I get so nervous my mind goes blank. But in those moments, the words that come out are often what I truly feel. And once I’ve said them out loud, they kind of stay with me, like the power of words. That’s when I start to think, 'I’m definitely going to do this.' Just thinking something isn’t enough, our brains forget. But if I say it, I might taste the humiliation of defeat, but the joy of achieving it is that much greater. Without that kind of motivation, you can’t make things happen, right?”

 

Just before the season officially began in October, Hanyu tucked away the label of “disaster victim” deep in his heart and appeared at the press conference with the spirit of a determined warrior.

 

“I’m still from a disaster-affected area, and that hasn’t changed. But rather than focusing on that, when I step into a competition, I skate as a skater. As a representative of Japan, I now feel a real sense of responsibility. More than anything, I have to put my ability first. Of course, it would be wonderful if the people who watch feel happy or motivated because of it. But first and foremost, I want to prioritize winning.”

 

It had taken a little time for the 16-year-old to be able to say aloud what had always been his true drive: I want to win. In order to reclaim the fierce spirit he had nearly lost in the Great East Japan Earthquake, he had to face his inner self more honestly than ever, and look only at the strongest parts of who he was.

 

And by the time the season began, Yuzuru Hanyu was back—running on full adrenaline.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*machine translation, inaccuracies exist. please do not reply other than translations here*

 

Chapter 4: One year after the disaster 2011-2012 Age 16 to 17

 

Spoiler

“I Will Absolutely, Absolutely Go to Win at Rostelecom Cup”

 

After overcoming the conflicts he felt after the earthquake, Hanyu started the 2011-2012 season with a "strong desire to win" in his heart, and spoke of his aspirations for the season.

 

"First of all, I want to go to the World Championships this year. I don't know what will happen in the GP Final because only the top six make it, but going to the Final and the World Championships will lead to a step up towards the Sochi Olympics three years from now. If I don't overcome that wall, I will never be able to see the Sochi Olympics."

 

His concrete goal for the 2011–12 season was to include a quadruple jump not just in the free skate but in the short program as well. In reality, he had only landed a quad successfully in competition twice so far, at the free skate of the 2010 NHK Trophy and the free skate of the 2011 Four Continents. It was not yet stable. But looking at the global level in men’s skating, he knew one quad in the free skate alone wouldn’t be enough to compete.

 

“To level up even more, I added a quad to my short program too. I just focus on keeping the flow and landing it cleanly. My goal is to reach the Grand Prix Final first.”

 

For that season after the disaster, he chose Scriabin’s Etude “Pathétique” for his short program and the soundtrack from Romeo + Juliet for his free skate.

 

His first Grand Prix event of the series was the Cup of China, held in Shanghai in November. It was his first time attempting a quad in the short, and his first Grand Prix event since the earthquake, so his motivation was sky-high. With his focus fully locked onto the competition, he peaked perfectly for this event. He landed his first-ever short program quad cleanly, scoring 81.37 points and starting off in second place.

 

But then his mind started to waver.

 

Qualification for the Grand Prix Final is based on points earned in two of the six Grand Prix events. Depending on how other skaters do, the usual cut-off is around “1st and 4th” or “2nd and 2nd.” If he could stay in second at the Cup of China, the pressure for his second event would drop significantly.

 

That "2nd place" was within reach.

 

In the free skate, he nailed the opening quad toe loop and the triple Axel. If he could just land the quadruple, he had absolute confidence in the triple axel. That's why he deliberately included the big move of a triple axel + triple toe loop in the second half of his performance.

 

With confidence, he launched into the second-half triple Axel. He somehow landed it on one foot, but lacked momentum. His stamina was already spent. Still, he trusted himself. He didn’t play it safe by downgrading the combination to a double; he went for the planned triple toe loop, and fell.

 

That fall drained the last of his focus and energy. He fell on the following triple Lutz too. His final jump was reduced to a double.

 

The moment he finished his performance, he forced a wry smile.

 

“I was so confident in my triple Axel, but…”

 

He slumped his shoulders on the ice.

 

When he checked his score in the Kiss & Cry, he saw that he had dropped to fourth in the free skate, putting him fourth overall. The last skater to go was Gachinski, who had been first in the short, so it seemed certain he would drop to fifth overall. In the press interview, he repeated “I’m frustrated” over and over. He was convinced making the Grand Prix Final was now almost impossible.

 

But when he checked the final results without any expectations, he was still fourth. Gachinski had made even more mistakes and had dropped to fifth overall.

 

“If I win the Rostelecom Cup, I can still make the Final. So all I have to do is win. That’s all there is to it—simple!”

 

Of course, winning a Grand Prix event is anything but simple. Since moving up to seniors, his results had been fourth and seventh last season, and now fourth at the Cup of China. Yet he had nurtured a straightforward, unshakably strong heart that could declare it was “simple.”

 

His hope for the Grand Prix Final stayed alive. His switch to full battle mode was flipped.

 

He declared to the reporters:

 

“I will absolutely, absolutely go to win at Rostelecom Cup. I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

 

“The more frustrating it is, the more I gain.”

 

After returning to Japan from Shanghai, Hanyu spent the roughly two weeks until the Rostelecom Cup doing nothing but analyzing the causes of his defeat. This was his usual “reflection session.” Because he had placed fourth at the Cup of China, he had been feeling down, but when he took a careful look at the score sheet, his score was 226.3 points — not so bad. Moreover, the gap with third place was only 0.22 points, with second place 0.58 points, and with first place just 1.96 points. It had been an extremely close contest.

 

“It’s too frustrating. If it weren’t for just one mistake after the second-half triple Axel, the result would have been different. I was made painfully aware of my lack of stamina. But even so, even the last jump, I should have been able to do it with determination! It’s like I threw away the medal with my own hands.”

 

When he realized that in the second half, if he had stayed calm, they were mistakes he could have recovered from, that frustration doubled.

 

His determination to "jump a triple axel at all costs " usually worked to his advantage. His confidence and competitive spirit were both strengths. However, when he fell, it turned into a weakness: "I was so frustrated that I lost my composure."

 

"Desire" and "composure". You can't win with just one. It was the moment he realized how difficult it is to balance these two opposing states of mind.

 

“In the end, stamina, technique, mental strength, everything is important. To go for the win, it’s not enough to just land the quad, or just to go all out recklessly. I need the composure to stay fully focused until the very end. It’s really frustrating. But the more frustrating it is, the more I gain.”

 

In his daily practice, he kept saying the same words to himself:

 

“I will beat the ‘me at Cup of China’ who was mentally weak. I’m not trying to beat someone else. I will become stronger than the me of that day.”

 

Meanwhile, memories of last season’s Rostelecom Cup came back. It was the encounter with Patrick Chan, the reigning world champion and an eternal rival. He had just stared at Chan’s practice the whole time and failed to focus on himself, ending up in seventh place.

 

At that time, it had still been a good lesson for him, but this season, aiming for victory, he couldn’t afford to get distracted by others.

 

"Last year, I was more focused on the idea of ‘leveling up during the Rostelecom Cup.’ But that’s not good enough, is it, me? Learning from rivals during a competition is fine, but that’s something you should reflect on and realize after the event is over. The fact that I couldn’t focus on myself during official practice, doesn’t that mean I wasn’t seriously trying to win? Alright, for this year’s Rostelecom Cup, I’ll focus on myself. What’s important is staying fully focused on myself in everything, from practice to the actual competition."

 

His mental goal was firmly set. Naturally, his mind settled.

 

“No matter how much rivalry I feel, or if I make mistakes along the way, I’ll focus on myself until the very end.”

 

It is by holding multiple mental aspects together that one truly fights as a senior skater. He was about to open the door to a new world.

 

GP Debut Victory by 0.03 Points

 

Back in Moscow’s multi-purpose arena, Megasport, for the first time in a year. Hanyu's heart was calm, determined to show how much he had grown since last year.

 

In the short program, he stepped out of the opening quadruple toe loop and put his hand down. But he was not shaken at all.

 

He focused on each element one by one. He landed all remaining jumps cleanly; the spins were beautiful, the step sequence powerful.

 

As a result, he earned the highest level 4 for all spins and step sequence, and scored 82.78 points — starting in second place. Even with the mistake on the quad, he surpassed his Cup of China short program score.

 

The next day’s free skate also showed unwavering focus.

 

He missed the opening quad, but landed the remaining seven jumps perfectly. What was new this time was that he adjusted his jump layout mid-program. For example, deciding not to do a combination after the triple Lutz when the landing felt slightly off, or adding a double to the triple loop to make up for it, calmly adapting on the fly.

 

Meanwhile, short program leader Jeremy Abbott made multiple mistakes in the free. Javier Fernández, who had been fourth in the short, landed both his quad Salchow and quad toe loop and skated to his full potential.

 

As a result, Jeremy placed first in the short program and fifth in the free skate, finishing third overall. Fernández placed fourth in the short and first in the free, finishing second overall. And remarkably, Hanyu, who placed second in both the short and the free, claimed victory with a total score of 241.66. The difference in points between him and 2nd place Javier Fernandez was just 0.3 points, so it was a very close victory.

 

“Because I struggled with losing by less than one point at the Cup of China, I really thought I must value every single point, every two points. This time, it ended up being a contest decided by 0.03 points, so if I hadn’t added the double to the second-half triple loop, I definitely would have lost. I truly felt again that it’s so important to stay focused until the end and to skate through while judging calmly. I was able to win against my own desire to just jump recklessly.”

 

It was his fourth Grand Prix event, and his first medal. And it was gold. His qualification for the Grand Prix Final was the result of this new strategy of “winning over his own desire.”

 

"It's not so much that I'm surprised because it's my first time winning, but it's my first time on the podium at all! It still doesn't feel real. But I'm more than happy to be going to the GP Final. It was a great experience to be able to go after coming in 4th in the first event."

 

At the awards ceremony, after receiving his trophy and medal, he immediately ran over to his coach Nanami Abe. Then he tried to put the medal around her neck, but at that moment, the pointed end of the trophy accidentally poked Abe’s head. The two of them laughed awkwardly.

 

“It looked like it hurt to get poked in the head, so I felt sorry. But for me, when I win a medal, it’s my own rule to put it on my coach. I’ve come this far thanks to so many people’s support. After the earthquake, I have also felt the warmth of Miyagi and the warmth of Japan. It is not by my own power alone.”

 

Then, when he returned to the hotel, he put the gold medal around the neck of his mother, who supports him the closest.

 

“I’m embarrassed to do it in front of everyone. But this is the most important routine for me.”

 

Chasing the Back of the Ace

 

On December 7th, he celebrated his 17th birthday in Quebec City, Canada. His first Grand Prix Final appearance came at the young age of 17 years and 3 days for the short program, and 17 years and 4 days for the free skate. Moreover, out of the six finalists, Hanyu barely made it in as the sixth and final qualifier. It was a competition where he simply chased the backs of the top skaters.

 

World champion Patrick Chan, Japan’s ace Daisuke Takahashi, the rapidly rising Javier Fernández of Spain, American champion Jeremy Abbott, and Michal Brezina of the Czech Republic. They are all skaters who not only can perform quadruple jumps but also receive high praise for their skating skills and artistic expression beyond just their jumps.

 

However, because every competitor is a top skater, even a small mistake can completely change the makeup of the podium. tThat is the fun but also the fear of the Grand Prix Final. For Hanyu, the youngest at the event, if he skated his best, the possibility of a podium finish was by no means impossible.

 

But while the media hyped him up with “Can Hanyu get his first medal?”, his own mindset had not reached that point yet. Rare for the usually highly ambitious Hanyu, this time he was simply happy to be at the unexpected big stage of the Grand Prix Final for the first time.

 

Facing five top skaters whom he had still thought of as a faraway wall, Hanyu’s goal was to feel the distance between himself and skaters like Takahashi and Chan. Meanwhile, Daisuke Takahashi, coming in as a former world champion, was aiming for his first Grand Prix Final victory this season.

 

The difference in fighting spirit showed even in their behavior at the airport. Takahashi would stretch whenever he had a spare moment, whether after getting off the plane or while moving around, always taking care of his body without neglect. He had a personal trainer and nutritionist, visibly showing a well-planned “I’m heading to compete” attitude.

 

In contrast, Hanyu, as usual, listened to his program music with his earphones on during the flight, trying to relax and stay still as much as possible.

 

Of course, this partly comes from the difference in athlete type, but whether one goes as a champion or as a challenger, the small difference in mindset showed up as a difference in attitude. It was almost like a foreshadowing of the battle that was about to begin.

 

At the Grand Prix Final: in the short program, Hanyu stepped out of his quadruple toe loop and scored 79.33 points, placing fourth. At that point, he was only 1.93 points behind Fernández in third.

 

However, the fighting spirit of “I’m going to win” did not arise. Above all, the feeling of “I’m happy to be able to compete in the Final” was stronger, and he focused on delivering a good performance. The fighting spirit to beat someone and the calmness to focus on oneself are opposing things. In this competition, unusually, the feeling of “focusing on myself” naturally became stronger.

 

In the free skate, after landing the opening quadruple jump, he landed the following triple Axel with beautiful flight distance, flow, and lightness — it had everything. Except for the final triple Salchow, he cleanly landed all seven of his jumps. His performance, overflowing with youthful energy, captivated the audience.

 

The moment he finished his performance, he was so happy that he covered his cheeks with both hands. While being praised with a full standing ovation, he bowed deeply many times.

 

His score was 166.49 points, a new personal best, and for the free skate alone, he ranked third. The moment he saw the score, he clapped his hands with joy and hugged Coach Abe. His total score was 245.82 points; considering the skaters who would perform afterward, a medal was unlikely, but he was fully satisfied.

 

On the other hand, Takahashi had two jump mistakes in the short program, so he started out slightly behind in 5th place despite the narrow margin. In the free skate, he also made a mistake on the opening quadruple jump, causing the audience to let out a sigh of “Ahh.”

 

But this was where Japan's ace, Takahashi, got his act together. "I won't make any more mistakes from here on out. I can't lose," he said, and his fighting spirit was ignited. He successfully completed all the remaining jumps. In fact, his performance became more powerful the second half of the program, captivating the audience.

 

As a result, Takahashi delivered a dignified performance, placing second in the free skate and winning the silver medal overall.

 

Hanyu had a pattern of “succeeding in the quadruple jump but making a mistake on the last jump,” while Takahashi had a pattern of “missing the quadruple but landing jumps more reliably as the program progressed.” There was an invisible wall between the challenger and the ace right there.

 

Only after the competition ended did he realize the difference in how the ace and he fought. The ace had the strength to build up toward the latter half.

 

Right after the competition, Hanyu was content with being 4th, but by the next morning, frustration welled up in him.

 

“I wanted to stand on the podium. The issue with the quadruple toe loop in the short program and the mistake on my specialty, the triple Salchow, at the end of the free — both are mental issues. Also, even though my technical score was second highest among the six skaters, the difference in the program components showed that I still can’t do anything except jumps. That reality was thrown at me. Mentally and in terms of expression too, I want to see how much I can catch up to and surpass my seniors by Nationals. I want to reset myself once again and fix these things.”

 

At this Grand Prix Final, the point gap between Hanyu, who was 4th, and Takahashi, who was 2nd, was 3.30 points. Should one see it as weakness that he missed the podium despite having the chance, or see it as impressive that he, at 17, had already climbed to 4th? Many media outlets debated Hanyu’s “4th place” with mixed opinions.

 

However, Hanyu did not look back on this 4th place. Because more than anything, being able to feel the distance to the back of Japan’s champion was the greatest gain. It was not the ranking but the point difference of “3.30 points” and the performance strength to build up excitement until the very end that mattered.

 

He had competed with Takahashi only once in the first half of this season. In that one and only match-up, he keenly felt, “This wall is a height of 3.30 points.” Just a year earlier, he had been moved just watching Takahashi’s quadruple jump in official practice and had copied it to succeed for the first time himself. But by now, his goal had already shifted to “catching up and surpassing” him.

 

After returning from Canada to Sendai, about two weeks of intense training followed. He focused on the final triple Salchow of the program, which he had missed at the Grand Prix Final, and on the presentation aspects that had been rated poorly.

 

“Repeating the same mistake twice would mean I haven’t grown. I will definitely overcome the issues from the Grand Prix Final by Nationals.”

 

It had been a year and a half since he began chasing the back of the ace. The Grand Prix Final, a stage for the world’s top six, became two days where he calmly assessed the distance between himself and the ace without being thrown off by the other skaters,

 

The Pressure of Skating Last

For Hanyu, before challenging the ace, Takahashi, the wall he first had to clear was “qualifying for his first World Championships.”

 

In order to earn one of the three spots, the situation for Hanyu was such that “if he made the podium at Nationals, his participation would be almost guaranteed.” In Japan’s men’s figure skating, which had top skaters besides Takahashi, such as Takahiko Kozuka and Tatsuki Machida, even having competed in the Grand Prix Final for the “world’s top six” did not automatically guarantee him a place at Worlds.

 

And then, the day of Nationals arrived. Osaka’s Namihaya Dome was, of course, packed to capacity. The venue was dominated by fans of Daisuke Takahashi, though here and there flags supporting Hanyu could be seen. Thanks to his success at the Grand Prix Final, public attention was focused on the narrative of “the young 17-year-old Hanyu chasing the back of the ace, Takahashi.”

 

In previous Grand Prix series and Grand Prix Finals, skating order was determined from lower-ranked skaters first. Since Hanyu was only in his second senior season and had accumulated few points, he usually skated first or second.

 

However, at the All Japan Championships, the skating order is decided by lottery within each group. Hanyu drew the last skating spot. After the six-minute warm-up just before the event, the final skater has to wait about 30 minutes before performing.

 

Of course, he had already planned what to do during the wait if he ended up skating last. He did stretches and light jumps in the skaters’ corridor as part of his routine while waiting for his turn. However, after even just 10 minutes, his body inevitably grew colder and stiffer compared to the six-minute warm-up. He tried to keep his body warm by marching in place or doing quick sprints, but he worried that moving too much might tire him out more than usual. Should he move, or should he stay still...? Though he had simulated this situation, those 30 minutes felt like an eternity.

 

With a mental state just slightly different than usual, he faced the performance as the final skater.

 

The moment he attempted the opening quadruple toe loop, he couldn’t put enough power into his take-off leg, and it turned into a triple instead.

 

Falling after fully completing a quadruple jump still scores higher than a triple jump. He placed 4th with 74.32 points, his worst score this season.

 

“I was already nervous during the six-minute warm-up, and then I got even more nervous after that. It wasn’t that I heard or was conscious of the cheers for Takahashi. Honestly, it was just that with an unfamiliar skating order, I couldn’t maintain my usual confidence. I need to reflect on how I managed my warm-up during that wait after the six-minute practice.”

 

He spoke while looking down, frustration seeping through. Yet, biting his lip, he continued, clearly showing his trademark drive for improvement.

 

“If my world ranking goes up in the future, it’s not impossible that I might skate last in GP series events too. So it's good that I was able to find an issue here to work on for next year."

 

It was almost as if he was predicting that next season, he would enter GP events as the world number one and skate last. He wouldn’t let this end as just a miscalculation in warm-up. Hanyu's strength in turning mistakes into opportunities was visible.

 

Meanwhile, Takahashi landed a quadruple-triple combination in the short program, starting strong with a score of 96.05 points and taking first place. “Being able to land the quadruple was motivated by Hanyu,” he said, showing the strength of a true competitor. The point difference between him and Hanyu was an impressive 21.73 points.

 

After such a huge gap in the short program, anyone would struggle to control their motivation. The next day’s free skate turned into a dramatic turn of events.

 

Hanyu delivered a strong performance, just like at the GP Final, “landing everything except the final triple Salchow.” In the men’s free skate, there are eight jumps in total; landing seven of them, including a quad, is more than commendable. But the moment he finished, Hanyu slapped his own thighs repeatedly in frustration.

 

“It's really frustrating to make the same mistake as in the GP Final. Making the same mistake means I haven’t grown. I couldn’t do the thing I said was my biggest challenge this time! I was so determined to land the jump that my effort backfired.”

 

Unlike in the short program where weakness of spirit caused the mistake, in the free skate, his spirit was too strong, leading to the error. The huge point difference with Takahashi had allowed him to skate with the mindset of a challenger, which was good, but he realized that he had lost his composure.

 

Even so, in the free skate he scored 167.59 points, ranking first. He secured the bronze medal overall and confirmed his place at Worlds. As the free skate winner, Hanyu was welcomed with applause by gold medalist Takahashi and silver medalist Kozuka.

 

At the press conference, flanked by two veteran skaters, he declared strongly:

 

“My scores have kept going up for three consecutive competitions since the GP series, and I can feel that my skills are improving. I want to do my utmost to catch up quickly to the back I’m chasing. Anyway, I want to come up with concrete strategies for the World Championships.”

 

The back he’s chasing... He deliberately avoided saying a name, showing his fierce competitive spirit. His demeanor was not that of someone who was simply glad to have made it onto the podium. He stood right behind Takahashi and the others, projecting a strong will as if to warn, “I’m already ready to overtake you at any time.”

 

Receiving Support from the Disaster-Stricken Region

During the 2011–2012 season, the more Hanyu performed well, the more foreign media reported stories like, “This boy from Sendai, hit by the tsunami, had no training rink and had to practice during ice shows, enduring hardship,” and they sought comments from him. In reality, Hanyu had been in downtown Sendai and did not suffer direct damage from the tsunami, but foreign media portrayed him as a “tsunami victim.”

 

At the climax of the season, the 2012 World Championships, naturally he was bombarded with questions from international reporters even before the competition: “Do you have a message for the people in the disaster area?” “As a representative of the victims, what kind of performance do you want to show?” “What hardships did you face because of the disaster?” and so on.

 

Before the season started, he had resolved in his mind, “I am not a representative of the disaster victims; I am a representative of Japan. I will focus on winning properly.” But in front of the press, he could not help but keep giving model-student-like answers.

 

“If my performance can uplift the people of Japan, I want to skate for those affected by the disaster.”

 

However, the stage that Hanyu reached through desperate effort is the highest-ranked competition of the year, a battleground to decide the true world champion. It is a match that demands a strong fighting spirit as an athlete. Yet, his own position was confused. On the day of the short program.

 

“Just hearing the words ‘World Championships’ made me a bit nervous,” he admitted, showing a glimpse of a boyish side.

 

The opening quadruple jump was planned to be a quadruple-triple combination, but despite successfully landing the quadruple, he ended up doing a quadruple-double instead. Because this was a pattern different from practice, he got flustered, and the program continued. He even turned a Lutz, a jump he usually had no trouble with, into a single rotation.

 

Unable to rack up points with his specialty technical elements, he scored 77.07 points and placed 7th. He didn’t even make it into the final group for the free skate, reserved for the top six.

 

“I feel like I got a bit flustered and made it a double after the quad. From now on, I need to focus on staying calm and landing each jump properly no matter what the situation. But in a way, it was the first time I managed to do a combination starting with a quad, so I think that’s a step forward for next year. I want to work hard with the determination to come back and take revenge on this stage next year."

 

He was already talking about next season, even though the short program had just ended. For Hanyu, this was unusual.

 

He had been trying not to openly show his desire to “win.” Instead, his wish to “send a message to the people in the disaster area and his fans” was stronger than ever. This was clearly reflected in the comment he gave in anticipation of the free skate:

 

“In this special season, the fact that I’ve been able to come up to this stage is thanks to all the hard work I've put in up until now. In the free skate, I want to convey the message of 'Let's all look forward and work hard until we reach our goal' by doing my best until the very end.”

 

Hanyu simply felt happy that he had been able to compete at the World Championships and land a quadruple jump in the short program.

 

However, in reality, he placed seventh in the short program. Normally, that would be a frustrating position for him, but that night he felt a strange sense of unease at himself for not feeling frustrated.

 

That night, the night before the free skate that would decide his final placement, Hanyu recalled the days following the disaster and tried to sort out his feelings.

 

"I’m wrong. Even while dealing with a sprain, I got carried away with the feeling of “I landed the quad all by myself.” That’s not it. I have come this far because of everyone's support."

 

He also remembered all the letters and messages he had received after the disaster. Just before Worlds, he had re-read them and spent time writing replies or preparing to respond. Those feelings came back to him.

 

“I will accept everyone’s support and show it through my skating. I have decided that this would be the best way to repay them."

 

And then he made a vow:

 

“This grand stage of Worlds, the stage I always dreamed of competing on someday. I’ll make it into the top five, so I can perform ‘White Legend,’ the piece I skated in the ice shows after the disaster, in the exhibition gala.”

 

At last, the usual Hanyu is back, looking straight ahead and charging forward.

 

His free skate was Romeo + Juliet. That season, he had delivered good performances in three consecutive competitions, always with just “one mistake.” But he couldn’t afford to repeat the same mistake here.

 

He nailed the opening quad powerfully, then kept landing jump after jump. During the step sequence midway through, his sprained foot wouldn’t move the way he wanted, and he fell, but he got right back up.

 

“I’ll just think of that fall as giving me a bit of rest.”

 

This positive mindset was the very source of his strength. In fact, a fall on a jump does not incur as large a deduction as one might think, sp as long as he didn’t lose focus, his score wouldn’t be heavily impacted.

 

Then he succeeded in landing the triple Salchow at the end, the element that had been a recurring issue in his last two competitions this season. The audience’s excitement rose even higher. Their clapping grew so loud it almost drowned out the music. It was a performance in which the energy from the audience and Hanyu's own power became one, as if each and every second was being sharpened to its limit.

 

Even after the music ended and he struck his finishing pose, the intensity was still pouring out of his entire body, and the flood of emotion wouldn’t stop. In Hanyu’s mind, Romeo’s performance was still continuing. His eyes remained fixed in the distance as he slowly, powerfully extended his right hand upward toward the sky. It was a majestic gesture, as if to say, "I am the one who will stand at the top of the world."

 

The arena exploded in thunderous applause and a standing ovation. He held his right hand high for three whole seconds.

 

The moment he let his guard down, tears welled up in those fierce eyes.

 

“This season was truly hard. But in the end, I was able to have a happy ending like this. I finally felt that I was able to accept the feelings of the disaster-stricken areas and the support from everyone, and that made me tear up a little.”

 

His free skate score was 173.99, second only to Patrick Chan. Overall, he climbed up to a total of 251.06 points and seized the bronze medal.

 

“I didn't expect to get over 170 points, so honestly, I was so surprised that my tears just stopped instead. I skated with hardly any mistakes, so that gave me real confidence. And scoring over 250 points overall made me feel like I was being recognized as one of the top skaters.”

 

Holding up the bronze medal hanging from his neck, he spoke into the TV cameras:

 

“I thought I was skating for the disaster area, but that’s not quite right. In reality, I’m the one being supported. I’m not the one giving strength. I’m the one receiving it. I felt that so strongly. There are people who came all the way from Japan to Nice to cheer for me, and many more watching on TV and sending me their support. I’m in the position of being cheered for. I realized that accepting that support and skating with all I have is the best way I can give back. And finally, I felt like I’d truly overcome the disaster inside myself.”

 

On the night of day 386 since the Great East Japan Earthquake, the boy continued to struggle between being a representative of the victims and being an athlete. For a seventeen-year-old, it was a harsh burden to bear. But precisely because of this, he was able to feel, deep in his core, the invisible happiness of being supported by so many people.