[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*Includes unpublished photos taken by Number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 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 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 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 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 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.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 5: Crossing the ocean 2012-2013 Age 17 to 18

 

Spoiler

Farewell to His Hometown, Sendai

In the spring of 2012, the time came for him to leave Sendai, the city where he had been born and raised for 17 years. The stage for his new life in skating would be Toronto, Canada, at the prestigious Toronto Cricket, Skating and Curling Club, led by Brian Orser.

 

For a 17-year-old boy, this decision required the right timing, a calm mind, and a spirit of adventure.

 

In March 2012, at the World Championships held in Nice, France, the experience during his free skate became a turning point in his life.

 

Hanyu, who had been left trailing in seventh after the short program, abandoned all thoughts of rankings, medals, or calculated strategies to win. He embraced all the conflicts he had faced after the Great East Japan Earthquake, both as a victim and as an athlete, and poured every bit of passion into his performance.

 

That passion reached the audience, and amidst the clapping that drowned out the music, he skated with nothing but his soul.
The power he received from the audience dissolved into his bloodstream, surged through his entire body, and numbed the nerves in his brain.
It was an experience he had never felt before.

 

After his skate, he sat in the waiting room, absentmindedly watching other skaters perform. The immense sense of fulfillment and exhaustion within him seemed to evaporate, like tiny bubbles rising and bursting one by one. It was then that his coach, Nanami Abe, spoke to him.

 

"Next season, we should have you train with some overseas coaches too. You need to broaden your horizons more globally."

 

Of course, having just finished his performance, Hanyu wasn’t yet thinking concretely about the next season. But those words—"overseas coaches"—a phrase unfamiliar to him until then, etched themselves into his mind.

 

Figure skating, at its core, is a sport that developed in Europe and North America. Even more than a century after the International Skating Union was founded in 1892, its historical roots can’t be ignored. To pursue the ultimate goal and aim for the pinnacle of the sport, experiencing top-level skating in Europe or North America can only be an advantage.

 

Let’s briefly trace the history of figure skating.

 

The origins of figure skating lie in the Netherlands. What had once been merely a means of winter transportation evolved into an elegant form of skating among the Dutch aristocracy. Around the 18th century, it spread to Europe and North America. Across Europe, the focus was on cultivating beautiful posture and style on the ice, while in Britain, the emphasis shifted to perfecting the skill of tracing ever more intricate patterns.

 

In North America, a ballet teacher from New York named Jackson Haines proposed incorporating ballet poses into figure skating, experimenting with more expressive, fluid movement on the ice. Haines later traveled to Europe, where he encountered the waltz. At the time, composers like Johann Strauss II were creating masterpieces such as The Blue Danube, and aristocrats danced the waltz at grand balls. Haines conceived a new style: skating to waltz music. This was the moment when classical music and figure skating became intertwined.

 

When the International Skating Union was founded in 1892, two competitive disciplines were established: the British-style compulsory figures, which demanded precise patterns, and the free skating style popular in Europe and North America, which involved dancing to music.

 

After that, figure skating spread throughout the world as a competitive sport. It developed with regional characteristics: in North America, the focus was on the appeal of the sport itself; in European countries like Germany and the UK, on the diversity of beautiful skating; and in Russia, on the artistic quality of dance in conjunction with the Bolshoi Ballet.

 

Japan, though its skaters have achieved remarkable success in the past decade, is not one of figure skating’s birthplaces. Its roots—classical music, ballet, compulsory figures—are all European imports. Just as musicians and ballet dancers often study abroad, many figure skaters seek inspiration by training with coaches overseas or practicing at foreign rinks.

 

Hanyu, who had soared to become a World Championship medalist at just 17, was at a similar turning point—ready to make the decision to train abroad under a foreign coach.

 

But what made him different was that he wasn’t setting out to study overseas in order to become a top skater; rather, he had unexpectedly already reached the podium at Worlds and now found himself asking, “Having experienced what it’s like to be a top skater, what should I do next?”

 

In the spring of 2012, carrying with him the exhilaration he had felt in Nice, he gazed at the cherry blossoms drifting through the streets of Sendai.

 

"Being cheered for so passionately at Worlds and having everyone's attention on me made me really happy. And it made me realize just how much support I have. My skating is no longer just for myself. I want to become someone who can answer all those claps and cheers, someone whose performances meet those expectations. I want to become stronger so that my strength can bring happiness to everyone watching."

 

From childhood, he had always wished to become stronger. His passion had been driven purely by his own joy. But now he realized that his skating was only complete when he and the audience came together. For the 17-year-old Hanyu, this realization was not a burden but a source of newfound strength.

 

“Having stood at the very edge of the podium, I have to take this as a new step, a trigger, and go abroad."

 

Of course, it took courage.

 

In Sendai, where life had finally settled after the earthquake, his elementary school, junior high school, and skating rink were all within walking distance of his house. At home, his mother supported him; at the rink, his longtime coach Nanami Abe and his older sister, who worked part-time there, were always nearby. Even when he traveled abroad for competitions, it was just a shuttle between the hotel and the venue. The world he had known was extremely small.

 

"I don’t want to leave Sendai. Sendai is where I feel safe. I’ve been able to achieve good results here, and giving that up is not easy."

 

His heart wavered. In the end, courage won out.

 

“I’ve managed to reach third place at Worlds. Since I’ve come this far, I have to use this as a stepping stone to become an even stronger skater. I myself have to get stronger. If I let my feelings take priority, I’ll never be able to go anywhere. Somewhere in my heart, I need to draw a line with Sendai and step out on my own two feet.”

 

"The more rivals I have, the harder I can work."

 

He had made up his mind to leave Sendai.

 

That said, choosing a new coach was no simple matter. It was a big "crossroad in life" that will greatly affect his skating career.

 

Most skaters naturally want to train under a famous coach. But for Hanyu, working with a big-name coach wasn’t necessarily the only way to become stronger. In Japan these days, it’s normal for top skaters to train overseas once they’re in high school or university. But Hanyu knew perfectly well that training abroad doesn’t automatically make you a world champion.

 

“Going to a famous coach isn’t the answer. The question is, who do I want to train under? Where do I want to go? If I’m leaving my hometown of Sendai behind, what exactly am I looking for in this new place?”

 

He considered going to Russia, a place known for nurturing artistic talent. If he wanted to follow the style of Evgeni Plushenko, who he admired as a child, Russia was not a bad choice.

 

Even while training with Coach Abe, he’d once taken some lessons from a Russian coach to work on his expressiveness. He was sometimes told his skating had a “Russian flavor,” so stylistically, it might have suited him.

 

But when he went back to the original question—“Why am I leaving my hometown Sendai in the first place?”—the answer was simple: “I just want to get stronger.”

 

With “strength” as his sole focus, he thought back to when he had grown the most and skated his strongest.

 

“I’m the type who does better when I have rivals around. The first time I landed a quadruple toe loop was at an ice show in the spring of 2010, my first year as a senior. I saw Daisuke Takahashi and Takahito Mura landing quads, and it fired me up. Even my first quad salchow came about when Mura and I were having a jump-off during downtime at an ice show. Having someone to measure myself against, that’s the environment where I become the strongest version of myself.”

 

Once he realized this, the answer was simple: he just had to go where there were skaters who inspired him. The name that came to mind was Javier Fernández, who had shot to prominence that past season. At the 2011 Grand Prix Final, right before Hanyu’s eyes, Fernández had cleanly landed two different types of quadruple jumps and placed third overall.

 

“These days, one quad isn’t enough anymore. Javier was landing multiple quads in his free skate so effortlessly. Plus, he changed dramatically last season after moving to Brian Orser’s camp. I want to see Javier’s quads for myself. I want to learn the secret behind them. I want to know how Orser teaches him.”

 

When your mind is set to “I want to know”, it’s strange how the right connections seem to appear. By chance, he came across a feature in a skating magazine all about “Team Brian Orser.” It explained that Orser didn’t coach alone, rather there was a whole team of specialists for skating skills, jumps, spins, artistry, creating an environment that offered well-rounded, team-based training.

 

The destination was decided.

 

“It’s better to have someone you can look up to nearby. When I’m around someone I truly admire, it drives me. If I could watch Javier’s quads every day, if I could be exposed to that kind of energy every single day, just how much stronger would I become?”

 

His whole body trembled. Toronto was calling him.

 

Meanwhile, Coach Orser was well known for having guided Yuna Kim to her Olympic gold at the 2010 Vancouver Games. In Japan, some even viewed him as “the coach who used to train Mao Asada’s rival.”

 

“This has nothing to do with Yuna. What he accomplished with her was amazing, but that’s not why I want to train with him. What I’m choosing is the environment that has both Javier and Coach Orser.”

 

Once his heart was set, things moved quickly. He arranged to meet Orser, and on a spring night, they met for the first time. When Orser asked, “Why did you want to meet me?”, Hanyu told him in his clumsy English: “I want to go Toronto, and work with Brian.”

 

Until then, Orser had been a little skeptical of Hanyu’s request. But when he looked into his eyes, he knew he was serious. After that, at the Toronto Cricket Club, there was a slightly cute conversation.

 

For Orser, his top priority at the time was still Fernández, who was already a top skater and a medal contender for Sochi. Right after his meeting with Hanyu, Orser went back to the rink and called Fernández over.

 

“You know Japan’s Yuzuru Hanyu, right? He wants to come train in Toronto. He’s your rival. Are you okay with that?”

 

Most skaters want their coach’s full attention. In the past, when Nobunari Oda joined Nikolai Morozov, it led to Daisuke Takahashi temporarily parting ways with the same coach. Such rivalries often reshape the dynamic between coach and skater.

 

But Fernández didn’t express jealousy. Instead, he said: “That’s awesome! It’s amazing that more top skaters want to join us.”

 

Reassured, Orser immediately contacted Hanyu.

 

“Hi! Yuzuru, it’s OK. Let’s train together. Team Brian welcomes you with open arms.”

 

Being of cheerful Latin temperament, Javier Fernández warmly welcomed Hanyu, a Japanese newcomer. In fact, Orser had always believed that while for female skaters it might help to praise just one athlete to boost motivation, for male skaters, having rivals on the same team to challenge each other was far more effective.

 

“The new Team Brian is going to be exciting,” Orser thought, and began preparing a new team structure to welcome Hanyu.

 

Skating Reality Check

Hanyu had come to Toronto eager, saying, “I want to see Javier’s quad jumps.” But figure skating isn’t that simple.

 

The first task given to him by Coach Orser and Team Brian was to rebuild his skating from the ground up. No matter the student’s level, anyone who joined the team started from scratch. That applied equally to skaters who could land quads and those who could barely land doubles.

 

Orser’s coaching philosophy is rooted in this belief: “In figure skating, every skill and every expression is supported by foundational skating.”

 

When it comes to jumps, the more stable your skating is, the more consistently you can approach jumps with the same track and center of gravity. That leads to a more stable takeoff and higher success rates.

 

And for artistry, it goes without saying—if your lower body and skating aren’t solid, your upper body expression won’t follow. A skater who lacks strong basics and tries to dramatically arch their back to express emotion could end up falling backward. To perform complex step sequences, you need to have mastered balance and control through solid skating fundamentals.

 

So, how did this affect Hanyu?

 

Even though he joined Team Brian as a top skater capable of landing quads, he spent his days doing nothing but basic skating drills.

 

“I always knew that my skating skills were lacking. I was aware of it. But back in Sendai, I only really had time to work on skating during summer off-seasons.”

 

His awareness of the need for strong skating was no surprise. Part of the reason was Japan’s training environment. Skaters only had about 1–2 hours a day of "private practice time", and the rest of the time they had to practice during general public sessions. That means, during the precious private time, they must either run through their program with music or practice high-level elements like the triple axel or quadruple jumps, which are dangerous to attempt during crowded general sessions. Basic skating skills are best developed by skating across the entire rink, but it's hard to find time for that during the limited private sessions.

 

Of course, Hanyu had been trained thoroughly in skating basics as a child by Coach Shoichiro Tsuzuki, who emphasized not only basic skating but also precise edge work and skilled footwork. The solid foundation Hanyu gained as a boy was one of the reasons he had succeeded up to that point.

 

However, as he advanced to doing triple and quadruple jumps, jump training naturally began to dominate. While he had reached world-class level in jump technique, his skating still had a lot of room for growth.

 

The skating fundamentals training was led not by Orser, but by another head coach Tracy Wilson, a bronze medalist in ice dance from the 1988 Calgary Olympics, and one of the world’s top skating coaches. She knew exactly how to tie together skating technique with upper-body expression.

 

At first, he was told every day, “Let’s start with stroking.” Stroking is the simple act of gliding forward on alternating legs—right, left, right, left. It was a basic movement Hanyu could do unconsciously. However, when he started paying careful attention to things like his center of gravity, power, and leg movement, he noticed that the sense of contact with the ice and his speed has changed.

 

“In Sendai, I just told myself, ‘I’m doing it my own way.’ But I’d never focused on the feeling of skating itself like this before.”

 

What shocked him most was the daily group footwork training. After Orser and Wilson demonstrated the routine, a group of about 20 skaters would perform it together. Because they all moved in unison, it was instantly clear who had speed, power, and beauty in motion. Moreover, with mirrors installed on both sides of the rink, any difference in movement stood out immediately.

 

For Hanyu, the only skaters he recognized were Javier Fernández and Elene Gedevanishvili. The rest were lesser-known skaters, some only landing double jumps, others competing only at the domestic level in Canada.

 

Even so, in the mirror in front of him, the one struggling the most and barely keeping up with the practice was unmistakably himself.

 

“I can’t believe I’m this bad at this!”

 

Also, in skating, the more deeply you lean into your edges (angling your blades), the more speed you gain and the more advanced your skating appears. But when he looked in the mirror, he realized he was barely leaning at all.

 

“Back in Sendai, I was the best skater around, and people told me to be an example for others. But here in Toronto… Not only was I being outperformed by Javier, but I was being outskated by people I’d never even heard of. I’m seriously not there yet.”

 

But true to his nature, Hanyu didn’t let it get him down.

 

“If my skating improves, I can become better at jumps too! For the past two years, I’ve wanted to develop a more senior-level style of skating. And now, I can finally transform my skating.”

 

t was his first summer in Toronto. In this refreshing city, where the average high temperature was around 20°C, he spent his days absorbed in skating as if he had fallen in love for the first time.

 

Jumping a quadruple following Javier as a model

Alongside strengthening his skating skills, the long-awaited “brushing up his jumps” training also began. Orser’s jump instruction was even more fascinating than Hanyu had anticipated.

 

At the core of Orser’s coaching method is this principle: “Bring out the strengths of each athlete.” For example, though Orser himself was called “Mr. Triple Axel” and known for his jumping skills, he never forces his own form on his students. Even when it comes to the triple axel, Orser, Javier, and Hanyu each have completely different jumping styles. Considering differences in body type, muscle strength, and explosiveness, Orser believed: “The best form is the one that works best for each individual skater.”

 

“Brian really thinks carefully about us,” Hanyu said. “Both Javier and I already had our own jumping styles before working with Brian. He doesn’t try to change what makes us unique. Instead, he watches closely, understands our strengths, and adds his vision of the ideal form, so we can jump more beautifully and more easily.”

 

Visual learning was also incredibly important to Hanyu. His way of jumping involves visualizing the form in his mind like a 3D image right before takeoff, then placing his body into that image. Knowing this, Orser emphasized video footage during training. Hanyu would observe Javier’s jumps, watch videos of himself captured on an iPad during practice, and review his past competition footage. By comparing Fernandez’s form with Hanyu’s, and adding Orser’s technical insights, they created a unique image of the “perfect form just for Hanyu.”

 

“When I can see something directly, it’s much easier to understand. I’m starting to build a clear image.”

 

As a result, his triple axel and quad toe loop improved at a faster pace than expected.

 

For the 2012–2013 season, the new goal was to include both a quad toe loop and quad Salchow in the free program. However, the Salchow wasn’t consistent yet. Hanyu had first landed it by chance in a May 2011 ice show, more as a game than serious practice, but doing it in competition was an entirely different story.

 

"I also have to create a new image for the quadruple Salchow."

 

Here, Javier’s jumps were the key reference. Watching them proved invaluable, just as Hanyu had hoped.

 

"I have to build my own Salchow. The only footage I actually have of me landing it is from two jumps at the finale of 'The Ice' in 2011. It’s difficult to create an image of my jump based on just that. While comparing with Javier’s jumps, I’ll try to build an image of my own form, just like with the triple Axel and quadruple toe loop. Having a role model right in front of me is definitely a big advantage."

 

Training alongside his new teammates was full of stimulation and motivation. Every day, he could feel the sensation of growing stronger.

 

Choreography That Ignites Yuzuru’s Passion

Once his training routine under Orser had taken shape, the next thing they discussed was his new season programs.

 

Until then, Coach Nanami Abe had also served as his choreographer. Because she knew Hanyu better than anyone, she had been able to create programs that suited him well and brought out his strengths. Her choreography allowed him to focus on his jumps, and her support had played a big part in his bronze medal at the World Championships at age 17.

 

But now, seeking a new kind of strength, Hanyu proposed a new direction to Orser:

 

“There are only two seasons left until the Sochi Olympics. I’ll be 19 by then, and I’ll need to perform with a level of maturity. I can’t keep showing the same style every year. But I also can’t afford to make a risky change in the Olympic season. So this year, I want to take some risks by trying new forms of expression and new ways of skating.”

 

Orser completely agreed. After discussions, they decided that the short program would be choreographed by Jeffrey Buttle, the 2008 World Champion who had recently retired, while the free skate would be handled by the popular and artistically gifted choreographer David Wilson.

 

The short program music was Gary Moore’s “Parisienne Walkways.” The wild, bluesy tone was chosen to transform Hanyu’s youthful, untamed skating into something more masculine and raw.

 

Originally, Buttle had established his ultimate “world of beauty,” and his choreography was designed to embody that world. He conveys his artistry by having skaters faithfully reproduce his poses and movements. At first, it was difficult to even imitate Buttle's poses. However, Hanyu is the type who wants to infuse the program with his own interpretation of the music. So in the beginning, he struggled to balance staying true to Buttle’s choreography while also expressing his own style.

 

As Hanyu gradually internalized Buttle’s poses and movements, his own signature style began to re-emerge within them. Through trial and error, he learned how to infuse Buttle’s worldview with his own feeling and emotion, making the program his own.

 

When it came to jump layout, Hanyu was proactive and vocal. The original structure that Buttle proposed included a quad toe–triple toe combination and a triple Axel in the first half, and a triple Lutz in the second half. With this layout, the base value of the jumps would be 29.5 points. It was a standard layout for a skater capable of landing quadruple jumps. Hanyu then proposed a layout himself, one that would raise the base value to 30.76 points.

 

“I’m good at triple Axels, so I want to jump it in the second half where the score gets multiplied by 1.1. I also want to do the quad toe loop right out of a step sequence. Basically, I want to push every jump to the edge of what's possible."

 

According to short program rules, a skater performs three jumps: one Axel-type, one jump from steps, and one combination. If all the jumps are choreographed to come out of steps, then even if there's a mistake on the combination, the skater has a chance to recover with the others. But it’s rare for a skater to willingly take on such a high-risk challenge.

 

At first, both Buttle and Orser were worried that it was too reckless. But they were also former world champions, and when they saw how serious Hanyu was, they got fired up. During practice, they’d cheer him on with shouts of “GO, Yuzuru!” and applaud when he landed his jumps.

 

“They really believe in me. They trust that if I train enough, I can do this. I’m glad I pushed myself to the limit.”

 

His coaches had high expectations for him, and each day he renewed his determination to take on any challenge that came his way.

 

A Challenge Toward Broader Expression

Meanwhile, his free program was set to “Notre-Dame de Paris.” It is a profound piece with a dramatic melody that stirs the heart.

 

But unlike the short program, the free skate did not come easily to Hanyu.

 

 

First of all, it was not easy to express the emotions.

 

“There are parts of the story I don’t fully understand. At this rate, it’ll be hard to express it properly.”

 

Technically, it was complex too.

 

In the past, there were moments in his programs where he could ‘just skate’ and mentally take a breather. But in this program, there were no such breaks.

 

“Before, I had a clear pattern—rest when I rest, jump when I jump. But now, everything is connected. Actually, this is exactly what I’ve always aimed for: a program where jumps, spins, and steps are all integrated into one cohesive performance. This is the part I’ve been missing the most.”

 

Still, even though that’s what he wanted, a program that’s so tightly choreographed and complete as a single piece means that one fall on a jump can ruin the entire atmosphere. He struggled to figure out how to move beyond simply “executing choreography” to “performing a full artistic work.”

 

“Even though it’s a beautiful program that was made for me, I feel like I’m just copying the choreography. The movements, the jumps, spins, and steps are so packed in that it’s hard to bring real expression out from within. Back in Sendai, the programs were tailored to be easier for me, so emotional expression came more naturally.”

 

It’s true that for junior and younger senior skaters, rich artistic expression doesn’t always come naturally yet. Often, programs are kept simple and focus on replicating choreography accurately. However, having placed third at the World Championships and made the major decision to move to Toronto, this season was a turning point.

The wall he now had to overcome was the challenge toward broader expression.

 

There was a mountain of things to work on,. There were endless worries.

 

“It’s like Brian and the others are giving me this season as a challenge, so that I can struggle now before the Sochi Olympics. And I need to overcome it. This is the right timing. I have no choice but to go through this pain now. This is the season when I'm 17-18 years old. Struggling with new things when you’re 20 or 21 would be even tougher. This is the time to gather strength for Sochi.”

 

He fully absorbed the law of nature that says: “The harder the struggle, the greater the strength that accumulates.”

 

Everything for the Sochi Olympics

 

Brian Orser led both Hanyu and Fernandez. “Team Brian” officially began at the Finlandia Trophy in October 2012. At this competition, which was a test of strength before the full season, Hanyu successfully landed two types of quadruple jumps for the first time in his free skate — the quadruple toe loop and quadruple Salchow — and won first place.

 

“It was just like when I landed my first quad toe loop at the NHK Trophy when I moved up to senior. I didn’t feel much pressure, and it just worked out well. Actually, my short program was bad. I don’t know why I can’t put together a clean short and free at the same time. Anyway, for Skate America, I’ll focus on the short first.”

 

He showed no signs of complacency.

 

The first Grand Prix event of the season, Skate America, was held in Kent, a suburb of Seattle. Hanyu himself had no idea that this competition would become his debut at the “world’s top.”

 

In the short program, Parisienne Walkways, he nailed a brilliant quad toe loop and landed all the strategically difficult jumps perfectly. His performance, infused with a new wild edge, captivated the audience.

 

He got a score of 95.07 points, a new world record for the short program. While his technical score had improved, the biggest change was in his program components score. The intensive basic skating training in Toronto over the summer was paying off.

 

But for Hanyu, the idea of setting a "world record" was hard to fully grasp. The sudden joy was so overwhelming that he instinctively held himself back.

 

He didn't smile even at the press conference.

 

He kept repeating, “I’ll forget about the short program and do my best tomorrow.”

 

But he didn’t know how to actually forget about “Yuzuru Hanyu, the skater who just set a world record in the short,” and focus solely on the free skate. He couldn’t even celebrate the great achievement. That night after the short program, he tried to calm his mind by jogging around the competition venue where no one would notice him.

 

“I have to do whatever I can for the free skate...”

 

That was the only thought that he had in mind.

 

On the day of the free skate, right before the performance, he kept telling himself, “Forget the short, stay calm,” as he began the six-minute warm-up. The moment he stepped onto the ice, he realized his mind was completely empty. As usual, he skated one lap and started his step sequence, but his mind went completely blank.

 

“Huh? The steps aren’t coming to me. My body should remember them, but I can’t recall anything...”

 

In fact, by trying too hard to “forget the short,” he was ironically chained to that very past. It was just a slight misalignment in his mindset, but there was no time to analyze such a fine line during the six-minute practice.

 

The time for his performance came, anxiety still lingering. He fell twice on his opening quads and kept making mistakes until the end. His free skate score was 148.67, placing him third in the free, but thanks to the short, he took silver overall.

 

This was a completely new kind of experience for him. Back in Canada, he held his usual “reflection sessions,” listening to the people around him and reviewing everything. Over a few days, the cause gradually became clear.

 

“Words I say stick in my mind. So, I think it was fine to say ‘stay calm’ in front of the media. But the next part was wrong. Just saying ‘forget the short’ shows I was still fixated on it. At that point, I hadn’t switched my focus at all. I should have said, ‘Focus only on the free skate.’”

 

He tried to trace the cause from past experiences.

 

He remembered other competitions where he’d done well in the short and struggled in the free. At the 2009 All Japan Junior Championships, he skated cleanly in the short and took the lead, but then made a series of mistakes in the free.

 

“Back then, I got carried away. I was so happy about the clean short that I lost focus and fell apart in the free. But this time was different. Because of that lesson, I kept telling myself not to get carried away. But I went too far, trying too hard to stay grounded.”

 

Why did he feel the need to control his mind so excessively this time? Thinking about it, he realized the root cause.

 

“I’ve always had this idea that I can’t put together a clean short and free. I was trying too hard to break out of that.”

 

And once again, he thought: “Switching between the short and free is so hard.”

 

Of course, this is a wall every skater struggles with. One could say it’s an eternal theme in figure skating. But he resolved to face it head-on.

 

“I performed an amazing short program but a disappointing free skate and ended up in second place. I think this year in Toronto, winning and losing, I’ll learn a lot of things. Of course, I want to keep winning, but losing is necessary too. This year, when I lose, I want to lose thoroughly and take everything I can from it. Because next year, I can’t afford to lose at all. This year is for experiencing everything so I can keep winning next year.”

 

He no longer sees value solely in winning competitions. Everything was for the Sochi Olympics. The boy’s heart had grown resilient enough to see the year as a significant milestone.

 

Opening the Door to Become a Top Skater

After returning to Canada from the United States, Hanyu once again took a hard look at himself. Experiencing his first autumn in Toronto, the garden of the Cricket Club, his new training base, was bathed in soft sunlight, with blazing orange maple trees and a golden carpet of fallen leaves. Surrounded by this picturesque autumn, he felt he had overcome something significant.

 

“In the short program, I scored that high, and even though my free program was a complete mess, the performance as a whole was still appreciated. That means I’ve started to be judged not just for my jumps but also for my performance and skating skills. I'm surprised at how much I've grown."

 

Especially in the short program where he set a new world record, he could feel the difference in his skating.

 

Surrounded by top skaters and growing quickly, he also felt a sense of confusion because his own feelings hadn’t quite caught up yet. It might sound like a privileged problem, but it had been weighing on him unresolved since the end of last season.

 

"Honestly, I never really felt the reality of having placed third at last year’s World Championships. Because I had achieved something as incredible as 'third in the world,' the old way of setting a goal, then chasing it and making it happen, no longer applied."

 

Up until now, I would first put things into words, and then catch up to those words with results. The words always came first.

 

"Now, I want to have goals that come from my core, from deep within my heart. I need to firmly stand on the ground, knowing that I’ve climbed this far on my own two feet."

 

He had begun to realize that fighting fiercely with youthful energy and words alone was not everything. He was already standing at the entrance to becoming a top-class athlete.

 

“With Brian and the others, it’s frustrating that I can’t express all my feelings in English. That’s why I’ve gradually started to feel that it’s okay if I can’t put everything into words as long as I have a strong core inside me. Of course, saying things out loud and reaffirming them to myself is still important, but I’m also beginning to sense how valuable it is to hold some thoughts quietly within. Of course, the fighting spirit is vital in sports. But whether to show it openly or keep it inside, that balance is now about half and half for me, I think.”

 

He recalled his early days in Toronto. Surrounded by people who all spoke fluent English, he felt a sense of loneliness. But he didn’t dislike that solitude. Rather, he saw it as an environment that let him focus on skating, and he continued to discipline himself. For a sensitive 17-year-old boy, it became a precious space to face himself and grow mentally.

 

“I feel like I finally have a fingertip on the footstep of being an elite skater. Right now, I’m in a major transitional phase. I’ve come so close. I’m starting to grasp the feeling that I can finally begin climbing the stairs to becoming a top athlete."

 

Five months after moving to Toronto, the guilt of wondering “Did I abandon Sendai?” had never disappeared. But his determination to become stronger in Toronto pushed that guilt deep into his heart. Until then, the autumn he knew in Sendai had always been a calm one, quietly leading into winter. But Toronto’s autumn, with yellow branches reaching high as if to touch the blue sky, made him feel small.

 

“I’m really glad I came to Canada. I still feel a lingering attachment to Sendai, of course. But being here in Toronto has brought these results, and I’m being recognized for it. The next NHK Trophy will be held in Miyagi. I want to show there the results that I’ve gained because I left Sendai. I want to work harder, become stronger, and stand in front of everyone.”

 

Defeating Daisuke Takahashi for the first time to win the championship

The 2012 NHK Trophy was held in Miyagi Prefecture as part of a reconstruction project for the Great East Japan Earthquake. It took place at the Sekisui Heim Super Arena in Rifu, a town adjacent to Sendai City.

 

This multi-purpose arena, the largest in the Tohoku region with a capacity of 7,000, had been used as a temporary morgue during the earthquake disaster.

 

Besides Hanyu, who is from Sendai City, Akiko Suzuki, a graduate of Tohoku Fukushi University, also participated. At the venue, as part of a reconstruction project, a mosaic art made from photos expressing thanks from 10,000 people from the Tohoku region was displayed, making “Tōhoku” and “Thank you” the key themes of the event.

 

For Hanyu, this was a homecoming competition as the world record holder in the short program, with feelings for the disaster area and the added spotlight of facing the reigning star, Daisuke Takahashi. His motivation soared higher than ever.

 

In the short program, he delivered a flawless performance with confidence, scoring 95.32 points and breaking his own world record once again. The crowd’s excitement reached its peak. Unlike Skate America, where he had restrained his joy, this time he beamed a huge smile and waved enthusiastically to the audience from the Kiss & Cry.

 

“I’m truly happy to set another record here in front of everyone in Miyagi. I’m glad that the score from Skate America wasn’t just a fluke and that I was recognized at this level again.”

 

And looking ahead to the free skate, he said: “I want to switch my mindset and focus on the free skate.”

 

This statement was precisely the result of his self-analysis after Skate America.

 

Last time, trying not to lose focus made him suppress his joy, which ironically kept his mind stuck on the short program. He realized that fully celebrating the score first, and then treating the free skate as an entirely separate competition, was the best way to forget about the “world record” and face the free skate head-on.

 

Going into the free skate with a 7.85-point lead over Takahashi, Hanyu knew that if he repeated the kind of mistakes he made at Skate America, someone of Takahashi’s caliber could easily overtake him. Simply avoiding those errors would already have shown growth.

 

But Hanyu chose to attack. Defying expectations, he upped the difficulty of his jump layout even further, a clear testament to his fighting spirit on home ice.

 

In the actual performance, he landed the quad toe loop brilliantly, and although he stepped out on the quad Salchow, he managed to stay on his feet. His remaining jumps regained their usual stability. However, the intense pressure drained his energy, and at the end, he fell on the Lutz and put a hand down on a spin. Out of energy, he struck his final pose with a wry smile.

 

“I was so exhausted my body wouldn’t move. I knew I didn’t have enough stamina, but this is another challenge for me. I felt so pathetic I couldn’t help but laugh at myself.”

 

Even so, he landed two quads and avoided the series of mistakes from Skate America. He scored 165.71 in the free skate, setting a new personal best total of 261.03 to claim victory. He overtook Takahashi for the first time and qualified for the GP Final again.

 

“I didn’t lose focus. I was able to skate a strong short program like at Skate America and land two quads in the free. I’m really happy that I could see my own growth and keep growing. I think I was able to show my strength because I was in my hometown. The huge cheers I received made me feel at ease during the performance.”

 

That night, once the tension finally lifted, he couldn’t sleep due to stomach pain.

 

“I guess I really was nervous after all. But I didn’t repeat the mistakes from Skate America, and I handled the joy of the short program well this time, so that was a success.”

 

He repeatedly put into words and deeply reflected on the mental control techniques he learned from the two Grand Prix events.

 

A gold medal is not the goal, but the starting point

 

With 14 months to go until the Sochi Olympics, the Grand Prix Final was held in Sochi, Russia, in December 2012. This served as a test event at the newly completed venue, the Iceberg Skating Palace. More than the results, it was an invaluable chance to experience the Olympic atmosphere firsthand.

 

Facing the Black Sea and bordering Georgia lies the city of Sochi. On its vast, undeveloped coastline, plans were underway to build the Olympic Park. With only 14 months left, the athletes' village had just begun construction, and the railway was still unfinished. The competition venues were limited to figure skating and speed skating, and amidst the murky waters, the "Iceberg Skating Palace" stood majestically, emitting a divine blue glow.

 

Sochi’s coastal climate brings mild Mediterranean winds, so it stays warm even in winter. In December, visitors strolled the seaside in just light jackets. The day before the competition, Hanyu went jogging along the shore with his coach Brian Orser, and the dream he had declared upon moving to Toronto welled up inside him once again.

 

“I’m going to win gold in Sochi. And I will win gold again at the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics.”

 

He wanted to share everything in his heart with his coach and walk this path together.

 

On December 7th, the day of the short program, he turned 18. He wanted badly to break his own record again as a birthday present to himself, but a mistake on the combination jump in the latter half left him in third place.

 

“In my mind, I was looking forward to today’s stage, thinking about how I could surpass my own record. Not being able to show that on the ice is frustrating.”

 

Although being in the top three in the world could be seen as a solid result, the frustration outweighed any satisfaction. He trailed leader Daisuke Takahashi by about five points and declared boldly at the press conference:

 

“Compared to Daisuke’s performance at the NHK Trophy (where he beat him by 7.85 points), a five-point gap isn’t so bad, so I feel pretty calm. I’ve always been the type to come back strong in the free skate. I want to perform like an 18-year-old and have a happy birthday the day after!"

 

He still showed traces of his 17-year-old self, not forgetting to keep an eye on the top two contenders.

 

In the free skate, he landed the first quad cleanly, but his second quad turned into a double. Still, there was no way he’d give up. In the second half, he performed perfectly, with all his jumps overflowing with power, including two triple axels. He placed second in the free program with a score of 177.12, just one point behind Javier Fernandez, who landed three quad jumps.

 

Meanwhile, Takahashi made some minor errors and placed third in the free skate but held onto his lead from the short program to win his first Grand Prix Final title. Hanyu finished second overall, claiming his first Grand Prix Final medal. Yet what lingered for him was not joy but regret. Since he felt confident about his free skate performance, he was determined not to give up the top spot in the free skate.

 

“I’m so frustrated I couldn’t win the free skate! I got the silver medal, but right now the frustration is stronger than the happiness. Leaving the Sochi Winter Olympics venue with that regret will become a valuable memory for me, pushing me to grow stronger.”

 

His biggest rival, Patrick Chan, made multiple mistakes and settled for bronze. The invisible pressure of the Olympics, now just 14 months away, weighed heavily on the world’s top skaters. Who would turn that pressure into an opportunity? And who would succumb to it? The puzzle pieces of destiny were beginning to shift. Hanyu’s performance over those two days had definitely moved him closer to being a true Olympic medal contender, reshaping the competitive landscape.

 

He also renewed a vow he had long held in his heart:

 

“When I was younger, winning Olympic gold was the ultimate goal. But after the earthquake and after receiving so much support, that’s changed. It’s no longer just about me. My skating is built on everyone’s support, and if I can get results, that’s how I can repay them. Winning gold at the Olympics isn’t the goal anymore. It’s the starting point. Like Shizuka Arakawa’s support activities, I want to give back, and the Olympic gold medal will be the beginning of that for me.”

 

The Moment of Transition Between the Old and New Ace

The All Japan Championships is a tournament that brings a different kind of tension and pressure to any top skater. For Takahashi and Hanyu, the 2012 Nationals where the Grand Prix Final gold and silver medalists would go head-to-head marked a decisive turning point. The event was held at the Makomanai Sekisui Heim Ice Arena in Sapporo. This arena, the same gymnasium that hosted the 1972 Sapporo Olympics, still retained its original charm, quietly carrying the weight of four decades of history. One by one, the skaters arrived as snow gently fell around the venue.

 

Hanyu, with the short program “Parisian Walkways,” in which he had already broken the world record twice, scored 97.68 points, a domestic reference record. He took the lead with a 9.4-point difference over Takahashi, who made a mistake on the quadruple jump.

 

“I feel like I’m at the age where I have to fight for the title, so of course I was really nervous. But that nervousness comes from people’s expectations. Rather than letting that turn into pressure, I want to channel it into energy instead.”

 

Turning pressure into energy — it was a statement full of youthful power from the 18-year-old.

 

Then came the free skate, and Takahashi showed his true caliber. He landed a beautiful, effortless opening quad and nailed a second one too. Skating to Pagliacci, he drew the entire arena into his performance.

 

"I was determined to do two quadruple jumps. I can't lose to the younger guys yet."

 

Takahashi, who usually doesn’t show much rivalry, couldn’t help but say that, moved by such an emotional performance. The score was 192.36 points for the free skate, totaling 280.40 points. A score befitting the ace. The audience was captivated by Takahashi’s dignity and gave respectful applause. In that atmosphere, Hanyu took the ice as the final skater.

 

Even so, he successfully landed all the remaining jumps and performed with a fighting spirit as if determined to keep up with Takahashi. However, in this important match where the first Japanese national champion title was at stake, he was unbearably frustrated by showing weakness on the quadruple jumps. More than anything, he felt dissatisfied and even irritated with himself.

 

With a score of 187.55 points, he placed second in the free skate behind Takahashi. He maintained the point difference from the short program and won his first victory overall.

 

If possible, he wanted to take the lead in the free skate and claim his first victory. The transition between the old and new ace is clearer when the younger generation’s energy is felt as a real threat.

 

At the press conference after his victory, he didn’t smile; rather, he looked troubled. Until that night, Daisuke Takahashi had been a huge presence, leading men’s figure skating in Japan as the ace and national champion. Amid that, he was unsure how to grasp the meaning of winning as a young competitor, the influence it carried, and the responsibilities he would bear from now on. Faced with the complex and intertwined environment around him, he didn’t know what feelings to hold onto or which emotions it was okay to show.

 

“For me, Takahashi-senpai is someone I look up to in every way. I’ve watched him since I was little, and I don’t even feel like I’ve overtaken him. He’s still a figure beyond my reach. Doing well in the short program made a huge difference for this win. But I still don’t feel like I truly surpassed Takahashi with my own skill.”

 

Seeing Hanyu so conflicted, Coach Orser put a reassuring arm around him.

 

“Yuzuru, you won this with your own strength. The moment when the new generation takes over from the ace is always filled with mixed emotions. I’ve been there myself. Even if you can’t be happy right now, be patient.”

 

Medal and certificate in hand, Hanyu left the press room. Outside, snow had piled up, blocking the paths. He and Orser waded through snow up to their ankles, hurrying back to the building where the athletes’ waiting area was.

 

Amid this whirlwind first half of the season, Hanyu received good news off the ice too. He had been accepted into the university he had applied to through the general entrance exam. The day after the competition, he shared the news with reporters, looking somewhat more composed.

 

“Starting in April next year, I’ll be enrolling in Waseda University’s School of Human Sciences. Since I’m based in Canada, I’ll be doing the e-school correspondence course.”

 

He emphasized the word “university” with a hint of pride. Even as one of the world’s top skaters, he was still an 18-year-old who had just cleared his university entrance exam. Then, softening his tone, he added:

 

"When I won a medal at the World Championships in 2012, I was just barely on the podium. But now, having moved to Toronto and changed my environment, going through many experiences, I was able to stand at the very top like this at the end of this year.  When I think about being able to show how much I’ve grown, it feels deeply moving. It will soon be two years since the earthquake, and I’ve been running nonstop, so first I want to rest before welcoming the new year.”

 

The turbulent year of 2012 was coming to an end. He stayed in Sendai for the New Year, spending time with his family.

 

"The Responsibility of Being the Ace" and "The Support of Fans"

That winter, Toronto experienced bitter cold every day, with temperatures dropping to minus 20 degrees Celsius. In Sendai, even on cold days, it rarely gets below minus 5 degrees, so Hanyu had never experienced such extreme cold. After returning to Toronto for training in the new year, the extreme cold took its toll; by late February, he caught a cold that lingered and kept coming back, forcing him to rest for ten days. When he hurried back to practice, he overtrained and injured the tendon in his left leg.

 

It wasn’t until March that he was able to fully resume training.

 

His sense for jumps had dulled, but more than anything, his physical strength was gone.

 

The World Championships began on March 10, in London, Ontario, a city in the same province as Toronto. The only saving grace was that travel was easy. It was only after arriving at the venue that he finally resumed full practice of his quads, but unease was all he felt.

 

“All I feel is unease. If it were the usual nerves from pressure, I can look at myself from the outside and laugh it off. But this time, it’s the anxiety that comes from lack of practice and an injury. I don’t even know how to handle it.”

 

In the short program on March 13, he fell on his quad and made an error on his Lutz as well, scoring 75.94 points to start in 9th place. It was nearly 20 points below his personal best. The low score jolted him back to his senses.

 

This was the World Championships in the year before the Olympics. That meant Japan’s placements here would determine how many men’s spots they’d get at the Games. To secure the maximum three spots, they needed either a gold or silver medal from one skater, or the sum of the top two skaters’ placements to be 13 or less. As the reigning Japanese champion, Hanyu knew he ideally had to finish 1st or 2nd, and at the very least in the top 6. That was the “ace’s responsibility” he had felt even before the event. But now, standing at 9th after the short, he was on the brink.

 

It was when he ran into Takahashi during the free skate draw. Takahashi said to him, “Yuzu, if you don’t do it now, who will! We’re counting on you!” The words, carrying the nuance of “You’re Japan’s ace now”, struck a powerful chord in Hanyu’s heart.

 

"If not now, then when. I’ll nail the free skate, I will secure the three Olympic spots!"

 

As the free skate approached, the pressure grew heavier by the minute. Coach Orser told him:

 

“Yuzuru, the time you’ve spent training since coming to Canada this year is far longer than the few weeks you’ve had to rest. That doesn’t just disappear because you took a short break. A competition is a competition, trust in your own strength.”

 

“Even so… it’s still scary…”

 

Looking around the rink, he spotted more than ten of Team Brian’s coaches, lining the boards and sitting in the stands. Many fans had also come from Japan. Of course, he knew that beyond the TV screen, there were many voices of support from Japan too.

 

"I'll just have to trust everyone. I'll have to trust Brian’s words. Even if I collapse, even if my injury hurts, I’ll jump with all my might."

 

Two key elements that serve as a switch for Hanyu came together: "the responsibility of being the ace" and" the support of fans." Whenever someone needs him, that’s when he’s able to unleash the power he’s been holding inside.

 

In the free skate, he poured every ounce of himself into his performance. He landed the quad toe loop cleanly. Although he lost his balance on the quad Salchow, he landed all the remaining jumps perfectly. Due to a lack of stamina from his time off, he was so exhausted by the end of the program that he couldn’t stand up, struggling to breathe.

 

He put his head on the ice and muttered, “I borrowed power from so many people again. Thank you, truly.”

 

His score was 169.05, for a total of 244.99. At this point, he was in the lead, and he eventually made it to 4th place.

 

“When it comes to securing three Olympic spots, there was never any thought of withdrawing, even with the pain in my leg. My success rate for quads hadn’t improved at all, but this wasn’t about trying or giving it my best. It was only about making sure I landed them, no matter what.”

 

With Takahashi finishing 6th, their combined placement was 10. Japan had successfully secured three Olympic spots.

 

The free skate was on March 15, two years since the Great East Japan Earthquake.

 

“I always tell myself that just being here, existing in this place, is not something to take for granted. In reality, the fact that I was able to perform while my body was in such a battered state is thanks to the help of so many people. While performing my free skate, I felt the fans' support not just through their clapping or visible cheers, but almost on a sixth-sense level."

 

The pre-Olympic season had come to a close. From here, the only thing to do was to heal his injury and then pour all his strength into the climb ahead. That’s what he vowed to do.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 6: Sochi Olympics 2013-2014 Age 18 to 19

 

<Part 1>

 

Spoiler

"The Olympics begin the day after the World Championships end the year before."

 

This was something his coach, Brian Orser, often said, and it was a saying passed down from Orser’s own mentor, Doug Leigh.

 

A meticulous year-long plan for the Olympics began in March 2013. His teammate, Javier Fernández, stayed on in Toronto and immediately started choreographing his new programs for the Olympic season. On the day of the exhibition gala for Worlds, they were already discussing music choices for the next season. The preparations had begun that early.

 

Hanyu, meanwhile, had pushed through Worlds while injured, worsening his condition in the process. He needed to return to Japan as soon as possible for a thorough medical examination. One could say that, because of this, he would be starting later than other skaters. But Hanyu saw it differently. This too was part of his preparation for the Olympics.

 

“Athletes are always dealing with injuries. If you’re practicing quadruple jumps, some kind of injury is inevitable. What matters is preparing your body properly during the Olympic season so those injuries don’t become serious. I needed to properly strengthen my core and train my whole body in a balanced way.”

 

Fortunately, the tests showed it was just tendon inflammation and wouldn’t cause lingering damage. Although he had to stay off the ice for a month and a half, he chose to see even this setback as something that could be turned into a positive experience.

 

“Rather, having gotten injured at the most important competition before the Olympics made it clear what I needed to work on. It taught me what kind of mental state you fall into when competing injured, how much courage it takes, and it gave me the experience that even so, I could fight through the free skate.”

 

He wasted no time getting ready for his Olympic season programs. This is the year when every skater brings their absolute best. In non-Olympic years, a skater might intentionally choose a challenging piece to grow artistically. But once every four years, they need a program that highlights their strengths to the fullest. When it came to that strategy, Coach Orser, who has plenty of Olympic experience both as a skater and as a coach, was someone he could fully rely on.

 

For the short program, they decided to keep Parisienne Walkways. The previous season, it had scored over 95 points twice, setting world records. Not only did it show his expressive power, but it was also a piece that made jumps feel natural. After discussing it, they decided to keep the music but slightly adjust the choreography.

 

“Looking back, when I was a novice I skated to From Russia with Love for years. As a junior, I used Paganini for two seasons, and because of that, by the second year I could include two triple Axels. So I knew that reusing a program could work in my favor. I wasn’t saying I’d definitely break 100 in the short, but I wanted to approach it with that level of determination.”

 

They also planned to focus more on the free skate.

 

“If my short program is stable and gives me confidence, I can channel more energy into the free. That would raise my overall strength in competition.”

 

For his free skate, he chose the theme from the 1968 film Romeo and Juliet, composed by Nino Rota. In 2012, he had won the World bronze medal with Romeo + Juliet (the 1996 film version), so he had a special attachment to the song. This time, he selected a different version of the same timeless story but with Rota’s music.

 

“The ‘Romeo + Juliet’ I performed in the season after the earthquake was a program made amidst many conflicts. I felt I had to accept all the support and encouragement people gave me. Although I achieved good results, more than that, it became absolutely indispensable to me as a symbol of having overcome the disaster. Therefore, by choosing a different movie version of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ I can put the same shared feelings into it as myself.”

 

For Hanyu, it wasn’t just the single year of rapid growth in Toronto that shaped him.

 

“Looking back over these four years, I spent two years in Sendai during the period including the earthquake, and two years in Toronto. I want to make the Olympics a competition where I put all my feelings from these four years into it.”

 

His attachment to his hometown, Sendai, remained strong. During the summer, he planned to return to Japan temporarily for ice shows and to hold a media day in Sendai. Orser gave him clear advice for this.

 

“In an Olympic season, many media outlets will want interviews, but being interviewed repeatedly during the season can drain you physically and mentally. So, during the summer, you gather TV crews, newspapers, and magazines all together for one big media day. Hold an open practice where they can film and take photos, spending the entire day with the media. That way, once the season starts, you can tell them, ‘Please let me focus freely now.’ Managing the media is also an important skill for an athlete aiming for an Olympic medal.”

 

So, one day in early August, he held an open practice at his old home rink, Ice Rink Sendai, and unveiled his new programs. The hotel room where he did his interviews afterward had a balcony that evoked the famous scene from Romeo and Juliet.

 

He stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the pillars of Sendai spread below. The green was deeper and more subdued than in Toronto. It was the color of Sendai’s woods, mainly composed of zelkovas and maples, a sight he had been familiar with since childhood.

 

Once the Olympic season began, he would hardly have time to return. He etched the gentle green scenery into his mind.

 

“It’s just like Romeo and Juliet’s balcony. It has a certain atmosphere, doesn’t it? Ah, but if I’m standing here, I guess that makes me Juliet, huh?”

 

After saying it jokingly, he suddenly made a serious face and muttered:

“You know... there really are things you only understand when you’re struggling.”

 

He was recalling the season when the Great East Japan Earthquake happened.

 

Various feelings welled up in his heart. He began to speak freely about the feelings that were running through his mind.

 

“In tough times, I push myself to give my all and see things through. It’s hard and scary, but it’s precisely because of that fear that I find the strength to keep going. When I’m anxious, I don’t run away. I think through everything thoroughly. Two years ago, with ‘Romeo + Juliet,’ it was the season right after the earthquake, and I was completely worn out. Plus, I was seventh in the short program at Worlds, so I performed with nothing but the determination to finish what I started. It was like I was pouring out my very soul. I wasn’t doing it for anyone else, but in the end, I gave everything from within, and that resonated with people.”

 

He paused for breath, then continued.

 

“In the end, you have to believe in everything. Your coach, the people around you, your fans, your training. Even your equipment and the ice itself. This Olympic season, I’m going to give it everything I’ve got. It’s the dream I’ve had since I was little, and I’ve worked so hard for this moment to come. You want to make your dream come true, don’t you? So I’ll give it everything, literally risk my life for it. But that doesn’t mean I should put myself in hardship on purpose just to force out some last-minute miracle strength. For these Olympics, I just want to cherish the feeling of pushing through when things were tough, of doing my best when I was scared, that’s what I want to carry with me.”

 

A breeze stirred on the balcony. Summer was already coming to an end. He took a deep breath of the slightly damp air of the evening.

 

I’m Going to Jump Using Every Weapon I Have

 

Before the Olympic season, Hanyu once again organized his “jump strategy” in his mind. He had been analyzing jumps whenever he had spare time since he was a child, and the history of his trial and error was long. With the Olympics approaching, it was necessary to gather all his knowledge and establish the best possible method.

 

“There are only two months left until the Olympic season begins. In this period, I don’t think I can beat Patrick Chan or Takahashi in program components (PCS). So my only option is to keep raising my technical scores. I have no choice but to keep jumping and improve the quality of my spins, which I'm good at. I’ll calculate everything thoroughly and earn points through my jumps and spins.”

 

He started with calculating scores.

 

Under the current rules, for the eight jumps in the men’s free program, there are complex restrictions to prevent repeating the same jumps. Even a slight variation in combinations can make a jump worth zero points. Sometimes it’s better to attempt a difficult jump even if you might miss, and other times it’s better to secure points with an easier one. It was necessary to simulate in detail the type of jump and the order in which to jump.

 

“I’m going to attempt the most difficult elements I’m capable of. After all, landing my ideal jumps cleanly is really important to my skating, and it adds to the overall quality of the performance.”

 

When he thought about his “ideal jump,” only one came to mind: the triple Axel.

 

“For me, the triple Axel is my starting point. It’s my best jump, and because its takeoff is different from other jumps, landing it really pulls the whole program together. Ever since I trained with Tsuzuki-sensei (Shoichiro), I was taught that the triple Axel is a special jump. That’s why I spent so much time practicing to master it.”

 

Moreover, his triple axel does not simply have a high success rate. It had a unique role as a kind of “secret weapon.”

 

“My strongest weapon is being able to do a triple Axel combination jump in the second half of the program, when the base value is multiplied by 1.1—and land both jumps with GOE (Grade of Execution) bonuses.”

 

As a result, he decided to include two types of triple Axel combinations in the second half: a “triple Axel + triple jump” and a “triple Axel + double jump.”

 

Next, he considered his plan for quadruple jumps. He compared the scores of various layouts. Last season, his success rate for the quad Salchow was only once in seven attempts. Normally, that would make it too risky to include. But Hanyu came to the conclusion that he would jump a quadruple salchow and a quadruple toe loop, just like the previous season.

 

“If I include two quad toe loops, the rules won’t allow me to repeat a triple of the same type, so I’d have to do a double Axel at the end instead. That would significantly lower my base value. By doing two different quads, the base value is much higher. If I don’t attempt the quad Salchow this season, then what was the point of working so hard on it last season? I’m going to jump using every weapon I have."

 

If he structured his jumps with “two quad toe loops,” no matter how well he combined them, he would have to include a double Axel, and the total base value would be 71.42 points. But with “two different quads,” the base value rose to 74.72 points. More importantly, it was important to have the mindset of "attacking."

 

“In the first place, very few skaters can do two different quads. Last year my success rate for the quad Salchow was low, but I included it in competition all season so I could succeed with it this year. So there’s no option to give up on it just because last year’s stats weren’t good.”

 

Of course, he also anticipated and calculated Patrick Chan’s jump layout. Since Chan struggled with the triple Axel, he would have only one triple Axel and two quad toe loops. Calculating Chan’s highest possible base value gave 68.07 points. That meant Hanyu could secure a 6.65 point advantage just in base value. No matter how high Chan’s PCS or GOE were, Hanyu believed he could close the gap.

 

“In the end, my only option is to attack with jumps as my weapon. I want my strengths and special skills to be recognized.”

 

First, he would secure a high score through the “base value” of his jumps. Once that calculation was settled, the next thing to tackle was how to maximize positive GOE.

 

Javier’s Jump is the Ideal Form

His jump layout was decided. The biggest challenge was the quad Salchow. Now, he focused all his efforts on mastering it, studying every possible technique and form.

 

The first reference point was Javier Fernández’s quad Salchow.

 

“I really respect Javier’s jumps. They’re the ideal form. Watching them is so inspiring. There’s nothing more helpful for polishing my own jumps than his technique.”

 

Every time he watched Fernández’s jumps, Hanyu found himself sighing in admiration. Normally, having a rival right in front of you fires up your competitive spirit and makes you think, "I don't want to lose," or "I want to surpass them." But in this case, he chose instead to acknowledge Javier’s jumps as the ideal and to absorb their secrets for himself.

 

“The best thing about Javier’s quads is that the technique for his Salchow and toe loop is exactly the same. They look almost identical in form. Because he jumps both with the same technique, he can do them so consistently.”

 

He studied Fernández’s jumps in detail.

 

“With his toe loop and Salchow, the takeoff angle, the hand position when entering the rotation, and the axis angle in the air — they’re all the same. I realized this after watching his quads almost every day.”

 

However, he couldn’t just copy them exactly as they were. That’s because his own jump habits and style were different from Fernández’s.

 

“My quad Salchow is a bit like a triple Axel. Maybe because the Axel is my specialty, I tend to swing my right leg up like I do for the Axel. Javier doesn’t swing his leg up when he does the Salchow. That’s the difference. But after that, the rotation itself is the same.”

 

Hanyu didn’t intend to abandon the Salchow technique that had worked for him so far just to mimic Fernández entirely. Coach Orser’s guidance was also based on the principle of “making the most of Yuzuru’s original form.”

 

So, for the quad Salchow too, he envisioned a hybrid of “Fernández’s ideal quad Salchow + Hanyu's original Salchow.”

 

“There must be some common ground. If I can find even one shared key point, I can use that as the foundation to build my own quad Salchow.”

 

It was endless trial and error. Even when he thought he’d found the best form and practiced it for a few days, things would start to feel off again. Then he’d think, “So this isn’t it either.”

 

“My condition changes every day. Even if I find a key point once, it often turns out not to be quite right. I’m constantly experimenting. But my toe loop got much more consistent in just a year, and this summer (2013), I feel like my Salchow is reaching the same level my toe loop was last year.”

 

If you think about it, the probability of a quadruple toe loop has increased considerably in one year. The same goes for the Salchow. He just has to not give up.

 

How did he learn the toe loop...? Looking back on last year. For Hanyu, his method of growth was clearly recalling and comparing similar past experiences.

 

In the case of the quadruple toe loop, since many skaters actually land it in competitions, there were plenty of reference videos available, and he was able to watch and feel it live at the event venues. He also studied the quads of skaters like Chan and Takahito Mura. Then he remembered that he had received direct coaching from Mura.

 

Mura, who was originally like an older brother figure and very caring, actively taught quadruple jumps even to his rival Hanyu. During the summers of 2011 and 2012, when they performed together at ice shows, Mura would give him toe loop advice during breaks.

 

“After all, there’s a huge difference in how people who can land quadruple jumps see them compared to those who can’t. It’s the difference between someone who understands the feeling and someone who doesn’t. It’s like Brian being able to teach the triple Axel so well because he truly knows it himself. I wanted to hear from someone who really understands quads.”

 

With that in mind, there was only one person to ask. Fernandez himself.

 

So, in the summer of 2013, he asked Fernández, “How do you jump a quadruple Salchow?” At first, Fernández looked a bit puzzled, but then he shared a few tips.

 

Little by little, over the summer, his confidence in his Salchow steadily grew.

 

The Two Grand Prix Events Were Just A Stepping Stone

The Olympic season had begun.

 

Most importantly, both of his Grand Prix assignments had him going up against Chan.

 

In the six-event Grand Prix series, medalists from the previous year are normally assigned to different events to avoid head-to-head matchups before the Grand Prix Final. This keeps the field balanced at each event, ensuring that top contenders don’t face off early.

 

However, Hanyu had finished fourth the previous year. He hadn’t specifically aimed to be matched with Chan, but once the entries were announced, it turned out by chance that they would compete against each other at both events. If he made the Grand Prix Final, they would meet three times in a row. Those three showdowns and the growth in mindset and refinement of his winning methods that came with them changed Hanyu’s life. Before the first event, Skate Canada, he said the following.

 

“I absolutely want to beat Patrick. Last season he broke my short program world record and that frustrated me, so I want to take it back this time! I want to win this first event and secure points toward qualifying for the Grand Prix Final.”

 

He saw Chan as a fierce rival. It also weighed on him that the world record score of 95.32 he had set at last season’s NHK Trophy was surpassed by Chan at the 2013 World Championships. On top of that, being his first competition of the Olympic season, he felt a lot of pressure and found himself wanting to achieve many things at once.

 

Once he arrived in Saint John, Canada, he couldn’t stop thinking about Chan. He couldn’t fully focus on each element of his own performance, and his mind was running in overdrive. And whenever he's in that kind of mental state, it never leads to good results.

 

In the actual competition, a critical mistake turned his planned Lutz into a single rotation, and he ended the short program in third place, nowhere near breaking any world records.

 

In the free skate, falling on the quad Salchow was understandable, but then his reliable triple Axel in the second half turned into only a single and a half rotation. He had carefully calculated the “base value gap” with Chan, but once the Axel was under-rotated, that calculation became meaningless. In the end, he finished with the silver medal and about 30 points behind Chan.

 

Coach Orser assessed Hanyu’s condition like this:

 

“Yuzuru is using too much mental energy. He's been psyched up for the match against Patrick for weeks now, and he can't control himself. He needs to relax more and only switch into full focus right before competing.”

 

Hanyu analyzed himself in a similar way.

 

“My desire to beat Patrick was too strong. I was watching him too much and lost sight of myself. I couldn’t see myself objectively. I need to analyze myself more, use my mind and think for myself. I have to focus inward.”

 

Three weeks later, on November 15th, came the Trophée de France. This time, he calmed his mind and focused solely on himself, like a different person.

 

In the short program, Chan, skating just before him, broke his own world record with 98.52 points. A huge ovation reached his ears.

 

“Put the feelings into my heart, and focus only on myself.”

 

Repeating that to himself, he stepped onto the ice calmly. Performing to his updated version of Parisienne Walkways, he nailed every jump, including the quad toe loop, and scored 95.37 points, beating his personal best by 0.5 points. It was his first clean performance in five competitions since the All Japan Championships in December last year.

 

His tense expression from before the competition softened, and he smiled at the press conference.

 

“My mindset was completely different from Skate Canada. I didn’t outscore Patrick, but I feel like I did everything I could. Rather than worrying about whether I’d qualify for the Final or my placement, I focused on delivering what I’ve built up so far.”

 

When he managed to focus solely on himself, he could unleash his true power. He firmly confirmed this pattern.

 

At the press conference, he listened closely to Chan’s words. Asked why he could maintain such high program component scores, Chan explained in detail:

 

“The reason my PCS are so high is that every movement is precise and connected with complex footwork. I use my knees and ankles properly and put my full weight into my blades. That creates speed variation, which makes my steps, jump entries, and transitions richer and more varied. That’s why they’re so highly scored.”

 

Hanyu nodded repeatedly, letting those words burn into his mind. After the press conference, he said:

 

“Even when we both skate clean, he still pulls ahead in PCS and it becomes a three-point gap. I did outscore him in TES by 0.38, but there are still areas where I just can’t match him. But I got some great insights from the press conference, so I would like to put it into practice. Compared to my previous competition at Skate Canada, my program components did improve this time, which means the evaluation of me this season has gone up. So I felt reassured that the image of ‘Yuzuru Hanyu this season’ was not bad.”

 

In the free skate, he showed an even more mature side. Right before attempting his signature quad Salchow, his blade hit a rut, causing the jump to become a single rotation. Panicked, he fell on his strong quad toe loop as well. But what happened next was different from before.

 

Letting the mistakes shake him would have made all his past experience meaningless. He told himself it was “just bad luck” and wiped the mistakes from his mind.

 

In the second half, when he reached the jumps that earned him the most points, his focus sharpened instantly. He landed every remaining jump perfectly.

It was a lesson he had absorbed a year earlier, watching Daisuke Takahashi’s back at the Grand Prix Final. To be a true top contender, you must be able to lift your performance back up in the second half, even if you make mistakes early on. He had already made that lesson part of his own method.

 

And then, sitting in the Kiss & Cry, he was stunned by the score. Despite missing two quads, he earned a high score of 263.59, just 0.7 points shy of his Grand Prix personal best.

 

“Before, a mistake on a quad would have completely deflated me. But this time I stayed calm, landed all my jumps in the second half, and turned it into a good program in the end. Being able to fix it was my biggest takeaway.”

 

The reason for the high score was the strong evaluations for his spins and step sequences, along with a definite improvement in his program component scores.

 

“Leading up to this Trophée de France, I experimented with different ways of focusing. During run-throughs, instead of fixating on jumps, I deliberately focused more on spins, steps, and choreography, skating everything with care. That’s why my body moved so well in the actual program.”

 

On the other hand, Chan skated flawlessly in both the short and free. His free skate scored a towering 196.75, and his total of 295.27 secured a commanding victory. The gap was again over 30 points, a difference that could not be easily caught up with.

 

Yet Hanyu was smiling. Like an adventurer thrilled by the sight of a towering peak, he wore an excited, eager expression.

 

“I can only say I’m really happy I got to face Patrick twice. There’s still a big gap, but this time, even with someone as formidable as Patrick there, I didn’t get swept away. I focused on my own performance, and that’s a huge gain.”

 

Then, with a confident smile, he added:

 

“I feel like it’s just not the right time yet. I know I’m still not there, and this big gap made that clear. And watching Patrick’s amazing performance made me feel I really have to push harder. If he skates like that and lands all his jumps too, there’s nothing I can do. But my peak isn’t now. There’s still so much more I can improve. Brian even told me he’s glad it wasn’t a perfect skate this time. I’m going to peak for the Grand Prix Final.”

 

From the start, he understood that these two Grand Prix events were nothing more than stepping stones. For an 18-year-old, he showed remarkable composure.

 

Coach Orser watched his student with a gentle, knowing gaze.

 

“Up to now, Yuzuru would get too caught up in the jumps and sometimes neglect the choreography. But this time, he skated with passion and strength to the very end. He’s only 18, and some skaters his age are still in juniors, yet he’s already among the world’s top seniors. This is still the period where he matures mentally through competition experience. These two Grand Prix events were the best possible lessons. And I myself won my Olympic medals at ages 22 and 26. I want to convey the mindset of a champion, so that Yuzuru can face the Olympics with even a little more maturity."

 

Alongside Chan and Hanyu, Tatsuki Machida also secured a spot at the Grand Prix Final. The next day, Hanyu reflected again.

 

“If I land the quad Salchow in the free skate, I’m confident my technical score will top 100. Instead of focusing on Machida or Patrick, I just want to skate my own performance and let the results follow. I want to win, I feel frustrated, I want to get stronger, and I want to see ‘gold’ again for the first time in a while. But I’ve come to believe that if I focus on my own performance, I can definitely win. I want to concentrate on myself. It’s about balance. I feel like maybe the way I focus has started to change.”

 

The word “balance” was filled with a newfound strength.

 

The free skate at the Grand Prix Final would take place the day before his 19th birthday. With that day approaching, he began to notice a change in his mindset.

 

Victory by “The Hanyu Formula”

After completing his two Grand Prix events, Hanyu returned to Toronto and began analyzing his own mental state over those two competitions.

 

“At Skate Canada, all I could think about was beating Patrick. I kept saying it out loud too: ‘I want to beat Patrick.’ I wasn’t focused on myself at all. At the Trophée de France, I was able to concentrate on myself for the short program. But at the press conference afterward, I was still paying attention to what Patrick said, trying to absorb it. And during the free, somewhere in the back of my mind I was still subconsciously calculating the point difference with Patrick and wondering how hard I had to push to reach a certain score.”

 

By grasping how his mindset shifted over those two events, his mental approach for the Grand Prix Final naturally fell into place.

 

“I’ve fully analyzed how I felt. I understand now what I need to do in each mental state. I don’t need to think about Patrick anymore.”

 

Through those two battles with Chan, he painfully pinpointed exactly how his mind wavered when facing his biggest rival. He had now figured out how to manage himself in a “match against Patrick.” For the Grand Prix Final, he resolved to focus solely on his own mind. This time, he knew he needed to explore the mental approach for a “match against himself.”

 

“I have a strong desire to win and to become stronger, but I’ve decided to focus on myself first. If I skate my own program, I can definitely win. That’s the kind of confidence I want to carry now. The way I focus has changed a little.”

 

Step by step, eyes fixed firmly on Chan’s back, he was laying solid ground under his own feet. By the time he arrived at the Grand Prix Final, the Olympic gold medal had already begun to tilt slightly in Hanyu’s favor.

 

The Grand Prix Final, a fateful showdown. The stage was Marine Messe Fukuoka. For many, the pre-Olympic Grand Prix Final is the tournament that foreshadows the Games themselves. ISU officials and Japan Skating Federation executives watched with unprecedented excitement. The temperature in the venue and the condition of the ice were monitored with strict care.

 

Amid all that, Hanyu showed a calmness that could almost be described as being in another world.

 

“Compared to the two GP events, my mindset is completely different now.”

 

In the short program, he landed every jump cleanly and performed spins and steps without a trace of panic. It was a flawless “Parisienne Walkways.” Japanese fans showered the ice with countless bouquets. He raised both arms powerfully and bowed to the standing ovation.

 

The score was 99.84 points, breaking the world record that Chan had set just three weeks earlier. Overwhelmed by the incredible score, Coach Orser threw both fists in the air, shouted “Wow!” and hugged him, saying, “I’m proud of you, Yuzuru. All your hard work paid off.”

 

“I was honestly shocked by that score. I never imagined I’d get a score like that. I think focusing on each movement one by one really led to a good result. Next time, I want to skate even more carefully and polish it into a true work of art.”

 

Chan, on the other hand, made jump mistakes and started in second place. But what shocked Chan most was being beaten by Hanyu in program components , a category he had believed Hanyu could never touch. Bit by bit, Chan’s confidence began to waver.

 

The free skate marked a new frontier for Hanyu. He fell on the opening quad Salchow, but he had already learned at the Trophée de France that “even if you make a mistake on a quad, you can still score high if you fight back strong in the second half.”

 

He quickly switched his mindset.

 

“I overthought the Salchow and was focusing too much on the things to watch out for. I'll just try my best with the quad toe loop.”

 

He nailed the next quad toe loop. Then he landed seven consecutive jumps, showcasing his stable jumping power. Even as fatigue clearly slowed him down in the second half, the thunderous clapping from the crowd spurred him on, and he pushed through with every ounce of strength. By the final spin, he was so dizzy he nearly collapsed. When he finished, he stayed on his knees on the ice, unable to stand up right away.

 

He waited for his free skate score. From the content, Coach Orser standing rinkside could already tell it would be enough for victory.

 

He broke his personal best with a score of 193.41 points, putting him in first place in both the short and free programs.

 

When the overall “1st place” was displayed and his first Grand Prix Final victory was confirmed, Coach Orser smiled with a look that said “I knew it,” and gently nudged Hanyu with his right elbow. Seeing the score higher than expected, Hanyu shook his head in surprise.

 

“I didn’t expect a score like that, so honestly it felt a little unreal. But my coaches in Toronto understand my weaknesses, like my skating skills and stamina, and it’s the result of everyone working hard together. I will take this as a sign of expectation and want to perform better in the next competition.

 

Because his tension hadn’t eased and the victory was more perfect than expected, he didn’t show a relaxed smile for a while. Rather, winning this pre-Olympic competition made him feel that he shouldn’t get carried away.

 

“This win just happened to turn out this way. I think the short program score lifted the free as well. This competition is just this competition. Sochi is Sochi. Getting to compete alongside Patrick three times this season really helped me grow so much. I’m so grateful to him. Right now, I don’t even think of him as a rival anymore. Because of him, I’ve found my own style, and he helped me find my own pace for the Olympics.”

 

Chan was no longer “the rival.” Three years earlier, at the Cup of Russia, Hanyu had first met him and felt he was “someone on a cloud far above.” Back then, Chan was an insurmountable wall. Of course, Hanyu didn’t think he had fully conquered that wall even now. But when he said “I don’t see him as a rival anymore,” he didn’t mean “I’ve beaten him,” but rather a “farewell” to the style of competing while constantly being conscious of a rival.

 

That night, when they checked the detailed scores, it was clear this had been a perfectly executed win. Chan too had performed well, and his only real mistake was turning a planned quad + triple into a quad + double. But that was enough to swing the balance.

 

According to Hanyu’s pre-season “Hanyu Formula,” if both skaters landed all their jumps cleanly, Hanyu’s base jump scores were 6.65 points higher than Chan’s. Due to Chan’s mistake on this double jump, the base value difference expanded to 9.35 points. Even with Chan’s high program component scores, it was a gap that couldn’t be closed. Both made one jump mistake each, yet Hanyu still won. This was victory by the "Hanyu Formula."

 

On the other hand, Chan felt the tension as the defending champion to the limit, driven by the meticulousness of Hanyu’s jump combination, which could be called a “hidden weapon.”

 

“Before the free skate, I became afraid of performing and tried to remember how I was skating well and having fun during practice at my home rink in Colorado. Anyway, I just want to meet friends and relax over the New Year.”

 

This was the first time in three years that the three-time World Champion had openly voiced such anxiety after a competition. This unease would quietly eat away at Chan’s confidence through December and into January.

 

The day after the men’s free skate, Hanyu sat alone, watching the women’s event, reflecting deeply on what this breakthrough really meant: What kind of mental state led to his personal best performance? He knew he had to turn it into a repeatable method.

 

“I’ve always tried to watch many skaters and absorb as much as I could. But this season, instead of studying techniques with my eyes, I focused on analyzing my own psychology when facing my rivals up close. At Skate Canada, I analyzed my competitiveness and tension when up against Patrick. At the Trophée de France, there was a clear difference between my short and free, but in the end, I managed to concentrate on myself. Unlike before, when I used to watch Patrick during a competition and try to learn, this time I focused fully on myself and saw what kind of performance I could deliver. It gave me a chance to reevaluate everything.”

 

That day was his 19th birthday.

 

“Finally, I’m done with being 18. Eighteen was just full of challenges.”

 

Opening the door to 19 years old. He was no longer the boy who fueled himself solely with burning rivalry, but a young man capable of seeing himself objectively.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 6: Sochi Olympics 2013-2014 Age 18 to 19

 

<Part 2>

 

Spoiler

"No more, no less than Yuzuru Hanyu"

After the Grand Prix Final, Hanyu stayed in Japan for the National Championships starting December 20th. As the newly crowned Grand Prix Final champion, he was already in a strong position for Olympic selection. Amid the intense, unique tension of Japan’s qualifying showdown, he focused solely on himself.

 

In the short program, he delivered a flawless skate, scoring 103.10 (a domestic reference record) to take first place.

 

“I gave it everything I had this time, and I think it was good that I enjoyed performing too.” He answered matter-of-factly.

 

In the free skate, he fell on the quadruple Salchow, but landed all the remaining jumps. It was almost the same situation as at the Grand Prix Final. He recorded a high score of 194.70 points and successfully defended his national title. However, the fact that it was “the same as the Grand Prix Final” was, as expected, a frustrating outcome for Hanyu.

 

“I’m frustrated. Of course, I’m grateful for the score. And like at the GP Final, I’m confident now that even if I miss the quad Salchow, I can still score well in the second half. But still, I really wanted to deliver a better performance for myself.”

 

The next day, when he was officially named to the Olympic team, he was filled with joy.

 

“I’m simply happy. This is the starting line. There are still so many things to work on, so I want to tackle them one by one and keep stepping forward.”

 

Last year’s All Japan Championships drew attention for the showdown between the old and new ace, making it a battle against tension and pressure. But this season’s national title was won with a completely different mindset. Once again, he could truly feel how much he had grown.

 

“In the past, all I could think about was wanting to win. Even now, I still want to win, and that desire is a source of my drive to improve, so I continue to value it. But I’ve also come to think that it’s important to turn my focus inward, toward myself. I realized that again after doing three Grand Prix events with Patrick. That balance is really important.”

 

When a reporter asked, “How do you feel about going into the Olympics as the national champion?” he realized that he was no longer fixated on being the Japanese national champion.

 

“I am just me. Nothing more or less than Yuzuru Hanyu. All I can do is step into the Olympics as I am and give my best. When I was a kid, I watched the Salt Lake City Games in 2002, and seeing Plushenko and Yagudin fight for gold made winning Olympic gold my dream too. Since I was little, my dream has been to win Olympic gold. But that doesn’t mean I go into a competition thinking about rivals or medals. Rather than being too fixated on winning, I think what’s important is how much I can challenge myself, how deeply I can focus.”

 

He always put into words the lessons he had learned as a method.

 

With just over a month left until the Sochi Olympics, he entered 2014 with a sense of tension.

 

A place where something special happens if you do things as usual

 

One month after the All Japan Championships, Hanyu and Fernandez, led by Brian Orser, continued their training “as usual” toward the Sochi Olympics. What’s important is that it stays “as usual.”

 

Orser, a two-time Olympic silver medalist himself and the coach who guided Kim Yuna to the 2010 Vancouver Olympic gold, advised the two.

 

“It’s the Olympics, but that doesn’t mean you do anything special. We’ve spent two years practicing, preparing for competitions, and learning from the results. These two years have been a simulation. All that’s left is to go to the Olympics like it’s just another competition, and bring out what you’ve trained. We’re not going to do something special. The Olympics is the place where, if you do what you always do, something special happens.”

 

No overexcitement. No excessive nerves. No need for more practice than usual. With that in mind, Coach Orser and the two of them stuck to the same training routine as before.

 

Because Hanyu would also compete in the team event, his first skate was scheduled for February 6. Fernández, competing only in the individual event, would begin on the 13th. This was Hanyu’s first time managing a long Olympic schedule with two separate competitions. He and Orser carefully planned how to peak at the right moments.

 

As always, they would arrive at the venue three days before competition. He was scheduled to arrive at Sochi Airport on the night of February 3rd.

 

As usual, he dozed off while doing image training on the plane. In his dream, he kept jumping quadruple Salchows and quadruple toe loops.

 

Meanwhile, on the ground, more than 100 members of the international media were waiting for Hanyu’s arrival. In overseas sports news, medal predictions were: “Yuzuru Hanyu for gold, Patrick Chan for silver.” He arrived at Sochi airport as the leading candidate for the gold medal.

 

Wearing a perfectly pressed gray suit of the Japanese Olympic team, he emerged through the immigration gate reserved for Olympic personnel. His youthful fighting spirit shone.

 

“When I skated here at the Grand Prix Final, I wished with all my heart to come back to Sochi again. I’m so happy to be here again. Seeing all these media people really makes me feel that this is the Olympics. I’m getting excited!”

 

A foreign reporter asked him if he felt confident about winning gold.

 

“People say there are ‘Olympic demons,’ and you really can’t predict what kind of performance any skater will deliver. I think if I give it my all and skate my best, the results will follow.”

 

The next day, he had his first practice on the main rink alongside none other than Evgeni Plushenko, his childhood idol. The unique atmosphere of the Olympics, and the presence of a hero from a different generation, surrounded him. While keeping the "pace of his own" that he had found at the Grand Prix Final, he tried to feel the joy of the moment.

 

“I trusted my own senses and skated the way I always do. Having Plushenko there will not affect performance at all. I feel the excitement, but I can also see myself objectively."

 

His response was unusually calm. It was hard to tell whether it was excessive self-restraint or a natural sense of composure. Then, with a somewhat innocent expression, he said:

 

"My tissue case is Disney (Winnie the Pooh), so I'm refraining from using it. It's sad, but I'm keeping it in my room."

 

Due to Olympic sponsor regulations, he refrained from bringing the Pooh tissue case he had never let go of as a source of comfort. That unusually childlike joke was his final remark before the team event.

 

The Contrasting Conditions of Hanyu and Chan

February 6th, the first day of the team event.

The Russian flag filled the arena, and chants of "Russia" echoed throughout. For figure skating, it was unusually one-sided, an “away” venue that cheered only for Russia. However, to Hanyu, who was focused on himself, the cheers were nothing more than an echo from a distant world.

 

“The ‘Hanyu’ chants are amazing. This crowd’s fired up.”

 

That’s what he told himself. He performed a perfect short program to 'Parisian Walkways.' He scored 97.98 points, taking the lead and earning 10 points for Team Japan.

 

Back in the team seats, he was even calm enough to offer advice to teammates like Akiko Suzuki.

 

“The Russian crowd is so loud that you can’t hear the ‘one-minute remaining’ call during the six-minute warm-up, so be careful, okay?”

 

When asked by reporters afterward whether he had been confident, he gave a Zen-like answer.

 

“Having or not having confidence isn’t what matters. If you rely on confidence, then if you suddenly feel anxious right before your skate, you can’t do anything. Just think of it as doing your best."

 

When asked about the individual competition coming up in seven days, he said:

"Just think of it as another competition being held close to each other, like when the National Sports Festival comes right after the Inter-High School Championships in January."

 

It was a statement that made reporters doubt their ears. The words "Inter-High School Championships and National Sports Festival," were so mundane and felt "out of place" at the Olympic venue. In order to control his own composure, he deliberately said this in front of the media. From childhood, Hanyu has consciously used the method of "if you say it out loud, it stays in your mind," and he was also using this method on the Olympic stage.

 

He understood how to control his composure from several years of experience, but how to peak for competitions with two consecutive events was still a trial-and-error process. Normally, he knew how to hit peak form: let his condition dip a week before, then build up from three days out to hit the peak right at competition time.

 

He had nailed this for the team event. Now, he had to hold that peak for the individual competition too. Even a one-day slip could prove fatal. So, after the team short program, he took a full day off to recover from fatigue. Then, by February 11th, both his quad Salchow and quad toe loop were looking sharper than ever.

 

Meanwhile, journalists began to notice something at the practice rink: Chan’s condition seemed off. The better Hanyu looked, the clearer the gap became. Since the start of the Olympic season, the tables had quietly turned.

 

In fact, Chan appeared at Sochi Airport on January 31st, earlier than anyone else.

 

“I want to get used to the ice as soon as possible.”

 

In early February, he was in peak condition, consistently landing clean quad-triple combinations. However, he later admitted, “Practicing in front of the media was exhausting. It felt like my body was gradually being eaten away.” As the days went by, the precision of his jumps began to decline.

 

Looking back, the gears of fate had already begun to turn in opposite directions when Chan lost confidence at the Grand Prix Final. The foreshadowing had slowly begun to spread across Sochi.

 

First in History to Break 100 Points, A Strong Start in First Place

 

February 13, the day of the men’s short program. It was the 8th day of the 18-day Olympic Games, marking the halfway point. That day, true to Sochi’s location by the Black Sea, the sky was lightly overcast. Hanyu had drawn number 19 in the skating order at the draw held the previous day.

 

The skating order for the Olympic short program is quite literally a lottery that can determine the course of an athlete's life. Looking at the number he drew, Hanyu deliberately made a lighthearted remark:

 

“Number 19, how typical of me. I’m the first among the final twelve.”

 

If you're aiming for the gold medal, the truth is you'd want to be in the final group for the short program. Of course, scores aren't given purely in comparison, but it was unclear just how high a score the judges would award to the first skater among the last twelve.

 

However, that early starting position helped him avoid unnecessary nerves. He was the first skater to perform after the six-minute warm-up. With his body still well-warmed and wearing a relaxed expression, he began his “Parisian Walkways” program. He landed all his jumps successfully and finished with a powerful pose, thrusting his right arm confidently into the air, his tightened lips seeming to say, “How’s that?”

 

The moment he saw his score of 101.45 points, he made a powerful fist pump with both hands. He was the first skater in history to score over 100 points.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to score over 100 points, so I’m just really happy. To surpass 100 points on such a wonderful stage like the Olympics, I feel proud as a Japanese. Today, I was so much more nervous than during the team event that my legs were shaking badly. I focused on keeping a positive mindset.”

 

On the other hand, Patrick Chan’s landing on his triple Axel was shaky. In the short program, a single mistake can be costly. Right after his performance, he looked very downcast and was comforted by his coach, but the moment he saw his score of 97.52 points, he smiled and his eyes lit up.

 

“Starting in second place doesn’t bother me at all. Even with the shaky triple Axel, I still got a good score! Yuzuru’s score in the 101 range is amazing, but for the free skate, I just need to stick to my own pace and do what I have to do.”

 

The point difference between Hanyu and Chan was 3.93 points. A gap small enough that a comeback was definitely possible depending on the free skate performance. Their abilities were almost evenly matched. It was clear to everyone that from here on, the battle would come down to mental strength.

 

At the press conference after the short program, the two carefully chose their words, cautiously sizing each other up.

 

Chan used the word "Vancouver Olympics" to highlight his experience.

 

"I’m not fixated on the color of the medal; what’s important is performing a moment that’s special in my life. At the Vancouver Olympics, I got nervous aiming for a medal and couldn’t deliver my own performance. I won’t make the same mistake again. Tomorrow, I want to cherish my own style and enjoy skating at the Olympics. Also, the free skate is my secret weapon. I want to enjoy it with the feeling of closing in right behind Yuzuru."

 

Hanyu, meanwhile, deliberately named Chan as he reflected on how far he’d come.

 

“This season, facing Patrick three times taught me how to focus on myself. Thanks to Patrick, I’ve learned how to control my mind better. I want to focus on myself tomorrow as well."

 

The press conference was wrapped in tension from start to finish. It ended at 1 a.m., and both of them looked exhausted as they left the venue. From there, they waited for the shuttle bus to return to the athletes’ village lodgings. By the time they took a bath and did their care routines, it was likely past 3 a.m.

 

Moreover, the official practice the next morning starts early, just after 10 a.m. Considering warm-up time and such, they would have to leave the athletes’ village by 8 a.m.

 

To be honest, it’s hard to say the event was well managed. These two days happen only once every four years, and athletes put their lives on the line. The schedule wasn’t designed to bring out their best performances.

 

"I'll just do what I want to do, at my own pace."

 

On the day of the free skate, with fatigue still not gone, Chan practiced quads for the entire 40-minute morning practice.

 

About five minutes after stepping onto the ice, Hanyu landed one sharp quadruple jump. After his music started, he successfully landed two different quadruple jumps and then began cooling down after just 20 minutes. What was even more unusual was how relaxed he became when another skater’s music, Riverdance, played. He started mimicking the steps to its lively rhythm.

 

"Competitions and practice are completely different things. Being able to do the skating I love with all my effort is a happy thing. I’ll just do what I want, my way, at my pace.”

 

The two steered their courses in different directions. In Hanyu’s eyes, there was an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, having laid all the groundwork for the gold medal.

 

The moment when Hanyu’s 15 years of skating would come to fruition was approaching.

 

The days he had spent growing while aiming for the Olympic stage flashed through his mind like a scene from a movie.

 

When he first challenged the World Junior Championships at 14, he made this declaration.

 

“I want to become a legend! It would be great if I were the first Japanese man to win Olympic gold or the first in the world to land a quadruple Axel. I want to carve the name Yuzuru Hanyu into history!”

 

In October, when he was 16, he said this:

 

“The last barrier to aiming for the top of the world is Daisuke Takahashi and Patrick, but I realized there is a wall before that — the quadruple jump. I want to become stronger and compete in the Olympics in Russia three years from now.”

 

At seventeen, moving to Toronto, he told Coach Orser:

 

“I’m going to win gold at Sochi. And then gold again at PyeongChang in 2018.”

 

Keeping the Olympics in mind, he challenged himself with a new genre of music.

 

“The Olympics are two years away. I’ll be 19. I’ll need a mature, adult performance.”

 

He celebrated his 18th birthday right at the Sochi venue, which only heightened his excitement for the year ahead.

 

“If I’m going to the Olympics, I want to go for the win. I’m excited, thinking I might be able to bring pride to Japanese men at the Olympics.”

 

On the last day of being 18, he surpassed Chan for the first time and took the top spot in the world at the Grand Prix Final.

 

“I’ve competed against Patrick three times this season, and it helped me find my own pace heading into the Olympics.”

 

He felt the gradual sense of climbing the steps toward his dream.

 

On February 14, the men’s free skate took place. The skating order was 19th Fernández, 20th Takahashi, 21st Hanyu, and 22nd Chan. Hanyu skated in an order that allowed him to perform without knowing Chan’s scores.

 

Of course, being the Olympic free skate, things didn’t go exactly as planned. Hanyu fell on his opening quadruple Salchow. Undeterred, he successfully landed a quadruple toe loop next. However, unusually, he made a mistake on the following triple flip.

 

Extreme tension drains energy. Although he had prepared enough stamina for the Olympics, as the program went on, his strength gradually faded.

 

“My legs feel heavy.”

 

A moment of negative thought flickered in his mind.

 

On the “3Lz + 1Lo + 3S” combination, he couldn’t connect the jumps smoothly, and the final Salchow earned zero points.

 

After finishing his final spin, he paused in a pose with his knee on the ice. He put his hands on the ice and was unable to stand up. He stared at the ice where he had just completed his first Olympics.

 

“It’s over. I’ve lost the gold.”

 

His free skate score was 178.64 points. This was nearly 15 points lower than his personal best of 193.41 points set in December. His total score was 280.09 points. Without a word, he looked up at the scores and did not change his expression. Various thoughts raced through his mind.

 

However, Chan also made multiple mistakes. He even missed the triple Axel and double Axel, scoring 178.10 points in the free skate, almost tying with Hanyu. With the score difference from the short program, Hanyu came out on top.

 

Hanyu was in a hallway inside the venue to be interviewed by the media. Based on his own score, he assumed he would win the silver medal. Surrounded by reporters, he calmly continued giving comments reflecting on his performance. The Olympic venue had countless media from various countries, and interviews continued one after another without a break, so he couldn’t watch Chan’s performance on the monitor screen. When the music of Chan’s program, which had been faintly heard in the distance, ended, he checked his ranking on a monitor placed in the hallway. Then, it showed Hanyu in first place and Chan in second.

 

“I’m first? No way!”

 

Confused, he didn’t know how to feel happy. Suddenly, he was asked for a victory comment, but he said things like, “I’m surprised. I’m not satisfied with today’s performance,” and stumbled over his words.

 

While going through interviews from various countries one after another, Coach Orser came running over. He had a beaming smile.

 

“You’re the champion! Congratulations!”

 

Orser pulled him into a huge hug.

 

The first hug since he rose to the Olympic title. His fate was about to change dramatically, and Hanyu was at the center of that change.

 

An hour later, the medalists’ press conference was wrapped in a somewhat somber atmosphere. The international media kept asking Hanyu about his feelings after the earthquake, and neither the gold nor silver medalists were satisfied with their free skate performances. It wasn’t a celebratory mood. Hanyu responded.

 

“I was really nervous from the six-minute warm-up today, and my body wouldn’t move well, but I did my best to give it my all no matter the situation. I think my strong short program was the key to my victory,” Hanyu said.

 

Chan also spoke:

“I can finally put down the huge burden I’ve carried on my shoulders for the past four years. I’m not satisfied with just the silver medal, but I gave it my all in my performance.”

 

Both skaters made many mistakes in the free program. However, this was because they took risks and didn’t shy away from jumps they struggled with. Hanyu made mistakes by attempting the quadruple Salchow, which has a low success rate, and Chan by including the triple Axel, which was a weak jump for him.

 

Ambition to Become the First Ever

The next day, Hanyu reflected.

 

“Every time I competed against Patrick, I didn’t just accept losing. I focused on what I could learn from the loss and how to push beyond my limits. I believe that mindset helped me perform well in the Olympic short program. But the free skate was still tough. The Olympics are truly incredible. I love skating, so I want to keep working hard for another four years and aim even higher.”

 

From then on, it was a series of busy days filled with events. At 9:30 a.m., he attended the post-event press conference at the Japan Olympic Committee’s Japan House and received an international phone call from Prime Minister Shinzo Abe.

 

"I am happy to have been able to win the first gold medal in men’s figure skating for Japan, and at the same time, as a Japanese person and a citizen of Japan, I am proud to have received a lot of support and the wonderful recognition of a gold medal on the greatest stage. I want to keep working every day to live up to this gold medal, to be the kind of Olympic champion, the kind of Japanese person, I won’t be ashamed of.”

 

He then talked about his dream since he was 15 years old.

 

“Arakawa-san was the first Japanese woman to win gold, and I’m the first Japanese man’s singles gold medalist. We both come from Miyagi Prefecture, and I’ve always dreamed of that and chased it. So, now that it’s really happened, I feel so happy. Sendai is where I was born and raised, where my older sister started skating first and I followed her and discovered skating. If not for Sendai, I wouldn’t be here.”

 

At 10 p.m. that night, he received his gold medal at the medal ceremony. The February night in Sochi was surprisingly warm for Russia, and wearing the official navy down jacket made him slightly sweaty. The flame flickered atop the towering Olympic cauldron. He gazed up at the rising Japanese flag rising toward that flame. Whether it was the heat of the Olympic flame or the excitement in his heart, his face flushed red.

 

As “Kimigayo” played, I felt a proud moment as a Japanese citizen, as Yuzuru Hanyu. This medal isn’t something I’m wearing alone. It holds all the feelings of everyone who has supported me up until now, so I feel like we’re all wearing it together. I can’t find the right words and painfully realize my lack of Japanese language skills. Right now, I can’t even think about the frustration. I just want to soak in this happiness. I haven’t really looked at the medal yet, because if I do, I won’t be able to say anything. I want to look at it properly later, with my family and everyone who supported me.”

 

He slightly lifted his chin, avoiding looking directly at the medal, and gently touched it with his right hand. Holding onto it like that, he posed quietly for the media’s commemorative photos.

 

He actively took on interviews with international media like CNN and The New York Times. He watched the women’s singles competitions, keeping an eye on performances by skaters like Mao Asada. Wherever he went during his stay, he was constantly asked to comment as the Olympic champion. However, he showed no signs of being satisfied with just the title of Sochi Olympic champion.

 

“Just because I became the Olympic champion doesn’t mean my rivals have disappeared. There are still rivals and athletes I aim for, and even among retired skaters, there are people I continue to admire and look up to. For me, I have only won a single competition. That is also how I view the Olympics. Therefore, I don’t think of myself as someone who is being chased, and I always want to be the one chasing.”

 

During his stay in Sochi, he also began preparations for the World Championships by using the short practice times available to skaters who had finished their events. In particular, he focused intensively on running through the free skate program where he had made mistakes.

 

 

“The World Championships is also an important competition. For me, it’s a competition where I have not yet won a gold medal, and only have one bronze medal, so I will do my best to deliver a good performance.”

 

 

As a medalist, he was scheduled to participate in the closing ceremony and return to Japan on February 24th on a charter flight with the Japanese national team. In other words, he would stay in Sochi for 10 days after the competition. Hanyu, who was feeling the joy of skating throughout his body, was eager to start something new soon.

 

“When I received the gold medal, I was really happy, but as the days passed, the feeling of frustration grew. Now, I want to try various types of quadruple jumps. I have the ambition to be the first person to land something new or to be called the first ever in history.”

 

And then he began talking about new types of quadruple jumps.

 

“I will practice the new quadruple jump during the off-season. The quadruple loop is at the stage where I can land on one foot and step out. Also, on days when I’m feeling good, I try the quadruple Lutz for two days, and I have the feeling it’s just a little bit away. The rotation count is complete. I’m also working on the quad Axel (four and a half rotations). I’m rotating almost fully, to the point where I fall due to slight under-rotation. For me, if I build up my muscle strength, I think I could manage up to five different types of quads. That’s my hope and goal."

 

“I’m working on combinations too. I can fully rotate a triple Axel–quad toe loop, but I still can’t land it cleanly on one foot. So if I push a little more, I think I can get it. However, I would never actually include a quad combination jump in my program, because scoring is higher if I put two quads separately later in the routine. So why do I practice it? Simply to boost my morale and improve my skills. Also, if I can land the triple Axel + quad toe loop, the single quad toe loop will become much easier, and I’ll feel more confident. That’s why I want to work on this during the off-season to raise my level."

 

Once he started talking about quads, he just couldn’t stop speaking to himself. Since everyone kept asking only about his Olympic victory, he felt the urge to share his new goals. Finally, he said this before leaving Sochi.

 

“I’m happy about the gold medal and being in the spotlight, but I have not changed myself, and I want to remain as I am, a first-year university student Yuzuru Hanyu.”

 

Unprecedented “Hanyu Fever” and a World Championship Victory

 

What awaited Hanyu upon his return to Japan was an unprecedented "Hanyu fever." Even in Sochi, he was surrounded by reporters almost every day, but when he came back, he had completely become a Japanese idol. He was simply astonished every day. After completing the minimum required official events, he hurried back to Toronto to focus on his training.

 

The World Championships held in March, where he appeared as the Olympic champion, took place at the Saitama Super Arena. Naturally, the tickets were sold out. Most of the audience were fans who had come rushing just to catch a glimpse of Hanyu. More than usual, an intense enthusiasm was directed toward him. In Japan, he couldn’t even walk alone through the streets. Living in such a situation, before he knew it, Hanyu’s own pace had become disrupted.

 

From official practice, every time he landed a jump, cheers came from the audience seats, and he could feel the excessive attention focused on himself.

 

In the actual short program, he fell on the quadruple toe loop due to an under-rotation, which was unusual for him, and started in third place with 91.24 points. It was an unexpected fall on a jump he was confident in.

 

In the short program, an uncharacteristic under-rotation on his quad toe loop led to a fall. He scored 91.24 — third place. It was a shocking miss on a jump he trusted most.

 

"I think it was a little overconfident or careless. Whether or not I become overconfident because of the title 'Olympic champion' is up to me. I think a small miscalculation showed up in the quadruple jump."

 

He was about 7 points behind the leader, Tatsuki Machida. Sitting down for the press conference in third place, his fighting spirit suddenly ignited.

 

"I'm feeling angry at myself. I can't forgive the person I am right now."

 

On the morning of the free skate, when his quadruple jumps were off during the official practice, he carefully checked his form by watching recordings on his iPad. Hanyu was seen practicing desperately, without worrying about those around him.

 

In the actual performance, he successfully landed two types of quadruple jumps: the quadruple Salchow and the quadruple toe loop. Once he gained momentum, he skated through without any mistakes until the end. Every time he landed a jump, the crowd’s excitement grew louder, pushing him to give his all. After the performance, overwhelmed with emotion, he sat upright on the ice.

 

The moment he saw his score, he asked those around him, "Did I win? Did I win?" When “1st place” was displayed, he raised both hands and jumped up. He won by beating Machida by 0.33 points.

 

"It was all about determination and spirit. I had a strong desire to win. The free skate was a really fun competition. It was the competition in which I grew the most this season."

 

During the Sochi Olympics, he kept telling himself to "keep calm" and "do things as usual," so that he wouldn’t be swallowed up by the ‘Olympic demons’. However, the true source of Hanyu’s power is his fighting spirit. In the very end, this was a battle where he returned to that original mindset.

 

“I don’t feel like I have to do something special heading toward the PyeongChang Olympics. I just really love skating, I really love jumping, so I’m just going to do what I love. I want to take myself to even greater heights.”

 

The four years that made his feelings for Sendai and Toronto shine like gold have come to a close.

 

And so, he began a new four-year chapter.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 7: Proof of champion 2014-2015 Age 19 to 20

 

<Part 1>

Spoiler

Off-Season as the Reigning Champion 

 

Sochi Olympic champion. Carrying that title, Hanyu was thrown into the midst of a whirlwind of activity. A triumphant parade in Sendai that drew 92,000 people, a visit to the Prime Minister’s residence, an imperial garden party, a tea party hosted by the Emperor and Empress, more than 40 ice show performances, numerous media appearances, and commercial shoots—

 

The days he once spent burning with pure fighting spirit felt like a distant past, replaced by endless smiles posed for cameras and fans, just as he was asked to do.

 

A place where Hanyu can return to being "an athlete" rather than "idol" or "Olympic champion". That place is Toronto's long-established sports club "Toronto Cricket Skating & Curling Club", commonly known as "Cricket Club". Within this space, he is able to face himself single-mindedly with an earnest gaze.

 

This rink that raised Hanyu into an Olympic champion in just two years offers a training environment unlike typical Japanese skating rinks, both in facilities and in staff.

 

About a 30-minute subway ride from downtown, past residential streets lined with beautiful maple trees, stands a building with white walls. As the name suggests, it mainly features a vast cricket field and rinks for figure skating and curling, and is also equipped with facilities for ten types of sports, including tennis, a gym, pool, and squash, as well as a luxury restaurant, bar, and dance hall. Regular members pay over 5 million yen a year for initiation and annual fees, making this the most exclusive club in Toronto. You can see wealthy people of all ages and genders working up a sweat playing sports and enjoying wine and food. Because it’s fully membership-only, elite athletes can train in a highly secure, private environment.

 

The rink itself, with a 50-year history, is especially renowned as an ideal training ground. Sand is laid beneath the ice, softening the impact when landing jumps. Compared to ordinary rinks, where ice is made over concrete, this helps prevent injuries to knees and hips. Also, the quality of the ice is smooth because the ice surface is made by freezing highly pure water with the air removed. This minimizes bad skating habits and helps skaters master beautiful, fundamentally sound technique.

 

But the most impressive feature is the beautiful wooden ceiling, which is like a work of art. In this elegant space, skaters naturally aspire to perform more beautifully. Also, not only the 'facilities' but the 'staff' are thoughtfully arranged.

 

In a typical Japanese rink, coaching is one-on-one (or in a small group) and coaches rarely share information with others. But at the Cricket Club, around 20 coaches, 60 elite athletes, and 400 recreational skaters form a single team. Brian Orser, the head coach, acts as the coordinator. 

The team includes Tracy Wilson, skilled in skating techniques; choreographer David Wilson; Paige Aistrop, a certified technical official with the International Skating Union; athletic trainers; massage therapists; and other specialist staff who work together to support all skaters.

 

Specialists like skating expert Tracy Wilson, choreographer David Wilson, technical specialist Paige Aistrop who holds ISU certification, plus off-ice trainers, massage therapists, and other support staff—all work as one team to support every skater.

 

When Orser became the head coach here in 2007, he had this idea in mind.

 

“Nowadays the rules are complex and require highly specialized knowledge. By bringing together experts in each field, we can provide the best possible support. I must not assume I alone can teach all aspects of jumps, spins, and performances at the world’s top level.”

 

After gathering talented coaches and forming a team, he said:

 

When he gathered talented coaches to form a team, he said, "If you want your athletes to win, you must take responsibility for their entire competitive journey, not just teach them techniques. You need to manage everything, from advising them on matters beyond skating, to supporting their mental health before competitions, and sometimes even changing the coach assigned to them within the team. To do that, you need a team structure like running a company.”

 

And he runs the team with the strong leadership of a skilled businessman.

 

When Hanyu first moved to Toronto in the summer of 2012, his biggest motivation was “I want to see Javier Fernández’s jumps up close.” But once he began training, he immediately realized: “This system where multiple coaches each teach in their area of expertise is amazing.” He quickly blended into Team Brian.

 

Here, there’s no hierarchy of “this coach is superior” or “this skater is special.” It is a team where everyone "does their best to move forward." No one treated Hanyu with excessive respect or gave him special treatment.

 

For Hanyu, the cricket club was a sacred space where he could make a fresh start as an Olympic champion, and a place where he could return to being the same athlete he was before the Olympics.

 

“I want to keep evolving without stopping” 

After the Olympics, many skaters choose to take a break or retire. But for Orser and Hanyu, there was no sign of stopping. The more shows and celebrations he attended, the more tightly Hanyu clung to skating.

 

“Winning gold at the Olympics doesn’t change how I feel about skating. The Olympics are just two competitions ago, nothing more. Choosing to continue competing means I still want to be an athlete. And as long as I’m an athlete, I want to become stronger. When a new season begins, I’ll be in a different place, at a different competition, performing a different program for a different audience, and I’ll give it my all there."

 

Meanwhile, Orser, drawing on his own experiences, understood well what situation Hanyu was in and how he must be feeling. So he made sure that everything would be ready for Hanyu to fully focus on training whenever he returned.

 

At the end of May, amid his hectic schedule, Hanyu was finally able to return to Toronto for the first time since the Sochi Olympics. While discussing his programs for the new season, Hanyu came to this thought.

 

“My short program up until last year, Parisienne Walkways, became a complete piece after performing it for two seasons. But I want to keep evolving without stopping. So what does my skating still lack right now...? The thing I’ve neglected most is going back to the basics: skating skills, ballet, beautiful posture. But there’s no easy answer for mastering fundamentals or expressiveness. I have to improve them step by step over the next four years.”

 

Orser also said:

 

“Yuzuru can easily land quads and perform well when it’s music he’s familiar with. But four years is a long time. If, by the time PyeongChang comes around in 2018, people say, ‘Your programs all feel the same,’ it’s over. Even if the jumps are hard to perform and the performance feels difficult, he should try a new style."

 

After discussing it, they decided he would challenge himself with a piano piece for the short program. The choreography was again entrusted to Jeffrey Buttle, who had choreographed Parisienne Walkways.

 

"Because piano pieces don’t have a story or theme, expressing them is very difficult, and fully conveying emotions is hard. I want to do a piano piece in order to broaden the range of my expression."

 

The piece Buttle chose was Chopin’s Ballade No.1. If the music has an upbeat tempo, the music can lead the performance, but with this piece, you have to create the music through your own skating. It was a quiet and emotional piece.

 

Buttle, who says he "likes piano music more than anything else in classical music," created choreography that truly expresses the worldview of Ballade No. 1. It’s delicate, free of wasteful movements, graceful, and soft. In the silent parts, the skater sometimes gently relaxes. Whether these moments become simply “a dull pause” or “deeply meaningful nuance” depends entirely on the performer’s sensibility. Hanyu liked this choreography.

 

"Classical music is difficult to express and fully convey precisely because it does not have a story. To broaden the range of my expression, I decided on this piece. Although the tempo is quite difficult to follow, I aim to show that Yuzuru Hanyu can also perform this kind of program."

 

He repeatedly watched Buttle’s unique, dreamlike demonstration repeatedly, replaying them over and over in his mind, and also reviewed videos of his own practice many times.

 

“First, I want to see how closely I can match the choreographer’s vision. As the next step, I want to incorporate my own style as well. Since it’s a slow piano piece, my challenge is to create depth and contrast through my skating. If I don’t pay attention to every fingertip, I won’t be able to express it properly.”

 

Once the choreography was done, he performed it for Orser and the other Cricket Club coaches. He struck his starting pose at center ice. As Ballade No.1 began to play, he held a long, fifteen-second pause. He drew in the audience’s anticipation with his whole body. When the silence reached its peak, he began to move as if emerging from its depths. Time seemed to flow slowly, and the aura of an Olympic champion overflowed. It was his true talent.

 

Orser narrowed his eyes and said:

 

“This is a program that only Yuzuru, who’s now an Olympic champion, could perform. A pride and special aura so strong it even feels strange to me naturally emanate from his body, and his slow movements don’t seem sluggish but rather dignified, drawing people in.”

 

Quad Jumps in the Second Half and Building Stamina 

Meanwhile, for the free skate, Hanyu chose The Phantom of the Opera, a piece he had always wanted to skate to since he was a child. Due to the rule change allowing vocal music starting this season, this is a dramatic arrangement that includes the Phantom’s singing voice.

 

“It's a song I really love, and I've wanted to do it ever since I was in junior high school. The choreography centers on the Phantom, but since I’m not the type to perform so powerfully, I want to portray my own version of the Phantom. It’s a piece I absolutely want to create; I really like it."

 

It was a piece he felt comfortable skating in his own style. Precisely because of that, Hanyu asked Orser to let him attempt an extremely difficult technical challenge.

 

“I don't want to be the same person I was last year. This season, I'm going to do a quadruple jump in the second half of my free program. If I put two triple Axels and a quad all in the second half, there’s no one else in the world who can pull off this layout.”

 

Of course, it was still just a plan, but it was an unprecedented challenge. Placing elements like a “triple Axel + single loop + triple Salchow,” “triple Axel + triple toe loop,” and “quad toe loop + triple toe loop” in the second half — these are huge elements that are difficult even in the first half. If he succeeded in landing them all, it would boost his jump score by about five points compared to the previous season.

 

“I’ll do three quad jumps and two triple Axels in the second half. It’s a challenge for me too. The key to performing this program is building my stamina.”

 

So from the summer, he revamped his training methods. Up until then, he mostly practiced in “parts,” dividing the program into one-minute sections, but since last season he had started doing full “run-throughs” of the entire four and a half minutes. He increased the number of run-throughs to seven or eight times a week.

 

“Anyway, I decided to practice running the whole program almost every day. I’ve gradually come to understand where I use up my energy and how much strength I need to jump when I’m exhausted in the second half.”

 

Doing a full run-through at full power left him so exhausted he would collapse on the spot, but he skated every day with competition-like intensity, steadily pushing the limits of his stamina.

 

“My approach to training changed at Skate Canada last year. It was six months before the Olympics, and I lost to Patrick so completely. I realized I had to fundamentally change myself, so I reviewed my training methods and increased the number of run-throughs. As a result, I built up the stamina to skate through the whole program, and I came to realize how crucial run-throughs are.”

 

In run-through practice, even if he fell two or three times during the four and a half minutes, he would still attempt every element to the end. In the second half, breathless and slowing down, all the coaches would clap and shout, “GO! GO!” driving him on. By finishing every time, he kept discovering new insights day after day.

 

“In daily practice, I feel various kinds of progress. I can actually sense how the rotation speed of the quadruple jumps and the takeoff trajectory change almost every day. Moreover, because the points of attention such as how much to relax differ slightly between the quadruple jumps in the first half and those in the latter half, I can only get a feel for that through daily run-throughs.”

 

On a rink chilled to five degrees Celsius, he would spend his days drenched in sweat. Forgetting the pressure of being an Olympic champion, he spent the summer of 2014 fully tuned into his daily practice and growth.

 

An Olympic Champion’s Mindset 

Since April, Hanyu and Coach Orser had hardly spent any calm time practicing together, but at the end of July, they held a long conversation again with an interpreter present. They discussed their past practice days and the future in more detail than usual. It was a conversation meant to be the mental “reset point” for the four years leading up to the PyeongChang Olympics.

 

Coach Orser spoke with care, giving Hanyu this advice:

 

“After I won the silver medal at the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics and then prepared for the 1988 Calgary Olympics, I really experienced how hard it is to control my mindset. When you win a medal at the Olympics, public perception changes, and you begin to feel confused by the difference between the person fans expect you to be and your true self. Having achieved one goal, setting new goals also becomes difficult. Still, the key to growth lies in how much you continue to wish to become stronger, and whether you can keep loving skating no matter the results. Yuzuru, you’ll probably go through hard times too, but let’s face them together and keep growing.”

 

Hanyu then asked Orser:

 

“Now that I’ve won gold at the Olympics and Worlds, maybe I’ll feel a different kind of pressure from now on. Brian, how was it for you? Did the pressure change?”

 

Orser himself had won silver at the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics, became World Champion in 1987, and won silver again at the 1988 Calgary Olympics. As the Canadian men's ace, he led Team Canada for many years, and experienced the pressure of being a national star during his competitive career.

 

“Some skaters struggle to find motivation after winning, but you love challenging yourself with new things, so you’ll be fine. You can keep evolving. You should know that better than anyone. Plus, even when you’re the champion, new rivals always appear. For me too, once I started trying new things after Sarajevo, the four years until Calgary flew by.”

 

Talking with Orser, Hanyu came to a realization:

 

"No matter how old I get, the feeling of 'I want to work hard and grow' never goes away. Besides, seeing younger skaters coming up will be a new source of motivation, and being chased is something I actually welcome. That’s why I want to keep taking on new challenges so I can continue to evolve."

 

Then Orser said, “This is a treasured video,” and showed Hanyu a clip saved on his iPhone. It was a video of Orser himself landing a clean quadruple toe loop in practice back in 1985. Although the first official quadruple toe loop in competition was achieved by Kurt Browning in 1988, this was three years earlier. Orser had already successfully landed an unprecedented quadruple jump.

 

“I never tried it in competition because my success rate was only about 50%. Under the judging system back then, you couldn’t risk it unless you were almost 100% sure. So my triple Axel became my weapon instead. But whether you use it in competition or not, challenging your limits is always important.”

 

Hanyu blinked many times as he watched the video, exclaiming in admiration.

 

“Wow. Wow. That’s a huge quad toe loop. I didn’t know Brian could do quads. If he had landed that in competition, it would have been the first in the world, right!? And this is just like how I’m practicing the quad loop and quad Lutz now to boost my motivation. So Brian had the same kind of experience after all.”

 

Looking up at Orser with the eyes of a boy admiring his hero, Hanyu declared firmly:

 

“I am not satisfied with myself just because I am an Olympic champion, and I believe that my drive to become stronger will never run out. I want to keep my mind sharp and approach this season with the mindset that I’m not the same person I was last year. This year’s me will win as this year’s me.”

 

The two exchanged looks and nodded in agreement. Orser replied:

 

“Yuzuru’s no longer in the position of chasing someone else. From here on, you’ll be the one setting the limits for men’s figure skating. Leading the sport forward, that will be your greatest motivation.”

 

Hanyu nodded in understanding and expressed his thoughts about the next four years with Orser:

 

“The four years leading up to the Sochi Olympics were four years of continuous growth, including my first triple axel, quadruple toe loop, and quadruple salchow. But for the next Olympics, I’ll be 23. It will definitely be a different kind of four years. After turning 20, physical limits start to appear, and it becomes harder to keep improving at a steady upward pace like in your teens. That’s why I think it’s important to keep the mindset of ‘let’s work hard’ and ‘let’s keep growing.’”

 

As coach and student, and also as one of the few companions who could truly relate to each other's lives. In the summer after their first Olympics together, the two vowed to start anew.

 

The Start of a Turbulent Season

The new season began after the Sochi Olympics. Patrick Chan announced that he would take the 2014–15 season off, and Evgeni Plushenko was no longer competing. A new four-year era was beginning.

 

For Hanyu, it was the start of four years as the “Olympic Champion.” His first Grand Prix event, the Cup of China, was expected to test him with the challenge of balancing “pressure and motivation.”

 

It would be the debut of Chopin’s Ballade No. 1. This was not only a fresh challenge in terms of expression but also marked a technical evolution: he planned to place the quadruple toe loop in the “second half” of the program, where jumps earn a 1.1x bonus.

 

“In the second half, I'm more fatigued, and after spins, my head somewhat gets dizzy. The timing, the amount of force applied, and the body’s reactions change. I really have to sharpen my senses to understand my body’s condition when I go for the jump. It’s tough.”

 

He had been practicing it since early spring, but the success rate didn't improve much. He was capable of jumping quads and physically should be able to do them in the latter half of the short program. But he hadn’t yet found the exact adjustments needed in power, form, and body position in the air.

 

“I haven’t been able to find the common denominator. It would be great to discover one key point that applies to all the conditions: speed, power, timing, and body position in the air. With the quad toe loop, I feel like I’ve grasped it. But when it comes to the quad jumps in the latter half, I wonder what that common denominator really is.”

 

He kept studying but couldn’t find the answer. Moreover, since this study could only be done under the condition of doing the quads in the latter half, simply practicing quads alone was meaningless. He had to do full run-throughs, complete all the jumps in the first half, exhaust himself, and only then could he practice the “second-half quad.”

 

“There’s no choice but to do hard run-through practices. In any case, this year I have to include quads in the latter half. If I don’t, I can’t say I have evolved.”

 

He doubled the number of run-throughs compared to the Olympic season and threw himself into practice with total abandon.

 

Coach Orser quietly observed.

 

“As expected, the season after becoming Olympic Champion is completely different in terms of attention. Even if he thinks he’s the same as before, mentally, it’s impossible to feel exactly the same. Especially Yuzuru, he’s the type who thinks, 'I want to live up to the expectations of those around me, I want to make everyone happy,’ so instead of focusing on the version of himself he wants to be, he tries to perfectly embody the image everyone expects.”

 

What those around him expect is the image of a "champion." Even without saying it aloud, it unconsciously affected Hanyu’s mind.

 

With a small sense of unease, the day of the short program at his first Grand Prix event, the Cup of China, arrived.

 

During the six-minute warm-up, he easily landed a quadruple toe loop. However, in his heart, he felt, 'This alone doesn’t count as practice for a quad in the second half.' As expected, during the actual performance, anxiety showed on his face.

 

The program began with about 15 seconds of stillness, opening slowly and gently. The tempo was more relaxed than his previous seasons. He landed the triple Axel gracefully, but the quadruple toe loop in the second half turned into a triple. Even the triple Lutz landing was shaky.

 

When he finished the performance, he let out a big sigh. His score was 82.95 points, more than 18 points below his personal best, putting him in second place.

 

“The second-half quad didn’t have a high success rate even in practice, so I did feel anxious about trying something new. This season, I was so desperate to land a quad in the second half.”

 

For Hanyu, who was the type to pursue his goals with calculated determination, it was rare to hear him use words like “anxious” or “impatient.” He showed weakness. But the more he spoke, the more his words poured out fluently. His anger at himself was replaced by frustration.

 

“I think I can normally land the quad if I nail it on the first try. But the fact is, I still haven’t established a training method for jumping under the specific condition of doing it in the second half. I want to find the issues from this failure and start over. I can’t go back to Canada after a performance like this. This performance was like disgracing Brian’s name.”

 

At the press conference afterward, he sat there with a strained smile, muttering to himself, reflecting aloud. His attitude made it clear that he wanted to make every second count for tomorrow, radiating fierce determination.

 

“That's it, the six-minute warm-up hadn't truly been practice for the actual performance. I had thought, 'This isn't a quad in the second half.' So the six-minute warm-up just became a warm-up to get my body moving. That’s not right. Tomorrow, I’ll make the six-minute warm-up proper practice for the competition.”

 

More than ever, he was fixated on using the six-minute warm-up to fully simulate the actual performance. No one at that moment could have imagined that this would lead to the “accident” the next day.

 

“I'm Going to Skate”

The next morning’s official practice. Hanyu and Coach Orser arrived with a completely different tension from the night before. Hanyu stood by the rinkside, moving his body rhythmically, looking like he could hardly wait to skate.

 

Orser believes that, “as the team of an Olympic champion, it’s also our role to project authority with a sense of dignity that keeps others in check.” He firmly placed Pooh’s tissue case on the rink wall, radiating an aura that kept other coaches from standing nearby. “We are the champions.” That kind of intensity radiated from Hanyu, Orser, and even Pooh during practice.

 

Perhaps his spirit was a bit too fired up: he couldn’t land a single quad Salchow in practice. Right up until the last second of his allotted time, Hanyu attempted the quad Salchow ten times, and just before stepping off the ice, he skated to the area where he planned to do the Salchow during the performance and touched the ice there. His fierce passion for the real performance overflowed.

 

Then came the evening performance. At 7:42 PM, the six-minute warm-up began. Now an idol-like figure even in China, Hanyu received enthusiastic cheers of ‘Jiāyóu!’ (‘Go for it!’). But tragedy struck about a minute and a half in. Hanyu, aiming for a comeback, and Han Yan, the local Chinese skater, were both going fast. As they approached each other skating backwards, they collided the moment they turned around.

 

Screams echoed throughout the arena. Neither of them moved or tried to get up. Collisions happen sometimes in practice, but normally both skaters get up quickly. This time, blood could be seen streaming from Hanyu’s face, and the practice was halted.

 

Hanyu was helped up by medical staff and limped to the rinkside, dragging his left leg. His face was pale, and his gaze was unfocused.

 

Coach Orser immediately shouted, “U.S. doctor!” The local Chinese doctors did not understand English, and no doctor had accompanied the team from Japan. It was a decision made because he knew that the US team had a doctor with them.”

 

The trainers who had accompanied the team from Japan applied emergency hemostatic tape to his head and chin, and immediately the U.S. doctor rushed over. At first glance, it appeared he had 'hit his head'. Coach Orser asked the doctor, 'Could he be suffering from a concussion?' seeking a diagnosis.

 

However, after the doctor’s examination and questioning, it was determined that although he had abrasions and bruises, he had not hit his head on the ice and was not suffering from a concussion. In fact, when they collided head-on, his head struck Yan’s chest causing injury, and he hit his chin hard from the impact of the fall, so he had not actually hit his head.

 

If a doctor’s stop is not issued, the final decision whether to compete or not would be left up to the skater and coach.

 

“Yuzuru, you don’t need to be a hero here. Don’t push yourself," Coach Orser said. But Hanyu just kept repeating, ‘I’m going to skate.’ Withdrawing wasn’t even on his mind. After confirming with several doctors that he was cleared to skate, Coach Orser finally nodded to him.

 

There was no announcement in the arena, and the audience continued to murmur. Then, about ten minutes after the accident, at 7:52 PM, Hanyu appeared with his head wrapped in hemostatic tape. He was also wearing his skates.

 

“He’s going to skate!” “Yuzuru, jiāyóu!”

 

A loud cheer erupted. The skaters gathered for the six-minute practice, which was delayed from its scheduled start, but Yan was nowhere to be seen. Hanyu briefly left the rinkside and searched for Yan in the hallway.

 

“Where’s Han Yan?”

 

It was confirmed that Yan would not participate in the six-minute warm-up, but would still compete in the event.

 

Thirteen minutes behind schedule, the six-minute warm-up started again. Honestly, he was in no mental or physical state to do this. Hanyu tried a quad toe loop and put both hands on the ground. He attempted a quad Salchow but fell. It was clear to anyone he was not in condition to compete. But his determination to skate did not waver.

 

The competition had already resumed. If he were to skate, Yan would be fourth, and Hanyu fifth. Just before his performance, Yan made the final decision to compete. Before heading out, he came over to Hanyu and said, ‘Let’s both do our best.’ Hanyu replied firmly:

 

“This is just an accident. No one’s to blame. Let’s both focus on the competition and do our best.”

 

At any rate, they faced each other, apologized, and shook hands. Even injured, they showed concern for one another. It was an instinctive act born from the spirit of top athletes.

 

Yan’s performance began, and when there were 20 seconds left, Hanyu passed through the curtain and appeared at the rinkside. He swung his injured left leg back and forth, pumping himself up. As he stepped onto the ice, Coach Orser pointed to Hanyu’s head and chest and said:

 

“Stay calm. Believe in yourself.”

 

Hanyu repeated the same gesture.

 

He stepped out to the center of the rink and mimicked the motion of a Salchow jump. He was going to attempt the quad Salchow. Even after the collision, his goal was not merely to appear in the event, but to deliver the best performance he could. The pride of a champion drove him forward.

 

Of course, once the program began, it was painfully obvious he was in the worst possible condition. His whole body had taken a beating; he simply had no strength. He fell on the opening quad Salchow, the quad toe loop, and even his signature triple Axel. He fell a total of five times, causing gasps from the crowd.

 

Even so, through sheer willpower, he landed one triple Axel. When the performance ended, he looked up at the ceiling like an empty shell.

 

Meanwhile, during the performance, Coach Orser said, ‘He’s skating in this condition. He won’t go to the Kiss & Cry; we need to get him treated as soon as possible,’ and arranged for a stretcher in the hallway. In International Skating Union competitions, skaters are fined if they don’t sit in the Kiss & Cry area, but Coach Orser thought, ‘We’ll just pay the fine if we have to.’

 

When Hanyu finished, he was in such bad shape he couldn’t even put on his blade guards by himself, and Coach Orser had to help him. Even then, Hanyu said:

 

“I’m going to the Kiss & Cry.”

 

He wanted to show a smile to the worried fans and fulfill his duty as a competitor.

 

Orser was surprised and thought:

 

“Yuzuru is really a foolish boy. Why does he care about his fans even at a time like this? It was a dangerous decision to skate this time. But I’m so proud of him from the bottom of my heart.”

 

The two waited for the score at the Kiss & Cry. With 237.55 points, he secured the silver medal. He kept alive his chance to reach the Grand Prix Final. Anxiety, fighting spirit, pain, and joy—all emotions erupted in a jumble. Covering his face with both hands, he broke down in tears."

 

After that, he was carried on a stretcher to the medical room. He underwent surgery that required three stitches on his head and seven on his chin. Once the procedure ended safely, he expressed his gratitude to the people who had rushed to his aid: the TV Asahi staff, the American doctor, the Japanese team trainers, his personal trainer who had come with him, the officials from the Japan Skating Federation. He felt keenly that he had won this silver medal thanks to the support of so many people. And then he said:

 

“There’s only three weeks until the NHK Trophy.”

 

To prove that he was a true Olympic champion, Hanyu did not stop moving forward.

 

Facing his “weaknesses” in his last competition as a teenager

Having kept alive his hope for the Grand Prix Final, Hanyu returned to Japan from Shanghai. But the uproar in Japan was beyond what he had expected.

 

“It was an accident during a figure skating competition, yet it was even featured on variety shows, became a major topic in general sports coverage, and opinions from medical professionals began circulating. Even though I didn’t actually hit my head, people say that the coach and the (Japan Skating) Federation allowed me to compete despite the risk of concussion.”

 

In reality, the only injury that impacted his skating was a bruise on his left thigh. He waited ten days for that to heal. When he finally got back on the ice, pain still lingered in his left thigh, and he found himself feeling discouraged.

 

“Maybe the NHK Trophy is impossible.”

 

“Until now, no matter how my body felt, once I decided to do something, I was the type to definitely go for it, but...”

 

On the first day of practice, even Hanyu thought he was acting “unlike himself.” But the next day, he switched gears.

 

There were only five days left until the NHK Trophy. In order to deliver a good performance there, he threw himself into practice, moving his body as much as possible to regain his jump rhythm.

 

The day before the competition, he reunited with Coach Orser in Osaka, where the NHK Trophy would be held.

 

“You respected my will to go to the Grand Prix Final and let me skate at the Cup of China. I don’t want to waste that performance.”

 

After confirming his final physical condition during official practice, Coach Orser gave him the OK sign, and his entry was formally decided.

 

At the press conference that day, he explained the situation after the accident:

 

“After the injury, it hurt so much I couldn’t sleep and even walking was difficult. There’s still some discomfort in my left thigh, but I judged that I can skate. But since I had to rest for a long time after the Cup of China, I’m not in the best shape, so I’ve lowered the difficulty of my jump layout.”

 

It was a statement unlike him, someone who usually motivate himself with strong words. For him, who always believed “The words I say influence my mental state,” to say things like “I’m not in good condition” and “I’m lowering the difficulty” — these words were a deviation from his own method. The signs of defeat had already begun without him realizing it.

 

In fact, during the short program, he fell on his quadruple jump and made a mistake on his combination jump as well. He had landed them successfully during official practice and the six-minute warm-up, but failed in the actual performance.

 

“I’m just so frustrated. The injury has already healed, and I don’t feel any pain anymore. I’d gotten back the good feeling. This happened not because of the injury, but simply because of my lack of skill. I was making excuses to myself that I hadn’t practiced enough. I got weak-minded.”

 

He spoke to the media, carefully weighing his words. Then, trying to analyze how to approach the free skate mentally, he became more talkative with the reporters. The interview lasted over ten minutes, longer than usual.

 

“I just realized something. I keep saying, ‘I want to go to the Final.’ But this is the NHK Trophy. I was only thinking about the Final and not focusing on this competition. So before I got called to skate, I was distracted, thinking, ‘I didn’t do my usual double toe loop,’ or ‘I can hear the announcer’s voice.’ My concentration was broken. I was careless. I’m so frustrated. Tomorrow, I want to properly concentrate on my performance at this NHK Trophy.”

 

It was a challenge he had faced many times in past competitions. When his focus shifted from the performance itself to the results afterward, like “no mistakes” or “getting a high score,” he couldn’t concentrate on each individual element, leading to errors. It was an issue he had overcome time and again, but in the aftermath of the accident at the Cup of China, he had fallen into the same pattern once more.

 

That’s exactly why he dared to say it out loud and pull the trigger within himself:

 

“This feeling of 'frustration' will become a plus for tomorrow’s free skate.”

 

His eyes burned with fighting spirit. The same eyes he had when he came in third in the short program at the 2014 World Championships, turning his frustration into a spectacular free skate that clinched a comeback victory.

 

However, the free skate at the NHK Trophy went even worse. The opening quad turned into a double, and the second jump became a triple with a fall. The mistakes kept coming, and he ended up finishing fourth overall. The moment he finished his program, the words “It’s over” slipped out. Falling off the podium at the NHK Trophy, a competition with only a select group of skaters, was an outcome he had never imagined.

 

“Everyone might think it’s because of the injury, but this is simply the level I'm at.”

 

Right after the performance, he thought qualifying for the Grand Prix Final was hopeless. But once all the skaters’ rankings were finalized, he placed 2nd at the Cup of China and 4th at the NHK Trophy. Based on his results from the two Grand Prix events, he secured the 6th and final spot to advance to the Final.

 

“Usually, if you make mistakes and receive feedback like that in a competition, the results don’t follow. But I still had a chance to compete in the next event. That’s a huge blessing. I want to use what I learned from this competition as fuel to move forward.”

 

When asked by reporters for a comment about the Grand Prix Final, he spoke positively. But in his mind, the analysis had already begun.

 

“At the Cup of China, even when I was in pain, I still fully rotated (the quads). So this is a mental issue. I reflected on the mistakes in the short, and I was focused. I concentrated on each jump, and even when I made a mistake, I had the burning desire to pull it back together. But I still couldn’t do it. Something’s missing. Something is... Anyway, the fact that I couldn’t do it this time is because of my own weakness. There are so many weaknesses inside me, and I have so many challenges that I don’t even know where to start."

 

He was confused. Normally, he would take the lessons from mistakes in the short, hold them close, and tackle the free skate to turn things around.

 

At 19 years old, the night draws to a close after his final competition.

 

“What’s frustrating is frustrating. What’s painful is painful. I couldn't jump what I couldn't. No matter how much I struggle, the results of my last performance as a teenager won’t change. I need to clearly put my feelings into words again, think it through, talk it out, and review it. That’s my final challenge as a teenager.”

 

From the Cup of China to the NHK Trophy, he carried more than he could mentally bear in those competitions. When he got into bed with no energy left, he fell asleep immediately.

 

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 7: Proof of champion 2014-2015 Age 19 to 20

 

<Part 2>

Spoiler

“Use my brain for the sake of my heart”

The morning after the competition, the fatigue and frustration from the night before still lingered throughout his whole body. On the way to the press conference the next morning, he thought to himself:

 

“I need to properly talk about my feelings and organize my thoughts.”

 

At the press conference, there were more media gathered than usual. At first, the questions focused one after another on the impact of the collision.

 

“If you ask whether I had any trauma, I’d say I probably did. Before the flip, I made a mistake while skating backward (in the direction of my run), and I felt hesitation and fear. But this is definitely something that gets resolved. For us skaters, it's natural to be careful during the six-minute warm-up, and near misses happen, and if we crash, it's our own carelessness."

 

When speaking about the accident, he carefully chose his words so the topic wouldn’t get blown out of proportion. Rather than digging up the past, he wanted to have a productive conversation that would lead to progress. That forward-looking nuance could be seen in every phrase he used.

 

Then he began to reflect on the cause of his poor performance at the NHK Trophy.

 

“Comparing the Cup of China and this NHK Trophy, the determination I had to ‘pull it back together in the free skate’ was the same. But this time, for some reason, I was anxious, and I think that affected everything. Even in interviews, I was speaking faster than usual, and during the six-minute warm-up I couldn’t fully focus on myself. At the Cup of China, although I was injured, I wasn’t anxious.”

 

While answering questions, he organized in his head what exactly that anxiety was.

 

“This time, the anxiety felt like I didn’t know what I should do. There was this version of myself that was unconsciously thinking about all sorts of things, and I couldn’t see anything clearly. In competitions where I can really focus, I know exactly what I should do in each moment... But this time, there were so many weaknesses in me that before I knew it, the competition was over without me figuring anything out.”

 

Finally, he said this and left the press room:

 

“I want to think carefully about what I want to do and what I can do. Thinking is fun.”

 

Thinking is fun—.

 

The echo of that phrase filled him like a kind of incantation. Through the press conference, words that had been buried deep inside began to surface one after another. For Hanyu, this was precious time for doing a kind of “self-analysis.”

 

A few hours later, just before the evening exhibition, he took one more step into his own mind, talking with a reporter about the theme of “self-control.”

 

“I mentioned this in the earlier press conference too, but even for this NHK Trophy, the determination to ‘make a comeback in the free skate’ was boiling over inside me. I pulled the trigger as usual, but it felt like there was no bullet. The result turned out differently. So what ability did I lack this time...? When I thought about that, I realized that the way I was using my brain was different.”

 

Hanyu brought up the word “brain.” It’s a phrase he had been using since the 2013 Grand Prix series.

 

“What I’ve always said is: ‘Use my brain for the sake of my heart.’ But this year, I felt like I’d lost sight of that. Instead of using it for my ‘heart,’ I felt like I was using it for ‘winning’ or ‘the jumps.’"

 

He then started comparing his 2014 World Championships victory and this NHK Trophy.

 

“The ‘I want to win’ at the 2014 World Championships and the ‘I want to win’ at this NHK Trophy were different. At Worlds, I thought ‘I want to win,’ but I wasn’t in such a fragile mental state that I’d waver because of that desire. It was right after the Olympics, my practice was solid, and I had all the mental coping strategies in my head. That’s why I could use my brain for the sake of my heart.”

 

And how was it for the NHK Trophy?

 

“This season, because of the accident, and the physical and mental burden of putting a quad in the second half, I was in a state with no spare capacity. So I think I couldn’t use my brain properly for myself. I was forcing myself to do things I hadn’t prepared for, trying to snatch victory if I could. In the free skate at the NHK Trophy, I was thinking things like: ‘If I’m 8 points behind after the short, then if I do two quads, even if one doesn’t succeed, if I land the Axel in the second half, I can catch up.’ I was just thinking about specific jumps the whole time.”

 

It was exactly as he himself had realized. He was supposed to use his brain “for the sake of his heart,” but instead he was using it “for the sake of the jumps.” There was no way he could control his mental state with his usual method like that.

 

So why hadn’t he been able to face his own heart? The heartfelt conversation continued further.

 

“This time, I kept telling myself, ‘Keep looking ahead,’ to suppress my own weakness. Because of the injury at the Cup of China, excuses like ‘I haven’t practiced enough,’ ‘I haven’t done enough run-throughs,’ and ‘I can’t fully trust myself’ — those excuses kept popping up one after another in my mind, even now, as I speak. There was a fragility in me that let those excuses slip out. In the end, I couldn’t really see myself. I couldn't trust my own practice.”

 

He took a sip from the water bottle at hand. By voicing the words “I couldn’t trust my practice,” perhaps he caught a clue in that very phrase.

 

“That’s right…… The practice I did for the NHK Trophy, somewhere inside me, I felt like it was not practice for the competition itself, but for rehabilitation. I only had five days to practice before the competition. But I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve been skating for over ten years. Whether I trust my practice or not is up to me. I only realized that after the competition was over.”

 

As he talked, what he needed to do for the Grand Prix Final became clear to him.

 

“So for the Grand Prix Final, I just have to do practice for the sake of the actual competition. What’s important is whether the practice is of a quality for the real performance, whether I’m practicing with the actual competition in mind.”

 

His thoughts were now organized. At last, an 'answer' had been found.

 

Many challenges were passed from 19-year-old Hanyu to 20-year-old Hanyu. For someone who finds joy in overcoming obstacles, these challenges became an invaluable birthday gift.

 

“In my skating life, things going wrong is far more common. I think this is a necessary wall for me right now. Humans aren’t creatures who always succeed. Rather than thinking ‘I can’t do what I used to be able to do,’ I believe I’m in the stage of evolving right now. I don’t wish I could go back to before the Cup of China. For me, the word ‘going back’ is negative. The mistakes at the NHK Trophy may be a negative for now, but they’ll turn into positives for the future. On the contrary, there is nothing more fun than having so many walls to overcome. Being weak means that I have the potential to become stronger. I believe that the view on the other side of this wall will be something wonderful.”

 

His tone was light, and his eyes looked like those of a young adventurer.

 

He drank from the water bottle with a bit of force, then absentmindedly played with it.

 

“This was my last one, wasn’t it? My last competition as a 19-year-old. My last competition as a teenager…… In the end, I got to be as selfish as I wanted until the very end, I was allowed to compete after all."

 

He showed a slightly mischievous grin, his last smile of his teens. When asked, “What’s your promise for your twenties?” he turned serious and answered:

 

“Don't give up on my dreams…”

 

He began to say it, but swallowed the words halfway.

 

"Wait a minute. That wouldn’t be good. Whenever I clear one goal, another one quickly appears, and things change rapidly. So, I’m always ‘holding onto challenges.’ That hasn’t changed since my teenage years. Even after I turn 20, 25, or 30, I don’t want to think, ‘This is as far as I can go.’ Even if there are things I can’t do, I want to ask myself, ‘Why can’t I do it?’ and talk with various people, continuing to overcome them. So, the weakness I showed in this last competition at 19 became a good challenge heading into 20.”

 

His words were overflowing. He seemed ready to dash forward into his twenties at any moment.

 

"Practice for the real thing" for the GP Final

 

The day after the NHK Trophy, driven by his resolve to "practice for the real thing," Hanyu was eager to start training focused on the Grand Prix Final as soon as possible. After all, there was practically only one week between the end of the NHK Trophy on December 1st and his departure for Spain, where the Grand Prix Final would be held.

 

Not wanting to waste time by going back to Toronto, Hanyu chose instead to return to Sendai from Osaka and practice alone there. Coach Orser, who would go back to Toronto for the time being, prepared a “special training menu” for Hanyu. It was exactly what Hanyu needed at that moment. The theme of the training was to "practice as if it were the real competition."

 

Since it had been decided that he would skate first in the short program, he would warm up his body just like during the six-minute warm-up, then immediately run through his program with music. For the free program, expecting that his starting order would likely be somewhat later, he would warm up thoroughly with practice skating, then get off the ice and take off his boots, wait about 10 minutes, then get back on the ice and do the run-through with music. It was truly a "practice menu designed to connect directly to the real competition."

 

However, when he practiced the free program simulating the actual competition, he just couldn’t land the opening quadruple Salchow. He tried the same pattern again and again, but he couldn't land the quadruple salchow.

 

“With the current way I do the six-minute warm-up, it just doesn’t work. That’s why I haven’t been able to land it in competition either. Once I get off the ice, my body just doesn’t feel like it moves properly anymore. I’ll have to change the way I do the six-minute warm-up.”

 

At that point, he hadn’t come up with a solution yet. Still, he thought it was already a gain just to have figured out the reason why he kept missing the Salchow.

 

Originally, Coach Orser’s plan covered the week from December 1st to the 7th. For Sunday the 7th, it said, “Hard training on the last day,” and it was indeed tough. Departure for Spain was on Tuesday the 9th, so Hanyu emailed Orser:

 

“Finally done! So, what should I do on Monday?”

 

Orser replied: “Do the same hard menu as Sunday (^_^)”

 

“Ehh~! Really?”

 

He couldn’t even laugh at the emoji. Even so, he felt happy that he could keep doing training that pushed his body to its limits.

 

“My body held up well. It was tough.”

 

On December 7th, he celebrated his 20th birthday in Sendai, and after that, he headed to Barcelona.

 

Naturally, his practice was in top form. At the start of the actual short program, he landed a beautiful quadruple toe loop. It was a confident quadruple jump worthy of an Olympic champion.

 

“Toe loop. Ah, this is the feeling. It feels great.”

 

"It’s been a while since I’ve felt the music in my body. I didn't even think about how difficult the piano music was, it's just fun."

 

"Anyway, I’m just happy to be skating."

 

He finished his skate with a lively smile.

 

Looking back at the fact that he only made a mistake on the triple Lutz, he said:

 

"I thought, 'Oh no, I messed up.' But I’ll properly reflect on today’s mistake and turn it into a problem to work on. Tomorrow is tomorrow, and I want to focus again then."

 

It was packed with the Hanyu method: 'Find problems to work on from the short program,' and 'Focus on tomorrow as tomorrow.'

 

These lessons from the past few years naturally poured out in his words.

 

“From now on, I have to build the battles within myself”

Before the free skate, Hanyu showed his typical adventurous spirit. In the 1-2 minutes after stepping onto the ice and before his name was called for his turn, he had always done a single triple loop, which had the highest success rate for him. But this time, he tried a triple Axel. It was a planned move.

 

“In the practice where I simulated the real competition, once I got off the ice, my body just wouldn’t move properly anymore, and I couldn’t land the quad Salchow. Doing just one triple loop wasn’t enough stimulus for my body anymore. The triple Axel feels a bit closer to a quadruple in terms of tightening the body and the speed of rotation."

 

However, no skater would deliberately do a jump that would tire them out, especially one that carry the risk of falling, right before their performance. But Hanyu thought, “The body reacts differently depending on the person and the situation. For me, it’s better to give it a stimulus.” So, before the event, he consulted Coach Orser about that plan and got his approval.

 

About 35 minutes after the six-minute warm-up, Hanyu, as the final skater, stepped onto the ice and woke up his body with a triple Axel. Then came the real thing. The awakened champion landed an unprecedentedly clean quadruple Salchow right at the start. The moment he jumped, he felt, “This is it!” It was a victory of Hanyu’s mind.

 

“I’m grateful to Brian for giving me the training menu, to my trainer and family for keeping my body in a condition that let me get through tough practice, and to my own body that endured the training.”

 

The following quadruple toe loop, as well as the two triple Axels in the second half, showed no sign of hesitation. Although he fell on the final Lutz, he set a personal best in the free skate with 194.08 points. With a total score of 288.16, he achieved back-to-back victories. He showed the undeniable presence of an Olympic champion, with not a trace left of the incident at Cup of China.

 

Looking back on the tumultuous month, he said:

 

“In the end, I have to think for myself. Brian is great at planning my training and handling my mental state right before competitions. But even Brian and my family aren’t me, so there’s always a bit of discrepancy in the heart. The only one who can find the answer (in my heart) is me. From now on, I have to build the battles within myself. To some extent, it’s a lonely thing.”

 

Then, touching the gold medal at his chest, he added:

 

"Because of the injury at the China Cup, the reflections gained at the NHK Trophy, and lots of support and encouragement, I was able to come this far. And this became the first competition in my early twenties where I ‘overcame’ the ‘challenges’ I left in my teens. I've been happy this past month."

 

Even when he won Olympic gold, the word “happy” never slipped out. For Hanyu, he realized clearly that “happiness” was not about medals or scores but about the sense of accomplishment from overcoming difficult performances.

 

“Even in my twenties, I want to keep a strong desire to improve. I want to stay a child in that sense.”

 

After finishing the competition, he waited at a crosswalk heading toward the hotel next to the rink. Though it was December, the warm sea breeze of Barcelona brushed his cheek. It was his first match at age 20, a little lonely, but also filled with genuine happiness.

 

The View Beyond the Wall at Age 20

He finished his happy first competition at age 20. However, just before returning from Barcelona, Hanyu began suffering from unexplained abdominal pain. There was no time to receive a thorough examination at the hospital, and the All Japan Championships, about two weeks later, came rushing like a storm.

 

On December 25th, the All-Japan Championships began. Hanyu appeared at the venue, Big Hat in Nagano Prefecture, with a tense expression.

 

Normally, even if he felt doubt, Hanyu wouldn’t show it on his face until the competition was over. But unusually, he repeatedly used the word “weak” starting from the short program. This was about the triple Lutz. A small SOS that was different from usual. Behind that was the abdominal pain he hadn’t disclosed until after the competition ended. This health concern was gradually eating away at his fighting spirit for the competition.

 

In the short program, he successfully landed a quad jump that blended beautifully into the music, and a triple Axel with no wasted effort. But the triple Lutz, which he had not landed cleanly once this season, had an off-centered landing with a forward lean. The following triple toe loop was downgraded to a double.

 

“Ah, not again.”

 

It was the fourth consecutive match with this mistake.

 

“I did feel anxious about the Lutz. If I made a mistake, would I do a triple toe loop and risk falling, or keep it to a double and land it cleanly? Before coming to the venue, I calculated both patterns, and the scores were about the same. But just at the point of thinking that, I was already weak.”

 

Words like “anxious” and “weak” slipped out, and his usual fighting spirit was hidden. Even though he led with a score of 94.36, there was no smile.

 

Desperate for a solution to the triple Lutz, he asked the reporter during the interview:

 

“I really want to know what the cause is. If I knew, I could deal with it. I can do it sometimes in practice, so in competition it must be shifts due to my mental state or fatigue. I don’t know the cause. Every time, the points I need to pay attention to are different.”

 

At the next morning’s official practice, it was clear at a glance how much fatigue had built up in Hanyu. His movements were slow.

 

The quad Salchow lacked power in the upper body and repeatedly turned into single rotations. Orser kept giving him advice to fix it.

 

“I was focusing on the form for its own sake, instead of jumping with a form made for jumping. In the actual performance, it’s better to just jump boldly.”

 

Hanyu skated as the 21st in the order. The opening quad Salchow rotated fully but ended in a fall. After that, although he somewhat slowed his speed, he carefully executed each remaining jump. When the performance ended, without a smile, he nodded and immediately revealed concerns about his physical condition.

 

“Despite not feeling well, I somehow kept the mistakes to a minimum. The fatigue from the Grand Prix Final still hadn’t fully cleared either. It wasn’t a cold or an injury, I was just in bad shape. Even during the six-minute warm-up today, it felt tough. But it turned out to be a good match that made me think about how to jump even when I’m not feeling well.”

 

He was sweating profusely and still breathing heavily during the interview about five minutes after his performance. In the end, he won his third consecutive title with 192.50 points in the free skate and a total of 286.86 points.

 

This past year was tough. I had to prepare mentally for the season after becoming Olympic champion, deal with the accident at the Cup of China, and manage my emotions following my poor performance at the NHK Trophy. I went through experiences that most skaters never face and learned a lot. I’m happy that I was able to skate all the way through to the end of this year.”

 

And he talked about what that “happiness” meant:

 

“After the accident at the Cup of China, before starting the 6-minute warm-up, I was really touched to receive so much applause and support from many people. That feeling still stays with me even now. I’m just skating my heart out doing what I love, yet there are people who support and cheer for me. At Sochi, I got the gold medal as my own happiness, and as a result, it gave strength to everyone. Now, I get to do what I love because people support me. That’s my happiness. It’s something I can’t do without in my skating life.”

 

He suddenly recalled how he felt that night after finishing the NHK Trophy in fourth place. Back then, he had said, “I believe that the view waiting for me beyond this wall will definitely be something wonderful.” Now, after finishing the All Japan Championships at age 20, he says:

 

“I overcame that wall, but beyond it, I saw another wall. There was nothing but another wall waiting for me. But human beings are greedy, so once they overcome a challenge, they try to surpass the next one. I’m greedier than most people, so I’ll keep overcoming them, again and again.”

 

The view he once dreamed of at 19, the wall he now sees at 20. But even facing that wall, he still smiles.

 

“It’s okay. Whether it's the Olympic champion or the All-Japan champion, even if it’s from the recent past, it’s still just past glory. I’m not skating to protect that pride. I love skating, I love jumping, and that’s why I compete.  This feeling is something I need to hold onto in my skating career from now on.”

 

At 20, he learned the existence of a “new wall.” And overcoming it is what fuels him.

 

Three days after this victory, on December 30th, Hanyu was diagnosed with an urachal remnant and underwent surgery. He was told that he would need to be "hospitalized for two weeks and rest for one month." He spent the last days of 2014 on a hospital bed. His battle toward recovery began again.

 

World Championships — “Now I’m in a position to chase again”

He welcomed the start of 2015 in a hospital bed. On December 30th, 2014, he underwent an abdominal surgery that required a 4-centimeter incision, followed by two weeks of hospitalization and four weeks of rest at home.

 

He resumed training at the beginning of February.

 

“There’s still a little less than two months until Worlds. I should be able to get back into good shape. If possible, I want to get back to doing three quads in my free skate. I expect slight differences in sensation since my muscle strength has weakened and I had fascia sutured , but it can’t be helped. I’m feeling all kinds of impatience, but I'll just try to keep a strong mental image.”

 

Although Hanyu appears slender, his powerful core strength is what allows him to perform advanced jumps. This time, he had surgery on that most vital area. Once cut and stitched, the fascia slightly changed how it stretches and contracts. Moreover, while resting, his muscle strength dropped, so his body didn’t always move in sync with the image in his mind, and there were discrepancies in his feel for the jumps.

 

In figure skating, it is said that “if you skip one day on the ice, it takes three days to get it back.” Because he set the high goal of “three quads,” he pushed himself too hard in February, when his muscle strength and sensation had not fully returned. He sprained his ankle landing a quad toe loop.

 

“Damn it! I got too impatient. I wasn’t managing myself well. My focus was off too.”

 

It was too late for regrets. He had to rest for two more weeks and only got back to full training in March. There were only three weeks until the World Championships.

 

Since Worlds would be held in Shanghai and Toronto was facing extreme weather of minus 30 degrees Celsius, he decided to stay in Japan and train alone. When he needed advice, he would email Coach Orser in Toronto, who would reply in detail.

 

For example, if he made a mistake in a jump, Orser would compare footage from the Cup of China, NHK Trophy, Grand Prix Final, and Nationals, and say something like, “Yuzuru, you look like this when you're doing well. When you're off, you tend to do this, so try this type of practice.” Hanyu would then combine that with his own analysis and adjust accordingly.

 

“The things Brian and the others tell me to watch for are always consistent, so even when we’re apart, it’s fine.”

 

Toronto and Sendai. They are roughly 10,000 kilometers apart, with a 14-hour time difference, yet coach and student had built such a strong bond of trust that they could communicate seamlessly even without meeting in person.

 

However, despite this, there were still some unavoidable discrepancies.

 

One of them was peaking. Coach Orser had an established pattern: “Before a competition, he would first push the skater hard in training to reach a technical peak, then reduce practice volume to rest the body and allow form to dip slightly, and finally fine-tune the volume so that both body and mind peak at the right time.” He would adjust the volume and content of practice daily based on how his students were doing. Guiding athletes to peak at the right moment in competition is also part of a coach’s job.

 

But this time, Hanyu had to manage his peaking on his own, and with only three weeks, all he could do was “train at full force.”

 

"Anyway, let’s run the program with music and do some hard run-throughs. Even more than last summer, even more than before the Grand Prix Final. I have to build up stamina to skate all the way through.”

 

Repeating hard training, by mid-March, just before leaving for Shanghai, he had reached a state where he could do clean run-throughs of both programs.

 

“Maybe I peaked a little early.”

 

He felt a slight unease but pushed it to the back of his mind.

 

On Monday, March 23rd, he arrived in Shanghai and reunited with Orser, Javier Fernandez, and the rest of his “family” from Toronto.

 

“I felt relieved. Brian looked relieved too.”

 

The next day, he had practice on the main rink. As he stepped onto the ice, he gently touched it. It was the same Shanghai Oriental Sports Center where the collision accident at Cup of China had occurred.

 

“It's been a while. That time, I had an accident, but thank you for letting me skate the way I wanted to that day. I’m counting on you again this time."

 

What filled Hanyu’s heart was not trauma from the accident but gratitude for having been able to finish skating that day.

 

Having dealt with injury, hospitalization, and surgery, how to set his goals and motivate himself at Worlds would be the key to bringing out his true potential.

 

“I’m an active competitor. Withdrawing from a competition is not an option. Once I’ve been selected to represent Japan, it’s my duty to fight with all I have. Getting injured is just poor self-management on my part anyway. I’ll find lessons in every negative factor and turn them into positives. I’ll keep telling myself: how far can I push myself?”

 

Finally came the short program. With the tension of competing for the first time in three months, Hanyu stepped onto the rink. More than half of the audience were waving the Japanese flag. He stepped out on the opening quad toe loop but landed all the other jumps cleanly.

 

The moment he finished, he burst into a beaming smile. Coach Orser pumped his fist and said, “I respect Yuzuru. I’m so proud of him,” expressing wholehearted joy at the performance of his beloved student who overcame surgery and injury.

 

He scored 95.20 points for a leading start. It was a score that surpassed Javier Fernandez’s 92.74 points, who had a flawless performance and successfully landed a clean quadruple Salchow.

 

Hanyu’s jump layout, with the triple Axel and combinations in the second half, had a base value about two points higher than Fernandez’s. The higher (GOE) scores for the quality of his spins and jumps were also a factor that put Hanyu in first place.

 

“I was able to cover the point loss from the mistake with the rest of my elements. I’m glad I pushed myself hard these past three weeks.”

 

He savored the excitement of skating again after a long time and the joy of taking first place. But as soon as he faced the reporters, frustration immediately surfaced.

 

“I’d really lost my feel for competition. I think I lacked concentration because I wasn’t used to the tension during official practice and the six-minute warm-up. Honestly, I’m frustrated that I made a mistake on the quadruple jump. Since I was able to skate once in the actual event, I want to think about how to carry that into tomorrow.”

 

Aiming for what would be Japan’s first back-to-back World Championships win, he declared:

 

“To be honest, I’m more confident about the free skate.”

 

In fact, during the official practice after arriving on site, the condition of the quadruple Salchow, which had had a low success rate until then, was excellent. He was confident in his specialty, the quadruple toe loop. That’s precisely why Hanyu himself had high expectations for the free skate, which included these two types of quadruple jumps.

 

“I landed it a lot in official practice. Actually, the quad Salchow is more consistent than the quad toe loop right now. I’ve also succeeded during run-throughs with music, so there’s no worry.”

 

He had been in good shape from the practice in Sendai to the official practice in Shanghai. He believed that even though he’d peaked slightly early, it would hold through the competition.

 

However, at the free skate performance, while everyone expected to see the beautiful quadruple Salchow he had shown in the past four days of practice, he landed it as a double instead.

 

“This is bad…”

 

Because he was so confident, Hanyu was caught off guard. For just a second or two, his focus slipped. During that brief moment, his body instinctively started the approach for the next quadruple toe loop. Without regaining full focus, he took off — the timing was off, and he fell.

 

“Don’t panic here. Just do it like always. Focus on each element, one by one.”

 

His mental control to not dwell on mistakes was a method he had practiced and mastered many times. By facing each element calmly, he nailed all the remaining jumps.

 

His free skate score was 175.88, ranking third in the free skate. His total score was 271.08, placing him second overall. Skating right after him, teammate Javier Fernandez won his first World title. It was a 1–2 finish for “Team Brian.”

 

In the press conference, Fernandez smiled at Hanyu and said:

 

“I honestly thought Yuzuru would win. A gold medal for Spain was always just a dream, and I never thought it could come true. But since Yuzuru started training with me, my practice habits and my mindset changed. I want to say thank you to everyone who supported me.”

 

Hanyu replied:

 

“I’d heard from everyone in Toronto that Javier had been training really hard. Every time we competed and I won, he’d always say, ‘Congratulations. I’m proud of you, Yuzuru.’ But this time, the roles were reversed, and since I’m not that big-hearted, I felt frustrated and was determined to win next time. At the same time, though, I’m proud of him as a teammate, and I realized how happy it makes me to see a teammate win.”

 

Fernandez, sitting next to him, hid his embarrassment and rubbed Hanyu’s shoulder. Hanyu continued:

 

“Now I’m in a position to chase again. And I get to chase my own teammate. Having Javier always so close means this frustration won’t fade, and it’ll drive me forward. Next season, Patrick Chan will be back too, so I’m excited to be the one doing the chasing.”

 

However, despite usually having overwhelming consistency with his quadruple toe loop, why did he make a mistake this time...? As soon as the press conference ended, Hanyu began analyzing himself.

 

“This time, I let myself get influenced too much by the atmosphere of the venue and being surrounded by rivals. My peaking was a little early, but even without being at my peak, I should have been able to land it. Making a mistake in competition meant there was a mismatch between my actions and my mindset at the venue. This was a good chance to learn which kinds of patterns can make me fall apart. If I push too hard and get exhausted, of course my condition will drop. This made me reconsider how to find the right balance for myself. There are things you can only learn through failure.”

 

Once again, he found new challenges. Every mistake would become fuel for his next step forward. Looking back on this whirlwind season, he said:

 

“This season, there were so many accidents and all sorts of things. But through it all, I always tried to turn every setback into something positive and kept thinking about how I could improve next time. I believe it’s thanks to the character I inherited from my parents.”

 

Back in his hotel room, he placed the silver medal around his mother’s neck. It was a cherished moment he has continued since childhood as a reminder to be grateful.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Chapter 8: The adventures of an absolute champion 2015-2016 Age 20 to 21

 

Spoiler

"What Yuzuru needs from now on is not victory, but experience."

 

The turbulent 2014–2015 season came to an end.

 

Last season was filled with too many unforeseen events. There was the collision accident at Cup of China, the rehab from the injuries afterwards, the hospitalization and surgery after Nationals, and the sprain right before Worlds. With so many extraordinary accidents happening in succession, there was even a possibility that he would fall into a slump because he couldn’t produce results, or that he might choose to take a break. So what was it that allowed him to persevere until the very end?

 

“A lot happened, but it wasn’t like I forced myself to control my feelings. I always had the desire and determination to win, the strong will to claim victory. I was just thinking about delivering good performances.”

 

That positive mindset was summed up in what he said after his crushing defeat at the 2010 NHK Trophy: 'I'm happy to have been given so many obstacles to overcome.'

 

That’s precisely why last season, the more unusual the circumstances were, the more he overcame new walls, and the more his experience points increased. What kinds of walls did he overcome?

 

“It was a year when I experienced things that only a limited number of skaters ever go through. How to brace myself for the next season as an Olympic champion, how to respond if an accident happens during the six-minute warm-up like at Cup of China, how to manage my mindset during rehab, the happiness of being allowed to skate in front of everyone, how to keep my motivation high in hard times, and the list goes on. All of it became good experience. I also made detailed plans myself for things like managing my condition and planning practices, and it was a season where I was always able to keep thinking about what I needed and what I had to do.”

 

On the other hand, before the Cup of China accident, the theme he had set for himself was “how to control my mindset going into a season as an Olympic champion.” He listened to Coach Brian Orser’s stories from experience, and compared the mental aspects of each competition, trying to find the “answer.” In reality, did being Olympic champion affect him mentally?

 

“Was it hard being Olympic champion? If you ask me, it wasn’t hard. But the truth is, I was caught up in that title. I think the only reason I was able to realize that was because I had experienced being a champion. When I think about it carefully, whether you’re a World Champion or an Olympic Champion, it doesn’t actually have anything to do with your performance. To fight invisible enemies, you have to find your own way of fighting and dealing with them. By working through the visible challenges, you can learn to control yourself.”

 

He was beginning to find his own way of building motivation, which is a challenge for many athletes.

 

"I often used to wear earphones and get myself pumped up by singing or listening to music that I like. But if an accident like the one at the Cup of China happens, it means you might not be able to follow your usual routine. Your usual routine isn’t everything. Relying on external things like that can sometimes break your concentration on yourself. In the end, what matters is thinking about what the current me needs, and what kind of focus I need to have. It was a year where I was able to pursue that.”

 

The successful mental “trigger” at Worlds in March 2014, the failed trigger at NHK Trophy in November, the success in how he tackled practice at the GP Final in December... One after another, these were examples that tested his mental control.

 

He kept organizing his thoughts so he could always recall the environment and emotions he experienced at each moment.

 

“Originally, I was unable to beat Patrick (Chan) at all during the Olympic season. So I thought deeply about how I could perform my own skating and  catch up to him from the perspective of mental control. At that time, I realized if I think things through properly, identify the challenges, and work on them, I can overcome any wall."

 

Two full seasons had passed since then, and that “method” had come to be firmly incorporated into his own way of fighting.

 

It was in May 2015 that he started to work on the new season. After performing in a few ice shows, he went to Toronto to work on new choreography for his free program.

 

The walls of the rink’s practice area had been renovated, and the medal achievements of skaters from that rink were displayed. Following Hanyu’s 2014 Olympic champion and 2014 World champion titles, a panel had been added for Javier Fernández’s 2015 World champion title.

 

“I can look at that every day and remember the frustration while I train.”

 

On the desk in Coach Orser’s office sat a photo of “Hanyu and Orser smiling together with the Olympic gold medal in their hands.”

 

Coach Orser gives equal care and affection to both Fernandez and Hanyu. However, because of the language barrier, he shows his affection to Hanyu more clearly through words and actions.

 

As the new season got underway, Coach Orser said:

 

“This past season was truly a hard one for Yuzuru, but he never once said he would withdraw. That alone shows he has the spirit an athlete needs. For Yuzuru, the Olympic champion, what he needs now is not victory, but experience. That means experience that lets him face his own heart and keep moving forward no matter what the situation, including his second career and life beyond. So I want him to really feel the value of having endured such a tough season.”

 

He had made it through that season of hardship. And he had faced himself head-on. For the coming season, it felt like the moment would come when his body and mind would align perfectly in his performance. It is filled with such a premonition.

 

Late spring arrived in Toronto, and the green buds sprouted along the tree-lined path leading to the rink.

 

Free Skate Titled by Himself: SEIMEI

For the new season, Hanyu chose to keep his short program but create a new program for his free skate.

 

For the short program, Chopin’s “Ballade No. 1,” he reviewed the choreography once again together with choreographer Jeffrey Buttle.

 

“I had already decided, even before the 2015 World Championships, to keep the short program. It was a program where I didn’t once manage a clean skate all season. By refining it further, it’s a piece that will help me grow in terms of expression. When it comes to competitions, jumps inevitably take priority. In my skating life up to now, most of my performances have ended up jump-focused. But this program will be in its second year. I think people will watch it with the question, ‘What’s different from last year?’ Precisely because of that, I want to use that pressure as fuel. So I thought, ‘Fine, let’s try to add even more expression.’”

 

In reality, it’s easier to express pieces that have a clear storyline, like an opera or musical. This is because the emotions for each scene are clear. But Ballade No. 1 is a piano piece, and even among piano works, its theme isn’t clear-cut; rather, it’s characterized by its beautiful tones. To tackle the expression head-on, a true artistic approach is required.

 

“For this piece, my skating, my posture, how I use my hands and feet, even the direction I face, I have to handle it all with delicacy. Because the movements are simple, the expression itself becomes more complex. Right now, the music exists, the choreography exists, and my heart is trying to catch up to them. What I want to aim for is the opposite: for my feelings to come first, with the choreography built on top of that.”

 

For his jump layout, he planned to attempt the “quad in the second half,” which he had intended before getting injured at the Cup of China last season.

 

“Just because the short is short, doesn’t mean a ‘quad in the second half’ is easy. Depending on where you breathe and how you use your legs, you can end up in an anaerobic state and accumulate fatigue, so I need to become even more familiar with Ballade No. 1.”

 

Day by day, he brushed up the program with Buttle. Watching this, Coach Orser felt convinced: “This program can aim for 105 or 106 points.”

 

At that point, Hanyu’s 101.45 points from the Sochi Olympics had remained unbeaten for two seasons as the world record. Coach Orser believed that the one to break it would be Hanyu himself.

 

Meanwhile, for the new free skate, Hanyu chose the music himself.

 

“I thought I’d like to take on a new challenge and broaden my range, so as I listened to various pieces and experimented, I felt maybe a Japanese piece would be good.”

 

He also compared music from Taiga dramas, but thinking “it’s better if people overseas can also watch it,” he chose the movie Onmyoji, which has an English version available. Set in the Heian period, it follows the exploits of the onmyoji Abe no Seimei. The film blends elegant decorations recreating the Heian era, Abe no Seimei’s fantastical storylines, and an oriental, mystical theme song to create a graceful yet powerful worldview.

 

He did not simply name the program "Onmyoji," but deliberately gave it the title "SEIMEI" himself.

 

"I thought it didn’t have to be simply the movie’s title. So I chose the word ‘SEIMEI’ because it sounds good. I deliberately wrote it in Roman letters because it carries various meanings, not just referring to Abe no Seimei. Since the theme of the music could end up representing everything of that season, I wanted to choose a word that would give a good image."

 

This delicate sensibility and foresight reflected how deeply he cared for the music.

 

The choreographer he chose was Shae-Lynn Bourne, who had also choreographed his previous season’s free skate, Phantom of the Opera. Bourne liked this oriental piece and watched videos of Noh and Kyogen with Hanyu. They studied traditional Japanese movements that would connect to expressions from the Heian period. Hanyu reflected on this and thought:

 

“Traditional Japanese movements, such as walking with steady posture, have something in common with skating. If I can express that kind of smoothness, it should fit the music.”

 

There was also a reason he deliberately chose a foreign choreographer.

 

“If I asked a Japanese choreographer, the movements would probably be even more distinctly Japanese. But since this is still figure skating, I wondered if making it too Japanese would be the best idea. It’s judged by people overseas, and overseas fans watch it too, so by having a choreographer from abroad, I wanted to highlight ‘Japan’s beauty as seen from outside’.”

 

The program, more than ever, was shaped with a clear contrast between stillness and movement. By keeping his center of gravity low and skating as if he were caressing the ice, he created a sense of weight and depth. With a supple Ina Bauer arching his back gracefully, he exuded an air of elegance.

 

"There is a delicacy, strength, and way of using the lines of the body that only I can express. I’m the only one among Japanese men now who can express this level of ‘Wa’ (Japanese style).”

 

He fired himself up with words that were perhaps a little too bold. His costume was designed to evoke the hunting robes (kariginu) of the Heian period, using a kimono-style silk base embroidered with arabesque patterns. It was quite close in design to the movie’s version.

 

He also planned to tackle the highest-level jump layout with a total of three quads: a quad Salchow at the beginning, a quad toe loop, and in the second half, a quad combination. This was his comeback attempt at the configuration he had originally planned at the start of last season.

 

“Right now, I’m filled with the thought of focusing completely on each upcoming show and skating with all I have. In the setting of a show where I'm being watched by everyone, I want to keep refining the program while identifying challenges."

 

In early August, Hanyu held an open practice for the media in Toronto. Around 50 people in total, including TV crews, newspaper reporters, and magazine journalists from Japan, spent the whole day filming his practice and conducting interviews. Naturally, he was asked about his “goals for the new season” and his “new challenges.” Questions he had expected.

 

“Hanyu, in an interview last year you said, ‘I don’t want to be the same person I was last season (the Olympic season).’ But considering the accidents and illnesses you’ve faced since then, what are your thoughts on having the same jump layout for the short program this year?”

 

Hanyu seemed a bit hesitant to answer the question asked by the TV reporter.

 

For a skater at Hanyu’s level, there is a natural 'ceiling' to how much the types and configurations of jumps can evolve every year, and it’s rare for top skaters to add entirely new elements each season. But for the TV network, they wanted a clear, easy-to-understand comment showing that he was aiming to 'grow.' A hint of uncertainty flickered in Hanyu’s eyes.

 

"Certainly, the jump layout might be the same. Around this time last year, I was able to land the 'quad in the second half' in both the short and free programs. But even though it’s the same, I feel that I’ve evolved in aspects like expression, the complexity of movements apart from the jumps, and making the entry into the jumps harder. Also, this isn’t my final form...”

 

Hanyu wanted to set a clear goal, but his answer was cut short, and he was momentarily at a loss for words.

 

For Hanyu, who had always motivated himself by setting clear, bold goals and charging toward them, letting vague words slip out like this risked feeding negative thoughts. As if to chase away the small fog that was starting to spread in his mind, he spoke again quickly before the next question could come.

 

"So rather than just working hard on the same things as last season again, I have the feeling of starting fresh and challenging myself from this season. I really feel strongly that I have to evolve.”

 

He emphasized the word "evolution." While acknowledging that the goal of landing the quads in the latter half remained the same as last year, he spoke of renewing his spirit. It was a declaration that seemed to risk creating contradictions if pushed any further.

 

This season is positioned as the year after an accident. Is it a comeback, or is it evolution...? Various emotions intersect. The first competition of the 2015–16 season was fast approaching.

 

The ‘quad in the second half’ at his first event, Autumn Classic

For his season opener, he chose the local event Autumn Classic, held in Barrie, a town about an hour’s drive from Toronto.

 

On October 14, the day of the short program, the small town of Barrie, surrounded by lakes, was alive with maple trees turning red and yellow, signaling the arrival of autumn in Ontario.

 

At the official morning practice for the short program, he landed multiple quad toe loops, and in the six-minute warm-up right before competing, he succeeded with every quad. Physically, he was in top form.

 

He started out smoothly to Chopin’s Ballade No. 1. But the target quad toe loop in the second half lost balance, and he stepped out. When he finished his program, he sighed deeply.

 

Sitting in the Kiss & Cry, the suppressed doubts began to show on his face.

 

“I still haven’t skated this program clean even once since last year…”

 

The score came up to 93.14, about 8 points below his personal best. The anxiety over the “quad in the second half” felt suffocating.

 

"It's highly likely that I'm bound by the fixed idea of the 'second half.' There are several causes of mistakes, such as fatigue, timing, and the way I use my upper body. I think both mental and technical factors play a large role. But contradictorily, the actual impact of both might be small. It could be that I’m overestimating their influence because of my own assumptions."

 

As he answered the interview, he kept searching for the cause of his mistake, his mind working furiously. His own uncertainty came through in his words.

 

“I think that once I land it in a competition, I won’t be afraid anymore. So I just want to keep trying it in actual competition. I feel like I found good things to work on for Skate Canada.”

 

The next day was the free skate. He thought of the morning run-through practice as a chance to get a real feel for the competition atmosphere. Putting himself in full competition mode, he started the run-through: the first two quads in the first half were light and successful, but the quad in the second half turned into a single. Right after that, he visibly lost focus and made mistakes on the remaining jumps. Even though it was practice, it was obvious that his concentration dropped mid-run-through.

 

For Hanyu, who has always valued the six-minute warm-up as “practice that leads directly into the actual performance,” it was a valuable experience. He was able to input, before the real performance, information like “what kind of condition causes a jump to turn into a single in the second half.”

 

In the actual free skate, he nailed a light quad Salchow at the start. However, or rather, ironically, the “quad in the second half” rotated fully but ended with a fall. He didn’t land it cleanly, but at least he didn’t repeat the mistake from the warm-up.

 

His total score was 277.19, winning by more than 36 points over second-place Nam Nguyen. It was a local competition, and there were no other top skaters. More than anyone, Hanyu himself knew that the win itself didn’t mean much.

 

Even so, with his first gold medal of the season in hand, he faced the audience with a smile and bowed deeply, again and again. The small venue held about 200 spectators, with 90% having traveled all the way from Japan.

 

When he appeared for the TV interview, he put on a smile to hide his exhaustion. A sense of relief at having finished the first competition surrounded him.

 

When asked, “What did you gain from this event?”, he answered to the TV camera, still smiling.

 

“The scores were higher than I expected. It’s frustrating that I still couldn’t pull off the layout with three quads, but it’s also an achievement that, even in my first competition without much competition rhythm yet, I managed to land the quad Salchow and quad toe loop somehow.”

 

But when it came to an interview with the print media reporter, he briefly closed his eyes, let out a small sigh, and added:

 

“Honestly, it’s frustrating. Even though it’s the ‘quad in the second half’ in both the short and free, the issues I got from each are different. The level of fatigue and the programs are completely different, so there must be more points I need to pay attention to. I want to keep gathering what I learn from both the short and free, and find that one common thread that’s absolutely crucial.”

 

Still, he did find some positives.

 

"This time, I was able to attempt the quad in the second half under the tension of a real competition setting, with judges watching and fans present, so even though I made a mistake, I was able to feel what it’s like to do it in an actual performance for the first time. I’m sure I can identify areas to work on for the next competition. There’s just a little over a week until Skate Canada. I’ll take time to think things through carefully."

 

From start to finish, almost everything he talked about was abstract thoughts on how to approach the 'quad in the second half.'

 

When asked, “Do you think you’re overthinking it, or not thinking enough?”, he replied immediately.

 

"It’s still not enough. There are so many things I’m thinking about, and various methods of mental control are involved. I don’t think I’ve fully narrowed down what I really need to be focusing on yet."

 

Then, as if pouring out his soul, he said:

 

"I feel like I have to take some kind of step forward before the next competition."

 

Some kind of step... His statement of resolve for the next event was a bit vague.

 

"No mistakes" or "Just like practice"?

 

The GP Series first match, Skate Canada, on October 30, opened in Lethbridge, a city in central Canada.

 

This match was, for Hanyu, not only the GP first match, but also a match to compete against Patrick Chan for the first time in two seasons. Chan, after one year’s rest, chose this Skate Canada as his comeback match.

 

At the Autumn Classic, Hanyu had missed his “quad in the second half” in both the short and the free, carrying that issue with him as unfinished business into Skate Canada. He had already admitted, “I’m probably trapped by this idea of ‘second half’,” and was feeling the anxiety of that, now with the added factor of facing Chan. How to manage his mental state remained unclear as he headed into the competition.

 

The day of the short program was unseasonably warm for Canada, with soft sunlight pouring in.

 

While tying the laces of his skates for the six-minute warm-up, he heard a huge cheer: Chan had landed his quad. However, with mistakes in the remaining jumps, the score did not rise, being 80.81 points.

 

Hanyu instinctively checked Chan’s score.

 

“Patrick doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m going to skate clean this time.”

 

Even as his thoughts wavered back and forth, the moment of truth arrived. Just before his name was called, he anxiously pressed his skate blades into the ice in front of Coach Orser, restless and unable to calm down. Even after moving to the center of the rink, he was bothered by a fly on the ice and, thinking “I don’t want to step on it,” picked it up twice and threw it away. He made no effort to hide his nervousness.

 

And the actual performance was more distracted than ever before. The quadruple toe loop in the latter half of the program became a double toe loop. Furthermore, the “triple+triple” combination jump was reduced to “triple+double” because the landing of the Lutz was unstable. As soon as he struck his final pose, he dropped it immediately, his face openly showing disappointment. There was no sense of fighting spirit.

 

The score was 73.25, nearly 30 points lower than his personal best. And when his placement, sixth, was announced, the arena murmured in surprise. But for Hanyu, who had now missed the “quad in the second half” three times in a row this season, the score barely registered.

 

“Honestly, I was so caught up trying to figure out why I failed that I couldn’t even process what score they said. I was just dazed.”

 

In the interview after his skate, his usual self-analysis began.

 

“I don’t really know what to say. The triple Axel was clean, so physically I wasn’t in bad shape. Then what was wrong? Was it bad before I entered the music? Or after I started skating to the music? Or both? But I think there were good points too, so I want to review everything properly.”

 

When asked whether his rivalry with Chan had affected him, he denied it but murmured softly:

 

“He has nothing to do with it. This time, I just really wanted to skate clean. Ah... Maybe because I was so focused on being clean, I wasn’t focusing enough on each individual element…”

 

He looked as if the thought had just struck him, and nodded slightly to convince himself.

 

“Anyway, I’ll just have to go back tonight and think it through objectively.”

 

Saying this, he left the venue looking distracted.

 

That night, Hanyu watched his performance footage again, listened to advice from people around him, and thought through every possible solution.

 

"When I look at it objectively, I wasn’t doing that badly. In terms of the score, it was just that I didn’t get points because I did two double jumps, which is a rule issue. Actually, if you only look at the program components score, I was in first place. Which means, after all, my body was moving properly. Rules and scores aside, what matters most is how I feel. So it was right to think that I wasn’t in such bad shape."

 

He pushed himself back into a positive mindset.

 

The next morning brought strong, violent winds. The dust devils, characteristic of the North American wilderness, kicked up clouds of dirt, marking the arrival of a day completely different from the one before.

 

After the official morning practice, he made sure to eat properly and get adequate rest, bringing both his mind and body into peak condition. Trusting in his short program performance and the morning practice for the free skate, his mental state for the main event was steadily settling into place.

 

“In the short program, I really thought ‘I want to skate clean,’ and that kind of thinking wasn’t good after all. Basically, because I was feeling good physically, I thought, ‘I want to skate clean.’ But that means I was only seeing the result and not focusing on each element at all. If I think ‘just do it the same as in practice,’ then during the program I can clearly see what I did in practice for each element.”

 

During the six-minute warm-up before the main event, he fell on the opening quadruple Salchow. It was a jump he had successfully landed at the Autumn Classic and in regular practice, one that had given him confidence. And precisely because of that, a sense of panic arose. What could he do to erase that panic—?

 

Hanyu deliberately pulled his own trigger. It was the same trigger he had used after the short program at the 2014 World Championships: “When the short program goes badly, I use that frustration as fuel to fire myself up.”

 

Calmly focusing on “one element at a time, just like practice” and the fighting spirit of “The rest is all about grit.” Both of these aspects resided in Hanyu's heart. This was the best balance for Hanyu at Skate Canada.

 

In the free skate, he looked like a different person, brimming with fighting spirit. He landed the first two quads cleanly and, although he lightly touched down on the ice on the quad in the second half, he held on. The base value of his technical elements was 90.50, a whole 13.58 points higher than Chan’s.

 

His free skate total was 186.29, and the overall score was 259.54. Climbing up from 6th after the short, he seized the silver medal.

 

“After all, the difference lies in whether or not I want to have a no-mistake performance. That’s the difference between the short program and the free skate. In the short program, I really wanted to have no mistakes, so I reflected on that. For the free skate, I thought, ‘Just like in practice.’ Moreover, not like my best practice, but rather like my average practice would be fine.”

 

Whether to aim for “no mistakes” or to think “just like practice.” The difference in that mental approach alone could change a performance this much. Hanyu engraved this into his brain as a method close to conviction.

 

“I gave it everything I had. Finally I can let my mind relax a bit. Honestly, ever since before the Autumn Classic, I’ve been on edge like this. But it can’t be helped, I'm still not good enough. I’ll work harder. That’s all!”

 

The mature expression with which he’d just been talking about mental discipline suddenly melted away, replaced by a playful, boyish grin. It was a truly youthful smile, the kind he hadn’t shown in a long time, maybe since before the turbulent 2014–15 season, or even before the Sochi Olympics. A smile brimming with the spirit of adventure.

 

When the exhibition ended the next day, a huge double rainbow appeared over the city of Lethbridge, stretching 180 degrees from one end of the horizon to the other. A “perfect” double rainbow. If the NHK Trophy lay “beyond that rainbow”... Holding the “perfect double” in his heart, he left the venue.

 

“I just want to get stronger. That’s really all there is to it.”

 

After Skate Canada, Hanyu returned to Toronto. There were three weeks left until the NHK Trophy. What was the next challenge at hand…? He once again looked deep into himself.

 

First, he looked over the score sheets from Skate Canada. Putting aside the short program in which he made mistakes, even in the free skate, where he performed well, Chan’s score was still higher. What welled up in him again was, of course, his fighting spirit.

 

“I can’t keep being left behind.”

 

So then, what could he do to raise his own score even more? He thought hard about why Chan’s score had been so high.

 

“What’s really amazing about Patrick is how he’s able to put together a truly clean performance. Even if the program is made up only of simple triple jumps, it’s difficult to execute it perfectly under the pressure of competition and the high stakes of a one-shot performance. Even without packing in difficult elements, he knows how to control his power and draw out his full potential. That’s definitely what makes Patrick so remarkable."

 

Moreover, this free skate was the Japanese-style program SEIMEI, which he had carefully chosen himself. Yet, there was still about a 6-point difference in the program components score.

 

“My ‘SEIMEI’ program still has so much room to grow. The Japanese essence and the unison between myself and the music are still uncharted territory. After all, I really have to level up everything even more.”

 

He just wanted to get stronger, that was all.

 

Reflecting on this over and over, he suddenly realized:

 

“It’s been a long time since these words came out of me. I just want to get stronger, that’s really all I want. Over the next three weeks, I’m going to put in blood, sweat, and tears to show just how much I’ve grown.”

 

His heart burned with the same passion as when he was an 18-year-old chasing after Chan’s footsteps two years ago.

 

Secret Plan in Toronto — Days of Blood-and-Sweat Training

After the Skate Canada competition, that frustration became the driving force for change.

 

It was during the morning practice for the exhibition the day after the competition. Hanyu showed up more motivated than usual. Patrick Chan was also there in the same practice session.

 

Then, Hanyu successfully landed a quadruple Salchow with a more difficult takeoff than he used in the competition. He took his run-up from the eagle position, jumped a quadruple Salchow, and returned to the eagle position again. Even doing a triple jump from this entry would be difficult. 

 

With this, he confirmed that he could indeed do a quad Salchow from an eagle. He then further checked the feel and let it sink into his body.

 

In fact, this “quad Salchow from an eagle” had deep significance. Under the rules, the short program has three required jump elements: “one combination jump,” “one jump with a difficult entry,” and “one Axel jump.” Also, no two jumps can be of the same type.

 

So, if he wanted to include two quads in the short program, the only option was to combine “a quad with a difficult entry” and “a quad included in a combination.”

 

In Hanyu’s case, since the probability of landing a quadruple toe loop is high, if he does a combination jump of “quadruple toe loop + triple toe loop,” the other quadruple jump will have to be done from a difficult takeoff. In other words, the “quadruple Salchow from an eagle” becomes necessary.

 

The confidence he gained from this “quad from an eagle” naturally fed into a secret plan to attempt "two quads in the short program."

 

Originally, continuing to challenge a quadruple jump in the second half of the short program was a setup for the future goal of including two quadruple jumps, one in the first half and one in the second half. The plan was to secure the toe loop in the second half first, then add the Salchow in the first half, but there was still time until the NHK Trophy. Just because he was stuck on the "quad in the second half," there was no rule that said he couldn't try to do the next goal of "two quadruple jumps."

 

On the flight back to Toronto, he was itching to start practicing “two quads in the short.” The moment he arrived, he proposed it to Coach Orser. Orser was at first surprised, but Hanyu insisted, “I’m doing it no matter what.”

 

Coach Orser’s stance was clear: “You absolutely must secure solid points in the short program.” This is only natural for a coach. The “eagle–triple Axel–eagle” sequence that Hanyu has already incorporated is extremely difficult and is an ultimate, beautiful move that only he has achieved in the world. If he abandons this flow to include the quadruple Salchow aiming for a higher score, a mistake could cost him even his supreme triple Axel.

 

Fully understanding Orser’s advice and intentions, Hanyu made up his mind.

 

“For me, that's not enough growth. I have to grow more. I’m going to do two quads, after all.”

 

From then on, the next three weeks became what Hanyu himself would call “days of blood-and-sweat training.”

 

First, the short program’s jump layout includes a quadruple Salchow and a quad toe loop + triple toe loop combination in the first half, and a triple Axel in the second half. Once he began practicing this, a change appeared in Hanyu’s mindset.

 

“The greatest common denominator has gone from 10 to about 7.”

 

The term “greatest common denominator” is Hanyu’s own “methodology term.” When it comes to jumps, there are many points to watch: speed, timing, muscle strength, the angle of the axis, the tension in the upper body, and even mental state and physical condition—all these factors intertwine in complex ways. A jump succeeds at the exact moment when all these favorable conditions perfectly align.

 

So when he says the greatest common denominator has dropped to seven, it means the quad Salchow had reached the point where, if just seven conditions were in place, he could reliably land it. In other words, he had brought it within the realm of calculated success.

 

As he pushed ahead through trial and error toward “two quads in the short,” everyone on the coaching team found themselves unable to simply stand by and watch. Not just Orser, but skating coach Tracy Wilson and all the other coaches at the Toronto rink were united in spirit. Each time Hanyu landed a jump, they applauded; when he fell, they cheered him on with “GO! GO!”

 

Coach Orser, who had closely watched the grueling month leading up to the NHK Trophy, had a strong premonition.

 

“After Skate Canada, Yuzuru seemed like a different person. He gained frustration and calmly learned his lessons. And Yuzuru is an athlete who loves to win and is fired up with fighting spirit. All the conditions are now perfectly aligned in Yuzuru’s heart.”

 

"I'll Become the Absolute Champion"

 

Finally, the night before the NHK Trophy arrived. The venue was the “Big Hat,” which was used for ice hockey during the 1998 Nagano Olympics. The small city of Nagano was overflowing with fans eager to catch a glimpse of performances by Hanyu and Mao Asada.

 

At the press conference the day before the event, Hanyu appeared calm. Then, with composure, he made a statement of determination sprinkled with his unique keywords.

 

“I’m going to attempt two quads in the short program. I’ve practiced really hard for this, and I have a strong sense of confidence in myself. I’ve trained specifically for competition. And there’s also the frustration I carried from Skate Canada. I believe I’ve done everything I can to overcome all of that. Rather than obsessing over the immediate result, what matters is how much of what I’ve practiced over these three weeks I can fully bring out here. Depending on how much I can show, this will be the competition where I’ll see whether my training up to now was good or bad.”

 

Everything had been set in place.

 

The short program took place on November 27th. The moment he landed the opening quad Salchow, he rode the momentum. The quad toe loop–triple toe loop combination had both distance and flow. He nailed the triple Axel in the second half as well. Soaking in the huge roar of the crowd, he entered the straight-line step sequence. As Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 reached its final rapid chromatic passage, the audience rose to their feet, and Hanyu entrusted himself to the powerful dissonant lingering sound of the piano.

 

A perfect performance. His score, 106.33 points, shattered his own world record of 101.45.

 

“I wasn’t worried at all. There was a time when I struggled because I just couldn’t skate this Ballade No. 1 cleanly, but I also enjoyed the feeling that ‘it wouldn’t easily let me perform it perfectly!’ And I finally pulled it off. Anyway, skating this program is really fun for me.”

 

The higher the “wall” he challenges, the more he feels excitement rather than pressure. This was Hanyu's starting point.

 

“I always thought that someday I have to include two quadruple jumps in the short program to win. By the PyeongChang Olympics, it will be necessary to include two quadruple jumps, and not only that, to perform them with difficult techniques while concentrating all my attention on spins, steps, and expression to skate flawlessly. As the reigning Olympic champion, I have to be overwhelmingly strong to defend my title. This is not the goal yet.”

 

At the end of the press conference, he spoke a phrase he’d been saying since Skate America in 2012:

 

“Since I did a good short program, just like during the Olympic season, I’ll spend today savoring that joy. Then I’ll relax, and focus on tomorrow’s free skate.”

 

The methods Hanyu had built up over time fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

 

He allowed himself to enjoy and digest the short program result, but the impact of surpassing 106 points was huge. The next morning, Hanyu was struck by a “strange sense of tension.” On the shuttle bus from the hotel to the venue, he analyzed himself:

 

“This tension... I’ve felt this before…”

 

It was the same feeling he’d had on the day of the free skate at the Sochi Olympics.

 

"Back then, there was a part of me that wanted to win Olympic gold. But that part was the one thing I just couldn’t find within myself. That, to me, was the ‘Olympic demon.’ During the free skate, I didn’t understand what I was fighting or why I felt so tense, and I kept making mistakes. After the performance, I realized, 'Oh, it wasn't that I wanted to perform well, I just wanted to win the gold medal.'"

 

If that’s the case… then this strange tension in his chest now must be caused by the same kind of “desire.”

 

"That’s right. Right now, in my heart, I’m thinking, ‘I want to score over 200 in the free skate,’ ‘I want to score over 300 in total,’ ‘I want to do a clean program.’ All of that turns into invisible pressure and makes it harder to focus on each part of the performance! I have this invisible desire for results. I'm feeling nervous because I'm expecting results. I’ll acknowledge all of it."

 

He had experienced every kind of mental weakness, become aware of them, and stored them up as lessons. Now the time had come to put all of those methods to use.

 

The shuttle bus arrived at the venue. On the walls of the “Big Hat” arena, which served as a venue for the 1998 Nagano Olympics, Olympic rings were painted everywhere as a memorial.

 

Seeing those Olympic rings, Hanyu’s heart was set.

 

“I’m going to become the absolute champion.”

 

In the free skate, he calmly landed all his jumps, including three quads and two triple Axels.

 

“I’ll put my feelings into each jump, trust the training I’ve done and my own body, and just take off.”

 

It was perfect. The free skate scored 216.07, and his total score was 322.40. All utterly destructive new world records.

 

Covering his cheeks with both hands, he stared at the score in disbelief. He stood and waved to the crowd again and again. Drops, sweat or tears, rolled down his cheeks.

 

“I’m truly, truly grateful for everything. Thank you to the people who gave me the opportunity to practice, my coaches, my family, everyone in Toronto, and everyone in Sendai.”

 

With his heart trembling with passion, he spoke the words. Taking in the heat of the arena deeply, he firmly engraved the taste of joy in his memory. After a deep bow, he disappeared down the athlete’s corridor with long strides.

 

Once alone, he began to calmly analyze the reasons for his victory. And automatically, he started searching for new challenges.

 

“All my experiences so far connected to this performance today. But this score — 106 in the short, 216 in the free, 322 total — now becomes pressure on myself. I have to develop the mental strength to overcome this. This will be a new wall for me.”

 

It was his final competition as a 20-year-old, with everything sublimated into it.  Even so, not satisfied, he sought to push himself to an even higher level. What new challenges awaited him for the Grand Prix Final? He thought about it as the night gave way to dawn.

 

The next morning, every media outlet reported on him as the “absolute champion.” Hanyu gave a slightly shy smile and denied it, saying he was not yet an absolute champion.

 

“For me, the absolute champion is Evgeni Plushenko. He is always perfect, radiates an aura, and exudes a unique atmosphere. I want to become a one-of-a-kind presence like him too.”

 

One-of-a-kind. This new word was engraved in his heart.

 

The moment a one-of-a-kind performance was born

 

After the NHK Trophy, he resolved to “gain the mental strength to overcome myself,” but fighting oneself is always the hardest battle. The more he thought about surpassing 322 points, the higher the wall seemed to loom.

 

What method would let him maintain peak form after a successful competition? To find the answer, Hanyu looked back at his own experiences of success. When was the last time he had performed in a state of excitement like at this NHK Trophy?

 

"When I look back, it felt like the 2012 World Championships in Nice. For me, it was a performance filled with soul, and I’ve heard many people say, ‘I became a fan after seeing you in Nice.’"

 

Though it was already four seasons ago, the bittersweet memory revived itself, vivid as ever. He had always written down strategic methods, but his fondest memory was neither a record high score nor the Olympic gold medal. It was the heat of that arena in Nice that he felt for four and a half minutes.

 

"The performance in Nice was born from the atmosphere of that venue, the condition of my body, falling during the step sequence, being 17 years old — things that only existed at that time. So it’s the same for the NHK Trophy and the Grand Prix Final. There’s not a single performance that is exactly the same. Today, I want to cherish the feeling of ‘I was able to perform with these emotions,’ and if I can skate while leaving a memory of a performance that can only be done on that day, at that venue, then I think I’ll be happy."

 

Fittingly, these thoughts connected to his earlier words: “I want to become a one-of-a-kind presence, like the Plushenko I admire.” His heart grew calm.

 

On December 11th, in Barcelona, Spain, the Grand Prix Final arrived. He distanced himself from the outside expectations of “surpassing 322 points.”

 

“I’ll deliver a performance that can only be born today. Right now, in this arena, with my own sensitivity, I’ll do what I can do.”

 

He skated both the short and free programs perfectly. Short: 110.95 points. Free: 219.48 points. Total: 330.43 points. A truly one-of-a-kind  performance was born.

 

He showed a calm, gentle smile.

 

“I’ve battled so many pressures until now, so right now I’m just filled with relief. I’m happy when people say my performance with the world record score was amazing, but my purpose for skating is different. If my performance moves people or makes them love skating even more, then I can keep pushing myself even harder.”

 

What it takes to be an absolute champion is no longer just to keep winning. Today, and tomorrow as well, he would continue creating performances that are truly one of a kind. What he discovered in his first competition as a 21-year-old was this kind of happiness.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Afterword

 

Spoiler

"Yuzuru Hanyu the person" has many faces. He has the face of a monk who pours his heart and soul into every performance, the face of a charming and friendly boy, and the calm, composed face of someone who is always grateful to the people and things around him. But above all, what stands out most is his face as a sage who reflects on his experiences, thinks deeply, analyzes thoroughly, and builds his own method.

 

He is blessed with both physical ability and mental strength, possessing more than enough talent to be a top skater. But what propelled him to become an Olympic champion in Sochi, and then the absolute champion, was none other than this very method he created. By combining body and mind with intellect, he achieved an exquisite level of control.

 

Moreover, his method is not just a means to win as an athlete; it is wisdom that enriches life itself. Let’s look back on some of its key elements.

 

1. “Declaring it in words”

This is the method he has most consistently applied since childhood. He has always declared: “I want to win,” “I want to become an Olympic gold medalist.” After the earthquake, when he shifted his mindset from being a representative of the victims to an athlete, he also said: “I have to tell myself that I need to declare it to the media and hold on to the idea of ‘wanting to win.’ The human brain forgets if you just think about it. But if I say it out loud, it stays in my heart.”

 

2. “If I think properly, find the issues and tackle them, I can overcome any wall”

In the Grand Prix series during the Sochi Olympic season, he faced Patrick Chan three times in a row.  Each time, he reviewed the point gaps, analyzed his own mental state in front of Chan, thought deeply, identified the issues, and grew. These were his words back then.

 

For every competition, he pursues the causes of defeat and victory, and identifies tasks to work on. This process of “reflection” and “analysis” was nothing less than the driving force behind creating all of his methods.

 

3. “If I succeed, I celebrate for a moment, then move on”

A good short program, but a failure in the free program. He has learned how to overcome a wall that many skaters cannot overcome. This lesson came when he set the world best short program score at the 2012 Skate America, and since then, every time he performs well, he says: “Let's celebrate for a moment.”

 

To achieve continuous success, how to eliminate difficult emotions such as "complacency" or "pressure"? This method has helped him become an absolute champion.

 

4. “I'm happy to have found my weakness”

 

Always a positive thinker, Hanyu first witnessed Patrick Chan’s skating in 2010 and keenly felt the gap in ability. He said, “I was so frustrated that I actually started to feel happy. There are still so many areas where I can get stronger.” Since then, whenever he has recognized his own weaknesses or reasons for defeat, he has said, “I’m happy to know that I can become stronger.”

 

As long as you have the courage to face your weaknesses, even “failures” can become “room for growth.” With this courage, he continued to move forward.

 

5. “Practice with the competition in mind”

After making mistakes at the NHK Trophy following an accident at the 2014 Cup of China, Hanyu had a long conversation with reporters that led him to an important realization: “I wasn’t practicing with the competition in mind, it was more like rehabilitation practice.” This insight helped him rediscover that having a clear purpose is more important than just the quantity of practice. After the 2009 World Junior Championships, he also emphasized, “It’s not about practicing longer, but about successfully completing more attempts.” His commitment to the quality of practice is top-notch. Preparation without a clear purpose does not lead to results. This is his aggressive mindset.

 

6. “Balance between composure and fighting spirit”

It always comes back to balance. At age 17, when he moved to Toronto, he started to say: “You can't win on fighting spirit alone, balance is crucial.” He has always emphasized: “Confidence is necessary, but don’t become overconfident,” and “Fighting spirit is important, but so is staying focused on yourself.” He continuously adjusts his mental state with each competition.

 

Listen to your heart and seek balance. It makes you keenly aware of the importance of living sincerely.

 

7. “Don’t focus on clean performances or rankings, just concentrate on each element during the performance”

When he made multiple mistakes in the free skate at the Sochi Olympics, he said: “I was unconsciously fixated on the gold medal. That was my ‘Olympic demon.’” To him, setting goals and having a desire for results are different things. One way to combat unconscious desire is his method of “focusing on each element one by one during the competition.”

 

8. “Make support your ally, be grateful, and believe”

 

Hanyu may be a solitary genius, but humans cannot live alone. In the end, believing in everything around you and making it your ally is what gives you power. His coaches, parents, supporters, fans, and even the ice, his skates, and his own legs — all the people and things around him. Everything he has encountered in life is his treasure.

 

 

These many methods were born out of both success and failure, leading to his next step. People grow, achieve victories, face setbacks, and yet continue to grow older.

 

More than "becoming an Olympic champion," it is "how he lived his skating life" that is the proof of his legacy.  I would be truly happy if, by sharing these days of struggle, I could convey just how ambitious and rich Yuzuru Hanyu’s life was up until the age of 21.

 

[yuzurujenn]

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

 

Afterword to the paperback edition

 

Spoiler

The Champion’s Method: In the End, It Returns to the Spirit of Challenge

 

At the age of 21, Yuzuru Hanyu engraved the "Champion’s Method" into his mind and opened the door to a new world by surpassing 300 points. His constant self-analysis, ability to find new challenges, and the way he takes on high goals with determination have shown fans and children alike the importance of living life while continuing to challenge oneself in pursuit of a dream.

 

And now, a year and a half since the publication of the hardcover Yuzuru Hanyu: The Champion’s Method, the Olympic season has come around once again. But this time, he is not entering the Olympics as a challenger. As the reigning World Champion and the holder of the world’s highest score, he will be aiming for back-to-back Olympic titles. Unlike the Sochi Olympics, when he sprinted to the top with youth and momentum, this time he will need a different mental strength.

 

What kind of mindset does he bring to his daily training? With what feelings will he approach each competition leading up to the Olympics? What challenges will he identify, and how will he grow before the Games? Then there’s the conditioning after arriving at the Olympic venue, peaking at just the right time for the actual event, the motivation going into the short program, how he resets mentally after it, and the focus he maintains until the end of the free skate. He will need to apply his “method” by reflecting on each of these aspects one by one. The PyeongChang Olympics will likely become the ultimate culmination of Yuzuru Hanyu’s Champion’s Method.

 

In the original edition of the book, the story was told up to the point where Hanyu marked a world record score of 330.43 points at the 2015 Grand Prix Final. After that, he further honed his Champion’s Method and approached the PyeongChang Olympics as the 2017 World Champion. Therefore, I would now like to look back a little on his battles since 2016, while observing how he made use of the eight methods introduced in the “Afterword” of the original edition.

 

The World Championships That Tested Complex Psychological Control

 

After surpassing the unprecedented 330-point mark at the Grand Prix Final, Hanyu found himself battling a new wall.

 

For a figure skater, to deliver a perfect performance in both the short and free programs is so difficult that they say it’s enough if it happens even once in their skating careers.  Especially with programs containing a total of five quadruple jumps, performing two consecutive competitions perfectly was a miraculous, almost fateful moment. However, the people around him revered Hanyu as the 'absolute champion' and naturally expected him to score over 300 points.

 

For Hanyu himself as well, having cleared the high hurdle of “five quads and over 330 points” in the first half of the season, setting his next goal became extremely difficult. Should he add even more difficult jumps? Or should he aim for another clean program to achieve a high score once again...?

 

At the 2016 World Championships in Boston, Hanyu was faced with a situation that called for complex psychological control: how to handle the pressure from those around him, and how to set his own motivation and concentration.

 

Then came the morning official practice for the short program.

 

At the World Championships, not only Hanyu but every skater wants to deliver their best performance of the season. In that context, an incident occurred during the official morning practice on the day of the short program. While Hanyu was doing his run-through, Denis Ten (Kazakhstan) was on his skating path, and they nearly collided, causing Hanyu to yell out. Forced to jump a triple Axel on an unusual trajectory, Hanyu fell, and tension filled the arena.

 

“The standard that everyone expects for my scores and performance has really gone up, so I felt pressure. I was nervous for the Olympics and the Grand Prix Final too, but this was a completely different state of mind than past competitions. As you can tell from the practice, my feelings were all over the place. I was irritated, and the practice that followed also became a mess.”

 

He could not afford to go into the short program just a few hours later in this mental state. Hanyu returned once to his hotel room and used the ‘method’ he had developed so far to analyze his own mental state.

 

“When I thought it through, I realized I had become very self-centered. Even though so many people have supported me up to now, I had the feeling of ‘I alone have come this far.’ That made me angry with myself… Skating is not something you do alone. There are people who support you, and during the performance, you gain strength from the voices and applause of the fans. My emotions, body, and mental strength are influenced by those things, and ultimately, it’s a sport where you skate alone.”

 

Once Hanyu had a firm grasp on his own mental state, he reaffirmed Method 8: “Make support your ally, be grateful, and believe.”

 

In the short program, he landed both quadruple jumps successfully. With a fierce expression, he struck his finishing pose and shouted “Did you see that?!” His fighting spirit radiated from his entire body.

 

“No matter what expectations people have of me, the performance I aim for does not change. In the end, I was able to skate with confidence and a feeling of happiness. When I say ‘Did you see that?’ it is directed at my own feelings. Various emotions were mixed, but I was able to reach one feeling. Having done skating for 17 years, I have derived methods through many experiences. I’m glad that way of thinking, that strategy, worked.”

 

Once again, he had felt the success of his method firsthand.

 

However, in the free skate, yet another challenge arose.

 

Following the method of ‘Once I succeed, I celebrate for a moment, then move on,’ Hanyu consciously prepared for the ‘switch from a good short program to the free skate.’ However, in the free skate performance, after missing the opening quadruple Salchow, mistakes followed one after another. He allowed Javier Fernández, who skated brilliantly in the free skate, to overtake him for the victory, and ended up with the silver medal. Fernández scored a total of 314.93 points, and this competition left a strong impression as only the two skaters coached by Brian Orser were advancing in the extraordinary realm of the 300-point range.

 

Immediately after the competition, Hanyu was stunned by frustration and the shock of the chain of mistakes. The next day, after organizing his thoughts, he said the following.

 

“This time, with ‘SEIMEI,’ I was able to perform almost every practice run without mistakes, and as a result, I think I became too accustomed to that no-mistake pace. In ‘SEIMEI,’ each jump fits perfectly with the music. So when the first jump fell apart, the whole performance started to crumble. I also think there was some complacency because I was consciously practicing with the method of ‘practice with the competition in mind.’ ‘Practice with the competition in mind’ is important, but on the other hand, during the actual event, you can feel the atmosphere and energy of the venue and turn that into power. This time, the failure was caused by not being able to balance those emotions, body, and thoughts well.”

 

In other words, it turned out to be a renewed reminder of the difficulty of Method 6: “Balance between composure and fighting spirit.”

 

A second consecutive silver medal at the World Championships. But looking back on the season, with a refreshed expression, he declared:

 

“After all, the World Championships really is a huge stage. There are skaters like Javier who can skate without mistakes, and there are skaters like me who end up making mistakes, and sometimes like Patrick (Chan) who crashes into the fence right in the actual performance. There’s drama here. If I can’t win gold on this stage, it means I’m still weak. This time I came in second, but as the one who holds the world record, I want to be someone who opens up a new door again.”

 

As expected, just like Method 4: “I'm happy to have found my weakness,” Hanyu gained further motivation even from a silver medal. The 2015–16 season was one in which he vowed that even as an absolute champion, there are no limits.

 

The Beginning of the Quad Revolution Era

For Hanyu, the 2015–16 season was indeed meaningful, but naturally, the record of “five quadruple jumps landed and a score over 330” shook the entire figure skating world.

 

At the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, Evan Lysacek (USA), who did not attempt a quadruple jump, won the gold medal. Evgeni Plushenko, who landed a quadruple jump and came in second, said, “Some say quads aren’t necessary, but that’s going backwards in time,” sparking a quadruple jump debate. However, just five years later, Hanyu suddenly created a hurdle for those aiming for the top of the world: "five quadruples."

 

In response, skaters aiming for the top began attempting quadruple jumps in a domino effect.

 

First, Jin Boyang (China) had already successfully landed a quadruple Lutz in the 2015–16 season and was one of Hanyu’s inspirations. Then, at the Four Continents Championships in February 2016, he became the first skater in history to land two quadruple jumps in the short program and four in the free skate.

 

Shoma Uno, in April 2016 at the Team Challenge Cup (USA), succeeded in landing the world’s first quadruple flip and was recognized by Guinness World Records.

 

Furthermore, in the 2016–17 season, 17-year-old Nathan Chen (USA), who moved up to senior level, mastered four types of quadruple jumps: toe loop, Salchow, flip, and Lutz. He attempted an unprecedented jump layout of 'two quads in the short and five in the free'. Former world champion Patrick Chan also withdrew his belief that ‘only quadruple toe loops are enough’ and began practicing the quadruple Salchow during the off-season.

 

History shifted with the quadruple jump. Established theories about quads and the limits of human physical ability were completely overturned, marking the beginning of the quad revolution era.

 

Naturally, as a pioneer, Hanyu was also inspired by his rivals. So, in the summer of 2016, he began planning to include a quadruple loop in competition, something no one had yet managed to land in an official event.

 

Up until then, Hanyu had landed the quadruple loop many times in practice, but competition was a different story. Not only does he need to improve his success rate in practice, but there is also the mental difficulty of succeeding on the first try in the actual performance. 

 

Day after day, Hanyu worked enthusiastically on the quadruple loop. Then, in September, he made this declaration in a media interview.

 

“I’ve reached a probability where I can include it in my program. I want to practice based on how it felt the first year I included a difficult jump.
I have to make it a jump I can land in competition. If I can’t land it once I put it in, it’s meaningless.”

 

Using the method of ‘declaring it in words,’ and also speaking about the method of ‘practicing for competition.’ This was a statement made precisely because of the accumulation of his past experience.

 

And so, at his first event of the 16–17 season, September’s Autumn Classic (in Montreal), Hanyu attempted the quadruple loop. In his first challenge at this event, he landed the quadruple loop in both the short and free programs, becoming the first skater in the world to do so.

 

However, Hanyu was not satisfied with his overall performance. In the short program, a quadruple jump was downgraded to a single, and in the free skate, he fell twice. His total score was 260.57 points, and while he succeeded in landing a new quadruple jump, his score was nearly 70 points lower than his personal best.

 

The confusion continued at the first Grand Prix event of the season, Skate Canada in October. He made a mistake on the quadruple loop and had other errors throughout his performance, scoring a total of 263.06 points. He finished second, conceding the victory to Patrick Chan.

 

In response to this development, coach Brian Orser, as if fully ready, called Hanyu into the coaching room. They had a discussion, during which Orser gave him this advice.

 

“Yuzuru, right now you’re fixated only on the quadruple loop. I understand your desire to successfully land the quadruple loop within this season. But if you only practice jumps, your scores will actually go down. If you make many mistakes, you lose points both in the program components and jump bonuses. That’s not the way. Skating, performance, and jumps — completing everything as a ‘total package’ is what’s highly valued. That’s the ticket only successful skaters can earn. You mustn’t throw away this ticket that we worked four years to get together. You’ve already proven you can land the quadruple loop, so you don’t need to practice it every day.”

 

Coach Orser was well aware of the mechanism behind high scores. It’s not a rule that increasing the number of quadruple jumps guarantees victory. The source of Hanyu’s massive score of 330.43 points was the positive Grade of Execution (GOE) on each element and the Program Components Score (PCS). Almost every judge would award +3 GOE for his jumps and spins and give PCS scores near 10, making high scores possible. Even if you add one more quad, a single mistake can throw everything off. All the carefully accumulated GOE and PCS vanish at once, and the base value gained by adding one type of quad means nothing. As someone who observed the chaotic quad era with a cool head, Orser calmly taught him how to fight smart.

 

In turn, Hanyu explained his own thinking to Orser.

 

First, Hanyu had already been using the method of ‘declaring in words’ to raise his motivation. That is the ‘key’ to successfully landing the quadruple loop. Including the quadruple loop is a basic prerequisite for competing. Rather, the focus was on how to bring the entire program closer to a total package while having the quadruple loop included.

 

“For me, the quadruple loop is just a part of the performance. I think that the total package is only complete if the jumps are successful."

 

He made it clear that he never intended to neglect the program itself. The quadruple loop wasn’t just about adding another jump; it was necessary to make the performance shine even more. Hanyu thoroughly explained his ideals to Coach Orser.

 

Later, both of them would say that this discussion was a major turning point.

 

From August onward, during the training days leading up to the Autumn Classic and Skate Canada, Coach Orser felt that “Yuzuru was too obsessed with the quadruple loop,” while Hanyu felt, “Brian doesn’t really speak his true feelings, so I was feeling frustrated...” However, when they finally confronted each other’s feelings, they realized they were aiming for the same goal but just had different approaches. They also understood that it was already time to combine their strategies toward the shared objective. In other words, the time had come to aim for both “including the quadruple loop” and “perfectly executing the program to create a total package.”

 

Of course, succeeding with an ultra-difficult layout of three types of quadruple jumps while also keeping the entire program in mind as a total package is not something achievable by mere effort alone.

 

Here, Hanyu drew upon his method of “making support your ally, be grateful, and believe.”

 

“Up until Skate Canada, I was skating mainly for the jumps, but since I’ve achieved the quadruple loop, Brian and I talked about fully integrating skating and jumps to create a complete total package. To do that, I wanted to connect with the audience while skating.”

 

By connecting with the fans, he could express the theme he wanted to convey in the program more clearly through his performance. The strategy was not to have a program where only the jumps stood out, but to create a work where skating, jumps, and artistry were all fused together. Moreover, his next competition is the NHK Trophy in Japan. It was a perfect chance to make the power of the audience his ally. So he practiced with the goal of "connecting with the audience."

 

“Practicing at the Cricket Club is difficult because there are no spectators, so the atmosphere is different. But I still practiced with the awareness of looking at the audience and connecting with them. For me, ‘looking’ at the audience wasn’t something I was very conscious of before, so it’s quite a challenge.”

 

The moment he connected with the audience

 

At the November NHK Trophy, Hanyu appeared with a completely different expression than in the previous two competitions. Even though he made a mistake on the opening quadruple loop in the short program, his highest priority was to become one with the audience. He fully became a rock star shouting "Let’s Go Crazy," blending with the audience’s cheers and danced without losing focus until the very end.

 

“For the short program, I wanted to become a rock star like Prince, perform like I'm in a concert, and connect with the audience.”

 

After his performance, he stuck out his tongue with an embarrassed smile. He moved his mouth toward the audience saying “Just a little more,” as if he was speaking to the whole stadium. He scored 103.89 points, his first score over 100 in the 16–17 season.

 

Furthermore, the free skate was a new frontier. He successfully landed the opening quadruple loop. Along with the quadruple Salchow and toe loop, he succeeded in landing three types of quadruple jumps in a single program for the first time. Although there was one mistake on a quadruple jump in the second half, it did not stop the flow. By connecting with the audience, he performed a skate that was a total package.

 

“In the free skate Hope & Legacy, I wanted to connect with everyone by remembering all the hope and gratitude I’ve received throughout my skating career.”

 

He scored 197.58 points in the free, for a total of 301.47 points, his first score over 300 in about eleven months.

 

“Since it was a competition in Japan, I was able to skate in a very warm atmosphere. In the short program, I only made eye contact with the front row, but in the free program, I was able to connect with the entire stadium. Because it was a competition in Japan, I could really focus on the audience, appeal to them, and feel like we were breathing together. I think I grew a little in my skating career this time. Finally, I was able to enjoy the program itself with some composure and truly connect with the fans.”

 

It was striking how he put extra emphasis into this new keyword: “connecting with the audience.” Then he continued:

 

“I’m relieved to have seen 300 points again after so long. But more than anything, today I was able to breathe together with the audience and skate with enjoyment. That’s what I gained this time. Of course, there was a lot of anxiety, but the tremendous support and high expectations turned into strength. I'm glad I'm in Japan."

 

Hanyu elevated the method of “making support your ally” to an even sharper level: “connecting with the audience.” With his victory at the NHK Trophy, he secured his spot in the Grand Prix Final and showed a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room.

 

The 2016 Grand Prix Final, where Hanyu was aiming for an unprecedented fourth consecutive victory, was held in Marseille, France. The competitors who advanced were the elite skaters who had caught up in this new era of quadruple jump battles.

 

Nathan Chen, who jumps four types of quadruple jumps; Javier Fernández, who reliably lands two types of quadruple jumps; Patrick Chan, who increased to two types of quadruple jumps alongside his skating ability; and the rapidly growing Shoma Uno. It was the first time that the top skaters of the quad era gathered together in one competition.

 

Of course, having gained confidence in both his jumps and performance at the NHK Trophy, Hanyu was not swayed by those around him. In the short program, although he slightly lost balance on the quadruple loop, he successfully landed it and used the method of “connecting with the audience” to excite the stadium. He started in first place with a score of 106.53 points.

 

“Having broken through my shell at the NHK Trophy, I was able to feel a sense of unity with the audience. Of course, I’m still frustrated about the quadruple loop, but I believe this program is only complete with the audience, so I want to aim for that.”

 

In the free skate, he successfully landed two major jumps: the quadruple loop and the quadruple Salchow. It was a performance that made everyone confident of his victory. However, a series of jump mistakes in the latter half caused him to place third in the free skate with 187.37 points. Although he achieved his fourth consecutive overall victory with a total score of 293.90 points, it was a triumph mixed with both joy and frustration.

 

Of course, after a competition that left some regrets, he wasted no time on reflection and analysis.

 

“When you look at it overall, the short was good, and I achieved my goal of winning four in a row. So what’s next is to train so I can deliver good performances in both the short and free. I have been practicing with the competition in mind, focusing on doing well in either one or the other. Next, I will practice with the premise of doing well in both.”

 

“Think properly, find the issues and tackle them,” and “practice with the competition in mind.” The words he spoke were filled with the methods he had cultivated.

 

He took a breath and continued.

 

"This season, even though I’ve increased the difficulty of my jumps, my scores have gone down. It’s frustrating. I want to improve my scores and become a Yuzuru Hanyu that no one can match. (As for the goal of doing four quadruple jumps in three types in the free skate,) I had thought it would be fine to complete that next season, but with how frustrated I feel now, I want to achieve it in the latter half of this season."

 

He boldly spoke out this big goal, once again using Method 1: “declaring it in words.”

 

Even after becoming the first man in history to win the Grand Prix Final four times in a row, there was not the slightest sign of complacency. What will his next goal be? You could sense how he was turning all his methods over in his mind, strategizing anew.

 

Being Conscious of the Actual Olympic Performance

Hanyu had planned to unleash his frustration at the December Japanese National Championships, but had to withdraw due to influenza. His next competition was the Four Continents Championships in February 2017.

 

This Four Continents Championship was a test event held at the actual venue for the upcoming PyeongChang Olympics. Visiting Gangneung for the first time and experiencing the atmosphere of the Olympic venue was expected to bring a strong sense of excitement in anticipation of the following year.

 

Gangneung City, with a population of 220,000, is located on the east coast of South Korea and is a popular summer resort destination known for its beaches. Within the newly developed Gangneung Sports Complex, the 'Gangneung Ice Arena,' which would serve as the venue for figure skating and short track, was constructed. It had just opened in 2016. With a seating capacity of 12,000, the arena features steeply sloped seating, forming a bowl-shaped stadium.

 

And so the Four Continents Championships began. All the top skaters of the quad era, including Hanyu, Uno, Chen, and Jin, had entered the competition, showing how important it was for each of them to experience the Olympic venue firsthand. In the short program, both the rapidly rising Chen and Uno succeeded in landing two types of quadruple jumps and scored over 100 points. The '100-point short program' era, whose door Hanyu had opened, had truly become a reality. However, Hanyu made a mistake where his planned quadruple Salchow turned into a double, which resulted in him starting off in third place.

 

Of course, this is where Hanyu truly shines. Using his method of ‘don’t focus on clean performances or rankings, just concentrate on each element during the performance,’ he approached the free skate with full focus.

 

Although he made a mistake in the latter half of his performance, turning a quad Salchow into a double, Hanyu showed his focus on “concentrating on each element.” He changed his seventh jump from a triple Axel to a quadruple toe loop and executed it perfectly. He took the lead in the free program with 206.67 points. With a total score of 303.71 points, he surpassed 300 points for the fourth time in competition. He placed second overall, following Nathan Chen.

 

“I decided to do two quadruple toe loops in the second half after landing the triple Axel–triple toe loop combo. I still felt I had a bit of energy left, so I tried a quad toe loop and landed it. I hadn’t simulated that in practice beforehand, but I was calculating the number of consecutive jumps in my head (during the performance).”

 

He demonstrated extraordinary focus by changing the type of jump mid-performance, and successfully turning his seventh jump into a quadruple. By improvising and adding an extra quad, Hanyu ended up attempting five quads, which gave him a tangible sense of stepping into a new realm.

 

"I can't imagine how many quadruples I'll need at the Olympics. I think that not only I, but everyone has been working hard to increase the number of quadruples. But I want to always be at the top of that. Today I actually tried five quadruples and two triple axels. I felt that if I practice from now on, I might be able to do a composition that includes five quadruples."

 

This was, in effect, an early statement hinting at the possibility of “five quads in the free skate.” Though he had not yet practiced such a jump layout, by using his method of “declaring it in words,” he was turning it into a realistic goal.

 

Also, at this Four Continents Championships, there was one more important purpose. It was to brush up Method 5, “practice with the competition in mind,” into an Olympic version. This is because the Four Continents Championships was the first and only opportunity to compete at the actual Olympic venue. For that reason, Hanyu proceeded with his preparation, not with the Four Continents Championships itself in mind, but with the Olympic Games in mind.

First of all, one major difference between the Olympics and other competitions is the competition schedule. It had already been announced that the PyeongChang Olympics would be held during the daytime. For figure skating competitions, the typical schedule is: “official practice from morning to noon, return to the hotel for a shower and a nap, and then compete in the evening.” So having a competition during the day would be a first-time experience. Will he return to the hotel for a short time after morning practice? Stay at the venue the whole time? Wait somewhere outside...? Trying to figure this out for the first time on the actual Olympic day would be reckless.

 

For this reason, the free skate at the Four Continents was scheduled for midday. It was a chance to experience a day structured exactly like the Olympics would be.

 

So Hanyu carefully planned how he would spend the day of the free skate.

 

"After the morning practice, (without returning to the hotel) I took a short rest at a nearby place, then came back to the venue. I think I was able to do fairly well in the free skate with that method, so the feeling was good. I didn’t experience much fatigue, and it also gave me confidence for the Olympics. This time, by competing at the Olympic venue, I think I was able to skate while picturing the real Games. Although I wasn’t able to perform a perfect program, I was able to achieve first place in the free skate, and I think it was a good pre-Olympic experience."

 

Looking only at the placement, many officials probably felt ‘an unexpected second place at the Four Continents Championships.’  However, rather than feeling sad or disappointed, Hanyu felt only excitement for his next growth. "I’m happy to have found my weakness." With that method in his heart, he headed toward the 2017 World Championships.

 

Turning “Being Trapped” Into New Motivation

 

Hanyu and Fernandez, who had returned to Toronto, resumed their training about one month before the World Championships. Hanyu was the 2014 champion, and Fernandez was the 2015 and 2016 champion. The two had pushed each other and led figure skating for the past three years. However, both understood that the 2017 World Championships carried a slightly different significance. It was not only the culmination of the season but also an important competition to determine who would enter the Olympics as the World Champion.

 

If Fernandez were to achieve a three-peat at the 2017 World Championships, he would head into the Olympics as the “three-time consecutive champion after the Olympics.” With his confidence and expectations rising, he would also face considerable pressure.

 

For Hanyu, it is only natural that he wants to reclaim the title at the 2017 World Championships and regain his confidence as he heads into the Olympics.

 

Also, the younger competitors who oppose them want to step onto the podium, if possible, during the year before the Olympics. This is especially true if they aim for the top at the Olympics.

 

The placement at the World Championships in the year before the Olympics becomes an important foreshadowing heading into the Olympic season. While judges do not score based on the previous year’s ranking, whether or not a skater has won titles or medals brings about significant psychological changes for the public, fans, coaches, and the skaters themselves.

 

Amid various conflicting expectations, the 2017 World Championships were held in Helsinki. The most momentum in the short program was with Fernandez. His program was a flamenco performance of "Malagueña," and for the Spaniard, there could be no better performance for him. He landed two quadruple jumps and took the lead with 109.05 points. Meanwhile, Hanyu made a mistake on his quadruple Salchow and started in 5th place with 98.39 points.

 

After the short program, Hanyu was so down that he could hardly recover. However, he says, "The fact that my team and fans believed in me became a source of strength."

 

Then, the next day, Hanyu firmly used the method that succeeded at the Four Continents Championships to switch his mindset. “Don’t focus on clean performances or rankings, just concentrate on each element during the performance.” Since he was behind after the short program, he did not get caught up in the rankings and concentrated on his own performance.

 

In the free program, he successfully landed the opening quadruple loop and quadruple Salchow. Furthermore, he completed all of the following combinations: quadruple + triple, triple Axel + double, and triple Axel + single + triple. Then, in the press interview, he said the following.

 

"I concentrated on each and every one. It was the best approach I could take to balance my jumps and overall performance quality. Not only the quadruple loop, but also the Salchow and the toe loop, I was very focused. With each jump I successfully landed, I gradually felt myself immersing deeply into nature, like the wind or the river."

 

It was truly a new frontier. His body blended seamlessly with the gentle melody, and the jumps became like instruments weaving into the music.

 

At the press conference the next day, he commented this:

 

“I was trapped by my past self. I was trapped by the historic top scores of 110, 220, and 330 points that I set at the 2015 Grand Prix Final, and it terrified me. But now, I feel like I’ve finally taken a step forward. Even so, I think I will be trapped again by the world record. But being trapped like this is exactly what makes me crave a perfect performance so badly. It frustrates me when I can’t achieve it, and that’s what drives me to keep practicing.”

 

Hanyu, who had never been able to openly talk about the “trappings” that weighed on him, finally confessed them. It had been about a year and four months since setting those records, and this was the moment he was able to transform that “trapping” into a new source of motivation.

 

Of course, the method appears here as well. Realizing the “weakness” of not being able to perform without mistakes and trying to become stronger. This was the very definition of “I’m happy to have found my weakness.”

 

As always, he spent the night analyzing his takeaways and challenges, then shared them:

 

“First of all, the biggest thing is that I gained confidence to complete the jump layout of four quadruple jumps and two triple Axels, with all the combination jumps in the latter half, during competition. The greatest takeaway is that I was able to practice without setting limits on myself. As for my challenge, it’s clear that the most important thing is to align both the short program and the free skate.”

 

The methods he had built up over time were put to good use at this World Championships.

 

He then said this.

 

“As for the PyeongChang Olympics, I don't have the time to dwell on whether I can defend my title. Of course, people watching are expecting a second gold, and I think winning gold is how I’ll repay that expectation.”

 

Heading into the PyeongChang Olympics as the reigning world champion. For Hanyu, who “turns support into ally,” it meant that rather than pressure, it would become a great source of strength.

 

“I’m Going to Surpass Even My Strongest Self”

 

At last, the season aiming for consecutive victories at the PyeongChang Olympics has arrived. For the Olympic season, he announced using Chopin’s “Ballade No. 1” for the short program and “SEIMEI” for the free program. In August, she held an open practice at the Cricket Club, showcasing the steady results of his training.

 

Since he chose the same music for both the short and free programs as in the 2015-16 season, various discussions arose regarding that strategy. Generally speaking, the advantages of using the same music are: (1) because the program is well practiced, the overall quality can be improved; (2) if the program has already received high evaluations, one can approach it with confidence; and (3) the timing of jumps and music is already understood.

 

On the flip side, the main drawback is that your growth gets compared directly to how you skated it before. Even if you skate it just as well as last time, people might think, “He hasn’t improved.”

 

By the way, there is also the opinion that “judges get tired of the same music and won’t give high program component scores,” but that is a baseless rumor. Naturally, Olympic judges are experienced and “discerning” people who have studied the rules and gained experience for decades. Judges are trained to purely evaluate the performance on that day and at that time, and it does not matter what performances the skater has done in the past or how many times they have used the same music.

 

In fact, if a program once set a world record, judges are more likely to feel, “I want to see it live at least once,” or “I want to witness a historic skate in person.” If they’re moved while sitting in the judging panel, they’ll press that “10.00” button without hesitation.

 

So, there was really no need to debate Hanyu’s choice to reuse both pieces.

 

Especially for Hanyu, the free skate program could be the culmination of his skating career. He has said about this free program, “It’s the one where I can truly be myself. I don’t have to think about anything extra,” and that alone shows it’s his destined piece. The pitch of the music and his own heartbeat sync perfectly. When he skates naturally and jumps naturally, the timing falls right into place with the music. That “one song just for him,” where “his heartbeat and the rhythm of the music” perfectly align. There was no reason not to use it for the Olympic season.

 

Hanyu began intensive skating practice from the end of June, preparing for the Olympic season. While the World Championships are usually held from late March to April, the Olympics take place in mid-February. To hit peak form in time, he needed to tune his body during summer and push it close to completion early. It was a summer full of solid progress.

 

His first event was September’s Autumn Classic, held again in Montreal, like the year before. Fellow teammates Javier Fernandez and Elizabet Tursynbaeva also entered the same competition, and it was the first outing of the season for Team Brian Orser.

 

However, around September 10th, Hanyu began to feel discomfort in his right knee. The new quad loop, which he had added the previous season, is a jump where you take off and land on the right leg. Because it puts a lot of strain on the right leg, if the training volume is not limited, it can lead to injury. But because he practiced ambitiously, he ended up overworking it. Therefore, for the first competition, he decided to skip the quadruple loop and focused on treatment while preparing for the event.

 

The Autumn Classic ran from September 21st. Although it was a “test” competition that did not directly affect Olympic selection, all 1,200 tickets were sold out, and the venue was packed with Hanyu’s fans.

 

His short program was spectacular. He nailed two quads beautifully and set a new world record of 112.72 points. It couldn't have been a better start to the season.

 

But the free skate the next day was a different story; his performance fell apart as if he were a different person. His opening jump was singled, and mistakes piled up in the second half. His total score was 268.24 points, and Fernández overtook him to win.

 

Hanyu immediately began analyzing why this happened. Why had he performed so well in the short? Why had he made so many mistakes in the free...?

 

He concluded that there had been a difference in the “method” used to build concentration. 

 

In the short program, during the morning official practice, he missed all three jumps and was in a terrible state. However, he thought, “Don’t focus on clean performances or rankings, just concentrate on each element during the performance.”

 

“I want to give myself credit for successfully applying the focus technique I tested based on the World Championships. I’m still only 22, but I’ve competed more than 100 times in my skating career, so I want to recall each of those and reflect on when I was able to perform well."

 

So what mindset did he have for the free skate? Hanyu explained:

 

“I knew that the free skate after a good short program would be difficult, but...”

 

He had managed to adopt the mindset of “If I succeed, I celebrate for a moment, then move on,” but then he revealed what had tripped him up:

 

“After yesterday’s short program, everyone must have thought, ‘Why not just do the Salchow instead of the loop?’ If I can consistently score 110 points with the Salchow (which is easier), then I can put more effort into practicing the free skate. That kind of feeling even started to grow inside me a little. It frustrates me.”

 

He realized that the idea of avoiding the quadruple loop in the short program as a strategy, something so unlike him, had crept into the back of his mind. As a result, throughout the free skate, he couldn’t summon the fighting spirit he needed.

 

“Looking at it like this, I’ve come to understand that unless I take on a challenge, I can’t deliver a performance that’s truly like me. That’s why today, it’s a frustrating kind of regret. The jump layout wasn’t one where I pushed myself to the limit of what I can do, so I was performing while thinking, ‘I want to do more.’ I was even thinking, ‘Maybe I should have done the quad loop too... I can land the quad Lutz too.’ By the time I started thinking about all that, my concentration had already gone elsewhere."

 

Hanyu is the type of person whose spirit of challenge naturally wells up even without using his “methods.” But now that the Olympic season had begun, there was a subtle change in his mindset.

 

Once he pinpointed what had caused the mistakes, he showed a smile full of motivation.

 

"In the short program, I think I gave off a really strong impression of ‘I’m going to win the Olympics.’ So now, while chasing after that ‘incredibly strong’ version of myself, I’m thinking of surpassing it with an even more difficult jump layout."

 

To surpass even his strongest self. As expected, the image of Hanyu 'declaring it into words' suits him. And this declaration was put into action early on at the first Grand Prix of the year, the Rostelecom Cup, in October. There, in the free skate, he succeeded for the first time in landing the quad Lutz. He also attempted a layout with the highest possible difficulty: two quads in the short (including the quad loop) and five quads in the free. In reality, aside from the Lutz, mistakes crept in on the other quads, and he finished second with a total score of 290.77 points. But with a refreshing smile, he said:

 

"I feel like I’ve finally been able to challenge myself with the highest level of difficulty I can do right now. I won the world record using only toe loops and Salchows, and with that strategy, I’m confident I can skate without mistakes. But if I only do that, there would be no meaning in my skating. It’s because I place expectations and pressure on myself that I can become stronger.”

 

He simply wants to become stronger—. With the same feeling he had as a child, Hanyu continues to take on challenges.

 

The “Champion’s Method” was likely perfected, for the time being, at that moment in the 2015 Grand Prix Final when he broke 330 points. However, using the same method doesn’t mean he will continue to win. What he gained at the first match of the 2017-18 season was the necessity to keep a spirit of challenge, despite having the skills, status, and experience of a champion."

 

To fully master the “Method,” in the end, it really is the ‘spirit of challenge.’ As a final note in this paperback edition, allow me to add just one more 'Champion’s Method.'

 

9. To master the 'Champion’s Method,' you need the 'Heart of a Challenger.'

 

Countless experiences have enriched Hanyu’s 18 years of skating life. Perhaps a tenth method will also be born during the Olympic period. He will surely draw on all of these methods as he races through his skating life.

 

The PyeongChang Olympics are approaching. I sincerely hope that as many skaters as possible can demonstrate their abilities and that many legendary performances will be born.

 

October 2017
Yoshie Noguchi