Throughout the entire exchange between Yakov and Viktor, Yuri has been trying to fight off the sick, unsteady feeling rising up within him, as if he's standing on a frozen river that without warning has started to develop cracks in what was once solid ice, where any movement in any direction might make the fissures spread and suddenly send him crashing down into the freezing black waters below. Viktor is all but on his knees begging for Yakov's help, pleading with him to do the unthinkable and take on a rival skater

(Katsudon)

and when Yakov actually starts to walk away, with the others hurrying to catch up with him, Yuri can't stop himself from taking a staggering step forward as well. But his legs aren't working as well as they should be -- why would they, when nothing feels solid under his feet? -- and then it doesn't matter any longer, because Lilia's hand is on his shoulder, pulling him up short before he can turn a reflexive movement into an actual chase.

'Leave them be, Yuri,' Lilia says, calm but faintly chiding. 'It's time for us to go.'

For perhaps the first and only time in their mutual acquaintance, Yuri glares up at her with fury, his lips curled back in a snarl. 'But they can't just fucking -- '

'Yuri.' The look in Lilia's eyes could corrode steel. 'That is unnecessary.'

Her reprimand makes Yuri shrink in on himself, his combativeness evaporating into a final, wavering plea. 'But Lilia....'

'Your coach knows what he is doing.' Lilia's voice is still firm, but she moves a little closer, drawing Yuri towards her. 'And you have your own responsibilities here. For now, we will focus on that.'



At the Rostelecom Cup, the main event staff offices are located in a deliberately out-of-the-way section of the complex, a private area open only to a privileged few. For the three of them, the badges around their necks give them all nominal access, with every smile and courtesy due to them as participants (though not without some confusion over their sudden appearance). Viktor Nikiforov's presence turns those smiles and courtesies into eager enthusiasm, an immediate willingness to be of service to Russia's living legend...even if it's a bit strange for them to be treating said legend as a coach and not as a competitor. But Yakov Feltsman is something of a legend in his own right -- not least, some might mutter, because in the Russian figure skating community he knows where all the proverbial bodies are buried, and may even have buried a few himself -- and so from the moment he opens his mouth to start issuing commands to the startled Rostelecom event staff there is no question that he will be obeyed.

He can demand to see Yuuri Katsuki's original completed event paperwork, checking it over with an experienced eye. He knows which new forms must be filled out in turn and signed by all parties concerned, both coaches and the skater himself. As the staff scramble to comply with his terse requests, he stands with his arms folded and the fingers of one hand drumming lightly on the top of his forearm, controlled impatience personified. Even to Viktor and Katsuki, his words are few and far between, mostly to point out where on the forms they should sign as well. And the only comment that he will make (in Russian or in English), when asked why he is taking charge of Yuuri Katsuki on such devastatingly short notice, is the phrase in light of Viktor Nikiforov's personal emergency, I have agreed to stand in as Yuuri Katsuki's coach for tomorrow's men's free skate.

His tone and facial expression convey his real message: you do not require, and will not be given, any further information on this matter.