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Rin grunted as he pulled his skates on.
They’re brand new, courtesy of his parents. Sleek black and barely broken in. The beads embroidered on his sleeves caught the light in a way that made them twinkle from all angles as he worked.
He laced his skates for what felt like the hundredth time, doing and undoing, tightening and untightening on repeat until it dug into his ankles the way he liked. His hard guards are sky blue, protecting the shiny silver blades underneath. They’re years old, the plastic dulled at the edges from wear. Not that it mattered because Rin never plans on replacing them. Even if they crack or break, they will always have a permanent home in his skates bag.
The booming voice of the announcer overhead shook him to his core.
The skater from Tohoku had finished his program. Rin did light stretches as the one from Chubu stepped onto the ice.
He had been slowly but surely making a name for himself. Ever since his competitive debut, he’s been racking up medals left and right. Still, no one expected him to outscore the crowd favourite skater from Chiba, who was predicted to be the regional champion that year. Part of it was due to his age.
Itoshi Rin was turning fourteen today.
He’s been skating for almost eight years, competitively for most of it. It’s not like he had a choice. Skating was expensive. His parents couldn’t justify spending millions of yen every year just for him to run around in the local mall rink.
So Rin started competing in championships.
Winning meant getting prizes. Prize money. Prize money that went back into skating.
Of course, it wasn’t much. Barely made a dent in the costs. But it was proof. Every gold that Rin brought home was physical, tangible proof that it was his calling. That this was what Rin was born to do.
Rin skated for the sake of skating. He skated to feel the ice underneath his blades. To feel the cold air breeze past his face as he blitzed from one end of the rink to another. Because something emerged from his chest when he did. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. Only that it was dormant and only present when he jumps and spins. Only that it made him feel alive.
If winning was what he had to do to continue skating, then he’ll win.
He thrived in the novice category for years. Gold upon gold decorating the shelf his parents bought to contain his ever growing collection of medals and trophies, a matching one right next to it. His side of the closet was packed full with show outfits in various jewel tones.
Rin circled his birthday on the calendar. Ninth of September. He checked it everyday, excitement building with every date he crossed.
Until he finally, finally turned thirteen. Finally eligible for the junior category.
The day Itoshi Rin blew out all thirteen candles on his birthday cake, junior skaters across the country felt shivers run up their spines.
All hell broke loose.
Rin skated like he was starved for decades and gold was the only thing able to satiate his hunger. He bested the prefectural champions, paved his way through the regionals, advanced to eastern sectionals and returned home with the glint of gold hanging from his neck after each and every single one. All in the span of a single year.
And at last, here he was.
Japan Junior National Championships.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. It’s the highest level championship he’s ever competed at.
Novice was child’s play (literally). Nobody paid attention when he won the prefecturals, regionals and selectionals. Nobody wrote articles when he won nationals.
For a while, he was like a neighbourhood secret. Only those who knew of him knew of him. Those who didn’t, didn’t. At most, all he got was a short interview on the local news channel. And even then, they only talked to his parents. Because the surname Itoshi already had another child prodigy attached to it.
What is it like raising such talented children? Any tips for the parents planning to enroll their children in sports?
He used to feel upset about it. He wanted to have people come up to him in the middle of the street to ask him about his goals and plans for the future. To have articles written celebrating his each and every win. To have his own congratulatory segment before the news advertisement break, the whole country celebrating his victory.
That upset only lasted for a second before vanishing into thin air. Because he does know what it’s like. Seen it with his own two eyes.
The reporters who came to each and every one of Sae’s games, no matter how small and insignificant, cameras in hand and recording. Always poking and prodding him with a penny for his thoughts. The amount of times kids on the streets asked for a picture with him, and how pitiful their faces were when Sae inevitably rejects.
“I hate it,” his brother confessed on the walk home. “Why do they always want to know what I’m up to? It’s none of their business,” he grumbled.
Rin, dejectedly, agreed. It really was annoying. And downright creepy at times. Rin shuddered as he remembered that time a reporter showed up to Sae’s middle school, on a regular school day, asking for an interview with the soccer prodigy.
“That’s all they see me as,” Sae said flatly. “A prodigy.”
That was officially the final nail in the coffin. Starting from that day onwards, Itoshi Rin vowed to shoot every reporter he ever encountered.
(With the tiny toy gun he won from a roadside gachapon. Sae confiscated it when Rin tried to bury an imaginary bullet in the head of the journalist who came to their sports day.)
Still, being such a decorated athlete so young had it perks.
For one, he was assigned a personal coach by the Japanese Skating Federation, completely free of charge.
It was quite unusual, since Rin had never played on national level before, let alone a part of the national team. Maybe they’re investing in him early and hoped for a big payout in the next couple years.
It worked out in his favour, anyway.
His coach approached him to discuss his program. Rin feels too guilty to admit that he wasn’t listening at all. He knew his coach had good intentions, that he only wanted the best for Rin and genuinely wanted to see him win. These pre-game lectures used to cause him to drool, with all the droning logic talk. He’s been trying his best to reign it in, though. Judges don’t like it when he slobbers on the ice.
He swears he does try to follow what his coach advised. He practiced the jumps his coach told him to. He made sure his weight is in the right place when he spins. He perfected the footworks he was taught.
It’s just that the moment he steps onto the ice, all rationality leaves him.
He spins all he wants. He crossovers because he feels like it. He lands double axels as much as he can because they’re the most fun, keeping the limit in mind, of course.
Because that’s what skating is to Rin. Shackles as light as feathers. Restriction that begged to be broken, to finally achieve freedom. Freedom to move. Freedom to feel. Freedom to destroy.
When Rin participated in his first ever junior selectionals, the media called him hideous.
His skating was the most aggressive they’ve ever seen from someone so young. Angled turns and sharp edges. The lack of hesitation and fear. The confidence to jump and the certainty in his landing. The recklessness and difficulty of his techniques.
It got worse when they discovered his gold streak, unbroken since the day he first wore the tiny skates his parents gave him for his sixth birthday, more than half his lifetime ago.
Like moths to a flame, other junior skaters challenged him, determined to chase the glory that comes with snuffing out a budding fire.
In all the time he’s been sitting here, he never dared to look in his peripherals. He had caught their glances a few times. Different eyes, ages, and height but all looked at him the same. Curious. Inquiring, as if asking “how can I beat you?” and expecting him to hand over the answer on a silver platter.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the titling started.
They said he was a prodigy, destined to bring Japanese figure skating to heights unseen.
He’s heard these phrases his whole life, but this was the first time they were directed at him.
He wasn’t sure how he should feel. But deep inside, in a little corner of his heart, he was happy.
They called him a prodigy, just as they did Sae.
It came to him one random afternoon, in the early days when Sae first started getting attention. He watched as his brother practiced dribbling with the other boys, too scrawny to join himself and preferring to play with his toys in the shade.
Nii-chan is amazing.
It wasn’t the first time he thought that, of course. He’s always known. His brother was going to be the best striker in the world.
But to be the best striker in the world, he must defeat other strikers from all around the world first, right?
That means that one day, Sae will have to leave. Leave their house behind. Leave Kamakura.
Leave Rin.
What if he ends up joining one of those overseas football clubs? Then he’ll never come back for real.
Rin’s not worried that he and Sae will grow apart. They’d never let that happen. It was something else that plagued him. A question.
Can Rin really reach him when he’s at the top of the world?
Being a prodigy meant he’s on par with his brother. Maybe, if Rin worked hard enough, they could stand at the top of the world together. Maybe, Rin never has to let go of Sae’s hand.
And so Rin’s goal was set.
The nationals was just a stepping stone. Next is World Junior Championships and the Junior Grand Prix. After that — the sky’s the limit.
Rin was going to be the best in the world, and he’ll destroy everyone who got in his way.
His eyes scanned the crowd.
It was quite packed yet nowhere near full house, as is usual for these types of events. Other kids would search for their parents, but he knew his didn’t attend. It didn’t matter. His eyes only ever searched for one person and one person only.
It was silly, he knew. Sae was thousands of kilometres away, probably sleeping in his bed judging from the time difference. Rin was being ridiculous, looking for a ghost.
Which made it all the more surprising when he found him.
Itoshi Sae, junior player scouted by Re Al, stuck out like a sore thumb.
Not because of his bright pink hair that peaked out from beneath his cap or his totally unsuspecting shades plus face mask combo, but because he was clad in merch Rin didn’t even know existed.
Itoshi Sae was wearing a hachimaki under his cap. Even from this far away, he could see the kanji making up Rin’s name replacing the typical flag design on the front. He was holding a banner above his head, an obviously homemade one. It read, in big bold black letters :
Go, go Rin!!!
It took all of Rin’s might to not burst out laughing.
He looked absolutely ridiculous.
Eventually, Sae noticed his staring. He’s always had that sixth sense. Always knew when someone was staring at him and from where.
Sae, probably having noticed that his brother was holding back laughter, began moving the banner side to side to further taunt him.
(Underneath the mask, a small smile was plastered on Sae’s face. Rin didn’t need to see it to know it was there.)
A man in his mid-twenties came and sat next to Sae. His manager, Rin recognised. Probably just returned from the bathroom judging by the direction he came from. Rin doesn’t know him all that well, but he’s been nice the few times they ran into each other. Sae’s manager waved his way when he noticed he was looking, a genuine smile on his face. Rin was just about to wave back when the announcer spoke once again.
“Itoshi Rin, representing the east.”
His heart thumped against his ribcage, screaming to burst out.
He let out the breath he didn’t know was stuck in his throat.
He looked in Sae’s direction one last time.
Both Sae and his manager sent him a thumbs up.
This was it.
Rin removed the sky blue hard guards Sae gifted him for his sixth birthday and stepped onto the ice rink.
If light had a taste, he was sure that the bright artificial lights would leave a bitter aftertaste, sticking to the back of his throat. Had he been a little younger, he would’ve stuck out his tongue to personally confirm.
The attention of the hundreds of people cramped into the bleachers focused solely on him. Rin inhaled deeply.
The music began.
He heaved, striking his ending pose.
His jumps were perfect, his landings were faultless. He did well, and he knew it.
Still, he can’t resist the urge to look in Sae’s direction.
What Rin discovered stunned him again for the second time that day.
Sae, his brother whose facial muscles could only create two expressions no matter how hard they tried to work together, was staring at him with a third one. One Rin’s never seen before. It took his brain a few seconds to process what that expression was.
Awe.
For the first time in his life, Sae looked at Rin in awe.
(Of course, it’s nowhere near the first time. It just so happens that Sae could only make this expression when it’s directed towards his baby brother, and Rin just so happened to be facing somewhere else every time.)
A deafening buzz drowned his ears.
Rin received his first ever bronze.
The bright overhead lights reflected off of the medal. It was hurting his eyes.
Brown.
He never knew a medal could look so ugly.
A horrible, heavy feeling pooled in his heart, weighing it down and pulling it towards his stomach. He never knew he could feel like this.
He really thought it’d be okay. Doing things his way had been enough to get here. It was all he knew.
It wasn’t, obviously. Someone else was standing in Rin’s place. Someone else had the gold medal hanging from their neck. It’s suffocating, standing at the lowest step, barely above the ground when he’s only ever known the tallest view. When every cell in his body knew with unwavering certainty that that’s where he needed to be.
He wanted to claw out of his own skin.
Why? What went wrong? He was so used to outscoring everyone. So used to seeing the dejected look on their faces as he walked past them without sparing a glance, trophy in hand. It’s what’s natural for him. The rules of his world.
Why couldn’t he destroy them this time too?
Oh.
Standing there as cameras flashed, medallion suffocating him more than any noose ever could, Itoshi Rin had an epiphany.
Skating was never about destroying other people.
Skating was about destroying yourself. Always was, and always will be.
Taking a sludge hammer and smashing yourself into bits and pieces. Tearing muscles, twisting tendons. Bending and stretching yourself until you’re unrecognisable from the person you once were. Merely building blocks used to chase perfection.
And then, rebuilding.
Taking the good pieces, the ones with no faults in their composition, and welding them back together with gold.
Then destroying that too.
Destroy, pick out the good parts, weld. Over and over and over again. A cruel, unending kintsugi.
This is what it meant to skate.
His heart rate picked up.
Itoshi Rin was born to skate. That, he’s sure of.
And if skating meant destroying himself, he’d crack his ribcage open and take out his own heart with his bare hands.
On his fourteenth birthday, the world taught Itoshi Rin what it meant to be inadequate.
What a horrible birthday present.
After what felt like forever, Rin trudged his way to the changing rooms, head hanging low.
“Well done, Rin,”
He knew that voice anywhere.
Rin gazed dazedly through his lashes to find his brother, arms crossed and leaning against the hallway.
Up close, Rin can see he’s grown taller now. Might’ve even lost a kilo or two, but he chalked it up as a trade for the vertical growth. He didn’t notice it back then, but Sae was wearing the jacket Rin gave him as a parting gift when he left for Spain.
Sae’s hand ruffled his hair, familiar and comforting. He leaned into it subconsciously.
Rin wanted to cry.
“Are you ready to leave?”
Rin didn’t answer, letting the question echo in the small space between them. The lack of response caught his brother off guard, judging from the sudden halt of the ruffling and retraction of his hand. He chased after it on instinct. It made Rin want to cry even more.
Only when a sniffle forcefully clawed itself out of his throat did his brother finally caught on.
“Oh, Rin,” Sae cooed, embracing him as he rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Nii-chan,” he sobbed into Sae’s hoodie, voice cracking. “It’s horrible. What is it? Why do I feel like this?” He sniffled, trying and failing to avoid getting his snot and drool on Sae’s clothes. So inadequate. So lukewarm.
“It happens, Rin,” he assured, “you can’t win all the time, no matter how much you want to.”
That only made Rin cry harder.
“But why? I’m the best, aren’t I? A prodigy, like you! That’s what they all say!” He muffled into Sae’s shoulder, uncaring of slobbering snot all over Sae’s shirt. There’s people all around them. He could feel their gazes pricking at him. It felt alright before, good even. But that was when Rin believed he was at the top of the world and no one could bring him down.
It’s pure naïveté, he realised now. Rin turned fourteen today. It doesn’t matter that he’s learned to eat his vegetables and does chores without being asked.
Rin, at the end of the day, is fourteen years old. He’s in his second year of middle school. He lives with his parents. His mom does his laundry. His dad bought the groceries he makes his dinners from. And sometimes, he cries into his brother’s shoulder.
And that’s alright, because Rin is fourteen.
Sae spoke when Rin’s sobbed transitioned into quiet sniffles.
“You are,” he assured, uncharacteristically soft to others but Rin knew better. This was who Sae really was, under all his layers of ice-cold nonchalance.
His nii-chan was the kindest in the world.
“You’re amazing, really.”
“…Really?” Ugh. He felt so pathetic, asking his brother for reassurance like this.
Sae only snorted like he knew what Rin was thinking. “Really.”
“…You’ll do it one day, I know,” he added after a pause.
“…?”
“You’ll become the best in the world.”
Rin’s breath hitched in his throat.
“And when that day comes, I’ll be right beside you. We’ll do it together, alright? We’ll become the best in the world. Together.”
When. Not if, but when.
Rin was on the verge of balling again.
“…Because we’re brothers?” He asked weakly.
“Because we’re brothers,” Sae answered without hesitation.
After a while, Rin finally separated from Sae, wiping the last of his tears on his own sleeves.
Sae gave his cheek a final tug before straightening his spine. Rin winced, which Sae promptly ignored. His hand shot up to rub his aching cheek, a retort on the tip of his tongue before Sae continued, “Come on, go change your clothes, quick. We’re going to that cat cafe in Shibuya.”
That immediately caught his attention. “Really? For real, for real?” Rin pressed.
“Why would I joke about this? Hurry up,” Sae exasperated, only to find his brother nowhere, the distant sound of pattering footsteps reverberating throughout the hallway.
A faint, tired smile tugged at Sae’s face.
At 9.28 p.m., Gerard Dabadie sent Itoshi Sae a video.
Sae pressed play.
An off-beat choir of meows, idle chatter and sounds of utensils clinking served as background noise.
Rin, having changed into a simple green sweater, sat crossed-legged on the opposite side of the table, a two-tiered cake towering in front of him. On the terrace between the two tiers, ’Happy birthday Rin’ was written in neat, loopy cursive with red buttercream. Fourteen small, colourful candles were packed on the top.
A bottlebrush-tailed ginger hopped into Rin’s lap as Dabadie lit each candle one by one.
“Alright, done,” he exclaimed to himself more than anyone.
Sae entered the frame. On his head, a silly pointy birthday hat with cat paw prints all over that Rin insisted they buy when he saw them on the counter.
“Ready?” Sae asked, beginning to count down after Rin nodded enthusiastically. “Three, two, one.”
“Happy birthday to you,
happy birthday to you,
happy birthday to Rin,
happy birthday to you.”
When the song ended, Rin blew out all fourteen of his candles in one try. He sported a dopey grin on his face, pearly whites on display and stubborn baby fat pushed up on his cheeks.
Claps and cheers from the other customers filled the room. Rin seemed embarrassed, red flushing his cheeks from all the attention. The ginger cat in his lap purred.
“Cut the cake, Rin,” Sae encouraged. Rin picked up the plastic knife and sliced out a well-sized segment. “It’s vanilla! You remembered?” Rin exclaimed enthusiastically, looking at his brother like he just hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Sae only play-punched his brother on the head. “Of course. Only a lukewarm brother would forget.”
The camera shook, before the video finally ended.
Without a word, Sae downloaded and favourited the video.
Itoshi Rin’s skating has been said to be hideously destructive, a description seemingly more suited for football rather than figure skating. In contrast, Itoshi Sae, Japan’s soccer prodigy and older brother of Itoshi Rin, is infamous for his playstyle of calculatingly destroying the opposing team’s strategy. A perfect, beautiful destruction.
Many wonder what it would’ve been like to see Rin’s ferocious wit applied to football, had he followed in his brother’s footsteps. To see legs that jump and spin, run and kick. To see a mind so coded for winning making opponents shiver on the pitch as he crumpled their defenses like paper instead of fighting solitary on the rink.
But that is neither then nor now.
Today, Rin skates and Sae kicks.
And they wouldn’t have it any other way.
—— bonus ——
Japan’s Figure Skating Prodigy Itoshi Rin Celebrates His 16th Birthday With A Gold Medal At The ISU Junior Grand Prix
Japan Times
8 September - Two-time Junior Grand Prix Final champion and World Junior gold medalist Itoshi Rin won his second gold medal of the 2018 ISU Junior Grand Prix today at Kaunas, Lithuania.
With the acquisition of his second gold, Itoshi is all but guaranteed a spot in the Junior Grand Prix Finals taking place this December in Vancouver, Canada.
Born on 9th of September 2002, Itoshi Rin has been dominating the figure skating world since his first ever championship. His unbroken podium streak is Japan’s pride and joy.
Itoshi was sadly unable to participate in the 2018 Grand Prix due to his September birthday. However, he didn’t let it rain on his parade as evident by the determination and discipline he displayed on the ice.
“This is my final Junior Grand Prix, and also one of the last times I’ll be competing as a junior. It feels surreal to finally enter the senior category, but I’m more than ready.
I’d like to take the time to thank all my fans and family. I couldn’t stand here today if it hadn’t been for your continuous love and encouragement. I hope everyone will continue supporting me on my journey to become the world’s best. I promise I won’t disappoint.”
Itoshi Brothers Display Heart-Warming Moment At the ISU Junior Grand Prix 2018
Tokyo Sunrise
8 September 2018
Japanese Football Prodigy Itoshi Sae was seen attending the 2018 JGP Lithuania event in Kaunas, Lithuania today.
Itoshi, midfielder of Re al’s under-20 team and New Gen 11 player, made time to attend his brother’s championship in spite of his increasingly packed schedule.
When Itoshi Rin was called to the podium to receive his gold medal, his brother proudly stood up from his seat, waving the Japanese flag.
“Until the day I die, I will always support my brother.” - Itoshi Sae in Japan’s Golden Prodigy - How Itoshi Rin Shook The Figure Skating World and What Comes Next