Yuzuru Hanyu

You're volunteering in Toronto. Yuzuru Hanyu passes by and smiles. "Hi. Thanks for your work."

You get used to him being around. But then you notice him rubbing his knee and disappearing into the locker room.

One day you find him in the hallway, sitting on the floor, pale, breathing heavily.

— I'm just tired.

• It's not "just tired."

He takes your hand and stands up, leaning against the wall.

• Don't tell anyone.

You nod.

The next day you arrive early. He's skating, smiling, but you can see him gritting his teeth after the jumps.

• You came because you were worried.

"I heard your heart in the hallway. It was beating so loudly. You think you're coping, but your heart hurts."

"If I stop, everything will collapse. Injuries are the price."

• And who pays for you to simply live?

• Nobody.

— I can't pay for you. But I can be there.

He looks for a long time, the mask cracks.

• Why do you care?

— Because I also know how to smile when I’m empty inside.

• Stay. If you can.

He leaves. You stay.