Hiroshi entered the dohyo and crouched down on his haunches. He opened his arms wide opposite his opponent. He didn’t catch the name of the boy he was wrestling with when they called him. All Hiroshi knew was what Botan had told him; that the boy was older, roughly the same size, and wasn’t being trained by any of the beyas.

None of that mattered, though. Not really. All that mattered was that Hiroshi gave everything he could give to win the match. That’s all that mattered in the end. Not who was training his opponent or where he came from or anything like that.

They approached each other, nodded their heads and then each of them did a shiko mirroring each other. Then the other leg was lifted. Once that process was done, they went to the corner of the dohyo and crouched. Arms lifted in, calling to the Kami’s Rei and Kentaro for support in their match.

With the initial ceremony finished, the two opponents once more met in the middle of the dohyo. They spread their arms open wide and then reached for the Heavens with one arm, followed by a lifting of the leg. They then reached for the Heavens with the other hand and lifted that leg.

“It is time!” called out their Gyoji, or referee.

The gyoji here in the capital wasn’t like the referee's back home. Home they would just have an adult who dressed nicely and wore gloves. This one, was much more like the gyoji who proctored the official bouts of the Grand Sumo. He was a boy, about the same age as Hiroshi, but he wore an intricate kimono of deep red and designed with a gold pattern that went throughout the material.

The gyoji was bald, but wore a black hat that had a point in the front and in the back, almost like a paper boat. His bare feet carried him to stand sideways from where Hiroshi and his opponent were waiting for the call. Hiroshi was already crouched down on his haunches, his fists in the clay. He was ready to begin this match. After this match, Hiroshi knew all the nerves would be from his system. Then, maybe, the Kami willing, he’d be able to poop.

“No false starts!” The gyoji yelled.

Hiroshi looked at his opponent for a moment. What was the boy’s name? He blinked. He couldn’t remember. What was taking him so long to put his other fist onto the clay?

It happened quickly. His opponent moved like Hiroshi usually did. A hand swept down and barely touched before the boy charged for Hiroshi.

“HAKKEYOI!” the boy referee yelled out as soon as the two moved to crash into each other. He sounded almost as surprised as Hiroshi was. His opponent took so long Hiroshi was lulled into a sense of calm, so the movement took him off guard.

Hiroshi was pushed up a few feet until he could dig in and recover from his opponent’s initial thrust. A grunt as his arms came out and up and he started thrusting his hands towards the boy opposite of him. The boy was a little smaller than Hiroshi was, but he obviously had incredible power.

The gerbil had noticed during the opening rituals his opponent didn’t have a stable’s name on his mawashi. Hiroshi, Ansei, and Huan had all been given some fabric to wrap around the front of their mawashi. It had ‘Hajima’ written in the old script of Kokokan. It was just a way for the stables to claim who they were supporting. If the young sumotori did well enough, they’d get recognized and remembered by the Sumo Association and get consideration when the junior went to join the professional sumo circuit.

So, he didn’t have any backing. He was just someone who did well enough to get a spot in the championship here in the capital. Probably a local boy, unless he came from money. Traveling was expensive, after all. The only reason his mother and sister were there was because of the grace of his Oyakata. He wondered where they sat. He didn’t see them during the rituals, though Hiroshi supposed he also wasn’t looking for them.

Daiki. That was his opponent’s name. Hiroshi shook his head as the thought popped into his head, unsure of where he grabbed it from. He must have seen the match listing after he left the bathroom when he was trying to poop again before this match. He clenched his backside in his mawashi in thought.

Hiroshi shook his head, shaking himself out of the daze he was in. The gerbil blinked and thrust a right palm out towards Daiki’s chest with a grunt. The gyoji was yelling something, but it sounded far away to Hiroshi. Everything seemed so far away in this first bout. He was just acting on reflex. The motions and processes came naturally to the young sumotori.

“Shobu Ari!” the young referee yelled and lifted the small wooden double sided fan that was painted black with golden circles in various places around it. There was a red rope that hung with a tassel which draped down the boy's wrist and he pointed the gunbai towards the west side of the dohyo, Hiroshi’s side.

Hiroshi looked down once the referee called Hiroshi’s win and saw Daiki’s left foot on the clay just outside of the baled straw that made up the ring of the dohyo. Since Daiki was in no threat of falling from the dohyo Hiroshi, just stepped back to his starting position. When he turned and looked across, the dohyo Daiki was already in his position since they were closer to the East side. They each bowed their heads towards their opponent and then Hiroshi crouched down while Daiki stepped down from the dohyo.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

The referee walked towards Hiroshi, and Hiroshi swiped his hand in front of him. This was the one part of the ritual that was sumo that confused the boy. He could never understand the point or what it meant. Whenever he asked in the past, he was just told it was a gesture of something Kentaro did when he first fought Kenichi, but that’s all Hiroshi could ever get. He still did it, of course. He had heard stories about even high-ranking rikishi’s getting scolded.

There was a story his father told him once about an Ozeki who stared down his opponent and wouldn’t do his part to start the match. Rumor had it that the Ozeki in question felt disrespected somehow by his lower ranked opponent. The Ozeki won quickly by throwing his opponent out of the dohyo and onto the mat below but then glared at him long moments before he took his place after the match. It was said you could hear his Oyakata and the head Gyoji shouting at him through the stone walls afterwards. Basically, Hiroshi learned you should always follow the rituals.

When Hiroshi climbed down from the dohyo, he took a few steps away and then turned and bowed towards it. He looked over the area. The dohyo stood about four feet over mats that were supposed to help cushion a fall. Past that were the upper echelon of fans. People who sat on small cushions who supported the Sasuke Sumo Association or individual stables in some way. Some might have gotten seats because the Emperor gave them to them. Who knew exactly? Then there were also four ringside judges who wore black and gray dress robes. They oversaw the matches.

After taking it all in, he looked up towards the ceiling where the shrine was. A shrine to Kentaro, the Kami, once mortal, who started this whole thing. It wasn’t a proper shrine, not like something someone would have in their house or the one they had back at the stable. This looked like the top of a house, it was polished wood and steepled in the middle. From the ends, there were flags that hung down with Kentaro’s name in the old language. On either side of the flags was the thick braided rope, which came to be the yokozuna rope.

When Hiroshi finally turned to walk back into the back, he passed Ansei, who made his way out. He must be coming up soon. They both nodded to each other and Hiroshi offered his fellow good luck. Ansei just gave a slightly determined nod. That’s when Hiroshi got wide eyed.

The boy squeezed his cheeks once more and started duck walking as quickly as he could towards the back of the arena. He headed for the wrestler’s area and completely ignored Ezra when the man tried to congratulate him on the win.

“Not now,” was all he said as he rushed off.

Everyone in the back in the area in the Hajima’s stable section of the back received the same treatment. The Oyakata and Botan both went to say something, and even to Nishikigi. The gerbil rushed past them, all right into the bathrooms.

“Not now, gotta poop,” he said as he waved them off. This sent Huan into a laughing fit as he attempted to explain to everyone who watched the boy curiously.

“He couldn’t poop this morning. All tensed up. He must have relaxed now that he got his first match under his belt,” Huan said in between laughing.

When Hiroshi exited the bathroom, he felt several pounds lighter. Not just in his stomach, but in his emotions as well. A great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, getting the first match out of the way. Not only getting it out of the way, but he won, and it seemed easy. It took him a few moments of breathing and rubbing his belly before he realized everyone was staring at him.

“What?” He asked the group a little wide-eyed and not being able to hide the bit of concern in his voice. “What’d I do?”

This only caused Huan to laugh a little more, even the ever stoic Botan cracked a small smile. Kenjiro just shook his head and grinned.

“Good match. You seemed strong out there. How do you think it went?” He asked the young sumotori.

Hiroshi nodded his head and wasn’t able to hide the smile before he said. “Thank you Oyakata. It went well. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was over. It just seemed…” Hiroshi trailed off as he tried to think of how to explain it.

“Natural,” Botan said with a nod. “That means the training is setting in. They won't all be that easy. Daiki didn’t have any backing. He comes from a rich local family and had a personal trainer. No doubt the trainer was good, but it doesn’t match up against living and training in a beya like you’ve been doing.”

Hiroshi nodded his head in understanding. “Yes, sir,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

Botan grunted and then walked out of their area to the hallway that led to the dohyo, presumably to watch how things went.

It was only a moment after Botan left Ansei came back in with a grin. “We all won our first match,” he exclaimed and raised his hands in triumph.

Huan had wrestled before Hiroshi and the three now joined in a group hug. All proud and happy that they made it past their first match and were left in a good situation as the tournament moved on.

“Excellent. Now you three rest. There aren’t many juniors and you’re expected to wrestle three times today,” Kenjiro said. The three nodded their heads and bowed before they wandered off to their little areas of rest.

The arena was massive, and while the wrestling area and stands were big, they were nowhere near as big as the arena. There were a lot of backroom area in the arena. Each sumo stable had a small area, depending on how big the stable was, and how prestigious. The fewer wrestlers, or the ones with a worse reputation, would have nowhere near as much room as a stable like Hajima or the Ichimon stable had. Since they had a Yokozuna, it instantly got them higher prestige. Both the Oyakatas were wrestlers of some repute as well, both Kenjiro and Kaisho are former Yokozuna.

This gave Hiroshi a nice little of space for him to sit and get in a proper headspace. It wasn’t as big and luxurious as someone like Nishkigi’s would be. It was even smaller than his friend Itaro’s. It was enough, though. A stool with a cushioned seat and a little area that had bottles of water and some light snacks in a tub that was etched with runes to keep it cold.

He ran through the next couple of days in his head. There were about twenty junior in the tournament and they were expected to get done with the bouts needed in two and at most three days, depending on records and stuff. Tie breakers and ceremonies would be held on the third day. This included giving the champion of the junior tournament his Yokozuna belt.

Hiroshi was determined to be receiving it. Winning that belt would be the key to him getting into the professional circuit early.