They crashed into each other in a fierce tachai. The rivalry could almost be felt the way the two crashed into each other. The people that were in the stands who had paid attention to junior sumo would know of the rivalry between the pair.
“HAKKEYOI!”
Neither of them really played the gyoji any attention though. There was no need to. They were both eager to get this match finished and let the referee figure out who the winner was. Hiroshi wasn’t exactly sure who else had lost only one match besides him, but it couldn’t have been that many? There weren’t that many people in the junior tournament.
After the initial tachai, Ren had tried to wiggle free of Hiroshi’s hold and dart to the side. It seemed Ren had tried to train against the style of sumo Hiroshi normally does. He didn’t grab a hold of Hiroshi’s mawashi or be more technical. He was just trying to get him down or out of the ring. His move failed though. In the initial clash Hiroshi grabbed hold of Ren’s belt and Hiroshi held him in place.
Ren changed tactics, and he tried to push himself into the bulkier gerbil before he also got a hold of Hiroshi’s belt. Hiroshi just grunted and shifted his shoulder down to meet Ren’s thrust. The smaller boy found Hiroshi was like a brick wall and couldn’t move him.
The two were now locked into a grapple, and Hiroshi’s mind emptied of everything they had been training on for the last weeks. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. Should he have pushed back and just let go of Ren’s belt when he tried to dodge and swivel? No. That wouldn’t have worked. Ren might have been able to get at Hiroshi at an odd angle and push him out easier. So they stood there, each doing small little pushes and thrusts, sudden movements to try to catch their opponent off guard.
The gyoji stood there off to the side between the two. The boy was crouched down in his bright red robes with gold inlay. His gumbai was held off to the side, ready to point toward whoever won the match. He kept yelling things at the two of them. He repeated ‘hakkeyoi’ a few times, telling them they were supposed to be fighting. One time after the pair hadn’t moved for a few moments, the boy judge even yelled ‘susunde’ which was basically telling them to get on with it, but not in the friendliest of ways.
Hearing this prompted Hiroshi to finally act. Ren was smaller than him. He could do the idea that just popped in his head. The gerbil tightened his grip on Ren’s mawashi, crouched down and with all the might he could summon he lifted the boy up.
“YES HIROSHI, LETS GO!”
He heard the call from the crowd. The childish voice that could only come from his sassy little sister. It fueled him, and he felt Ren’s legs kicking, fighting to stay on the ground. Hiroshi grunted and yelled out. The pair were basically still in the middle of the dohyo. Hiroshi’s short, thick legs went as fast as they could and Ren could do nothing to stop him. He tried to slap and beat on Hiroshi, but Hiroshi just charged forward.
When Hiroshi was just about at the edge of the dohyo, just about ready to set Ren’s feet on the ground outside of the straw ring, Ren could make a move. While the skinnier boy was fighting Hiroshi, he could somehow get enough momentum and work his body so he could throw himself. It was a last ditch effort, and it wouldn’t have worked if Hiroshi didn’t had to carry him so far. Hiroshi’s grip faltered and Ren’s leg kicked out towards Hiroshi’s own legs.
The two fell at the same time. Ren landed one foot in and one foot out of the dohyo before the inertia got the better of him and he landed on his butt just outside of the straw bales. Hiroshi ended up falling forward, arms outstretched to try to catch himself before he swan dived off the lifted dohyo and onto the ground below it.
The gerbil wasn’t tall enough, thankfully, and landed on his belly. The straw bails of the ring pressed into his stomach before he rolled his way off the clay and landed on his feet next to the raised structure. His eyes darted up towards the gyoji and his mouth hung open. He wasn’t even sure who went out of the ring first.
The gyoji looked stunned. His own eyes were wide open and slack jawed. He held the fan above his head and the need to call a winner pushed down on him. He couldn’t call a winner. It was in the rules. The gyoji must call for a winner no matter how close the results. It took what seemed like an eternity until the gyoji lowered the fan toward Ren’s side of the ring.
Hiroshi’s eyes bulged and then swelled and he could feel the glass over. Ren jumped to his feet and almost gave a celebratory fist pump into the air in celebration. To his credit, he stopped himself, though. Hiroshi, barely able to see, climbed back up the step to the dohyo, wiping the wet clay from his stomach as one of the ringside judges raised his hand. It was the shimpan that was closest to where the boys had taken their tumble. Then Hiroshi realized the judge from the north side of the ring also raised a hand.
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A mono-ii. There was hope.
Hiroshi stopped himself from climbing up the dohyo and stepped to the side with his head bowed towards the judge, who made his way up. The judge wore a black and gray dress robe. Tight and the outer robe held closed with black beads, one of the white ropes that matched the shrine overhead. Five of these shimpan met in the middle of the ring with the boy gyoji between them as they discussed.
There was one referee from each direction and then a head referee. The head referee was the oldest man in the group. The white hair he had was shaved close and in a crown around his head. The man was tall and broad, and carried himself like someone who had seen his fair share of time in a dohyo.
Hiroshi and Ren made eye contact for a moment as they looked over at each other. It was only for a moment before they both looked back up and saw the referees point over to where the duo took their spill. They even walked over and pointed to markings in the clay as they deliberated.
Only moments after they started, someone came from Hiroshi’s side of the arena. The man had the same style of hair that Botan had and wore loose flowing robes that matched the shimpan’s. His robes just weren’t the same tight fit dress robes were. They were looser, more flowy, and gave more room to maneuver. This was a cultivator.
Hiroshi had heard how there was a cultivator who watched over all the matches and the ring side referees. He had never seen them call upon him to help them deliberate, only in the most confusing of times. They must have given some signal while they deliberated the results to the box over the dohyo where the cultivator sat and watched.
Once the cultivator entered and started speaking with the others, it ended quickly. He pointed to a few things in the clay and then pointed over at Hiroshi. Everyone in the ring seemed to give nods of agreement and approval. The cultivator, it seemed, had the final say. His word may as well have been law as far as these other guys were concerned. After they all nodded, the cultivator gave them all a friendly smile and a nod and then left as quickly as he came. He didn’t even look at the gerbil as he walked past, and Hiroshi idly wondered if Botan knew this man.
The men up on the dohyo each climbed down and went back to the seats. The gyoji and head referee were left standing there by themselves, and the referee held up his hands for attention. The arena was deathly silent as the people watched the entire thing. A mono-ii during a junior match hardly ever happened. It was usually a pretty clear cut match.
“After deliberation with my fellow shimpan, and then calling Cultivator Joh down from his box, we have made a decision towards the gyoji’s initial ruling,” the man yelled.
This is it. Hiroshi thought. Here we go. And Hiroshi resigned himself to accept the outcome no matter what. There wasn’t anything he could do if they didn’t rule in his favor anyway, but there was no point in sending himself into turmoil over it.
“The gyoji’s verdict…”
YEAH?! OUT WITH IT!
“Is reversed. We found that Ren’s left foot landed outside of the ring before Hiroshi fell,” the man finally called out and pointed to the offending mark of Ren’s foot in the clay.
Hiroshi could hear cheating in the crowd from where his mother and sister sat. His sister continually called his name. He heard another distinct yell in the voice though. Another younger girl's voice. Not as shrill as his sister, but maybe someone around his own age?
Hiroshi shook the yells from his mind as he climbed up onto the dohyo, his eyes once more glassed over. He stepped to his starting position and bowed towards Ren. Hiroshi gave a deep bow full of respect towards his rival and when he looked up, he realized Ren barely bowed his head and looked at him with nothing but pure and utter hate. He finally gave a wave of his hand and waved Hiroshi off before he turned and stepped off the dohyo to leave.
Hiroshi didn’t let it bother him. Nothing would bring him down from the high he was riding at the moment. He crouched down and gave a swipe of his hand in respect. The gyoji held his paddle towards the gerbil and bowed towards Hiroshi when he stood back up. Then Hiroshi climbed down and headed towards the back.
His mom and sister were down at the mouth of the tunnel and waited for him when he came up. Asami instantly wrapped herself around his leg and Hikari embraced her son.
“We can’t talk now mom, it’s not proper,” Hiroshi said but still embraced her in a tight hug.
She gave a soft laugh and patted her son’s head carefully to not mess up the topknot anymore than it already was. “I know, son, I just wanted to give my gerbil a hug. Go on now. Go in the back so you can celebrate properly,” she said before she let go of him.
“I’ll be up to join you in a few minutes. After I’ve cleaned off and when the Oyakata gives me permission,” Hiroshi said to her as he tried to peel Asami off of him. “There should only be a few more matches, I think.”
When he entered their backroom, he was greeted with a round of cheers and applause. Nishikigi even stood there and waited for him to come back.
“That was outstanding. If you’re unsure what to do and you’re both locked in a grapple, just pick up your opponent! I love it!” the yokozuna clapped Hiroshi on the shoulder and shook his head. “I don’t know why I never think of that,” he muttered as he went back to his overstuffed chair.
Hiroshi went over to his own stool and took a seat. He had calmed enough while he was waiting for the deliberation to even out his breathing, so he sat and wiped off his sweat.
Oyakata and Botan walked over and greeted the boy. “Ezra is out finding the scoop right now. They’re always so unorganized with the junior tournament. He’s trying to figure out if you’re the only one with only one loss. There’s only two matches left to go, so it’ll probably depend on the outcome of that,” Kenjiro told him before he wandered away to do something else.
Botan was left there, and the cultivator looked at Hiroshi. His face was as stoic as ever, but the man gave the gerbil a short nod of approval before he turned and walked off to follow the oyakata.