His eyes were closed, and his head was down as he was trying to fight the tears. He saw his sister first, the compact form of Asami was standing there still waving the sign with his name written in it. It was written in the old language with the curvy lettering they had. Hiroshi blinked his eyes furiously, trying to blink away the water, and he kneeled down and wrapped Asami in a hug, holding her close.
“You did such a good job, Hiroshi,” he felt his mother’s hand come to his shoulder squeezing it. “Oh my, you are ready for a bath aren’t you?” her hand lingered on his shoulder for only a moment before she chuckled and pulled her hand away wiping the sweat on her robe.
He looked up finally and laughed a little and took in his mother’s form. She was shorter than most of the women in the city. Further separating herself from the rest of the local women, she had green emerald eyes, which was where Hiroshi got his from, and then also brown curly locks of hair. His father used to tell Hiroshi her hair was one reason that drove him to her. She was so different from the other women, how could one not swarm to her?
Hiroshi reached and ruffled his little sister's hair. It was cut just below her ears, straight, unlike his mother’s curls. Asami’s cheeks blew out in frustration and she glared up at her brother. Hiroshi snickered and winked at her when his mother spoke.
“Hiroshi, you did such a good job. Your…”
She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. He forgot himself and rammed into her midsection, his enormous arms wrapping all the way around his petite mother.
“Umph,” she had the wind knocked out of her a moment. Neither that nor her son's sweaty form stopped her from wrapping her arms around her boy.
“Thank you, mama,” Hiroshi said and fought back the tears that had welled in his eyes once more. “For everything,” Hiroshi said once he knew he could compose himself enough to speak without his voice wavering.
Hikari gave a soft laugh and put a hand to her son's head. They both felt the slight form that was Asami trying to push and wedge her way in between. One last tight squeeze from Hiroshi to his mother’s midsection before he loosened his grip and felt Asami’s little arms try to wrap all the way around his midsection.
“Come on, you two, I have everything ready to make dumplings and noodles for dinner,” Hikari said, still chuckling a little.
Asami and Hiroshi both squealed in delight. Asami even jumped up and down, raising her hands to the sky giving shouts of appreciation. She took off running down the entrance tunnel towards the exit.
“Asami, wait!” Hikari said and ran after the excited little girl. “We’ll meet you outside after you change!” She called back to Hiroshi still chasing after Asami, yelling for her to stop and wait.
Hiroshi lowered his head and laughed a little as he continued walking down the tunnel. His mother and sister would have veered to the right which led to a grand entranceway and the exit. Hiroshi’s bare feet slapped against the hard floor leading him to the left which was the locker room.
The locker room was empty save for an attendant who was cleaning. It had large tubs filled with hot water and had runes carved all around the bottom. The runes were special runes made by cultivators that would keep the water both hot and clean. The tubs were also off limits to the juniors.
“Hey, I saw your match. You saw that boy didn’t know what to do and attacked!” The man looked at Hiroshi and grinned a wide toothless grin. He was an older bald man with wrinkles like one of those old dogs. “Good sumo,” he said and nodded his head vigorously.
Hiroshi watched the attendant sweep a little as he changed out of mawashi and into a plain dark brown wool robe. A symbol of his being in the junior rank. He wasn’t allowed to wear clothing until he rose higher in the divisions.
The robes the sumotori and professional rikishi wore were slightly different in design than the robes people normally wore, and way different than cultivator robes. Where cultivator robes were long, flowy, with wide open sleeves, robes worn by civilians had some differences. The robes worn day to day by those who were not cultivators or sumotori were tighter sleeved and not as long. They looked more like a long light jacket, and they weren’t widely worn. Sumotori robes were also called kimonos. Kimonos were a single piece of fabric that wrapped around and held closed with a sash. They were more form fitting than either.
Colors of the kimono could tell you the rank of a sumo wrestler. As they went up in divisions, the robes went various colors and would get lighter in color. They would get nicer in fabric quality. When you reached the top division, makuuchi, you could wear whatever style kimono you wanted. They usually had designs on them and were lavish. They were also typically a much nicer fabric or possibly even silk.
Another kid about Hiroshi’s age walked into the locker room after the door swung open. Hiroshi still had his pants half on. They were the same color and itchy cloth as the robe he wore. He looked at the pair of them curiously, raising an eyebrow.
“Papa! Papa! You won’t believe it!” The boy breathed heavily. He must have ran here from wherever he came from. He was doubled over with his hands on his knees wheezing.
The toothless attendant laughed and walked over to his apparent son. A calming hand went to the boy's back, rubbing it softly. “Relax little Ken, when you catch your breath you can tell me.”
What? What did you see?! He thought to himself. He wouldn’t be rude and say anything. Likewise, he didn’t want to appear but eavesdropping but curiosity had gotten the better of this young sumotori. He slowly pretended like he was still dressing himself.
“I let a man go upstairs, to the private box. There were oyakata in there, including Kenjiro!” The child finally piped up.
To hear that oyakata was upstairs and possibly watched him win though. Hiroshi rushed to finish getting dressed. I can’t believe it. It isn’t said the stablemasters never watch the juniors? Especially here so far away from the capital. Hiroshi’s mind raced and the wooden sandals he wore clapped against the hardwood floor as he made his way from the locker room and through the grand entranceway.
Hiroshi found his mother and sister outside. His mother was sitting under a large cherry blossom tree. The blossoms were in full bloom marking the start of springtime which is why the tournament was happening now. What better way to celebrate life than to celebrate Kentaro at the place where he first stood up to Kenchi and saved the world from the blood thirsty kami?
Hikari was leaning back in the grass resting her head against the tree while Asami picked some dandelions in the grass around their mother. Hiroshi was relieved he found them easily, who knew where they could have been hiding in the vast arena area. The area took over most of the downtown area of the city that was always bustling.
The oranges and reds of the setting sun was a beautiful backdrop to Hikari and Asami sitting under the pink blossomed tree. Hiroshi didn’t notice however, he had much more important matters on his mind.
“Mom! Mom!” He squealed, even louder than when he found out she was making dumplings for dinner.
Hikari gave a small jump when she heard Hiroshi’s clapping of sandals against the rocks that made the outdoor area. She had been enjoying a small nap before they went home and she made dinner for the three of them. Her thin lips stretched into a smile and she gave a small laugh seeing her son rush towards her though wondering what was going on.
“There were oyakatas there. They were watching, I…” Hiroshi doubled over now, his small plump form bent over wheezing. He may have trained every day, may have just won a sports tournament, but he was still a thirteen-year-old plump boy.
He felt Hikari’s hand on his back and rubbed his back softly. “Breathe Hiroshi, breathe,” she laughed once more.
Asami’s hand came up and patted Hiroshi, also rubbing for a minute before she held out a small wreath made from the dandelions she had been picking at. “Here you go, for winning today!” She exclaimed proudly.
Hiroshi took it, his fingers taking great care not to damage the intricate weaving the little girl had done. He smiled and stood upright looking over the wreath. “This is amazing Asami, thank you so much. I will use it to decorate my shrine to Kentaro in my room,” he said and nodded his head to her.
“What had you in such a huff my little hamster?” Hikari narrowed her eyes on Hiroshi and put a hand on Asami’s head pulling her in close to her.
“Oh, my god! MOOOOOOOOOM!” The rush of excitement returned to Hiroshi and his eyes went wide. “Kenjiro Oyakata from Hajima beya was there! HE WATCHED ME WIN!” Hiroshi was seething now in excitement.
His mother put a hand behind his head and pulled him into the dress she wore. Hiroshi felt her nod her head and a sound he didn’t quite understand at first. Hiroshi pulled back from her chest and looked up at her with soft eyes. “What’s wrong mama?”
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His mother’s eyes swelled up once more, turned into glassy pools and she smiled and shook her head. “Nothing, my child. I’m just so proud of you.” She purposely ignored the wet spot on her dress left from the sweat on his forehead. He really needed a bath.
“YAAAAAAAAAAY!” Asami’s voice rang out, and she was dancing in triumph for her brother, oblivious to the fact her mother was crying.
Hikari laughed, and they both watched Asami dance around. She then mimicked the ritual of sumo, her small feet came down to stomp on the grass as hard as she could. This sent mother and son laughing once more while Hikari pulled Hiroshi away from the tree.
“Come on Asami, let’s go get dumplings!” Hiroshi shouted, the clopping sound once more ringing out in the tranquil area as he ran. “Last one home has to help mom seal them!” he shouted as he ran.
Asami stopped her ritual and her eyes went wide. That was the worst way to help their mother in the kitchen. It took so long to seal them, and she had exacting standards. The folds had to be just so and packed nice and tight with none of the filling leaking out. Once that full realization hit her she took off as fast as her little legs could make her go. Hikari, unable to run as fast because of the tightness of the dress she wore, stumbled after them. She had to remove her own sandals so she could try to keep up.
It didn’t take long for the trio to get home, the sun still hung above the skyline threatening to set but wasn’t quite to finish. They lived close to the downtown area since Jiro worked right downtown in a little shop he rented from a businessman. Their father worked as a painter who painted everyday life depictions on wood slates. His paintings weren’t heralded as great works of art but he did enough business to keep food on the table.
It was when he never came home one night that the family worried about their patriarch. Food was on the table ready, his favorite, stewed pork and white rice with this delicious oyster sauce Hikari made. Jiro knew she was making it, she figured it’d be a good way to make sure he stayed out of the betting houses. As good of a father as Jiro was, he had his own vices. They went to bed without knowing what happened to him.
There was a knock on the door by the local law enforcement that informed an in shock Hikari what had happened. Jiro lay in an alley next to his shop, dead. The police had deduced that he must have been murdered just after it was time for him to close shop for the night. To this day they had no leads on who killed the Watanabe patriarch. Hiroshi and Asami woke to their mother’s screaming when the police told her what had happened. The police left with Hiroshi holding his mother’s form up in her raving.
Hiroshi bathed and cleaned himself up, and Hikari and Asami worked on dinner. They were singing and making a game out of closing the dumplings, when there was a knock on the door. It rang through the house, deep and loud, one of those knocks that you had to answer right away. It was full of authority and a demand that the knocker must be attended to.
His mother cursed “Hiroshi, will you answer that? Our hands are covered in dough and pork.” she called to him. Another pound on the door when Hikari addressed the knocker before Hiroshi could answer his mother. She yelled to give them a moment.
Hiroshi stood in his room wearing short pants that went to his calves. Since he wasn’t doing sumo related things, and didn’t plan on leaving the house again for the evening he didn’t have to dress in the traditional dress that labeled him a sumotori. He grabbed a large loose-fitting shirt that looked like it might be a small tent and brought it over his already greased and slicked back hair. A quick sniff to his armpits to confirm he was indeed clean from all the sweatiness that was a sumo tournament.
Footsteps raged like a rhino as he ran through the small house. Down the little hallway, and through the adjoining kitchen and family area that was the main living part of the house. He opened the door and looked up to the man who knocked so hardly.
Hiroshi gasped when he saw who was standing on their doorstep. The man was broad and stood taller than anyone Hiroshi had ever seen, he took up most of the doorway. The thing that stood out though to young Hiroshi, the man was wearing a kimono. It was the same clothing the sumotori wore. His was dark blue with red streaks of lightning and surrounded with a lighter shade of blue than the rest of the dark blue silk kimono.
Hiroshi didn’t recognize the man, he didn’t know all the different people who were in the sumo world. As big a fan as Hiroshi was, he wouldn’t recognize anyone outside of the current yokozuna’s and some of the other fan favorites in the makuuchi division. That feeling jabbed at Hiroshi’s gut though. The man’s kimono, his topknot, just the way the man stood there. He was someone, and he was important.
A small smile came across the man’s strong jawline. “Hiroshi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Kenjiro,” the man said in a booming voice. His voice was deep and strong and demanded people listen when he spoke. He was barrel chested and had little body fat on him besides his stomach.
Hiroshi’s jaw dropped once the man said his name, and he stared with wonder and stars in his eyes. How could Hiroshi not know the name of the stablemaster of the most prestigious beya in the entire empire?
“Hiroshi, who’s at the door? Don’t be rude, let them in,” he heard his mother coming around the corner and Hiroshi stammered a little remembering himself.
“Master Kenjiro, come in, come in, please. Make yourself at home,” Hiroshi rushed to say just as his mother approached. Hiroshi moved out of the way and opened the door wide for Kenjiro to enter their home.
“Oh my,” Hikari muttered seeing the large man entering.
“Mom, it’s Kenjiro Oyakata from the Hajima beya in Toko City”
The three of them stood there now cramped in the small foyer. Kenjiro demanded most of the space, and Hiroshi was doing his best to squeeze his too large body into the corner. The man chuckled lightly and nodded his head holding his hand out to Hikari.
“Well, I wanted to try to keep where I’m from a secret, but it seems that Hiroshi knows quite a lot about the sumo world. I should have expected as much from someone so young who showed such good sumo,” Kenjiro said as Hikari took his hand and shook it.
The man’s hand was like a bear's paw surrounding Hikari’s petite hand. Hiroshi’s mind drifted off in this fantasy that Kenjiro really was a bear in disguise. He took Hikari and crashed through the front door leaving Hiroshi and Asami to comically chase after them.
“Mama, I finished the last dumpling. We can cook them and eat now,” Asami’s voice preceded her small bare feet shuffling through the wood floored house.
Hiroshi’s fantasy crashed around him hearing Asami and his eyes opened wide when what Kenjiro said finally struck his brain. “I, thank you Oyakata,” he said with a deep bow. Or well, as deep as he could while he was still cramped in the corner.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, come in. Have a seat, make yourself at home. Why did you want to come in secret?” Hikari backed out of the foyer but narrowed her eyes at the larger man. Now she was the mama bear protecting her young, not afraid of some larger animal.
The larger man gave a small but deep chuckle and he shook his head and raised a hand placatingly. “Nothing bad, I swear.”
Hikari had a hand on Asami’s back, and was leading everyone into the living area of their home. There was an oversized chair that used to be Jiro’s seat for him to come and rest in after a hard day working. Then there was a smaller one for Hikari, and some pillows on the floor. They adorned the walls with family paintings and a set of shelves Hiroshi made for one of her birthdays. She had put some potted plants on it, and a small bonsai tree she liked to take care of.
“I just wanted to meet Hiroshi after he won the tournament today. See what he was hoping to do, if he and you were planning on going to Toko,” Kenjiro informed Hikari. “You have a lovely home,” he told her with a smile.
Hiroshi was near hyperventilating from excitement. The oyakata was not only watching, but now he wanted to meet him?! He cared if Hiroshi was going to the tournament? Hiroshi put his hands on his knees and tried to get a grip on himself.
Hikari smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, Hiroshi wants to go. I would love for him to live out his dream.”
No. It was all going to come crashing down. Hiroshi picked himself up and looked up at his mother and his mind raced. Wanted to see him? What did that mean? Were they not going? Doesn’t she want to go as well?
Deep down Hiroshi knew it was a possibility they couldn’t go. He didn’t want to admit to himself that even after winning the tournament here on the island and securing entry into the final junior tournament that he wouldn’t actually be able to go. Money was tight though, he knew. His mother had been using their savings so far to keep them fed. Luckily through a series of shrewd deals and handshakes Jiro had paid off their house to keep the family debt free.
“Koto is far though, and traveling is ex…” Hikari didn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Kenjiro raised his hand once more, stopping her.
Hiroshi had to grip his knees again to stop himself from falling. Not from excitement this time, but from the crashing realization that he could not go. It was his father’s dream for him to pursue sumo, not his mother’s. His mother supported him, and did whatever she could for him, but ultimately without Jiro.
“We’ll talk about the rest. Is there a better time for me to come back? Since you guys are getting ready for dinner.” Kenjiro said with a smile.
“Stay for dinner!” Hiroshi regained enough composure to rush out the invitation before even really thinking, or more importantly, clearing it with his mother. If he would not get to wrestle in front of the emperor in Koto, then he would try his hardest to spend some time with one of the most important oyakatas.
Narrowed eyes pierced him immediately from his mother. She folded her arms across her chest and Hiroshi looked up at her pleadingly. His green eyes turned into a look from a puppy begging for scraps from the dinner table.
“No, I can’t imp…” now it was Kenjiro’s turn to get cut off.
“Yes, stay for dinner. Me and Asami here went wild with dumplings and there should be enough noodles for everyone,” Hikari relented and looked up at Kenjiro. She smiled and gave an affirming nod of her head.
Hiroshi nearly melted. A small win in battle may lead to winning the war and then he could be a part of the opening ceremonies held by the emperor himself.
“Make yourself at home, try not to let Hiroshi pester you too much while me and Asami go finish,” Hikari gave a sweeping motion across the living area.
“You have a lovely home, thank you. Of course I will stay,” he gave a chuckle. “And I’m sure Hiroshi and I will get along wonderfully, we have things in common,” he continued.
He then moved over and sat in the large overstuffed chair that had belonged to Hiroshi’s father. Even though the chair was large and sturdy, it looked like it might crumple under Kenjiro’s much larger form. Hiroshi stared in horror as someone else was sitting in his father’s chair. Hikari had led Asami to the kitchen when Kenjiro sat but she paused for a moment mid-stride. Her feet came together, and she lowered her head a moment and her hand went to her eye.
“That’s papa’s chair!” Leave it to the little one to say what everyone else was thinking but couldn’t say.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn…” Kenjiro had started to climb to his feet but Hikari stopped him with a meek allowance.
“It’s fine. My husband will not be home for dinner,” was all she muttered before she gathered up Asami and rushed her into the kitchen. No scolding came to the small child for impropriety.