“We at the Sasuke Sumo Association would like to congratulate Miyamoto Hiroshi on his win here at the opening of the Yoshino Cities Summer Festival. We in the Junior division of the Association have been watching Hiroshi since his father Jiro first put him in a tournament back on Ryoku last year,” the man speaking wasn’t as old as some others who stood on the dohyo.

The man was probably about the age his father was and Hiroshi wondered if the man knew his father since he had brought him up. There were five other people on the dohyo in all. Three men wearing the black dress robes with the crest of the association on the breasts of the robe. One was the gyoji who judged the match Hiroshi just won. The other was a boy who couldn’t be much older than Hiroshi was himself. Maybe Itaro’s age?

This boy drew the eye more than Hiroshi could ever though. The boy’s robes were silk and decorative like the ones the gyojis wore. His was a golden color with black designs and something about the robes seemed to radiate a certain power to them, maybe? Hiroshi couldn’t quite place the feeling he got from them. He wore little jewelry, but it dawned on Hiroshi that the funny hat the boy wore wasn't a hat. It was a crown. Hiroshi gaped as he realized who this was.

This was the child emperor Sasuke Akihito. The crown was a black cloth with gold all around it that came up on the sides and then a large red jewel on the front golden piece that raised up higher than the two sides. He had short black hair that was mostly covered by the crown and bright green eyes that looked right at Hiroshi. He looked like everything you’d expect an emperor to look. The boy had soft fair skin, and Hiroshi wondered if there was makeup involved to make him look that pale.

“I knew Jiro. He was a good man who was always devoted to not only the sport but also the religious aspects of sumo. He had a deep and profound love for the rituals where you sumotori worshiped Kentaro. I know he would be proud to find his son standing here with us today,” the man continued and answered Hiroshi’s question.

Hiroshi looked back up at the man who was speaking. No one noticed through the windows along the highest panels in the walls just below the ceilings how the sky was growing dark. It had promised to be a pleasant summer’s day when they first made their way to the arena. Now the dark skies rolled in and roiled as the storm grew.

“Sumotori Hiroshi,” Akihito now said. His voice rose high through the arena, louder than Hiroshi suspected was possible unless this boy was training to become a cultivator. “As a dedicated fan and supporter of the Sasuke Sumo Association I wanted to personally give you the prize you’ve fought so hard for,” he said this as one of the men in the dress robes gave the emperor the white braided rope of a yokozuna.

The Emperor took it and gave the man a nod of thanks before he approached Hiroshi. “I now claim that you will be a Junior Yokozuna for one year's time. At the start of the next Summer Tournament you enter that tournament as a rikishi in the third division of Makushita. I am told you are still young to become a rikishi, and while the SSA wanted to throw you right in since you won this belt. I felt it would be better if you aged a little first. Got some more experience under the expert tutelage of Oyakata Kenjiro and my old guard member Botan. I am sure they both will be able to get you ready for such a high division in a year,” he said this simply. He commanded it.

This boy’s word was law after all, and all Hiroshi could do was bow and give his thanks to the emperor. He bowed deeply. Deeper than he ever had before.

“Rise now. Receive your yokozuna belt, and may the power of Kentaro guide you and work through you as you honor him this next year,” the Emperor commanded.

Hiroshi quickly complied and stood tall. He stretched his arms out to the sides and stood as straight as he could as the Emperor himself wrapped the thick, braided rope around Hiroshi’s midsection over his sweaty black mawashi.

“I am told you have a nickname, The Gerbil. It is tradition that when someone becomes a yokozuna, they get a name in the old language from your island that celebrates the area or town that they come from,” the emperor said as he wrapped the rope around Hiroshi. “Since your island home is really known for the Kami who saved us from Kenichi’s wrath and we cannot call you Kentaro, I have decided to give you a different name.”

Hiroshi gasped. He was getting named directly by the emperor? That truly was an honor. Normally a committee from the Association and the newly minted yokozuna had to get together and come up with and deliberate a name.

“From henceforth, you shall be known as Yokozuna Haganzumi, which I’m told translates loosely to Fierce Gerbil. You have shown that you truly are a fierce gerbil Hiroshi, and you shall wear your new name with pride,” the emperor said and tied the rope behind Hiroshi.

He gasped a little when the Emperor proved he was a cultivator and tied the rope behind him and almost squeezed the breath out.

The gerbil looked down at the yokozuna belt he now wore and he couldn’t believe he was wearing it. He sneaked a look up and over at his mother’s box once more and saw her and Asami sitting there hugging. They both waved to him, unsure of what else to really do.

When he looked back to the people on the dohyo, there were off to the sides of the ring and looked expectantly at Hiroshi. It was the emperor who motioned out to the ring with an open palm and he realized what they were waiting for him to do.

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They wanted him to do the dohyo-iri. A ring entering ceremony reserved for only the yokozuna in the junior division. The professionals did one when they were sekitori, and then the yokozuna and ozeki had their own to do. Hiroshi realized he should have asked Nishikigi for advice or guidance on the proper ways to do it. He figured that might have brought him bad luck, though, counting chickens before they hatched. Still, Hiroshi knew the basics. He had seen it a few times.

He stood in the middle of the ring and looked out around the half full arena. More people had showed up since they expected this portion of the day to be done with. He stood at the end of the lines in the middle of the ring, one foot at the beginning of either of them. His arms opened wide and stretched out straight. He clapped his hands together as loud as he could. Just as he did, a strike of lightning tore through the air outside, the thunder cracked when he brought his hands together.

The people paid it no mind. So, a storm was coming. It was summer, storms happened so they might get wet as they went home that evening. Nothing new.

Hiroshi brought his right hand out and up. It was the same ceremony before a match started, in essence, and he lifted his right leg. He lifted it as high as he could and prayed that Kentaro would give him the power to do this properly. He was able, even to his own surprise, to lift his leg so high that his legs made almost a parallel line before he dropped it. He put a hand on his knee when he brought his foot down and took extra care to really smash his foot into the clay.

CRACK

Another crack of thunder just as his foot stomped down. The crowd applauded and gave gasps of awe when his foot landed. Hiroshi admitted to himself that the timing was kind of nice for his first ever dohyo-iri. Really added some effect to his stomps. After his foot landed, he crouched down and forward and extended his arms out towards the clay. His feet wiggled slowly and moved up the lines as he made his legs were as far stretched as they could be. Behind him, the gyoji that had judged the last match sat on his bottom. His gunbai held parallel to the ground. He had a purple rope that he swung back and forth slowly as Hiroshi did this ceremony.

Once Hiroshi was at the front of the lines, he stood back up straight and outstretched his arms once more. His right leg lifted and he once more did the shiko, once more able to lift his leg impossibly high. Another stomp and another crack of the thunder outside followed by the applause and gasps of admiration from the crowd. Hiroshi did the other side now, left leg lifted and stomped down.

When his left foot stomped onto the clay, it wasn’t just thunder that cracked outside. There was the sound of glass shattering. A window had broken and everyone, including Hiroshi, looked up towards the windows. A streak of lightning must have crashed through and hit one of the metal poles at the top level of the arena. The pole and surrounding material were scorched, and people fled the area.

Oyakata Kenjiro came out from the back of the arena now. He ran. He ran with the speed Hiroshi never thought a man that size could have. Hiroshi looked at him a little shocked and waved at him, motioning to him he was alright. Everything was alright. It was just a broken pane of glass. Surely the Empire could have it fixed.

Kenjiro didn’t stop running though, he ran straight towards the dohyo.

“HIROSHI RUN! EMPEROR AKIHITO GO!” a voice rang out. It was Botan’s voice, and it sounded like it came from the very Heavens.

Then he realized. Kenjiro looked different. The aged grandfatherly Oyakata and sumo master didn’t look old anymore. In fact, he looked like he was in the prime of his life. As he ran, he ripped off the deep blue kimono and showed that he wore a mawashi. The mawashi was a color quite unlike anything Hiroshi had ever seen before. It was a deep red with some blue in there. They mixed together and somehow stood separate. Botan was out of the locker room now and chased behind the enraged Oyakata.

When Hiroshi looked back, the Emperor was gone. He must have used some sort of cultivation trick and when Hiroshi looked up, the boy danced away on the winds. He blew up from the planet. By the time he turned back to look at the oncoming bulldozer, he was tackled out of the way. He was tackled and thrown so hardly, in fact, they were well off the dohyo and into the first levels of the stands.

When Hiroshi looked up, he saw Kenjiro run past the dohyo. His arms thrashed around. The men from the association weren’t as lucky. One of them was smacked clear across the arena and threw one of the upper windows on the opposite side of where the lightning blew out the window. Hiroshi looked at his savior, and he realized the smell hit him first.

The man was a homeless man. A beggar. Not only that, but he wore a tattered cloth over his eyes. He was a blind beggar who even carried a cane. Wait. Hiroshi knew this man. This looked, and smelled, like the man that had interrupted their travels when Kenjiro first brought Hiroshi to this city.

“Kentaro, stop! Calm yourself!” The beggar called out to the thrashing Oyakata. He didn’t pay Hiroshi any more attention, instead the man dashed off towards the dohyo, and his cane turned into… a sword?!

Hiroshi pushed himself back as far as he could into the seat as he watched, terrified. Kentaro? The man had to be blind. He called Kenjiro the name of the Kami himself.

Botan and the beggar were now in the dohyo. They dodged and weaved through Kenjiro strikes and yelled back and forth.

“You know this isn’t any mortal man, Botan! Search with your spirit,” the beggar called.

Botan didn’t respond but went in and punched at Kenjiro’s sides. It looked like a child hitting a bear. Kenjiro even seemed to grow a little. Right before Hiroshi’s eyes and Hiroshi gasped. This man was telling the truth. He was being trained by no simple mortal. This man, this Kenjiro, was indeed Kentaro himself. Kentaro, the kami of honor and combat.

“We have to get him outside,” Botan called.

From there Hiroshi, and any of the occupants couldn’t comprehend exactly what happened. It was a dance of water, ice, and lightning as the three of them fought. Eventually, they must have gotten the enraged kami outside because they were gone and the mere mortals inside the arena were left to pick up the pieces.

When Hiroshi reached his family, they were huddled together. Ezra was over his mother and sister and his friends Huan and Ansei. Fear was in his eyes as he looked up at the child yokozuna as he tried to protect them from whatever else the Heavens may rain down upon the land of mortals.

Then, just as quickly as the turmoil and rage came, it left. The skies brightened, and the sun shone once more through the windows that were left. The small group sat there, unsure of what to do or what to say. No one could really give them any answers. How could they? Who expected a kami to be living their day-to-day life as a mortal retired sumo wrestler?

Soon after, Botan limped back into the arena, but he didn’t bring any answers either. He looked just as confused and lost as everyone else did.