12th day in the Month of Minharu in the year 203 of the Age of Sasuke

  Hiroshi dug his heels into the clay of the dohyo and felt the salt under his toes. He barely heard the murmurs of the judges below him- this match wasn’t for them, it was for his father. He was a few feet above those judges, and he pushed them from his mind as he concentrated on the upcoming match. They were just observers, as far as he was concerned.

  The five shimpan were the ones who sat around. That sat stiffly and looked disinterested in the match. No one ever really cared about the junior matches. They wore the traditional dress robes with gray pants and inner robes while the outer was gray. They even had a small tightly braided rope that held the robe in place.

  These five men would only get involved if the match was close, but Hiroshi wouldn’t give them the chance to get involved. He was going to make sure he won this tournament right here, right now, without a doubt in anyone’s mind.

  He crouched down on his haunches and extended his arms straight towards his opponent, and slapped his hands together. This was a call back from the birth of Sumo when Kentaro fought Kenichi. By extending his arms, he showed his opponent he was unarmed, signaling a warrior’s meeting and a fair hand-to-hand fight.

  The two boys nodded to each other and stood and moved to their side of the dohyo. There was a salt bucket there and a ring attendant, a yobidashi, stood waiting. He stole a moment to look around the crowd.

  “GO HIROSHI!”

  The voice screamed through the bare arena and Hiroshi scanned to find his mother and little sister sitting in the middle of the arena, on one of the platform box seats. Asami even had a sign that had his name written in the old language of the island they lived on. He then spotted the empty seat next to his mother, where his father, Jiro, would have been. Jiro used to let Hiroshi skip school to come watch the tournaments with him, and now he was in the ring himself. He was trying to make his father’s memory proud.

  Hiroshi stood straight and raised his left arm in a call to Rei, the father of the Kami and God of the Sun, for power. He then extended his right with his palm open and fingers extending to the sky for Kentaro. He was the first sumotori and the lightning kami and god of honor and combat.

  Now, to finish the ritual, he lifted and extended his left leg as high as he could. It wasn’t as high as some, but Hiroshi was the youngest in the tournament. Hiroshi was also a little chubbier than the others. Jiro and Hiroshi both wanted him to become a rikishi from a very young age. He emitted a soft grunt when his foot stomped on the clay. He then followed the same process with his right leg.

  Hiroshi let his mind wander for a moment and looked up above the stadium seating to a large balcony that hung overhead. That was where important people would sit to watch the tournament. The city mayor, or visiting rich people. The people who would also sit up there to watch were Oyakatas.

  It was rumored that the stablemasters sometimes went up there to scout the juniors. Winning that would earn them entry into Grand Sumo at a higher rank. This was the other reason why Hiroshi wanted to win this tournament. If he could win this and be scouted by a stable and train with them. This would secure his future. He’d be able to go to the final tournament in Yoshino, the Empire’s capital.

  After a hard slap to the faded black mawashi, he wore, he reached down for the salt bucket. A heaping handful was grabbed, and he threw it through the air. Each part of this process was its own ritual to honor Kentaro from when he saved humanity from Kenichi, the war kami. The salt was there to further show that these were mortal men fighting. Something about salt interrupted the spiritual power the cultivators in the world had.

  The opponents met once more in the middle of the ring, and Hiroshi looked right into Ren’s eyes. The boy was skinnier than he was, but probably about a head taller. He was newer to sumo, so he had a shaved head. Unlike Hiroshi’s small topknot, he was able to grow. Hiroshi’s own brown eyes never left Ren’s green while they did the shikos, once more facing each other, and Hiroshi purposely stomped his feet down as hard as he could.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  They still stared at each other in the eye. They took a few steps back until they were behind thick white lines painted in the middle of the round ring. Ren went right down on his haunches and pressed his fists onto the clay while he stared Hiroshi down.

  Hiroshi crouched down and only pushed one fist into the dohyo. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in the arena's scent. The scent of the clay that was still a little wet from when the yobidashi wet and cleaned the ring before the match. He just centered himself and tried to push out the sound of his mother and sister clapping wildly.

  “Come on gerbil,” Ren spat from across from him. He didn’t say it loudly. Ren said it in barely above a whisper, hoping no one else would hear.

  Gerbil was normally a term of endearment for him. It was a pet name from his mother and little sister. Hiroshi, with his short, round frame, had to admit the name fit him well. When he ate dinner, he stuffed his mouth so his cheeks would puff out much like a gerbil would. Jiro always laughed and told him that’s what he needed to do to compete in sumo.

  “Quiet,” a voice scolded Ren. It was the judge of the match. For the Junior matches outside of the city, the judge was just a simple judge. He wore a black outer robe and a white inner. The man was certainly no gyoji. Those men wore elaborate silk robes and had an entire ranking process, like the sumo wrestlers did. When Hiroshi went to Yoshino, the gyoji would probably be someone around his own age.

  The gerbil opened his eye and looked at his older opponent with a smirk. All of his opponents today had been older. He was technically too young to compete in the tournament, but as a favor to his mother and Jiro’s memory, the tournament organizers allowed him in to compete. They probably didn’t think he’d do as well as he had been doing.

  Ren gave a short, concise nod to the judge and just kept watching Hiroshi. Hiroshi breathed in deep and watched Ren. He had his final fist just above the ground now and he waited. Watching and listening, he observed his opponent breathe. He was trying to time the breaths together. It was supposed to be a signal to start the match. The longer they sat in this position with Hiroshi waiting to start the match, Hiroshi noticed that Ren’s eyes were growing softer moment by moment.

  Once Hiroshi felt it, he barely slid his fist against the clay and charged towards Ren for the tachi-ai. The taller, skinnier boy absorbed as much of the blow as he could when Hiroshi plowed into him like a boulder rolling down a mountain.

  “HAKKEYOI!” the judge’s deep voice boomed over the pair.

  After the initial charge, Hiroshi felt Ren’s hand moving for his mawashi, so Hiroshi thrust out with his left palm. He felt Ren’s hand pull back when he tried to shove Hiroshi’s right hand away from him in Hiroshi’s follow up thrust. The blow hit Ren right in the middle of the chest and Ren staggered back.

  Hiroshi’s heart thundered, and he had blood pumping in his ears as he didn’t let up the assault. Push, thrust, one right after another. He worked on thrusting Ren’s upper body. He had this plan coming into the match to stop Ren from getting a good grip on his belt. Hiroshi had been paying attention to the previous bouts and knew Ren was a more technical wrestler. He had won all of his bouts by being able to grab the mawashi and flip his opponent.

  Not this time. Hiroshi dodged or simply deflected anything Ren tried to do. The skinnier opponent had tried a few more times to grab hold of Hiroshi’s belt. The final time Hiroshi brought his forearm down towards Ren’s arm and knocked it away. This time he followed up with a thrust right towards the middle of Ren’s chest once more. This time, Hiroshi watched as Ren’s foot caught on the bales that made up the outer marker of the dohyo.

  “You’re out!” came the booming voice of the judge once more when Ren fell on the clay just outside of the ring. Thankfully, he didn’t drop from the five-foot drop to the ground from there.

  Hiroshi went over to help Ren up. Honor dictated that the winner offer, and when he was in the ring, Hiroshi tried to do everything honorable. He had to show respect to not only his parents and the kami but also to his opponent.

  When Hiroshi extended his hand to the boy on the ground, Ren just rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet. That was expected, though. While honor dictated he extend the offer, honor also dictated that Ren deny the help. Ren was a warrior and did not need help to get to his feet after a lost match.

  The boys went back to their starting positions opposite each other and bowed. Hiroshi gave a deep bow while Ren must have barely bowed his head. The older boy was already climbing off the dohyo when Hiroshi lifted his head.

  His legs hurt as he crouched down a last time as the judge walked over and stood in front of him. Hiroshi swiped his arm in a downward swipe known as a tegatana. He wasn’t sure where the motion came from exactly, but he knew it was a sign of respect and thanks to the judge for judging the match fairly.

  In a break of etiquette, Hiroshi felt the man’s hand come to his shoulder and give a light squeeze. It was good that no one was watching the fight and Hiroshi was sure that no yokozunas or oyakatas were in the box. Why would they be?

  “Jiro would be proud, good job Hiroshi, congratulations,” the man said solemnly.

  Hiroshi couldn’t do anything but nod his head slowly. When the judge stepped away and Hiroshi climbed to his feet, he went to the edge of the dohyo and climbed down. He tried to ignore the sting of tears that rolled down his sweat stained face.

  *announcement*

  I've just posted 18 chapters of a new story I've been working on on my Patreon.

  Cultivation Overdrive: Isekai'd as a cultivating driver.

  It follows the events of this story, but you don't really need to read Hiroshi to understand it. It's 100% its own story.

  A truck driver gets isekai'd into the same world Hiroshi takes place. I've *very* excited about it and will be able to get back to working on it.

  *end announcement*

  ROYAL road.

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