The whirring of machinery in the almost unnecessarily large elevator room felt monotonous. Droning.
Calming.
Edmond Honda closed his eyes as the platform he stood on rose.
It's taken a lot of work to get here, he thought, more than I ever imagined, even as a kid. Even then, I thought I was ready.
The turning of gears were eventually accompanied by another sound, though this one was very faint to start. He smiled as he closed his eyes, taking in the barely audible sound of cheering.
Man, I can't tell you how much I've loved that sound…
As a young boy, Edmond had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Like most boys his age, he never really thought about it. Sure, some kids wanted to be police officers, or firefighters, or other things that most kids his age dream about being. Edmond, however, just wanted to know when the next episode of his favorite action shows were on. Even throughout middle school, his mind never settled on a goal. He never really thought about where he wanted to go in life.
Until the night everything for him changed.
His father held down a steady office job. More than a typical salaryman, though, his father tended to get some small benefits and bonuses most people like him usually didn't get. One week, the tiny bonus was two free tickets to a sumo wrestling event being held in their city. With nobody else to invite, since his mother had no interest in sumo, his father offered him the second ticket. Edmond accepted, not having anything else interesting to do that night.
Of all the decisions he'd made in his thirty-plus years of life, that was the one that he would never, ever regard as a bad one.
When most kids his age talked about sumo wrestling, they'd poke fun at them. Talk about their sizes. Their diets. How little they wore in a match, and how much danger they put the audience in when it came to possibly showing more of themselves than they'd want. Edmond'd even jumped in with his own earthquake jokes, along with whatever the other kids were talking about.
When he went to that show, however, his opinion on them changed almost immediately. These guys were the near-on epitome of a modern day Japanese warrior. The showmanship! The wrestlers in the event put on a show like no other he'd ever seen. Even the traditions that the warriors performed for each match was watched with a collective interest and excitement. The spectators ate up every motion the wrestlers made. Loud cheers made the place every bit as energetic as the fighters themselves, and Edmond couldn't help but feel chills the entire time.
The fights themselves were just as incredible to watch. The big men clashed with one another in ways he'd never even known they could. Sure, there were the moments where they slammed into each other like one would see in anime, but there was so much more tension to the matches than they showed. Many of the matches didn't even take off until long after the gyoji, or referee, called for them to begin. Lots of staring. Watching. Anticipating. And the crowd around them, cheering or jeering the competitors on the dohyo-the raised platform with the ring-with each passing second!
That night was the night. His father always treated him right, taught him well, and raised him to the best of his ability. Edmond was never more grateful for anything his father did than taking him to that event. That night gave Edmond all the direction he'd ever needed or wanted in his life.
One day, he'd stand among the men he'd watched for hours. One day, he would be a proud sumo wrestler.
As time went on, he studied the world of sumo as much as he could. He absorbed everything; history, records, accomplishments. Whatever he could find, he studied. He trained as much as he could at home, using whatever materials he could scrounge up. Before long, his father had taken him to the place his sumo entrance exam would take place. Edmond felt so proud when he'd passed his exam. He felt he was ready.
What he wasn't prepared for, however, was how much he'd be told no.
"Sorry, kid. We're full up here."
"Not lookin' for newbies, sorry."
"I'll be honest, I don't see you going very far. I'm only lookin' for the best, and I don't see it in you."
After his sixth or seventh rejection-at this point, he'd managed to lose count-he'd begun to lose hope. Heya, the sumo stables that trained wrestlers, after heya turned him down, and he felt like he was becoming a burden to his dad, who'd been the one to take him from place to place. He'd never wanted anything more than this, and every door he'd tried to get into was figuratively slammed in his face.
On his ninth? Tenth? Ninth try, he'd at least been allowed in. Most of the other heya had him stay outside while the stable's senior came to talk to him. As he stepped into the building, he took a moment to look around him. Several groups of potential wrestlers spotted the wide training hall, each of them working on different exercises. He could feel the excitement building already, even though he hadn't so much as talked to anyone yet.
"Hey there, young man!"
Edmond's head snapped away from the exercising wrestlers, finding the source of the new voice. Before him stood a mountain of a man. The young boy's eyes took in the sight of him; the man towered over him, standing nearly two feet taller. His body, at first glance, was the body one might expect a sumo wrestler to have, though upon closer inspection, it was clear that a large part of his size was muscle mass. In the back of his mind, Edmond couldn't help but wonder how easily the man could've snapped him like a twig. The man's graying hair was just long enough to tie back, and his eyes, though squinted nearly shut, were just visible enough to show a warmth to them that Edmond hadn't seen in other heya elders.
"I hear you're looking to join our family here," he said, his boisterous voice bouncing from the dojo's walls. "Gotta be honest with you, I'm a little picky about who I let into the heya."
"Uh, excuse me!" Edmond snapped himself into a stiff bow. He could feel his body shaking. No matter how many time he'd done this, he could never force himself to settle down. "My n-name is H-h-honda! I'm here to-to ask if you would take m-m-me in as a s-s-student, sir!"
"Oh yeah? And why would I wanna do that? What can you bring to us?"
"Uh...well…" Edmond blanked. He hadn't gotten this far with the other groups, "I can work hard for you. I'm ready to dedicate myself to learning to be a sumotori, if you'll take me in."
The man regarded Edmond for a moment. He sighed, though more out of amusement than anything else. "Look, kid. I get what you're saying. Problem is, though, is that everyone that wants to do this say that same thing. 'I'll work hard. I'll prove it. I'll outwork everyone here.' It's a tired line, and I'm tired of hearin' it. So, let's drop the usual crap, huh? Why do you really wanna join?"
"Honestly?" Edmond asked as he righted himself, "This is the only thing I want to do. I've spent pretty much my entire life not knowing what it was I wanted to do with my life. Seeing sumo in action, though? That's when it finally hit me. That's when I realized what I wanted to do. I want to be one of the greatest sumo wrestlers in the country. I want to earn the title of 'Yokozuna'. I want to be able to stand on my own and say, 'I did this. I got here.' I want to show the world what sumo really has to offer."
The older man looked down on Edmond. He stared for a moment, seeming to mull over Honda's words. A few moments later, he turned around.
"Be here at seven tomorrow morning. You've got a lot of catching up to do."
Edmond, terrified at first that he'd said something wrong, felt a fresh wave of excitement wash over him. He'd done it! He'd finally found someone who would take him in! This was it! This was the start of his new life, and damned if he was going to do anything to risk it!
The elevator stuttered briefly, knocking Edmond briefly off balance. He stumbled for a moment, though something hitting his back knocked him further forward than the actual hitch in the elevator's movement. He managed to keep on his feet, though, and looked back to what it was that hit him.
Or rather, who.
"Sorry, Honda," the man said. Like Edmond, he was a mountain of a man. He wasn't quite as large as Edmond, but his size was certainly nothing to scoff at. When they'd met up a day before this event, Edmond couldn't help but give the man a hard time about his tanned skin. The last time he'd seen the man, he didn't look like he had been dipped in a tank of bronze coating. Now though? The only thing that didn't look like it was a darker tone than it had started was his already jet-black hair. "Wasn't ready for that."
Edmond laughed, walking up to and slapping the shoulder of the other man in the elevator. "Don't worry about it, Shoji. It was an accident! It's not like you were tryin' ta shove me down or anything!"
The two shared another hearty laugh as the elevator continued to climb. When their guffaws died down, Edmond took in the sight of his fellow sumo wrestler, taking special note of the scar that stretched across his left bicep.
Edmond cried out as his back slammed hard into the ground. He lay still for a few moments, eyes wide in shock and the faintest groan coming from his throat. The other boys, as well as his current opponent, wasted no time, a raucous round of laughter filling the heya's halls. Edmond stayed still, feeling waves of pain wash up and down his back. To rub salt in the wound, his opponent walked over to him, putting his foot onto Edmond's chest and flexing his arms as though he'd conquered some kind of wild beast. The spectators around laughed harder, encouraging the boy to continue his taunts, putting some weight onto Edmond's chest.
"Check it out, guys!" he said, over the chorus of cheers, "The new kid flopped like a fish!"
The laughter continued as Edmond finally felt the will to move slowly return to him. The foot on his chest pressed down a little harder, giving him all the motivation he needed. When he felt that he could move, he quickly shoved the offending foot off of him, knocking the other boy off-balance. He jumped up to his feet, though any courage he felt build in him immediately faded away as he saw five or six pairs of eyes suddenly fell on him with sharp gazes. The boy he'd just sparred against quickly regained his balance and threw his own glare at Edmond.
"Think you're tough, Twig?"
Edmond felt his face twist into an angry expression. Ever since he'd joined the heya, Edmond had been the target of taunts and jeers from his fellow students. 'Twig' had been the nickname they'd tagged him with, since he was significantly smaller in stature than anyone else in the heya. They all knew he hated it, too. He hadn't been secretive about that. Edmond spent the first three days of his training getting in the faces of the boys that used it on him.
Now though, he glared as menacingly as he could. Judging from the fact that not a single person seemed phased by his gaze, though, he thought he might not have been that intimidating.
The boy he'd sparred with grinned. "Lookit, Twig thinks he can do somethin'! Guess he forgot I just kicked his ass!"
Edmond's anger built at that one. He felt himself begin to shake. "Shut up!"
Another round of laughter. "C'mon, Twig. You know you can't beat any of us. We've been doing this a lot longer than you've even thought about it. We know what we're doing, you don't. Now do yourself a favor, Twig. Pay your exit fine and go home. Before we break you like the twig you are."
That was all he needed. As soon as the boy finished his sentence, Edmond sprang forward, lunging at him. The group sprang into action, multiple hands moving to catch Edmond before he could get too close. Shouts from everybody in the pile filled the training hall, pushing and shoving from all sides causing the mass of humanity to dance around the dohyo.
"Hey!" A loud, booming voice cut through the noise, causing the group to freeze in place, "What the hell's going on in here?"
The group quickly dispersed, each of the teens lining up beside one another. All of them bowed to the elder as he looked down on them. Before he bent down, Edmond stole a quick glance at the elder. His angered expression told Edmond all he needed to know. He quickly snapped into his bow with the others. A few seconds of silence passed.
"Well?" the Elder asked, "Anyone got an explanation for this?"
"It was Honda's fault!" one of the boys cried out. Edmond resisted the urge to shout again, knowing he'd only make things worse for himself. "He got mad 'cuz Shoji beat him again, and he tried to jump him."
"What?! No, that's not what happened!"
"Shut up, Honda," another boy said, "We all saw it. You can't lie your way outta this one."
"That's enough! Since all of you got involved, all of you can do laps around the room. Two hundred! Go!"
A chorus of groans erupted from the line before the boys filed off, beginning their punishment. As Edmond started his own run, he took a quick glance back. The anger on the elder's face had all but washed away, replaced by disappointment. Edmond quickly looked away, unable to take the elder's expression any more.
Two weeks passed, and within those weeks, a dramatic change had been stirred within Edmond. He worked as hard as he could, pushing himself with every exercise. Most days ended with him going to bed exhausted. His muscles often burned, and his stomach would usually feel on the verge of bursting. If nothing else, the one thing he was the most grateful for while he lived in the heya was that the meals were free.
Even if it was almost always the chankonabe that the elder made for everyone.
That had to be the hardest part of the training. When he'd first started looking into sumo, he just assumed that wrestlers ate whatever they could get their hands on. After all, most of their size was fat, right? As he trained, however, he quickly learned that fat was not nearly the factor that he thought it was. A single match would often wear him out. It wasn't just the meals, though. The lessons the elder gave were just as instrumental. He was attentive as he could possibly be when the elder would teach his group a technique of some kind. He paid attention to every detail that the elder gave in his tutorials, from how he held his arms to how far apart he kept his feet. The real tests came when Honda had to spar with someone. Even the guys at his age had a clear head start on him, their bodies already significantly heavier and stronger than he was. No matter how hard he tried, though, he could never find a way to break through, and every single sparring match had ended up as a resounding loss. Nothing seemed to work.
Another match, another loss. He'd been matched with another guy his age. The match seemed fairly even to begin, with the two having locked up early on. While Edmond felt himself getting stronger, and certainly heavier with his regimen, he knew that he still couldn't overpower anyone at the heya. That fact led to his latest loss, where he was simply carried out of the ring. Still no wins under his belt, this latest defeat seemed to dig the nail further into his heart. He'd gone outside, anger washing over everything that went through his mind.
"What the hell!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He didn't want to bring more attention to himself than he probably already had. He was sure everyone was already giving him crap inside about him storming off like a child.
"Not like they'd be wrong about that," he said to himself. He replayed the match in his head, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Problem was, though, that he couldn't nail it down. He couldn't think of anything that he could've done differently to change the outcome.
"Something wrong, Honda?"
Edmond jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice. He spun around to see the heya's elder looking down upon him, his face displaying a concerned expression. The younger man quickly bowed.
"No, Sensei," he said quickly, "Just, uh, thinking."
"About your last spar, I assume?"
"Yeah…"
The elder walked over to Edmond, putting a hand on his shoulder. He then said something that caught the young man off-guard.
"Bout time you started doing that."
Edmond stood up straight, locking eyes with the elder. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. You haven't been using your head in your matches," The elder gently squeezed the hand on Edmond's shoulder, "I know how hard you've been workin' to try and get to everyone else's level. Thing is, though, is that most of them have months, if not years, on you. They're bigger, stronger, and know more about sumo than you. The reason I took you in, though, was because you have something they don't.
"You've got some brains in there," he tapped at Edmond's forehead, "Don't get me wrong, those guys are pretty smart, too. Have to be in a sport like ours. Your problem, though, is that you keep trying to outmuscle everyone. Face it, Honda, you don't have that kind of strength. Not yet, anyway. Nah, what you need to do is think."
"But, I can't," Edmond said, "not in the middle of a match, anyway. My brain just blocks everything out when I'm in the ring."
"You gotta force it, then. You can't just let your body do whatever it wants when you're in the ring. Just going off of instinct isn't going to get you anywhere. I mean, look at your performances since you joined. You've been trying to match force with force when you're not there yet. Get smart, kid. You and I both know you can. Now come on. You've got another round in two days, and you need to get ready."
With that, the elder turned away, walking back to the heya. Edmond watched as he left, letting the retired wrestler's words sink in. He replayed the matches he could remember in his head.
He's right. I've been trying to play the same game the other guys play. I gotta be better than that.
I gotta be smarter.
He then followed the elder back. A couple of steps in, however, he hissed in pain and hopped slightly. He glared down to the particularly sharp rock that jabbed him in the foot.
Smarter, starting now.
"Hey, Honda?"
Edmond snapped out of his thoughts. He saw the concerned look on Shoji's face.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"You okay? You've been pretty out of it since we got on this thing."
Edmond smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just been thinkin'."
Shoji raised an eyebrow. "'Bout my scar? I've seen the way you keep lookin' at it."
Edmond felt his smile fade a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."
"Dammit, Edmond," Shoji said, shaking his head, "I don't know how many times I've gotta tell ya not to worry about it. I don't know how many years I gotta say it."
"Nah, it's not like that," Edmond said, slapping Shoji on the arm, "It's more like rememberin'."
Shoji raised an eyebrow. "Remembering? About my scar?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
Two days passed before Edmond knew it. In that time, he'd taken the elder's words to heart. Other guys in the heya, including the more experienced and professional fighters, had sparring matches through those days. Some weeks were dedicated to training and teaching, so that everyone could learn the skills they would need to advance. Other weeks were dedicated to round-robin style sparring, giving the guys a chance to put what they'd learned to practice. This was a sparring week, which meant Edmond had the chance to watch. Study. Analyze all he wanted.
And he did.
He finally saw what his elder had told him about. Sure, with the older and more experienced guys, the size differences weren't that great. But that's when he could see what the elder meant in action. Lots of times, the matches were over in a hurry. Some tried to play the power game right off the gate, resulting in heavy clashes. Others were more methodical in their gameplans. Sometimes the power players went up against the chess players, and they often resulted in brains overmatching brawn.
That's what I need to be doing, Edmond thought to himself as he watched with the rest of the heya. I need to think more.
As the days passed, Edmond spectated as many matches as he could, taking mental notes with each one. He could see how the various Kimarite, or winning techniques, came into play during the matches, even if he only knew of a handful of them. He thought about the ones he knew, and how he could get them to work.
The day of his next sparring match quickly approached, and he found himself stretching out in preparation for it. He stood alone on his side of the dohyo, while his opponent had his circle of friends with him to cheer him on. This was nothing new to him. Ever since he'd joined the heya, it almost seemed as if the other teens pushed him away. He'd gotten used to not having anyone by his side.
The gyoji, or referee, overseeing the match called the two up when he felt the wrestlers had enough time to prepare. Honda climbed onto the dohyo, waiting for his opponent to do the same. He felt his gaze intensify a bit as the boy who'd beaten him days before climbed onto the dohyo himself.
"You got this," one of the boys at his side said, "Twig there can't beat any of us. Stomp him and we can get to the real matches."
The boy grinned as he took his place. "Hell yeah, this kid ain't shit."
Edmond didn't respond, though he did glare at the other boy. The two wrestlers took their positions in the ring, locking eyes with one another. The gyoji watched the two carefully, making sure they weren't going to do anything before the match started. The most that happened was that the boys crouched as low as they could, with the boy resting his fists on the ground. A moment of silence passed, not a single soul in the room daring to budge.
Eyes locked with one another, the two wrestlers stood still, neither breaking focus. Before Edmond knew it, his opponent charged at him at full speed. Edmond did the same, and the two clashed in the middle of the ring. Cheers erupted from the spectators as the two wrestlers met, and Edmond quickly found himself on the losing end of the struggle. He dug his feet into the clay as hard as he could, trying to keep his opponent from simply shoving him out of the ring. He fought back with his own strength, though he was having little to no effect. Most of his efforts resulted in Edmond simply swatting away at the other boy's hands while trying to use his own.
Eventually, however, the two tired out. The early bursts of strength wore them down quickly, and the fighters found themselves leaning on one another while trying to grasp each other. Both wrestlers found the others' mawashi, and they held on.
Okay, Edmond thought to himself, so what now? I can't just run him over. Every time I try that, I end up getting my ass kicked. He fought to keep his ground as his opponent began to twist around. Dammit, what do I do no-wait, that's it!
He suddenly felt himself getting pushed again. In response, he pushed back. This sent the two into another round of circling around the ring, one trying to overpower the other. Every now and then, Edmond felt his opponent pull at him, looking to knock him off balance. As they neared the edge of the ring, Edmond felt himself getting more desperate. The desperation didn't last, however. He felt his opponent ease up on the pressure for just a moment, a sign of his exhaustion. That was his moment to strike. Edmond pulled at his opponent's mawashi, twisting his arm outward as he did. The jerking motion was just enough, causing the other boy to stumble forward. Edmond quickly threw a hand to his opponent's shoulder as he passed, pushing off with it. The other boy, with a cry of surprise, lost his balance, tumbling to the clay just outside the ring. Edmond couldn't help but smile as the momentum of the throw, the shitatehineri, forced the other boy off of the dohyo.
I did it! I won! I actually beat-
His thoughts were interrupted by a shattering sound. He had forgotten where he was, and the sound brought him back down. He looked to where the boy had fallen, hearing him suddenly cry out in agony. He ran over to the side to see the boy writhing on the ground, a deep cut stretching around the outside of his bicep. The gyojin was at his side in a near instant, trying to settle the writhing teen. Edmond's eyes quickly scanned over him, and he could see the remnants of a shattered ceramic bowl almost exactly where the boy'd landed.
"Someone go get the Elder!" the gyojin shouted, "Tell him Shoji's cut his arm badly!"
One of the boys ran off to deliver the gyojin's message. As Edmond looked down at the injured Shoji, he couldn't help the feeling of guilt that washed over him.
Shoji, seeing the look in Edmond's eyes, rolled his own. "Edmond, seriously. That was fifteen years ago. If anything, that was a wakeup call for both of us. You finally got on the board, and I stopped giving you shit. Hell, if anything, you gave me this badass scar to show off whenever we're out on heya business," Shoji flexed his arm, allowing his scar to grow in size a bit, "Makes me look like a badass that don't take no shit."
At that, Edmond laughed.
"If you say so," he said between guffaws, "I'd say that makes you look reckless, but that's just me."
"Ah, shaddap," Shoji said, smiling, "At least I got something people can say? What do you have? Some stupid trophies and cash? Psh, who wants those?"
"Yeah, who needs that? Not like that money helped me get here, right?"
Shoji chuckled. "Nope. Especially not that first one."
Edmond laughed. "Yeah, what a waste of time that was."
Months later, Edmond sat in the shitakubeya, the dressing room, for his latest tournament. A leg bounced up and down while he sat, his heel not staying on the ground for more than a split second. His hands were balled up in front of his face, and his brows were screwed into a frown.
"Yo, Honda," Shoji said, walking up to him, "You good?"
Edmond didn't respond. His mind raced, unaware of the activity around him. He didn't even register the occasional brush of fabrics from the kimonos of people passing by him. Shoji, for his part, just chuckled. He waved a hand in front of Edmond's face.
"You alive in there?"
The sudden movement snapped Edmond out of his haze. "Hey, Shoji. What's up?"
Shoji laughed. "Startin' to wonder if I was gonna need to bring a bucket of water or somethin'. You okay, man?"
"Uh, yeah," Edmond said, a hint of nervousness in his voice, "Just, y'know, not used to this."
"Not used to winning, you mean?" Shoji asked, grinning, "Yeah, right. Ever since I scratched up my arm, you've been on a hell of a tear. Think you only lost, what, six times in the last few months?"
"Shaddap," Edmond said, a smile starting to form on his face, "You're makin' me sound like some kind of sumo god or something."
"Might as well be, the way you've been ruining everyone's fun in the heya. Nervous?"
Honda's eyes scanned the room, falling on the tournament bracket posted on the wall. "Yeah, a little," he said. In the time since he'd first beaten Shoji, the two had become close friends. Most of the other boys had warmed up to him in that same time, and he quickly found himself feeling like part of the heya-no, the family. It was why he felt comfortable telling Shoji about his mindset.
"You're not used to the tourney format," Shoji said, taking a seat next to Edmond, "You're not used to the matches meaning more than just bragging rights for a few days."
"It's not just that. I'm in the finals of my first tourney. Like, it's crazy I'm even here right now. I would've thought I would'a lost by now."
"But you didn't. And now look at ya," A voice called out across the room, shouting Edmond's name, "Gettin' called for your first tournament final."
The two stood up at the call. "Yeah, and I'm feelin' pretty shaky about it."
"Don't worry so much," Shoji said, slapping Edmond on the shoulder, "Just do what you've been doing and be smart. You've done good so far. Worst you can do is trip right at the start, right?"
Edmond laughed, thinking back to the last time he and Shoji sparred. That exact thing had happened, and Edmond felt bad about winning that way.
For about two seconds. Then he joined everyone else in the round of laughter.
Now, though? Laughing was the last thing on his mind. As he went through the rituals performed by sumo wrestlers, he couldn't help but feel his mind race. Thousands of scenarios played out in his head in a near instant.
Most of them didn't end weil for him. It didn't help that, since this was the finals of this particular tournament, a couple of extra minutes were added to the ceremonies while a parade of banners, all emblazoned with promotions for the businesses using them for advertisements, circled the outer edge of the dohyo.
Once all of the ceremonies had concluded, Honda felt his mind finally settle. He and his opponent took their positions, as did the gyoji to their side. The sounds of the crowd around them faded to nothing and, before they knew it, they were charging at one another. With a steady diet of chankonabe and other hearty meals, Edmond was able to bulk up considerably since his first win against Shoji. Enough so that he was on par with, if not just under, the weight of the other men in the tournament.
This meant that he could clash with the other wrestler in their opening charges without too much difficulty. As soon as flesh loudly met with flesh, the true match was on. Both men began to grapple around one another, using one arm to defend their mawashi while the other attacked. Eventually, the two came to rest against one another, though small movements made sure the gyoji had no reason to call a restart to the match.
Okay, so what now? He's not giving, and I sure as hell ain't giving either. Crap!
He felt his opponent trying to sweep his forward foot from under him. He quickly leaned more heavily on his opponent, and lifted his foot to keep himself safe. The other man, seeing that this tactic wasn't going to work, shoved off of Edmond.
That's it!
Edmond shoved back. Then, he thrust his arm out. And again. And again. He fired his arm as quickly as he could, trying to keep his opponent off-balance. And it worked. No matter what his opponent did, there was no way to break through. The rapid arm thrusts kept him just far enough away that he couldn't get in close enough to re-engage, and any time he tried, he took heavy hits. Edmond darted forward, wrapping his arms around his opponent's waist. He pushed as hard as he could, shoving the man to the edge of the ring. The roar of the crowd around them was lost to him as, with one final burst of strength, his fellow finalist was ejected from the ring, falling backwards off of the dohyo.
The audience burst into cheers, while Edmond simply stared
No way. No way!
For the first time since the match had begun, the noise around him registered. He looked around, seeing the spectators cheering loudly. Even though this was a low-rank tournament, the small number of people in attendance were enough to send a waves of excitement crashing into him. He soaked it all in, though it only lasted a moment before the gyoji tapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't forget about your prize."
Edmond nodded, taking his position on the dohyo. He was presented with the envelopes containing his prize money, and as he performed the hand motions required to accept the cash, he didn't notice the adrenaline continue to course its way through him. Even half an hour later, after the trophy presentation and commemorative photo, he felt as though he was still riding a high.
Edmond sat in the locker room, staring at the trophy in front of him. His head sat in his hands, fingers laced together in front of his lips.
"Hey, man," Shoji said, walking up to Edmond, "You okay?"
Edmond nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Then what's up? Why're you here so late?"
"I was just thinking."
Shoji snickered. "Dangerous."
"Shaddap," Edmond said, trying not to chuckle himself, "i'm serious, though."
Shoji sat next to Edmond, looking at the trophy. "Winning a tournament like this is a huge deal, ain't it?"
"It's not just that," Edmond said. He moved his head away from his hands, revealing a wide smile on his face. Shoji saw his smile, and grew one of his own.
"So, what's got you so happy, then?"
Edmond stood up, taking a step away. "Everything. This whole sport. The matches, the traditions, everything! Winning this tourney's just shown me just how much I love sumo!"
"We all do, man," Shoji said, smiling himself, "That's why we all do this. It ain't just a sport to us. We're all in this for life."
"I know, and that's what makes it great! We dedicate our whole lives to this! To the rush! The matches! The crowd!"
Shoji stood up, slapping a hand on Edmond's shoulder. "Damn! You're really feelin' it, aren't ya?"
"You're damn right! Hell, there's only one thing about this whole thing that sucks."
"Yeah, and what's that?"
"Sumo's a joke to everyone else in the world," Edmond said, letting his shoulders sag just a bit, "Hell, before I watched my first actual match, I was right there with everyone else, cracking jokes about it."
"Pretty sure most of us were," Shoji said, "I mean, it really does look like a joke if you don't know what's up."
"And that's what I want," Edmond said, tuning around to face Shoji, "There's way more to sumo than what people think, and I think it's about time the world knew about it. It's not like we're living in some kinda secret, underground world or anything. It's a lifestyle, and I'm sure there's a crapload of people out there that would wanna get in on this!"
"So, what? You wanna start a YouTube channel, or something?"
Edmond shook his head. "Nah, that won't work. I thought about it. Sumo's too specific a topic for that to work. Nah, I've got a better idea."
"What's that?"
Edmond's smile grew. "Tournaments. Martial arts tournaments, all around the world. If I can get high enough ranked, I can talk to the Elder, see if I can get his blessing to do some traveling. If I can start putting sumo out there, we can reach people all over the world! There's already a bunch of Japanese culture around the globe, why not let sumo reach out too?"
Shoji shrugged, "I get what you're saying, but there's a lot of tradition in sumo that wouldn't really make sense in, like, America or something."
"Tell that to karate masters. Or kendo. Or other martial arts. If they can get a worldwide audience, why not sumo?"
Shoji didn't answer. Instead, he folded his arms, screwed his eyes shut, and sat in silence for a few moments. Moments of agonizing silence.
"You're gonna need help," Shoji eventually said. If Edmond's smile could've grown any bigger, it would have.
"And what, you volunteerin'?"
Shoji chuckled. "Yeah. I can't trust your ass with something like this by yourself. You'll probably throw someone onto a bowl they left laying around again."
At that, the duo laughed, Their bellows bounced off the locker room walls for several seconds. Edmond laughed so hard at one point, he'd nearly passed out from a lack of oxygen. A few minutes after they'd started, their laughter died down.
"Seriously, though," Edmond said, crossing his arms. "You wanna help?"
"Hell yeah!" Shoji said.
"Yeah, I remember that talk. That was, what, fifteen years ago? And you've been bustin' your ass ever since."
Edmond nodded, looking around the elevator platform the two were on. "Yeah, we both have. And look where we are now."
"Yeah. Second World Warrior tournament. It's a good thing I didn't enter. Can't exactly be your second if I lost, ya know."
"And we gotta stick to tradition," Edmond said, "It's cool, though. This is where we show the world what sumo's got to offer."
At that, the elevator finally slowed to a stop. The doors to the platform opened, and the cheers that had grown in volume as the duo ascended hit them like an explosion. Edmond looked out into the arena, seeing what had to be tens of thousands of people in the stands, nearly all of them on the verge of losing their minds while bright, colorful lights danced along the crowd. Honda couldn't help but feel a grin stretch across his face.
"This is where we put sumo on the map. You ready?"
Shoji grinned, pulling a small pouch of salt from his waist. He opened the bag, holding it out. "Whenever you are."
Edmond reached into the bag, grabbing as much salt as he could. He turned to the arena and, as he stepped into the arena, the crowd noise intensified. His smile grew, and with a wide swing of his arm, fired the salt as far as he could across the stage.
"Let's do it!"
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