In the morning, Hiroshi tried to ignore the sun burning down into his eyes from the sun in the window. He had been trying to ignore Ezra wandering around and going to the bathroom repeatedly. Tossing and turning and trying to go back to sleep. It was the knocking that finally woke him up.
"Yes?" Ezra called after the second round of knocking.
"The Oyakata has instructed me it is time to wake you. He is waiting for you in the lobby. May I come in?" It was a meek voice, someone who sounded like they didn't want to be doing this but was commanded to by a powerful person.
Hiroshi was looking at Ezra, still under his covers, and gave the older man a shrug. Ezra just sighed and sat up on the bed after throwing the covers off. "Yes, I suppose you can."
Hiroshi groaned and sat up as well, grateful his stomach was no longer bothering him. He heard the jingling of metallic keys, and then the lock clicked open and the sliding door slid into the wall. The man came in and he looked about like Hiroshi expected. A small man, young. His hair was black and short cropped, and he was clean shaven. He wore what appeared to the lower members of the staff uniform. Simple but nice black pants and a tight fitting white button-up shirt.
"He instructs master Hiroshi to get ready for practice. You and the oyakata will be having a simple breakfast in the courtyard of fruit and cheese with baked bread while Hiroshi trains." The man paused for a moment. "If that's acceptable?" He almost didn't seem to want to add that last part. He sounded like he was almost begging Ezra and Hiroshi to agree.
"Well, if that's what the Oyakata wants, that's what the Oyakata gets. He pays me too," Ezra said with a shrug.
The man visibly brightened at Ezra's willingness to go with the flow. "I will tell him you both will be down in a few minutes," he said and gave the pair of them a bow before turning and leaving, and sliding the door behind him.
It only took the pair a few minutes to wash their face in a basin in the room's corner and get dressed. They packed their clothes away in their respective bags and got dressed for the day. Ezra wore plain, threadbare black and gray robes once more and Hiroshi put on his mawashi with his simple brown robe over it. He didn't want to walk through the respectable inn in just the mawashi.
Hiroshi had to shield his eyes with his hand when first walking outside. There wasn't a cloud in the sky to block the bright morning sun. It took him several moments and blinks to find the Oyakata sitting right where he sat the night before picking from a platter of berries and fruit. While Hiroshi tried to hide his eyes from the sun, Ezra just glared at it and grumbled about why it had to be so damn bright while they were outside.
Ezra moved and sat in his spot next to Kenjiro and picked up a strawberry from the tray, taking a bite and then moaned in pleasure.
"Where did they get these from? This might be the best strawberry I've ever eaten," Ezra said, and shoved the rest of the berry in his mouth.
Hiroshi's eyes went wide and went towards the platter with a hand extended so he could get one.
"No, not for you. Not yet. You must work out, and then we'll pack you a container to eat in the carriage on the road," Kenjiro scolded Hiroshi and pointed at the spot Hiroshi was working out the previous night.
Hiroshi nodded his head and walked over after he took off his kimono and set it on the bench next to where Kenjiro was seated. He set about doing shikos just as he had the night before while he tried not to watch the other two not eat fruit and pastries.
"It will only be a short workout this morning since we need to get back to Toko today. I have business I need to attend to at the beya and it'll be better if you're there early. You can see how life goes when it comes to dinner and such in stable life," Kenjiro explained after he drank some tea.
Hiroshi was in the middle of a crouch and he grunted out a simple "yes master" before he picked himself back up and hoisted his leg into the air.
The pair sat and watched, Kenjiro stood and went to Hiroshi every so often to correct his form. The Oyakata was never too stern with the young sumotori, which Hiroshi appreciated. He came off like a firm but fair master, and just wanted the best for the young hopeful. Kenjiro knew that his students were a reflection of him, so he wanted his mentee's having a stable foundation and knowledge of the correct way to do things.
He cycled through some other exercises, only doing about an hour each. He did his shikos and then went through some movement techniques. Rotating through a set of each suri-ashi, which meant he had to squat down and keep his elbows tucked into his body then slide his feet across the dirt, it was important to keep his feet connected to the ground. There was koshi-wari. It was basically a slow squat, keeping his knees as far apart as possible. This helped Hiroshi to get and stay low for the tachiai. Then finally there was mata-wari, it helped improve flexibility. He sat in the dirt with his legs wide and the goal was to be able to bend all the way forward so his head touched the ground. The boy wasn't quite flexible enough to get that low, but he worked on it.
Hiroshi had grunted and groaned and stretched and did exactly as his new master told him. He did it obediently, and without question. The boy was grateful for the lessons, he didn't know about some of these exercises or how they would improve his sumo, but the Oyakata took his time and was patient, explaining proper forms and why each exercise would help the young sumotori.
Kenjiro instructed Hiroshi for his first set, and then watched and made corrections when the boy did his second. Finally, for the third set, he left him alone and just watched. Hiroshi noticed the unapproving looks Kenjiro was giving him. He needed more practice, and hopefully when he got to the beya, seeing others, he'd be able to get the hang of it. He couldn't have been doing too bad though, because the Oyakata didn't correct him.
"Alright. I think it's time to leave," Kenjiro said after Hiroshi had cycled through and done three sets of each exercise. He looked over to Ezra, who was leaning up against the trunk of a tree that was planted conveniently behind where the old man sat. His eyes were closed, and he was snoring lightly.
Kenjiro frowned and reached over from his seat and prodded the old man to wake. "Are you ready to leave, or do you need more beauty rest?"
Ezra snorted loudly and looked at Kenjiro incredulously. "You don't think I'm beautiful the way I am?"
Kenjiro just rolled his eyes and ignored the comment. "Go and tell the front desk we're leaving, will you? They'll get the carriage ready for us. They should have brought our luggage down already," he instructed the carriage driver. Ezra simply nodded his head and stood with a grunt before wandering off inside to do as he was bid.
While Kenjiro dolled out orders to Ezra, Hiroshi stood patiently, waiting at attention. He was probably supposed to have gone to clean himself and get dressed again, but he waited. Once Kenjiro looked back at the boy before he could say anything, Hiroshi bowed to his master.
"Thank you for the instruction today, Master," he said solemnly and lifted his back and head and looked up at the Oyakata.
Kenjiro smiled and nodded his head. "It was and always will be my pleasure to teach. Now go ahead and wash up and get your robes on. It's time to go. We should make the city of Yoshino before night falls," he told his pupil before heading inside, telling Hiroshi to meet them when he was finished.
It didn't take long for the crew to be back in the carriage and rolling away from the inn with the luggage on top. Hiroshi sat on the bench next to Kenjiro eating from a small to-go container of all the food he had packed in it. Some fruit, and probably too many of the sweetbreads and treats.
He was licking some frosting off of one of his fingers, savoring the sweet stickiness when they passed through the gate to leave the town. Hiroshi noticed a beggar in black threadbare robes standing on just the other side of the gate guards. The man had long black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and a scraggly black beard. The beggar didn't move until the carriage was fully out of the gate and the gate was closed behind them, then he moved towards the carriage. That was when Hiroshi also noted the man wore dark glasses and was using a cane.
Hiroshi watched the blind man move towards the carriage while Ezra was speaking to the guard gates. The carriage was not moving while they settled the business of leaving the city. While the man appeared to be blind, sweeping the cane back and forth in front of him. Hiroshi noticed the beggar moved right towards them. Hiroshi furrowed his brow and looked past Kenjiro's leaned back, apparently sleeping form.
"Master, there's a beggar coming over here," Hiroshi told him. He felt the need to warn his master that a stranger was coming over. Something about the man, the way he moved right towards them, made Hiroshi uneasy.
"Alms, my lord. Alms for a poor beggar?" the voice came, scratchy and haggard from outside the Oyakata's window, jarring Hiroshi.
How did the man make it over so quickly? And so well timed? Ezra had just finished speaking with the guards and had heard him start and then stop the horses once the beggar was at the door. He cursed and fought with the reins, as the horses were no longer sure what they should be doing.
Kenjiro now opened his eyes and looked at the haggard man. His hair and beard were greasy and badly needing a trim. He couldn't see anything behind the dark shades the man wore, and he reeked of stale sake and smoke and who knew what else. Hiroshi had to lean back to the other side of the carriage while the beggar leaned in close to Kenjiro. The beggar leaned in even closer, his entire upper half now practically inside the window on the carriage door.
Hiroshi was practically gagging from the smell while Kenjiro just sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled some coins from the beggar and when he went to hand them. The beggar used this to his advantage. The dirty man grabbed Kenjiro's hand and used the leverage to pull himself close to the powerful Oyakata. Hiroshi could see the man's lips move, but he couldn't hear anything other than something about a father. Hiroshi also noticed that even though this man was the epitome of disgusting, his teeth… his teeth looked perfect.
Something turned in Kenjiro's demeanor instantly once the beggar was done speaking. His eyes went dark, and his face, previously placid and simply annoyed, turned dark and full of anger.
"What?!" He shouted at the dirty man. "You dare?!" Kenjiro's hand flew towards the man's face, and while the man was practically inside the carriage at this point, the former sumotori powerhouse rocked him out and down towards the ground.
The beggar stumbled and fell down into the dirt in a clump.
"Wait, Kenjiro, no!" Ezra shouted from the seat on top of the carriage.
The Oyakata wasn't listening, he was already out of the carriage advancing on the beggar. "You should have just taken the coin and left. Not try to be some messenger," he scolded.
"Wait, Rei won't…." The beggar had started, but before he finished the statement, Kenjiro reached down and throttled the man in the gut with his massive fist.
Hiroshi furrowed his brow. Who is Rei? Rei the father of the Kami? He wondered silently, but shook his head. That couldn't be it. What would the father of the kami care about what the mortals were doing when he had the entire Heavens to worry about?
There was a flash of light in the clear sky. It was almost out of Hiroshi's field of view, but it practically blinded the boy. A bright streak coming from the Heavens of electric red and blue and Hiroshi fell back off the seat and onto the ground of the carriage. He blinked his eyes, trying to get rid of the light that seared itself into his sight for a moment.
Hiroshi fumbled in the carriage, trying to climb back to his seat. When he finally managed to get up Kenjiro had the beggar slung over his shoulder like the dirty man was no more than a sack of potatoes. Ezra put a hand on the larger man's shoulder.
"Master, you'll regret this," he said.
Kenjiro ignored him and carried the man off. The guards did nothing to stop any of the commotion. The carriage and beggar were outside of town limits, and they didn't care what happened outside that gate. They were already dealing with the next group in line to enter or leave the town.
Ezra looked back to Hiroshi, who was still unsure exactly what was happening. "This is what I was talking about," he grumped to the boy.
"Oyakata is quick to anger. There haven't been reports of him doing anything to his disciples, so you don't need to worry, but…" Ezra trailed off and shrugged. "Who knows, boy. Watch yourself when you're there. If you get a bad feeling, then get the hell out."
Hiroshi looked at Ezra. The streak no longer burned his retinas, and he nodded his head. "Yes," was all he said simply.
Kenjiro carried the blind man somewhere off in the distance. His cane was left forgotten in the dirt, and Ezra bent over to pick it up. Hiroshi saw the old man give it a funny look, but only for a moment. The old man just looked off in the distance where Kenjiro carried him. The wall sectioned off into a little area they couldn't quite see.
He was only gone a few moments, and the pair heard nothing coming from where Kenjiro returned from. He came alone, though. The blind man was probably on the ground in a pile.
"Did you…" Ezra had started. "Is he alive?"
Kenjiro looked at Ezra and rolled his eyes. "Of course he's alive Ezra, get up in your seat, let's go. We're burning daylight."
Ezra stood there and narrowed his eyes at Kenjiro for a moment before shaking his head and shrugged before he climbed up and onto his bench. Hiroshi watched his master climb back into the carriage and reach for a bag next to him on the bench and pull out a towel. He wiped away blood from his knuckles and he grumbled softly. Hiroshi wasn't sure what to do, so he just sat there diagonally from his master and stared out of the window.
They rode what seemed an eternity in silence. Hiroshi was once more getting that uneasy feeling in his stomach, nervous around his master. He had relaxed after dinner and the little of training they had done together, but after the last commotion, Hiroshi was no longer sure. Should he have stayed home with his mother and sister? Stayed and tried to help take care of the family? He had his woodworking. He could keep progressing and learning and then maybe open a shop like his father had.
"I'm sorry Master. Sorry I couldn't help with the stranger," Hiroshi broke the silence. "It was all too surprising. I couldn't help fight him off." Hiroshi bowed his head towards Kenjiro, who was sitting and stared out of the window. He seemed content with the silence.
Kenjiro looked over at his disciple and sighed softly. "Hiroshi, do you know what a cultivator is?"
"Just the same as everyone else knows, I'd imagine Master. They're spiritual fighters, warriors. They believe there's an aura in the world and they cultivate it to become immortal," Hiroshi explained. He was drawing back on knowledge his father once told him. Back when Jiro was still explaining the pre-bout rituals of the sumorti.
"Yes, those are the basics. There was nothing you could have done against that man. He may not have looked it, but he was a middling cultivator," Kenjiro now opened his eyes and looked at Hiroshi.
"That's why his teeth were so nice!" Hiroshi exclaimed at the realization.
Kenjiro smirked, but nodded his head. "Yes, he looks like a rough beggar, and he probably is but…" he explained and shrugged before he leaned back in his seat once more. "Not everything is as it seems. You could have done nothing against that man, no matter how feeble he may have seemed. There is no need to be sorry."
Hiroshi's mind now raced. His master wasn't a cultivator, he was a retired rikishi and stablemaster. How did he fight against a cultivator? The beggar seemed powerless against Kenjiro. Although the Oyakata said the beggar was a middling cultivator, Kenjiro is a retired Yokozuna. That must be why, Hiroshi told himself with a soft nod.
"Speak your mind," Kenjiro interrupted the boy's thoughts. "I see your mind racing."
Hiroshi looked up to his Master and bowed his head and tried to lie out his thoughts, explaining his thoughts on the strength difference between the two men.
"You have it. A lower level cultivator is still nothing compared to a man who has trained his whole life in sumo. We have an inner strength that the lower level of body cultivators can't compare to, especially if you've reached the height of Yokozuna," Kenjiro explained.
Hiroshi nodded his head and leaned back in his seat, content with the explanation.
Hiroshi's body shivered, and he looked up at the night sky. His eye blinked furiously when a raindrop hit him and he groaned and lowered his eyes, wiping the raindrop from his eye. They had been to the beya a couple of hours now, but his master didn't let him inside. He was forced to change into his mawashi behind some bushes on the side of the building and then forced to stand on the walkway by the street in front of the Beya.
When they had arrived, it was still nice out, a slight chill in the springtime, winter still not wanting to let go of its hold on the weather. As night fell, the rain came. Hiroshi looked up at the large building and couldn't wait to actually see inside. It was a luxurious-looking building, four stories high, with intricate wood carvings in the carvings and trim workings worked in around the paneling around the windows and front door. The main building was a deep natural brown wood coloring, and the paneling around the windows and door was a lighter color. A sign out front standing opposite of the walk that led to the doorway held the name of the Beya. As was tradition in sumo, it was written in the old language from Hiroshi's home and spelled out the name of the stable in the curved runes 'Hajima.'
The translation of the name could mean a few different things in the common language. The first part of the name could either be translated into healthy or strong, or to study or sharpen. The second part roughly translated into common as one. It was often believed, since Hajima was one of the first sumo stables and probably the most famous, that it was meant to mean studious ones. The disciples here studied and sharpened their knowledge in the martial arts form of Sumo wrestling.
Since they arrived, Kenjiro never said a word to Hiroshi. Ezra helped get the luggage down from the roof and the other disciples carried them in. None of them said anything to Hiroshi either. The newest member of the stable watched Kenjiro's back as he left, instructing the others what to do and while he went inside another older man came out. This man looked older than Kenjiro, not as old as Ezra. He was probably somewhere in his forties, if Hiroshi had to guess. Around his dad's age.
He hadn't even learned the man's name when the man started demanding that Hiroshi show him his forms. How Hiroshi did his shiko's or the other exercises. The man had a well-trimmed beard and long dark hair lacking the gray that Ezra had. He wore the hair ungreased and the long hair was pulled up and back away from his head in a sort of topknot that Hiroshi had only ever seen once before. It wasn't the chonmage of the rikishi, but a warrior of high ranking from the Emperor Sasuke's army. Hiroshi had only seen the hairstyle when the army had come to their village looking for recruits, and only the leader had this particular hairstyle.
The displeasure radiated from the man as he watched Hiroshi. The sumotori hopeful didn't even need to look up from his exercises to see it. Whoever this man was didn't make a tutting noise, or clicked his tongue or anything. It was just the presence from the man that Hiroshi knew he was doing something wrong.
"We will fix your forms, boy," the man scolded him after Hiroshi went through his routine. "To gain entrance to the illustrious Hajima Beya, you must declare why you want to practice sumo and become a rikishi."
Hiroshi stood there and looked up at the man and his mouth opened. He explained he was doing this for his father. His father gave him the love of the sport and he wanted to pursue it to be like his heroes. The man gave a snort and shook his head.
"When you can tell me why, you may be granted permission to enter and join as a prospective disciple since you are still young," the man said simply and turned and went inside.
Hiroshi was left standing there, and his jaw hung slack. How was that good enough? According to Kenjiro, anyone who had a love for the sport was good enough for him. Wasn't Kenjiro the head of the stable? Hiroshi frowned as he looked to the door and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to protect his mostly naked body from the cold.
At one point, there were some heads that popped up into a window. He could feel them stare at him, but he tried to ignore them. He just needed to get in the door. They stayed there for a while until he heard yelling and then saw them scurry away from the window. Hiroshi frowned and looked back at the doorway into the beya.
Why did he want to join the beya and try to become a rikishi?
Hiroshi let his mind run through the possibilities of what he could say that would impress the man. Not even impress, just get him through the door. At this point, he wasn't even sure how long he had been standing outside, soaked to the bone in the chilly, rainy night. He didn't even realize he was sitting on the stony path to the door.
"Who told you could go to sleep?"
The shout woke Hiroshi with a start. His eyes flying open just in time to see the man standing over him, a bundle of soft wispy hay bound into a sort of stick. The man swung it at Hiroshi's midsection, whacking the side of his stomach. Three lashes he got before Hiroshi was back on his feet and looked up at the man. The lashes didn't really hurt, per se, but they had a stinging bite on his skin.
"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't help it. I'm cold and tired," Hiroshi tried to explain.
"We have a bed waiting for you. Have you figured out the answer to our question?" The man questioned him, his grip tightening on the bound sticks.
"To honor my father, sir," Hiroshi said with a bow. This was why he wanted to do sumo. His father taught him all about the sport, and how it honored the kami. He transferred the love of it to his son, and his son only wanted to honor that.
"Your father was nothing more than a man who lost bets on sumo, and died because of it," the man scolded Hiroshi. "That is shameful."
Hiroshi's eyes opened wide, and his mouth once more hung slack. "No, sir, my father was an honorable man. He was an artist and painter. He loved sumo wrestling, and he took me to watch whenever they had tournaments in my home."
"You doubt the words I say?!"
Hiroshi barely saw the strike, but he felt the stinging from that bundle on the opposite side from where he was struck earlier. His hand came up after the first strike, his stomach was red and stung. "No, no, sir. How did you know my father?"
The man just snorted again and shook his head before going back inside. The cold wetness was forgotten about as he stood there. He shook from rage and utter confusion.
How would this man know my father? We're so far from Ryoku.
Hiroshi tried to make it make sense in my mind. Thoughts about trying to get inside vanished from his mind and he thought. He thought about the nights when his mother would yell at his father. Money was always an issue in their house, but Hiroshi would have never guessed it was because his father lost his money gambling.
A loud sigh woke Hiroshi from his thoughts once more and he looked and now found Ezra standing on the covered porch in front of the beya. "You don't want to stand out here anymore, do you, boy?"
Hiroshi shook his head. "That man, he said…"
"Aye, I know what he said. Botan isn't a nice man, he should have kept that information to himself. You didn't need to hear it," Ezra interrupted Hiroshi. "Just tell them you're doing sumo because you're a devout follower of Kentaro. That's all Botan cares about. Kenjiro may care about why you're here and your love for the sport, but he doesn't actually decide who goes inside. He will show you the best sumo you can do, though, and showing you how to hone and improve your craft."
"But who…" Hiroshi started before Ezra interrupted him.
"You just need to know his name is Botan. He's ex-military, and he will keep you in line. Beyond that, it doesn't matter," Ezra explained.
Hiroshi nodded his head. He still wanted more information on how this man knew anything about his father, and how he got the idea he was a gambler.
Ezra sighed. "Get your mind back here, boy. You don't need to be worryin' about anything else besides what's in store for you once you pass through these doors. It will not be easy."
Hiroshi looked at him and nodded his head once more. "I know, thank you," and he bowed to the old man.
"Yeah, we'll see. Want me to get Botan?"
"Yes, please."
Ezra nodded his head and went inside. It only took a few minutes before Botan came out. "You know why you want to do sumo?"
"I do, sir," Hiroshi bowed to the man. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I wish to follow Kentaro, the kami. Keep the tradition and what he brought and gave to humanity by fighting for it."
When Hiroshi looked up, the porch was empty, but the door was open. He didn't even hear Botan leave. He looked around slowly and wasn't sure if he could actually go inside, but with the door left open like that? Hiroshi shrugged, he was still freezing, he'd risk it. A few brief steps and up a few stairs and he was inside.
Inside was a nice, albeit plain, room. Polished wood walls and flooring, and a table near the door. The room went to a hallway that led deeper into the house in front of Hiroshi and on the right was a closed door. Hiroshi didn't want to open and find out it was someone's room, but he figured it might have just been a closet.
He looked around a little in slight wonder as he realized he was actually standing in not only a proper beya, but most considered what to be the greatest. He steeled his resolve and walked by the heavier robes and cloaks used for the colder weather that were hung in the hallway. Under the clothing were sandals. Hiroshi removed his own, putting them at the end of the line and was amazed how small his sandals were compared to some others. Some of these rikishi were almost giants.
At the end of the hallway, it opened up into a large room. It again was simple, going for a minimalist aesthetic. Plain polished wooden walls, cushions all over the floor in what seemed random spots and then there were some long tables leaned against the far wall from where he stood. Just the communal area for everyone who lived here, and with the tables, Hiroshi figured this was where they ate. To the left of him was a staircase that led upstairs, and to the right was an opening to a kitchen. He stepped down into the lowered living room and eyed the kitchen just as his stomach growled.
He looked back towards the kitchen and narrowed his eyes while he rubbed his stomach. He had a mental debate with himself on if he should go try to find something to eat. Then his mind wandered to where everyone was. He literally just saw Ezra and then Botan, but now the house is as quiet as a graveyard. Hiroshi frowned. He supposed it was the middle of the night and everyone was sleeping, but he literally just saw the two older men.
The boy shook his head. He didn't know the etiquette of living in a beya. Master Kenjiro didn't give him any guidance for when they showed up, and when they showed up, he didn't say a word to him besides to change and wait. Ezra had even brought his things inside for him. He moved towards the stairs so he could try to find his things. He figured Ezra would have brought his belongings to a room, and that room would have his bed in it. Sleep first, eat in the morning with everyone else. Then Hiroshi could figure out how living in the stable would go. He had only taken his first step before he heard a soft thud noise come from the kitchen, followed by a sigh.
"Come in here," a voice came. It sounded like it was from someone younger. A softer voice, not the hard edged voice that came from someone like Botan, or bitter like Ezra always sounded.
Hiroshi furrowed his brow and headed towards the kitchen. He had barely made it inside the room when he had a bowl thrust towards him.
"Come on, you've been out there forever. These guys are always like this when someone first comes here. Heaven forbid the new disciple gets some dinner," the person explained.
The man was a little older than Hiroshi, his hair long enough to put up in the traditional chonmage of the rikishi. Green eyes looked over Hiroshi in his mawashi belt and he gave the boy a nod. Hiroshi put him somewhere around eighteen and he was wearing a loose fitting pair of black shorts that seemed to be made from some sort of light material and were black. His shirt was a light green and also fit loose. He wasn't as large as sumotori was. He barely even had a gut on him.
"Eat the rice and then I'll show you to your room. You're staying in the room next to mine with a couple of other junior disciples. I get up in the middle of the night for a snack. I'm trying to put on more weight. Master Botan always yells that I'm too easy to pick up," the boy explained why he was up, and that his smaller figure wasn't exactly welcomed.
Hiroshi nodded his head and grabbed the chopsticks that were buried in the white rice. He lifted the bowl so he could easily shove the rice in his mouth. It was seasoned plainly, just some salt and pepper, and the faintest hint of rice wine vinegar. Still, Hiroshi was so hungry he shoveled it in greedily, watching the other person clean the mess he made from when he cooked his own midnight snack.
"There's always rice in the pot next to the doorway, ready to eat. It's not great, but it's good enough tasting," he explained.
Hiroshi just nodded his head, his bowl already half empty.
"The masters don't mind if we eat it. They want us to put more weight on. I don't think anyone else wakes in the middle of the night though, we'll end up using it tomorrow for a family meal and then the cooks will make more," he continued.
When Hiroshi had finished, he helped his new stablemate finish cleaning, and he cleaned his own bowl and chopsticks. He set them off to the side on a rack next to the other person's bowl for drying. Hiroshi rubbed his stomach thankfully. He hadn't eaten in what seemed like forever, so finally having something in his stomach was a good feeling.
The one who fed Hiroshi now leaned against the sink and looked him over. "You're built well for sumo. Short, round. You have that low center of gravity, but you're still young, only around thirteen? Hopefully, you don't grow much as you get older. The masters here teach us lower is better. If you get your leg strength up, you'll be like an out-of-control boulder in the tachiai."
Hiroshi nodded his head and smiled before giving him a slight bow of the head and told him thanks for the compliment. "I'm hoping," he said simply.
"Oh, my name is Itaro. I'm currently in the fifth division," he said with a bit of pride leaking through on his face.
Hiroshi's eyes went wide, and he grinned for his new friend. "That's amazing! Good for you. My name is Hiroshi. I'm hoping to win the junior tournament next month so I can start competing in the grand tournaments."
Itaro's eyes went wide. "You'll start in a higher division than me if you become the Junior Yokozuna," he said and nodded his head with a grin. "You're too young though, I thought?"
Hiroshi shrugged his shoulders and said, "I know, but Master Kenjiro said there's precedent for something."
Itaro nodded his head and then shrugged. "Well, if anyone knows, it's him. I'm sure he won't lead you astray. Come on, you're going to need to sleep for training in the morning," he said as he exited the kitchen.
They walked through the common room in silence and then up the stairs. Itaro whispered while they walked. "The beya is pretty simple in terms of layouts. You saw the main floor, the top two floors are rooms for the wrestlers. Second floor is the rooms for people below the second division, we share rooms. Top floor is everyone in the second and first divisions. They get their own floor and have people to clean their rooms and everything."
Hiroshi nodded his head as they walked to the end of the hall on the second floor. The hallway curved around, following the same box pattern as the lower floor. The building was a simple, tall square. There weren't many rooms on this floor, maybe half a dozen. As they walked, Itaro pointed at one door and told Hiroshi it was the bathroom for this floor. The last door he pointed to it and explained that this was the room that was for him.
"Try to stay quiet. Your other junior disciples are probably sleeping. I saw Ezra take your stuff in there, so you should be all good to change into something comfortable so you can get a little sleep before morning," Itaro nodded his head and smiled at Hiroshi. He had walked away but turned back towards Hiroshi at the last moment. "One more thing, do not go upstairs unless you express permission from someone that lives up there, the Master or one of the trainers. It would mean expulsion from the beya."
Hiroshi's eyes went wide, and he gave a nod to Itaro. "Thank you," he said before he slid the door open to his new room, trying to stay as quiet as he could.
Itaro nodded his head simply in return and walked off. Hiroshi heard another door slide open and closed as he stepped inside the dark room. He left the door open to let some light in from the lanterns on the wall in the hallway. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lower bit of light and he squinted to look around the room.
Two bodies were laying down in the corners opposite the door. Laying on the floor with a small bedroll under them. They rolled and groaned softly.
"Shut the door," one of them groaned.
Hiroshi mostly obliged. He still had to find his things and bedroll, so he closed the door further, only letting a sliver of light in the room now. The one who spoke rolled over away from the door and grunted before Hiroshi heard him snore again. Until he heard the snoring, Hiroshi didn't even dare to move in fear of waking them up further. He didn't want to get off on bad terms with his new roommates and fellow junior disciples.
Eventually, he found his things in the last corner of the room. He walked over and looked at his backpack, and frowned. Someone had rifled through it, the bit of clothes he had packed in it strewn about in a small pile. His woodworking toolkit opened with a file on the floor next to it. He grimaced and looked at the other two sleeping forms, wondering if it was one or both of them.
He sighed and shook his head and went through his things, finding some clothes to sleep in that were much like what Itaro was wearing. He changed out of his mawashi finally and into the much more comfortable bed clothing, then looked around a little.
Wait, where's my bedroll? Hiroshi frowned at the thought. They didn't even leave him a pillow, and he couldn't tell if either of the other juniors were sleeping a little higher than the other in the dark. He sighed and sat in the corner, leaning up against the wall and closed his eyes. His things still strewn about beside him. His mawashi rolled up and sat next to him. It didn't take him long until he fell into a fitful sleep.