I'm sorry for the late post.
My health was worse than expected, and I couldn't make any progress on work.
I expect updates will continue to be delayed going forward, so please bear with me.
"We shall now begin the sumo tournament. Competitors, enter!"
With Hana's announcement, our entrance began. At the front were the two representatives of the squad that had slain the wyvern this time, followed by Gramps and me, then behind us the three who had won through the preliminary rounds, and finally Branca. This was the entrance order Hana had specified — the first two led the way as the heroes of the hour, Gramps and I came second as guests, the three went third for having won the prelims, and Branca, as an insider, brought up the rear.
After performing the ceremonial bow on the ring using the etiquette taught by the higher-ups, I returned to the waiting room, and my name was immediately called. The matchups were determined by lottery the moment the competitors entered the waiting room, so the system was designed so that fighters wouldn't know their opponents until the very last moment.
"Lucky me. I get to make a name for myself right away."
The one laughing as he said that was the boar beastman who had won through the preliminary rounds. In terms of build, he was considerably larger than me — the third biggest among this tournament's participants, after the bear beastman Branca.
"I might be the lucky one here. They say boars charge headlong, but if you dodge, they just barrel straight ahead right out of the ring."
The boar beastman seemed to be looking down on me, so I fired back with a taunt of my own. For the record, actual boars have excellent body control — they can stop on a dime at full speed, make nearly right-angle turns while running, and can even easily leap over obstacles about a meter tall. So the "charge headlong" thing is actually a misconception.
"You damn brat!"
But this provocation thoroughly got under the man's skin. His face turned beet red, and he looked like he would have lunged at me if we hadn't been in front of everyone. Seeing his expression, I covered my mouth with my hand and let out an exaggerated "Pfft," which only made his face turn even redder.
The spectators couldn't hear our voices, but they could tell we were exchanging words — they could see that the man had been provoked and that I'd risen to the challenge. Perhaps because of that, even though we hadn't even scattered the salt yet, the crowd was already fired up. I mean, from the looks of it, there was a massive size disparity, yet the big guy was getting into a war of words with a kid and losing (which he actually was, though the spectators probably didn't care either way). From the audience's perspective, it must have made for decent pre-match entertainment.
For now, the preliminary skirmish was a total victory on my end, and I got to scatter the salt onto the ring feeling great about it. But maybe I'd provoked him a little too much. By the time I placed my hands down near the center of the ring, the man's face was overflowing with rage like some kind of red demon.
"Hakkeyoi — remain!"
"Hmph!"
With the referee's call, I dove straight into the man's chest. I'd figured that after I'd mocked his headlong charge so thoroughly, there was no way he'd come rushing forward — and the man fell right into my trap. Moreover, since this happened right as he was getting to his feet, the surprise worked in my favor, and conveniently, his hips were positioned high.
"Damn it!"
The man desperately threw out a foot sweep, but before he could build up momentum, I quickly hugged his thigh and tried to push him backward to the ground.
"Don't look down on me, you little brat!"
The man tried to lean his body toward me before being taken down, but that ended up putting the man's
hips
directly on top of
my
hips.
"Hup!"
The instant the man's body pressed flush against mine, I lifted him as though pulling his legs out from under him, and at the same time twisted my hips in a reverse-throw motion to send him flying backward.
The man must have had at least twice my weight, but his center of gravity was already off, and the momentum from trying to lean on me sent him flying so easily that he tumbled right out of the ring.
I'd half-sacrificed myself with that move, ending up flat on my back on the mat, but since the man had clearly hit the ground first, the win was rightfully mine.
The crowd was stunned by how quickly it was all over, but they immediately erupted in thunderous cheers to celebrate my victory. Surprisingly, there wasn't much harsh criticism aimed at the losing man—it seemed people judged it less as "the opponent was weak" and more as "my strategy worked out perfectly." Well, there were some voices mocking the other guy too, but that couldn't be helped.
"Well, objective achieved."
Normally, the victory would only be declared after the man returned to the ring, but this time he'd passed out from tumbling off the edge and was carried away on a stretcher, so I was declared the winner without waiting for my opponent and stepped down from the ring.
"Nice win."
On my way back to the Waiting Room, Branca—who was heading to his own match—praised me.
"Thanks... Actually, you're up next, aren't you, Branca?"
Of course, it wasn't as though Branca's victory was a foregone conclusion, but one look at his opponent's face told you everything you needed to know. After all, his opponent was one of the Wyvern subjugation squad—a man who was practically Branca's subordinate. That alone might have raised suspicions of match-fixing, but there was clearly such a vast gap in power that no fix was even necessary. The opponent, who knew better than anyone just how outmatched he was, had gone deathly pale and then turned completely white.
"...Branca, whatever you do, don't kill him."
"Who's going to kill him! If that guy could bring out his real ability, he'd have what it takes to rank in the upper echelons of the south, you know..."
Branca said that, but from the look of things, his opponent didn't seem to have anywhere near that kind of power. Branca caught on to what I was thinking and headed toward the ring with a wry smile. And sure enough, right after the match started, his opponent lost by being pushed out.
The next match was between the last remaining member of the wyvern subjugation team and a bear beastkin. The man from the subjugation team also had a pretty impressive build, but compared to the bear beastkin, he looked rather lacking. As expected, the bear beastkin won the match, but it was a narrow victory—or rather, looking at how the match actually played out, he had really lost.
Despite his superior build, the bear beastkin had attacked recklessly throughout, relying purely on brute force. The man from the subjugation team compensated for his disadvantage in size and strength with technique, and had actually managed to push his opponent to the brink. At the moment it looked like the match would be decided right there, the bear beastkin threw out a desperate palm strike that landed on the man's shoulder. The man staggered for just an instant, and the bear beastkin pressed the advantage, winning by pushing him out of the ring. It was practically a fluke win, and no one understood that better than the bear beastkin himself—after being declared the winner, he still wore a bitter expression as he left the ring.
The subjugation team man's fighting style was something I could learn from. However, whether it would work against Branca was another matter entirely. I had to say no. The reason was simple: there was too great a difference in build between me and the subjugation team man, and too great a difference in raw power between the bear beastkin and Branca. All I could take from it was that such a fighting style existed.
"Oh, by the way, Tenma, did you watch my match?"
"Hm? ...Sorry, I didn't."
So focused on figuring out a strategy against Branca, I hadn't even noticed when Grandpa's match had ended. Branca, who had actually watched it, told me that Grandpa had charged straight at the tiger beastkin head-on and blown him away. Apparently, the opponent had landed on his rear in the ring when he was sent flying, and that settled it.
In a tournament between selected fighters like this one, matches that showed such an overwhelming difference in power were apparently very rare, and the spectators had praised Grandpa lavishly.
"Missing Grandpa's match is a shame, but what matters more is the next fight."
"Yeah. You looked like you were deep in thought—did you come up with anything good?"
"I've thought of a few approaches, but none of them seem like they'd work."
Branca gave me a look that said "is it really okay for you to say that?" but when I told him to just try a different method then, he grinned—a grin that definitely didn't belong on the face of a man who was about to become a father. I thought about saying that, but something told me Branca would get a bit down, so I decided to keep it to myself for now.
"Well, they've called our names, so let's head out."
Together with Branca, who was practically vibrating with excitement like some tribal warrior heading into battle, I walked to the ring, scattered salt, and took my position.
"Ready... set!"
"Hyah!"
Almost in sync with the referee's call, I thrust both hands forward and clapped them together right in front of Branca's face. It was the so-called "cat startle"—a distraction technique.
Now, Branca wasn't the type to be rattled by something like that, but he reflexively tried to grab my hands, and for just a split second, his movement dulled. His judgment probably couldn't keep up with the unexpected maneuver, and thanks to that, Plan A was a success.
"Alright! It worked!"
I seized the opening in Branca's defense and slipped inside his guard. With my left foot, I swept under him for a minor inner leg trip while simultaneously wrapping my right arm around Branca's left leg. My left hand secured a grip on his arm as I drove my shoulder into his chest to lift him up. This technique was one of sumo's fixed winning moves, called "Sansho-zeme"—a three-point assault. It was a move I had learned watching a sumo special in my previous life, and I'd thrown it in on a whim, but it ended up working far better than I had expected.
"Ngh! Wai— hold on...!"
Even Branca, with his sumo experience, had never been grappled so tightly before — sure, he'd had smaller opponents slip inside his guard, but never like this. I managed to drive him all the way to the edge of the ring... that is, I was only able to drive him to the edge.
Only that.
The plan had been to settle things right there with a push-out, but things didn't go quite as planned.
"That was close... but I've got you now!"
Branca deftly balanced himself, grabbed my mawashi with his right hand, and tried to turn the disadvantage into an advantage.
"Then it's now or never!"
Before I ended up completely outmatched, I lifted my left leg and went for an inner-thigh throw, sumo-style.
"Take this!"
Branca, paying no mind to my foot hooked behind his, countered with a brute-force upper-body throw. After a brief stalemate, we both hopped back and forth several steps, and then Branca and I tumbled off the ring at the same time.
The referee called over the other officials, and after a short deliberation...
"The winner is Branca!"
There were spectators in the crowd who disputed the judges' call. After all, it had looked like we'd both executed our techniques simultaneously and fallen off the ring at the same time. You could hear voices shouting that at the very least it should have been a redo! And among the complainers, a very small number even accused the judges of ruling in the Viscount's favor.
Well, I was satisfied with the result, so I left the ring without arguing with the referees. For the record, the reason I lost was the difference in tokudawara. It just so happened that where Branca had stepped, the ring extended slightly wider due to the tokudawara, and my foot went out of bounds first.
Since I, the person involved, quietly left the ring and the referees gave a detailed explanation, and because Branca's and my footprints on the ring made things clear, the crowd's uproar finally died down.
"That was close, Tenma."
"If it had been anyone other than Branca, I could have thrown them right there."
Honestly, if my opponent hadn't been Branca but instead Grandpa — who didn't have as much of a size advantage — I would have advanced to the finals. Though, if it had been Grandpa, he probably would have come up with some countermeasure before things reached that point.
"So Tenma's loss came down to bad luck. Well, it was already strange that he could contest with me under those conditions in the first place."
Branca, who had returned a bit later, joined Grandpa and me in conversation. We weren't the kind of people who got awkward over match results, so while he was in high spirits, he was still his usual self.
"Well, they say a match depends on the luck of the moment, and it can't be helped that Tenma lost... but I'll make sure to get revenge for him."
"Looking forward to it!"
The two of them were shooting the breeze like that, but the match to decide Grandpa's spot in the finals was still ahead of them. In other words...
"Don't ignore meeeee!"
The bear-type beastman on the other side was right here too. Both of them wore expressions like they had completely forgotten his existence, then apologized to the bear beastman — but that only offended the guy's pride and doubled his anger. Well, based on how the first round went, the bear beastman probably wouldn't have been much of a match for Grandpa anyway... though coming from someone who almost forgot to watch Grandpa's match, that was a bit rich...
"The winner — Merlin!"
Sure enough, Grandpa won in a complete rout, just as expected, and the match was over. The bear beastman stumbled back into the Waiting Room in a daze and slumped in a corner. For reference, the finishing move was a "lift-out." Right after locking up, Grandpa had lifted his opponent entirely off the ground and carried him outside the ring. No wonder he was feeling dejected.
"Well, when they carry their hips that high, lifting them isn't too hard," Grandpa said.
According to him, he'd been able to do it because of the gap in their power and the fact that he'd slipped in under the opponent's center of gravity. Even so, that was still a lot of weight for an old man to hoist.
Be that as it may, this meant the finals would be between Branca and Grandpa — a matchup that went exactly as expected. Or rather, exactly as planned.
There was going to be a break before the finals, so we decided to grab some food in the meantime. We'd head to the food stalls lined up around the venue and pick up some meals. We still had plenty of time, so stepping away from the Waiting Room for a little while shouldn't make us miss the finals... But then something unexpected happened at the stalls.
"Take this one too!"
"Ours just came off the grill — best tasting in the whole place!"
"Eat up and grow big, and next time you'll beat Branca!"
That was the kind of reception I got. The people watching the matches had surrounded me. At first, it was just a few people who recognized me coming over to say what a great match it was. But as more and more people gathered, the stall owners who realized I was there to shop started competing to bring me their goods.
I ended up so surrounded by people that I couldn't move, which was a real problem. But since their actions came purely from goodwill toward me, I couldn't exactly be rude about it. I was finally released just moments before the finals were about to start. The reason was that one of the people in the crowd remembered my connection to Grandpa and told the others, who parted to let me through.
"Made it just in time..."
"That was... really close... *cough!*"
When we got back to the Waiting Room, Grandpa and Branca had just stepped into the ring. In a few more minutes, the match would begin. By the way, when Amur said "close," he didn't mean we'd barely made it in time — he meant that on the way back from the stalls to the Waiting Room, he'd been eating skewered meat while running and nearly choked to death on a piece of pork lodged in his throat. And even after that harrowing experience, the undaunted Amur was still happily stuffing his cheeks with skewers from his seat in the Waiting Room. Leading our two gluttonous companions along...
"Well, let's eat while we watch."
I moved the chairs to where we could see the ring clearly, pulled out the food we'd gotten earlier, and — perfect timing — the match began just then, but...
"Tenma, I'm bored."
"Well, there hasn't been much movement for a while now."
About five minutes had passed since the match started. Grandpa and Branca were locked in a dead center of the ring in a stalemate, neither giving an inch. To me, it might have looked like they weren't moving, but I could tell they were constantly trading feints and jockeying for position, so I couldn't take my eyes off them. But for spectators expecting a spectacular finish like Amur, it apparently wasn't popular. Another five minutes of stalemate continued...
"Step back! Restart from the top!"
The official announced a water break and restart. By this point, even the spectators who had been muttering complaints were holding their breath, watching the two wrestlers intently. And perhaps as a reaction to that buildup, a huge roar erupted the moment the official's voice rang out.
"They should have restarted sooner."
Of course, there were plenty of spectators hoping for a flashier fight, and a small but noticeable number echoed Amur's sentiment, as if it were only natural.
That same Amur, meanwhile, wasn't even paying attention to the sumo. He was cramming festival stall food into his cheeks in a race against Shiromaru and Solomon. Because of that, my share of the food had been drastically reduced. I was at least holding skewers and other easy-to-eat things in my hand while watching the match, so I wasn't going hungry — but at this rate, I'd definitely end up unsatisfied.
"Guess I should eat as much as I can before the match resumes."
"That's the right call."
Ignoring Amur, who didn't seem to understand whose fault it was that I had to make that choice in the first place, I secured what remained onto my plate, prioritizing things that hadn't been touched yet. When I did, Shiromaru and Solomon naturally planted themselves on either side of me, but I didn't have enough to share with both of them, so I ignored them.
"Are you ready? Last man standing!"
I thought the restart might change the momentum, but just like before, both wrestlers' movements stalled near the center of the ring. However, there was one difference from earlier. Branca had locked in a morozashi — both hands thrust under the opponent's armpits to grip the mawashi.
By securing the morozashi position, which was generally considered advantageous, Branca held his ground at the center for a while before gradually starting to push Grandpa back. Grandpa fought back with everything he had, but his resistance was in vain, and he was shoved out to a loss.
When Grandpa stepped out of the ring, the arena erupted in excitement over the local competitor's victory. Among the crowd, the loudest cheers for Branca came from Sana-san.
Sana-san was so excited that it was impossible to imagine her usual gentle demeanor, and the women around her who knew about her pregnancy were trying to calm her down.
"So the difference between Grandpa and Branca... was the difference in cheering?"
I knew someone would tell me to cheer then if that was the case, but Sana-san wasn't the only one rooting for Branca. Even if I had cheered, I probably couldn't have made up for the difference in both quantity and quality of support... I'd better have my excuse ready now. Grandpa was definitely going to say something about this.
"Actually, if Branca still lost even with that much cheering, from now on every time there's a sumo match, he's going to get teased by everyone around him."
Sure, nobody probably meant any harm, but it was inevitable that it would come up as a conversation topic. Especially among those Southern region elites.
"Come to think of it, even if you win this sumo tournament, there's no cash prize, is there?"
"Since the official pretext is that it's a 'religious ceremony,' the only thing you can earn is prestige. Though paradoxically, they allow betting on it."
It might seem contradictory, but for the fighters it was a 'religious ceremony,' while for the spectators it was simply a 'festival.'
"It does feel a little bad that it's only prestige, though. I wonder if there's something I could give along with the pregnancy celebration gift?"
As I rummaged through my Magic Bag while saying that, Slarin—who had been quiet until then—approached me and climbed into my Dimension Bag.
Wondering if Slarin had some bright idea, I waited for it to come back out, and after a while Slarin emerged accompanied by Goru and Jiru, then spat out two round orbs—one gold and one silver—before me.
"These are... threads from Goru and Jiru?"
The thread balls had a silk-like texture, and when I unwound a bit to check the color, they were a translucent gold and silver.
"How much would these sell for?"
"No idea."
Amour picked up the thread balls and then asked me that, but since it was my first time seeing them, there was no way I'd know the price. Still, if what Agri had told me was true, these thread balls (roughly fifteen centimeters in diameter) would be invaluable.
"Oh well, I guess it's fine."
Branca and Sana-san had done a lot for me, and these were things I hadn't even known existed before, so I figured I wouldn't mind parting with them. I decided to give these two thread balls as a present.
"Come to think of it, I was asked to make armor for Hana-san and Sana-san, same as Amour's. I'd better get started on that soon."
Using Amour's as a reference for sizing should be no problem, so there'd be no need to ask. If it didn't fit, Sana-san could always make adjustments.
I had tanned Spear Elk leather on hand, so I could use that. As it happened, Slarin was the one who'd tanned it. Slarin had used its Slime characteristics—the ability to dissolve prey inside its body and digest it, plus Slarin could choose what to dissolve—to process the hide by digesting only the unwanted meat, fat, and other impurities clinging to the skin, so I could get to work immediately.
"Tenma~... why didn't you cheer for me right away from nearby..."
Just as I was planning out my next steps, Grandpa returned, right on cue, and the first thing out of his mouth was a complaint about the cheering. I offered my earlier excuse, but Grandpa still wasn't satisfied.
As I wracked my brain for a way to talk him around, Branca returned with Sana-san, having finished the award ceremony. Seeing them, Grandpa seemed to lose all desire to complain at me. For my part, I'd also lost any desire to make excuses. Because...
"So annoying."
It was because I felt the same way as Amur. Not only did Branca appear carrying Sana-san like a princess, but Sana-san had her arms looped around Branca's neck, clinging close to him. Ever since he'd shown up, they'd been nuzzling faces and stealing kisses, radiating such an obnoxious pink aura it was almost blinding.
"All right! Now that the sumo tournament's over, why don't we go check out the food stalls!"
"Yeah, let's go! Right now! Let's go right now!"
"That sounds good."
The three of us ignored the pair glowing pink— or at least, that's what they looked like to us— and hurried out of the Waiting Room in a rush.
Later I heard that neither of them had even noticed we'd all left. They just kept flirting away in the Waiting Room, and when Hana-san came looking for us because we'd been gone so long without showing our faces, she apparently chewed them both out with a sharp "Enough already!"