Matsuo looked at the man across from him expectantly. Hopefully, Hiroshi would keep his word and not start screaming again. Just to be safe, Matsuo had already gathered a small amount of his power in one hand beneath the table. If necessary, he could silence him again immediately.

But Hiroshi remained completely calm.

Instead of launching into a speech or bombarding him with a thousand questions, which was what Matsuo had expected, Hiroshi studied him closely, as though he were truly seeing him for the first time. 

The young tax accountant's brow was deeply furrowed, his gaze moving attentively over Matsuo as if analyzing every last detail.

For some reason, that made Matsuo more nervous than all the resistance Hiroshi had shown him so far.

Matsuo shifted on his floor cushion. He had never been particularly good at enduring silence, and this one was slowly becoming uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to say something himself, Hiroshi opened his mouth and let out a deep sigh. He sounded exhausted. Almost as though he were surrendering.

"All right," he began, his voice still raspy. "What exactly has earned me the attention of a god? I can't think of any particularly positive or negative achievement that would qualify me for it. And aside from the obligatory New Year's visit, I don't have much to do with shrines either."

Matsuo blinked.

"So you believe me?"

He had fully expected that it would take considerably more effort to convince him. Maybe he would have to pull some kind of magical party trick out of his sleeve to finally prove it. The fact that Hiroshi was simply accepting it now almost confused him.

"Well," Hiroshi began, and that dry, matter-of-fact tone was immediately back. "You apparently managed to follow me for an entire day without anyone noticing. You also know my name and where I live, even though we'd never met before."

Matsuo opened his mouth.

"Of course, that alone could also point to an exceptionally dedicated stalker," Hiroshi continued.

"But the fact that you somehow entered my sixth-floor apartment without leaving any visible signs of forced entry, took away my voice with a snap of your fingers, and then moved me from the hallway to this table as if by magic suggests that something supernatural is indeed going on."

Matsuo studied him.

Maybe his little human wasn't going to be as difficult as he'd initially thought.

"Whether you're actually a god, however, I can't say," Hiroshi added. "I'd always imagined gods to be a little more imposing."

No.

Never mind.

Matsuo couldn't stand him.

He was just opening his mouth to respond when his gaze fell on Hiroshi's hands.

They rested on the tabletop, gripping its edge so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. A faint tremor ran through his fingers, barely noticeable but unmistakably there.

Matsuo paused.

Maybe Hiroshi wasn't taking all of this quite as calmly as he pretended.

All right. Better get it over with quickly, then.

Matsuo cleared his throat.

"Every hundred years, there's a Celestial Tournament. Selected gods and humans are paired together and given one month to train. After that, the humans compete against each other in several trials. The winner gets, you know, eternal glory, divine blessings, and all that."

He finished the explanation with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"And now for the drumroll."

Matsuo raised both hands and paused as dramatically as possible.

"This time, the two of us got paired together!"

He genuinely tried to make the words sound dignified and at least a little enthusiastic.

He failed.

Even to his own ears, the announcement sounded painfully flat.

Matsuo cleared his throat again.

"So, let's just quickly discuss how we're going to survive this month as easily as possible. I mean, of course, how we're going to make it as successful as possible."

Hiroshi raised a hand.

Matsuo fell silent.

The lines on Hiroshi's forehead had somehow deepened even further, though Matsuo hadn't thought that was possible.

"Thank you," Hiroshi said firmly. "But I decline."

Matsuo blinked.

"What?"

"I decline. No one will be harmed if I don't participate, and I'm perfectly happy with my life. I'd rather watch heroes comfortably and from a safe distance in anime."

Matsuo opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

"Uh... well..."

He was far too stunned to come up with a sensible response.

Was Hiroshi even allowed to do that?

Matsuo himself was more or less being forced to follow the rules of the tournament. They had made that more than clear to him at the gathering.

But what about the chosen human? What happened if they simply refused?

Matsuo went through the rules in his head. Of course, he had been ordered to prepare his human for the tournament and compete alongside him. But could a human really be forced to participate?

Wasn't it even part of his divine duty to respect humanity's free will, bring them joy, and take their wishes seriously?

And Matsuo would, of course, never force his will upon a human.

No. Certainly not him!

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Matsuo had to pull himself together to keep from breaking into a wide grin.

There it was.

His way out of this damned situation, right under his nose and served to him on a silver platter.

He put on the most dignified expression he could manage.

"Then so be it!"

With a solemn gesture, he raised his arms and tried to look as mystical as possible.

"Then repeat after me: I, Hiroshi Yamada, decline the invitation to the Celestial Tournament."

Hiroshi drew his brows together and gave him a skeptical look, but repeated the words clearly.

"I, Hiroshi Yamada, decline the invitation to the Celestial Tournament."

The moment he finished the sentence, a soft white light flared to life between them.

Hiroshi flinched back.

For a brief moment, the glow hovered above the table, bathing their faces in pale light before fading just as quickly as it had appeared.

Silence returned.

Hiroshi cautiously looked around his room as though expecting something else to happen. When everything remained unchanged, his gaze returned to Matsuo.

"Does that mean we've settled everything?" he asked tentatively, though noticeably more hopeful than before.

"We have!"

Matsuo clapped his hands together in satisfaction.

That had been easier than expected.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I'll be leaving now to attend to my divine duties and let you get back to your..."

His gaze drifted over Hiroshi's Gengar shirt.

"...exciting evening."

Then he raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers and disappear from the apartment.

But something made him pause.

His gaze fell once more on the young man in front of him. Hiroshi seemed more composed by now, but his hands were still trembling slightly. And when he swallowed, his face tightened for the briefest moment.

His throat.

Matsuo sighed quietly.

He wasn't entirely sure why he did it, but he leaned forward and gently placed two fingers against Hiroshi's neck.

Hiroshi froze.

A faint, warm glow spread from Matsuo's fingertips.

"It shouldn't hurt anymore."

Before Hiroshi could pull away or respond, Matsuo snapped his fingers.

For one brief moment, their eyes met.

Then the white-haired god disappeared. Only a faint breeze remained behind.

Good riddance, Hiroshi Yamada.

Author's Note

And that's how the story ends... Or does it? ;)

Thanks for reading! <3