Hiroshi

The silence remained.

Hiroshi waited. Water dripped from the edge of a roof behind the shrine, and the distant murmur of the city drifted between the trees. Nothing else happened.

Of course not.

He hadn't seriously expected the heavens to open because of a few coins and a polite prayer. Still, part of him had hoped for a sign. Anything that might explain why everything had been going wrong ever since his refusal.

Instead, he stood alone before the sanctuary. His ankle throbbed, his pants were still damp from the water a truck had splashed over him, and Matsuo was probably somewhere warm with plenty of sake.

The thought made him angrier than it should have.

He'd had a perfectly reasonable reason for not participating in the Celestial Tournament: he didn't want to. That should have been enough.

A cold drop hit his cheek. Then another. Within moments, rain rushed through the trees and painted dark spots across the stone pavement.

"Of course," he muttered.

He'd forgotten his umbrella that morning. A week ago, that would have bothered him. Today, it was just one more item on a list he no longer wanted to keep.

As he turned toward the exit, the eyes of a stone fox statue lit up gold.

Hiroshi stopped, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses clean on his wet shirt. When he put them back on, the eyes were ordinary stone again.

"Great. Now I'm hallucinating too."

He took his first limping step toward the torii.

The sky turned white.

The lightning struck so close that Hiroshi felt the thunder in his chest. Light swallowed the shrine, wood splintered, and the smell of ozone and scorched earth hit him.

He stumbled backward. "I'll do it!"

His voice nearly cracked. "I'll participate in this stupid tournament! Is that clear enough?"

He was twenty-seven. Far too young to be grilled by a deity.

White light flared in front of him. When it faded, Matsuo stood on the rain-soaked stones.

For a moment, Hiroshi was simply relieved. Then he saw the blackened, frayed sleeve, the burn beneath it, and the bleeding wound on Matsuo's cheek. His nearly white hair clung wetly to his forehead, and his injured arm hung motionless at his side.

"What happened to you?"

Matsuo was breathing heavily. For someone who usually traveled from place to place with a snap of his fingers, that alone was alarming.

"I don't know why you called me," he said hoarsely, "but we have to participate in this tournament."

Hiroshi stared at him. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

The rain stopped. Not gradually. One moment it was still falling thickly between the lanterns, and the next, the clouds split apart.

A giggle came from behind the fox statue.

A woman stepped into view. Golden-brown hair fell over an elaborately patterned kimono that didn't have a single drop of rain on it. Beside her, the shape of a small fox shimmered briefly.

Her gaze moved from Matsuo's arm to Hiroshi's clothes. "Interesting. You two are going to be my favorite pair."

Matsuo grimaced. "We're not a couple."

"Tournament pair."

"Not voluntarily, either."

"Who is that?" Hiroshi asked.

Matsuo briefly closed his eyes. "Inari."

Despite his ankle, Hiroshi straightened. "Inari-sama. Thank you for answering my prayer."

The corners of Inari's mouth twitched. "It was actually directed at Matsuo."

"I apologized for that."

Thunder rumbled above them.

Inari looked up at the sky. "Then we should clear this up before someone gets struck a second time."

Matsuo's gaze dropped to Hiroshi's foot. "Why are you limping?"

"Lunch break. Slipped."

His gaze moved to Hiroshi's wet pants.

"Truck. Puddle."

The amusement vanished from Matsuo's face. He looked at his burned arm, then back at Hiroshi. "How have you been, exactly?"

Hiroshi told them about the past three days: the elevator, the water in his bathroom, the mistakes at work, and the food poisoning. By the time he got to his ankle, Matsuo was completely serious.

Inari stroked the fox beside her on the head. "You've both been remarkably stubborn."

"We refused," Matsuo said. "That should have been the end of it."

"No. You decided it was the end."

"He didn't want to. I didn't want to. No one was disadvantaged."

"Except the deities who chose you."

Thunder rolled over the rooftops again. Matsuo whinced and looked up.

"The selection isn't an invitation in the human sense," Inari continued. "You were assigned to each other. It was never optional.

Slowly, Hiroshi turned toward Matsuo. Matsuo avoided his gaze.

"You said the matter was settled."

"At the time, I considered that factually correct."

Hiroshi took a deep breath. He didn't have the energy for an argument.

"If it makes you feel any better," Inari said, "Matsuo sent Izanagi and Izanami a message of his own."

It did not make him feel better. "What did it say?"

"Nothing important," Matsuo said immediately.

"He thanked them for their trust and offered to reconsider the matter at the next competition in a hundred years."

Matsuo raised his uninjured hand. "It was politely worded."

Despite everything, Hiroshi laughed. It made his head hurt.

A fox spirit emerged silently from between the red torii. It carried a narrow paper scroll in its mouth. Inari scanned the characters and handed it to Matsuo.

"Your participation is confirmed."

Matsuo read it. His expression revealed little, but his gaze lingered on the final line a moment too long.

"Three trials," he said. "One month of preparation. The tasks won't be revealed beforehand."

"One month?"

"Usually, that's enough."

Hiroshi looked down at his ankle. Tomorrow, he had to go back to the office. Now he was also supposed to train for a divine tournament whose existence he'd known nothing about only a few days ago.

"What happens if we still don't participate?"

Inari was silent. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"The past few days were a warning," she finally said. "I wouldn't want to find out what the next one looks like."

That was enough.

Hiroshi thought of the familiar sequence of his life: running, showering, coffee, the same train, work, grocery shopping, anime and spicy ramen on Mondays. It wasn't an exciting life. That was exactly why he'd liked it.

"Fine. Then I'll participate."

For a brief moment, relief showed on Matsuo's face. "So will I."

Inari nodded. "More sensible than your first decision."

She stepped back toward the fox statue, her outline already beginning to blur into the lantern light.

"One more thing," Hiroshi said. "If we have a month, does that actually mean one month?"

Inari looked at him in confusion. "Of course."

Matsuo gave him a sidelong glance. "You really are a tax accountant."

"Timeframes should be unambiguous."

"One month," Inari confirmed. Then she was gone.

The fox spirit looked first at Matsuo, then Hiroshi, made a soft cooing sound, and dissolved into golden light.

Water dripped from the gutters. Beyond the trees, the city murmured softly.

"I'll explain the rest tomorrow," Matsuo said. His voice sounded tired. "After work."

"You know when I finish work?"

"I watched you for an entire day."

Hiroshi did not want to be reminded of that.

Matsuo looked at his foot. "Come on. I'll take you home."

"I can walk by myself."

"I know."

Matsuo didn't say he was worried. He simply walked beside Hiroshi, slowly enough that Hiroshi didn't have to limp any more than necessary.

At the station, he disappeared between two reflections in a dark storefront window. Hiroshi took the last train, surrounded by tired employees whose heads dipped with the rhythm of the ride.

At home, he took off his wet clothes, laid a towel over the still-problematic bathroom floor, and set his alarm for six.

Tomorrow was a workday.

For a moment, he considered skipping his morning run.

Then he set the alarm five minutes earlier.

Author's Note

One month. What could possibly go wrong?

Thanks for reading! ♡