Hiroshi

At six fifteen the next morning, Hiroshi ran his usual route.

At least, he tried to.

His ankle was noticeably better overnight, but his body felt as though it hadn't forgotten the past three days. Halfway through the route, he had to slow down. As he passed a small park where elderly men were already doing their morning exercises, he briefly considered turning back.

He kept running.

The routine was non-negotiable.

At eight twenty, he was at his desk. By ten, he was on his second coffee. Normally, he stopped after one in the morning.

Nakamura-san noticed.

"Bad night?"

Hiroshi looked up from his screen. "Just a few restless days."

"You really shouldn't do anything this weekend."

He thought of three divine trials.

"That's the plan."

She told him something about her daughter's school trip before her phone rang. Hiroshi turned back to his numbers and needed three attempts to focus on the same line.

Shortly after five thirty, he left the office.

Matsuo was waiting across the street in front of a vending machine. He wore a dark leather jacket. The burned clothes were gone, as was the wound on his cheek. He held a can of coffee in one hand.

"You look tired."

Hiroshi stopped in front of him. "Good eveningto you too!"

Matsuo opened his mouth for a moment but didn't comment further.

They went to a small family restaurant on a side street. Outside the windows, evening traffic pushed past, bicycle bells rang between pedestrians, and a nearby convenience store played the same greeting melody every time its automatic door opened.

Hiroshi ordered curry. Matsuo took longer because he studied the drink menu and complained that they didn't serve any decent sake.

Only when the food arrived did he begin explaining.

The Celestial Tournament consisted of three trials, and the requirements changed each time. A hundred years ago, the participants had been required to climb a mountain whose paths shifted with the position of the sun. Before that, they had needed to retrieve a divine artifact from a forest. Two examples were enough for Hiroshi to abandon any hope of predictability.

Hiroshi listened and asked questions.

Not one after another, but whenever Matsuo's explanation left a gap.

"How long do these trials last?"

"It varies. Hours, sometimes a few day."

"What happens if one of us can't complete the task?"

"Then we're eliminated."

That sounded almost pleasant.

Hiroshi took a bite and thought about it. "So we don't have to win."

Matsuo looked at him over the rim of his glass and winked.

"That's the point."

At least their shared goal was clear. Don't win. Just get far enough that no one could accuse them of not taking it seriously, then get eliminated as gracefully as possible.

Hiroshi could almost have made peace with that solution if Matsuo hadn't immediately followed it with a story about a participant who had been swept out to sea two hundred years ago.

"Wait."

Matsuo stopped mid-sentence.

"Is this tournament deadly?"

"No."

The answer came quickly enough to be reassuring.

Then Matsuo took a sip.

"Well, not anymore."

Hiroshi put down his spoon.

Matsuo explained that the rules had changed over the centuries. Nowadays, there were barriers, healers, and divine observers. No one was supposed to die during a trial. Hiroshi didn't like the words "supposed to," but he was too tired to dwell on them.

"What do I need to be able to do?"

"We'll figure that out. You run regularly, so at least you're not completely useless."

"Thank you."

"That was meant as a compliment."

Matsuo talked about navigation, reaction time, strength, puzzles, and the ability to make decisions under pressure. When Hiroshi asked about the prize, he shrugged. "The favor of the creator gods. Rank, influence, sometimes a wish. For some, that's important enough to wait a century for."

"You're not making a training plan right now."

"Not yet."

Matsuo leaned back. "I'd like to spend one month seeing you do something spontaneous for once."

"I'm participating in a divine tournament. By my standards, that's sufficiently spontaneous."

For once, Matsuo had no immediate response.

After eating, they walked for a while through the evening streets. Employees with loosened ties stood outside izakaya, a group of students laughed somewhere nearby, and the lights of a train passed above the buildings.

Matsuo continued explaining, more quietly this time. He told Hiroshi about past tournaments he'd watched as a spectator, about participants who had been physically superior yet failed at simple puzzles. Others had won because they trusted their divine partner.

"That could be difficult for us," Hiroshi said.

Matsuo had the same thought but forced himself to smiled. "We still have time."

On the way from the restaurant to the station, they passed a small shrine where two office workers briefly stopped at the entrance. One tossed in a coin, bowed hurriedly, and ran after his colleague. Matsuo watched them go.

"Do humans do that often?" Hiroshi asked.

"What?"

"Pray even when they obviously don't have time."

Matsuo smiled faintly. "Especially then."

He explained that many prayers were far less spectacular than Hiroshi might expect. No grand wishes for wealth or fame, but passing an exam, a healthy child, a safe trip home, a conversation that would hopefully go well. Sometimes, just a thank-you.

Hiroshi thought of his own prayer the night before. A week ago, he probably would have claimed that he could never seriously stand in front of a shrine and ask for help. Now he knew how quickly convictions lost their importance when your bathroom floor was flooded and the sky started throwing lightning bolts at you.

"And you listen to all the prayers at your shrine?"

Matsuo cleared his throat. "Theoretically."

"What does theoretically mean?"

"That I have excellent employees."

Hiroshi remembered the three little monkeys Matsuo had told him about and decided not to pursue the question today.

They parted at the station.

Hiroshi got home shortly after nine. The new episode of the series he was currently watching had been waiting on his phone since Monday. He showered, put water on for tea, and sat down on the sofa with his tablet.

Twelve minutes later, he realized he had no idea what had happened during the previous five.

He rewound it.

On the second attempt, his eyes fell shut.

When he woke again, the credits were over and his tea was cold.

Hiroshi remained seated for another moment. The apartment was quiet. In the past, that silence would have relaxed him.

Today, it only reminded him that his alarm would go off in less than seven hours.

He turned off the tablet, went into the bedroom, and laid out his running clothes for the next morning.

A new message flashed on his phone.

No number.

Just one sentence.

Tomorrow after work. Wear comfortable shoes.

Hiroshi looked at the message. Gods had smartphones? That was new.

Then he put the phone down.

The training plan could wait until tomorrow.

Author's Note

Three trials, one month, and absolutely no idea what's coming.

Thanks for reading! ♡