Masaki hadn’t been kidding about the boats. But what were we supposed to do with them? We couldn’t steer them, couldn’t change their speed. They floated in one direction, at a single pace, like toys wound up and set loose.
I glanced at the other Blades. They looked just as confused as I was. Then a Chopman barked an order, waving us toward an opening. We ducked under the raised river, the sound of sloshing water overhead mixing with the roar of the crowd, and followed the narrow passage until it opened up again.
A moment later, Ginji’s voice boomed over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome back to Nokoribi! You thought last night was unforgettable? Well, tonight I present a trial unlike anything you’ve seen before.”
The crowd roared. Ginji let the pause hang, pacing across the stage as if every step were a drumbeat.
“I call this one… Spoiled Rice!”
The words echoed through the arena, bouncing off flames and steel. The crowd picked it up instantly, their chant rising like a wave:
Spoiled Rice!
Spoiled Rice!
Spoiled Rice!
“No one likes spoiled rice,” Ginji went on, grinning as the crowd booed the thought. “Let us hope our Blades hear our demands.”
The crowd quickly adapted their chant.
No spoiled rice!
No spoiled rice!
No spoiled rice!
We emerged into the center of the arena, where a long table waited. Lined up across it were ten-pound bags of rice. One for each of us, I assumed.
“The challenge is simple.” Ginji’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Take a bag of rice. Step onto a boat. The first Blade to leap from boat to boat and complete a full loop will be deemed the winner!”
Simple enough on the surface. But nothing here ever was.
“And of course, there’s nothing stopping you from making sure your rivals never finish. Punch, kick, shove—whatever it takes. Just keep your rice with you, or it’s all for nothing!”
There it was—the loophole. We weren’t limited to fists and elbows. We still had our prop weapons, though what good were they? And I couldn’t help but wonder if something else was waiting out there on those boats, something much more dangerous.
Name tags sat in front of each bag of rice so we knew which one was ours. The platforms were also marked with our names, spacing us evenly around the river.
“Blades, on your marks!” Ginji shouted. He thrust his fist into the air, holding it high as the crowd erupted, the chant rolling into a frenzy. He held the moment, stretching, every second feeding the anticipation, until at last he slammed his fist down.
59
I bolted for the bag with my name on it, but I’d barely taken two steps when something slammed into my back, sending me tumbling across the floor. I skidded to a stop and looked up. Kubikiri Nabe was laughing as he charged ahead, swinging that massive pot of his like a toy.
It was the second time I’d been knocked down at the start, and the crowd loved it. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted for the table. Everyone else had already grabbed their rice and was racing to their platforms.
By the time I reached mine, I was shaking with rage. That’s when I remembered Masaki’s words: Let the others make their moves first.
I drew a deep breath and stepped to the edge, clutching the ten-pound bag of rice tight against my chest. The boats moved faster than they looked, each numbered so we knew where we were to start and finish. There were Chopmen on every platform, blocking anyone from boarding early. I waited for my signal, timed the jump, then leaped.
My feet landed square in the center of the boat, but the weight of the bag threw me off balance. The hull rocked hard, and I flung out one arm to steady myself while keeping a death grip on the rice with the other.
I looked around the boat. No weapons; nothing that could be used to hurt someone. I hoped the others were equally unarmed.
Ahead, Kubikiri Nabe was still laughing at me. Behind, Sumi Yari leveled his spear in my direction. None of us moved. We all seemed to share the same thought: Let someone else move first. The crowd hated it. Their boos echoed off the arena walls, urging us all to start moving.
