A New Disciple Inspection Twenty-Five Years Late

"Higa-a-shi-i-"
The high-pitched voice of the caller stretches long across the arena.

The Nagoya Grand Sumo Tournament is reaching its final stages.
The dynamism of the young wrestlers in this tournament is truly incredible. That bold, decisive charge. I wonder how many mornings they spent in the training ring before they were able to do that.

"Yes! That's a good bout!" I say, impressed in front of the recorded TV, but during the pre-bout ritual, my eyes are not on the screen but on the smartphone in my hand. A glass of barley tea has left a ring-shaped stain on the table.

What I am looking at is not the official website of the Japan Sumo Association. What I am staring at now is the timeline of a literal "Grand Tournament" called the "Creative Awards" being held on note.

The deadline for the big festival called the Creative Awards passed the other day.
That said, it is not over. Rather, this is the crucial period where the real bouts, known as judging, are taking place.

So, I am looking at the ranking table (the search results screen for Creative Awards applicants) to confirm my own standing.I scroll down the screen with my finger, squinting to find my shikona (account name), but...

…It's not there.
Are there too many entries, or is my existence just too minuscule?

Is my name printed somewhere near the bottom of the ranking table, where my scrolling thumb is about to get tendonitis, in a place I can only find if I squint?

The thing is, I have quietly stepped into this grand tournament called the "Creative Awards" myself.

Written in tiny letters that you would need a magnifying glass to see, way, way down at the bottom of the ranking table, as a new wrestler in the top division—no, a wrestler at the very bottom of the division. The only thing impressive about me is my belly; my writing muscles are as thin as a lean wrestler's. My feet, as I attempt to stomp, are like those of a newborn fawn.

Looking around, it's all yokozuna-level buzz creators with overwhelming intensity and monsters of writing who are polished to perfection. As for me, I am just a new disciple who gets rolled left and right in the training ring, covered in sand. That is who I am right now.

Come to think of it, I have stepped into various rings before and been thrown out. To begin with, I am terrible at the ring known as social media. On tours like X (formerly Twitter) or Threads, it's over in a second. I've always been on the receiving end of intense "instant force-outs."

I've even tried using cheap tricks to earn a white star (a like or favorite) somehow. But it just didn't suit my nature. It makes me feel empty while I'm doing it.

Only regret remains, making me wonder, "What on earth am I doing?" Since then, I stopped aiming for buzz. I learned that even if I win by changing my stance at the start, the arena goes deathly silent.

Still, note is fun. Because I kept up my perfect attendance record of updating every day without taking a leave of absence, I started getting reactions little by little. I am grateful for that.

Getting a bit carried away, I go to read essays by other creators, calling it "visiting another stable" for training. And what do I see? Overwhelming numbers of white stars and enthusiastic audiences.

The difference in ability is so great that my heart is easily shattered. Everyone is racking up white stars called "likes" in such huge numbers.

I return to my own ring, dejected. And then, it's strangely quiet. So quiet that I think I can hear nothing but the sound of people eating their bento boxes. The sound of crunching on pickled daikon echoes through the arena.

It feels like I'm being slapped hard by the stablemaster and the audience, saying, "Your sumo is boring!" And the referee's fan (the algorithm) mercilessly points toward my opponent.

Am I pushing too hard even after the bout is decided, with unnecessary follow-up moves (too much explanation)? Or is it because my initial charge is slow (a weak introduction)? The more I analyze, the more I see the flaws in my own sumo.

Ah, nights like this, I reflect intensely on the fact that I am not at all wrestling in a way that pleases the audience. It is entirely due to my own lack of skill.

Even so.
For a 'soppu' (lean) wrestler like me at the very bottom of the rankings, occasionally, 'prize banners' circle around my ring. These come in the form of comments from readers, magazine subscriptions, and reviews.

The joy I feel when I receive these is beyond words. The pride of knowing that a prize banner is circling the ring just for me.

The dedicated readers sitting in the ringside seats call out, 'That was great!' That single phrase resonates in my chest like the announcement of a victory.

When a wrestler receives prize money, they perform a hand-chopping gesture in the order of left, right, and center. It is said to be a ritual of gratitude to the gods. So, before I write a reply to a comment, I make sure to perform that hand-chopping gesture three times in my heart.

I truly, and without exaggeration, think, 'Ah, this is what I am writing for.'

I don't want to be a great Yokozuna who leaves behind massive records. I just want to drink good sake with someone who calls out 'Yoisho!' at the edge of the ring, and with the patrons who find my bouts (essays) interesting.

Perhaps I want to be a wrestler who remains in someone's memory, even if I am clumsy.

Still, how can I become a stronger wrestler?
There is only one answer: practice.

By the way, I had considered myself to have been visiting the 'stable' of essays for some time.

I visited the stable of Sensha Yoshida many times. He is a master of surprise techniques, surreal and nonchalant. I also visited the stable of Fumi Saimon. She is a technician with a sharp edge in human observation. I have unilaterally looked up to these two styles as my masters. They were the 'stables' I admired and the styles I aimed for.

However, the other day, I realized something.

—I have never once been to the stable of Momoko Sakura.

She is the monument of essays. The headquarters. The stable everyone always recommends. To have bypassed that and said 'I love essays' takes quite a lot of nerve.

So, the other day, I bought a paperback copy of 'Momo no Kanzume' (Peach Canned). Twenty-five years since the paperback was released. It is like playing a video of a great match after letting it sit for a quarter of a century. This is an apprenticeship that has arrived far too late. If anything, I am already at an age where I would be refused entry.

But even watching it late, a great match is a great match. Momoko Sakura’s wrestling is that of a Yokozuna, turning the trivialities of daily life into laughter one after another.

Sensha Yoshida, the master of surprise techniques; Fumi Saimon, the technician; and the great Yokozuna, Momoko Sakura. Three stables, three styles. With this, my training ground is finally complete.

Their writing is still terrifyingly sharp even when read today.
In the quiet of the night, in the corner of the training ground, I secretly consume the flesh and blood of these masters. I perform shiko (reading), suri-ashi (copying), and teppo (writing muscle training) repeatedly.

And every time, I reach the same conclusion. There are no shortcuts. Reading, writing, and rewriting. There is only the foundation. I must continue to do that foolishly and honestly.

In order to one day be admitted into the great stable known as a publishing house and become a wrestler who can properly turn a profit, I will quietly pile up my training from now on.

"Two... four..."
I felt like I heard the call again.

"Found it. It's right here."

Suddenly, a voice came from the side.
It wasn't the voice calling me, but my wife, Torako-san.

Before I knew it, she was peering at my smartphone, tracing the screen with her finger. It was the search results for the Creative Awards. As if she were using a magnifying glass, she was searching through the rankings, all the way down to the very bottom, in great detail.

"It's so far down, how did you find it?"
"Yeah. It's right there, isn't it?"

Her fingertip pressed firmly on my shikona (wrestler name) written near the bottom. Even though I'm so low in the rankings, there is someone who can find me.

It's not just Torako-san. There are many people who sit enthusiastically in the ringside seats, watching over my clumsy sumo without regard for the risk of me flying out and landing on them.

Come to think of it, the sumo characters written on the banzuke (ranking sheet) are packed tightly without any gaps so that there is no empty space in the audience seats. That is why I, too, want to write sentences filled with heart, packed tightly so that my readers can enjoy them even a little.

I carefully tuck the envelope of prize money I received into my breast pocket.
Tomorrow, I will step onto the ring again, which perhaps no one is watching.
And then, I will perform the shiko (leg stomping).

Practice, practice, practice.
That is the only thing a wrestler at the bottom of the division can do.

Aioi Essay

▽ The essay work submitted to the note Creative Awards 2026 is included here. Please take a read.

Thank you for reading until the end.😌

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I also write essays that capture casual, everyday moments, which are also submitted to the Creative Awards. Please take a look if you'd like.

Threads , and on Substack, I post behind-the-scenes stories about how this essay was created and images that couldn't be included on note.