1957

Naoko knew exactly what her father thinks of her playing competitive karuta. While the rest of the family beat their heads trying to weave their textile business around the strings of a new government, their daughter—their heir—was crusading around under the impression that if she could just beat enough formality into a New Year's tradition she could call it a sport. She knew her reasons didn't matter to him, so she accepted his admonitions and kept her words to herself. She wasn't trying to make karuta a sport. It already was.

Today, though, she was going to become its first Queen.

It wouldn't be easy. Her opponent, Mikoto, all the way from Tokyo, was formidable. Her game sense was enough to give anyone pause. Naoko had the speed and precision to make it insignificant. She would win, provided she didn't let her nerves get the best of her. Still, the match was strange to her: bigger than itself, somehow, and clumsy in all its ceremony.

She wondered if her father would change his mind if he knew just what his daughter was going to war against. The Master Tournament was in its third year; everyone would be watching to see how its sister compared.

She imagined herself telling him that all battles are important, regardless of scale.

1958

She pushed the image of Wataya Hajime, teeth catching in the photographers' flash as he clinchedanother championship for yet another year, to the back of her mind. She'd hoped for a quick escape from the tournament hall, and somehow, here he was, holding the door for her. There was an arrogance to his smile that she couldn't stand, then and now. She adjusted the folds in her kimono and pulled her lips into a demure smile. "My, whatever could be on your mind? They say a man this happy must have a secret."

"It was a close match, Naoko," he replied. "I'm surprised I won at all."

"Not too surprised, I hope? You did win by three cards after all."

His grin broadened. "I did, didn't I?"

She walked through the doorway without looking back. When she didn't hear his footsteps alongside her own, she pitched her voice so he could hear. "It's not often you lose your lead, is it? I hope you haven't grown too accustomed to it by our next match."

1961

As far as swan songs, go, she couldn't ask for a better year. She could feel the warmth of every card she took like they were smiling back at her, rising off the tatami mat to greet her. She'd breezed past Mikoto to seal the title of Queen for a fourth year, cut through Hajime's messy sweeps tournament after tournament, even put a few insufferable up-and-comers (that Harada Hiroshi had absolutely no manners) in their place.

"It's like the cards were tied to her fingers!" she overheard one of her opponents exclaim. She'd wanted to tell them it wasn't far from the truth.

Now she stared at the Omi Jingu Shrine and decided it was enough like a farewell.

"I'm getting married," she said, clapping her hands together and bowing. "I'll be Wakamiya Naoko soon. It's a good arrangement. His family has the resources to help us expand our market. He might not—he doesn't know the first thing about supply chains, leave alone weaving, but I won't let him ruin what my family built. The business will follow my hand even if my husband is the one speaking."

She straightened and held her arms straight by her sides. "I'll need to be away for a long time, I think. I hope you'll excuse me."

She imagined the breeze suffuse with the words that ended her last match, and started home.

"Though I would hide it, in my face it still appears…"

1983

She never expected to run into Hajime again, least of all at work in a sleepy Fukui bookstore. She always knew that he existed off the tatami mat—all those New Year's greetings had to go somewhere—but seeing the streaks of gray shot through his hair, the crows feet nested above his cheeks, it felt like a memory made up in all the wrong ways. But he grinned when he saw her, and before she could think better of it, she'd already said something about Eternal Masters and bad knees, he'd made a comment about age being especially cruel to Queens, and suddenly she could see the world that she left behind bright as ever in his eyes.

"Do you lose at all?" she pressed.

"Oh, all the time, nowadays," he said, but the tilt to his chin was high and proud, "Just not when it counts."

They exchanged stories about their children—none of who seemed to find karuta the least bit interesting—and he asked about her business, adding that he seemed to recall a senator's wife swearing by Wakamiya Textiles.

"It's doing well enough," Naoko replied, letting her lips curve into a smile that was a few shades too indulgent to be polite (better than her husband dared dream).

Hajime laughed. "There are many ways to live a life of purpose, I suppose."

2002

"A card game, Mother? I know you said Shinobu had to pursue something, but—"

It had been years since Naoko saw her daughter this angry. She catalogued the details of her bunched fists, her flushed cheeks. She peeled back the layers and layers of the woman before her until, sure enough, she reached the girl she had raised.

"It was no different with you, Yukari," Naoko replied. "You had something to chase after, and so I let you be."

"Oh, please! You never asked me if I was in any clubs. You didn't even care when I was at the bottom of my class!"

Naoko had wondered if the divorce had taken something from her daughter, if having to move into her mother's estate had somehow leeched the iron from her blood. But Yukari was shouting now, and it made her seem young again in a way she hadn't since coming back home. Naoko thought of fires burning in the night and weighed her next words carefully.

"I didn't care because you didn't care. I was happy at your wedding because I thought you'd gotten what you wanted."

Yukari's eyes went wide. Naoko watched her mouth move, molding around the beginning of one word then another, until finally she all but whispered, "What about now?"

Naoko willed her words to be armor. "Now, I'm waiting for you to find something new."

2010

"It's so hot! And heavy! I won't even be able to breathe in it!" Shinobu scrunched her mouth into a pout and poked at the fabric on the table. "Yumin plays a bit like Arata, too. If it's even a little close, she'll contest it."

The mention of Hajime's grandson is unexpected. Naoko hadn't heard the name in months, not since Shinobu had come home from a tournament one day, frowning and muttering about how she hadn't seen him at three tournaments now, three, and right after he'd finally made Class A, too.

(It had taken a few calls—first to the bookstore where Hajime used to work, then to a karuta society—but she'd found out what it was eventually. She had sent flowers.)

The Queen Match had turned Shinobu introspective, it seemed. There was gravity enough to give even a prodigy pause. Fortunately, Naoko had the advantage of being her grandmother.

"I had hoped you'd wear a hakama worthy of the event, but if it's as you say, your talents are more fragile than I thought. We'll just have to find something to accommodate—"

"I'll play in it!" Shinobu glared and folded her arms. "I'll find the cards no matter what I'm wearing."

Naoko smiled. "I imagine you will."

She watched the tailor take Shinobu's measurements and thought of when she'd first found her granddaughter next to an open drawer all those years ago, karuta cards spread out on the floor around her.

"What have you got there?" Naoko had asked, tipping her head to the side when Shinobu's childishly dour face had burst into a sunny beam.

"My friends!"

Oh, there you are, she'd thought. My fond, secret love.