"Sound off!"
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, bar-ark, woof!
One of them was definitely trying to show some individuality.
What happened? Did your voice just crack because you were nervous? Ah, don't worry, I'm not angry. Just don't let your guard down.
"Are you ready?"
Kuro’s children all nodded in unison, their expressions solemn and gallant.
"Very well. Let’s go!"
I timed it perfectly, charging forward alongside them. Our target was a fortress made of snow, and our objective was the flag planted deep within its walls. I ducked and weaved through a barrage of flying snowballs... but why was everyone concentrating their fire on me?!
"Gwah!"
I was the first to go down. Kuro’s children, who had charged with me, were wiped out only a moment later. It might have seemed like a pathetic defeat, but it really couldn’t be helped. Alfred and Tiselle didn’t throw their snowballs; they held them in their hands and came toddling toward the wolves.
Kuro’s children were just too gentle. If they dodged, the kids might lose their balance and fall, so the wolves had no choice but to stand their ground and take the hits. On the other hand, they had no problem dodging Urza and Gral, who charged with the same tactic. The momentum was just on a completely different level. Honestly, those two needed to learn how to approach at a more "adorable" speed.
Still, even the wolves who managed to dodge Urza and Gral ended up surrounded and pelted with snowballs anyway. I wondered if it was a failure of strategy or just a matter of numbers. My team consisted of myself and seven of Kuro’s children. The opposition was a small army of children led by Urza and Alfred, supported by their guardians.
The snowballs thrown by the High Ogre Maid participating as Alfred’s bodyguard were particularly vicious. The sound they made upon impact wasn't a soft "thwack," but a heavy "thud."
Reducing the number of wolves on my team as a handicap had been a massive mistake. I should have started with all fifty of the original volunteers. Since Kuro’s children couldn't throw snowballs back, that probably would have been the only way to make it a fair fight.
So why did I reduce our numbers in the first place?
"Papa, there are too many doggies," Tiselle had said.
I was powerless against that.
"Hm? One more round?"
Fine by me. The teams could stay the same. Right? The wolves behind me nodded. Don't think we’re going to let this end with a straight loss!
It ended with a straight loss.
We came close once when one of Kuro’s children used a brilliant maneuver to tunnel through the snow, but Urza spotted him at the last second. Her instincts were just too sharp.
"Alright, kids! Playtime's over, it's time for the bath. Let’s go warm up those freezing bodies."
I promised them I'd roast some mochi once everyone was clean.
"Soy sauce?"
"Sugar?"
"Miso?"
"Choose whatever flavor you like," I told them. Nart wanted miso; she had surprisingly mature tastes.
"I’d like the mashed edamame," one said.
"I think they’re delicious enough plain," added another.
"Kinako and sugar is the strongest combo!" Urza declared.
I hummed in agreement. Any flavor was fine, but the bath came first.
There weren't enough braziers to go around. No matter how fast I roasted the mochi, I couldn't keep up with the demand. The High Ogre Maids were handling the toppings, but for some reason, I was the only one stuck doing the actual roasting. Was this my punishment for losing the snowball fight?
Ugh... I wanted to eat some, too.
Oh? Tiselle was walking toward me. Was she bringing that piece over for me?
I was wrong. She went straight to Tia.
I guess the mother really does come first. Even Progenitor-san and Draim had appeared out of nowhere and were currently stuffing their faces. I was happy they enjoyed the food, but I wished they’d offer to help me roast instead of just eating. And no, Draim, I didn’t mean for you to go fetch more mochi from the storehouse when I looked at you.
I felt like I’d been doing nothing but playing since winter began. Well, only on the clear days. When the weather was poor, I stayed inside and did odd jobs.
It was work, technically... but it occurred to me that I’d been spending all my time with Kuro’s children and hadn't played with Zabuton’s children at all. Since the spiders didn't like the cold, they stayed indoors.
Thus, I organized "Playing with Zabuton's Children: Part One."
I prepared a massive board and had Zabuton’s children carry Shogi Piece Models on their backs. It was "Zabuton’s Child Shogi" instead of Human Shogi. The rules were standard, except for one house rule: every single piece had to be moved at least once during the game. Since they were all participating, I wanted everyone to have a turn to move.
As for the opponent... Kuroyon was already sitting at the other end of the board before I could even ask. Unfortunately, I had to ask him to sit this one out.
Kuroyon protested immediately.
"No, look, you've won the village chess tournament every single year. I know you’re just as good at Shogi. I’m a total novice compared to you."
Should we start with a handicap by removing some of his pieces? No, the spiders were the stars of the show; the one carrying the removed piece would probably cry. Could I start with those extra pieces on my side instead?
"Alright, what should we take off the board? This one, and this... wait, that one too? And that one?"
Kuroyon agreed to a staggering handicap.
"It’s a showdown, Kuroyon! Your undefeated legend ends today!"
I lost.
I had the advantage in the opening, but the rule about moving every piece eventually tripped me up. I suppose no matter how much you bolster your forces, a novice is still a novice. How frustrating.
I wanted to ask for a rematch, but the spiders were the focus today. I asked if they’d enjoyed themselves.
It turned out they had a lot of opinions. They started signaling that in the previous match, it would have been better to move a certain way in that specific situation. I tried to argue that it would have led to a different counter, but they countered my counter.
Oh. I actually would have won that way.
It turned out Zabuton's children were much better at Shogi than I was.
"Kuroyon, one more round! I’ll handle the physical moves, but these kids will be the brains!"
Wait, why was he setting up all the pieces now? He wouldn't give me a handicap this time? He said he'd lose if he didn't take us seriously?
I was glad they acknowledged the spiders' skill, but it was a bit of a blow to my ego.
It was a hard-fought match, but we still couldn’t beat Kuroyon. Even with the spiders on Kuroyon's side of the board whispering advice to us, we just couldn't clinch it. What a shame.
The spiders seemed to have taken a liking to the Shogi Piece Models. I told them they could keep them, but I warned them not to brag too much since I couldn't make enough for every single one of their siblings.
"Now, for the second part of our playtime..."
I stopped when I saw their expressions. They wanted Chess Piece Models now? The second game could wait?
Fine, fine. I’d make them.
The spiders currently carrying the pieces were all about the size of a fist. The models were far too small for the magazine-sized or half-tatami-sized children.
I sighed. "I get it, don't look at me like that. I’ll do my best."
A few days later, a grand battle of Shogi versus Chess was being played out on the board. I couldn't tell who had the upper hand, but it was clearly a heated match.
In the middle of the game, a kitten wandered onto the board. Zabuton’s children scattered instantly. But as soon as I picked up the kitten and moved it out of the way, they all rushed back and resumed their exact previous positions.
It was truly an impressive sight.