Chapter 3: Grand Selection, Here I Come!

“They told me the throne is a sun, and the forge is a shadow. They told me I’m a ‘Vessel’—something meant to be filled with the whispers of ghosts and the expectations of dead men. But the metal doesn’t whisper. It screams when you hit it. And right now, I just really, really want to hit something... like... Miki’s head.”

Autumn, Ninth Month, 297 CE — The Registry Pavilion, Outer Gates of Hinokuma, Yamato Basin

The Grand Selection of the Sacred Tools had transformed the quiet outskirts of the valley into a pressurized arena of fire and ambition. The Wakoku no Shokugeki is about to begin.

For centuries, power in the Yamato plain had been measured by the length of a warlord’s shadow. But now, a new truth had crossed the sea: a hundred bronze spears were nothing more than scrap metal before ten men wielding forged steel. The forge had become the ultimate battlefield, and the hammer was more sacred than the ritual wand. Every youth in Yamatai, from the sons of provincial warlords to the daughters of government ministers, wanted a piece of this new world. To become a licensed Master of the Seventeen Halls was to hold more political sway than a regional governor. The stakes were absolute: the winner would not only receive a Master’s license but would be entrusted with the ’Divine Pivot’—the mechanical heart that would drive Queen Iyo’s Master Mirror during the Winter Solstice. To control the Pivot was to control the rhythm of the nation’s most sacred prayer.

And judging them all was the Queen’s designated envoy—Sato no Achi, the founder of the valley himself.

The registry pavilion was a chaotic sea of sweat and tension. Hundreds of young artisans clustered around the sprawling wooden counters, clutching blueprints and sacks of experimental ores. They shouted over one another, forming hasty alliances, because the Grand Selection required a mechanism too complex for a single mind to master.

Overseeing this administrative nightmare was the Third District: the Sanno clan.

As the keepers of the Third Hall, the Sanno were the scribes and scholars of the Aya. They were the men of the brush, the accountants who adhered so strictly to the philosophical texts of the mainland that they were considered the most incorruptible men in Hinokuma. At the central desk, an aging registrar named Sanno no Kyo was furiously carving names into bamboo slips, his eyes narrowing at every applicant like a hawk seeking a flaw.

“Next,” Kyo droned without looking up.

A heavy hemp sack slammed onto the wooden desk, causing the inkstone to rattle.

“Team registration,” Ikoto’s voice was firm, carrying the undeniable cadence of a warrior, even if his hands were covered in soot. “Category: Hydraulic Kinetics and High-Pressure Metallurgy for the Divine Pivot.”

Kyo finally looked up, his brush pausing. His eyes darted over the group. He recognized them instantly—the way a man might recognize a storm on the horizon. There was Ina, already checking the tension on her gear-set, and Sakuya, whose pale eyes seemed to be reading the very thoughts of the officials.

Then, Kyo’s breath hitched.

Standing before him, wearing a leather apron over a ruined silk tunic, her face smudged with charcoal but her eyes burning like twin furnaces, was the future sun of Yamatai.

“And... Sato no Akichi,” she said, flashing a bright, defiant smile. “Lead architect.”

Kyo dropped his brush. The bamboo slip clattered to the floor. The immediate vicinity of the pavilion went dead silent. The apprentices and warlord heirs nearby stopped their shouting, turning to stare at the girl with the messy ponytail and the dirt-stained hands.

“Princess Akichi,” Kyo stammered, his incorruptible composure shattering. He quickly stood and gave a deep, frantic bow. “This... this must be a jest. You are the daughter of the Makimuku Palace. You are the Vessel. You cannot be here, mingling in the dirt with common examinees.”

“I’m not mingling, Master Kyo,” Akichi replied, leaning over the desk and tapping the blank bamboo slip. “I’m competing. Write the name.”

“I cannot!” Kyo looked like he was about to faint. The Sanno lived for order, and Akichi was the embodiment of a protocol violation. “The Grand Selection is open to all citizens, yes! But the creation of the Divine Pivot is a matter of religious sanctity. A Shamaness does not strike iron! It violates the purity rites! If I register you, the high priests in the capital will have my head on a spike!”

“If you don’t register me, I’ll burn down the Third Hall’s library,” Akichi countered smoothly, still smiling.

Ina sighed, covering her face with her hands, while Sakuya merely adjusted his sleeves, utterly unbothered by the threat. Ikoto stepped closer, his imposing stature casting a shadow over the desk. “The rules state any youth under twenty may enter, Registrar. You are the Sanno. You do not bend the rules for anyone. Write the name.”

Kyo was trembling. “I... I must consult the Lord Envoy. Please. Do not move. Do not burn anything.”

He scrambled away, sprinting toward the high viewing platform where the senior organizers sat.

Akichi watched him go, her eyes scanning the elite gathered above. On the far left sat Yana no Gen, the young master of the Second Hall. He was draped in heavy furs, watching the crowd with a predator’s boredom. Next to him was a native representative, Soga no Sukuna, a man whose family was rapidly becoming the most dangerous political force in Yamatai. He whispered something into the ear of the man sitting in the center.

A few minutes later.

The Envoy listened to Kyo’s frantic whispers. His face remained a mask of granite.

The crowd held its breath. This wasn’t just a registration; it was a collision of worlds. The Kido—the spiritual power of the Queen—was supposed to be separate from the Kogei—the technical mastery of the Aya. Akichi was the bridge that threatened to collapse both.

Achi stood up. The pavilion fell into a silence so thick it felt like the air before a lightning strike.

“The Grand Selection of the Sacred Tools is a testament to the future of Wa!” Achi’s voice thundered. “It is an arena of merit! Let it be known that the Seventeen Halls turn no skilled hand away!”

He pointed down at the desk. “Mononobe no Ikoto. Nakatomi no Sakuya. Hayashi no Ina. You have forsaken your clan’s traditional paths to study the hammer and the gear. Your dedication is acknowledged. You are registered. You may enter the Selection.”

Akichi’s face lit up. She took a step forward, her heart racing.

Achi’s expression hardened. He looked directly at his daughter, the political weight of the entire nation resting in his eyes.

“However,” Achi continued, his voice echoing coldly. “The participation of the Sato heir involves matters of state purity and Makimuku protocol. The Divine Pivot must be forged by hands that are ritually clean. As Envoy of Queen, I must ensure that the divine resonance is not compromised by... recreational distractions. Sato no Akichi’s registration is hereby placed on Pending status.”

The pavilion erupted into furious whispers.

Akichi froze. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a look of sheer disbelief. “Pending?!” Akichi shouted, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “There is no ‘Pending’ in the Hall of Aya codes! You either meet the standard, or you don’t! We built this mechanism together! I drafted the core kinetics! You can’t separate the team!”

“The decision of the Envoy is absolute,” Achi replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Your mechanism may be submitted for the preliminary review by your companions. But until the Palace clears your status, you are forbidden from stepping onto the competition forge. You are dismissed, Akichi.”

Achi turned his back and sat down, ending the discussion.

Akichi stood rooted to the spot, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Around her, the murmurs turned into mocking chuckles. The apprentices from the First Hall, Miki’s crewmen, were openly laughing.

“Look at the little sun,” one of them sneered loud enough for her to hear. “Trying to play with fire when she’s made of glass.”

“Shut up... you fools. She’s the future queen, you could lose your heads,” said the other one in a panic tone.

Ikoto placed a heavy hand on Akichi’s shoulder. “Akichi. We’ll withdraw. If you don’t forge, we don’t forge.”

“No,” Sakuya said softly. “If we withdraw, Miki wins by default. And the Queen receives a stagnant mirror with no way to track the sun. That is exactly what the Kuni clan wants—to prove they are the only ones the Lord Envoy can rely on.”

Akichi took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the humiliation down into her stomach and letting it ignite into something much hotter. Her father wasn't just being a parent; he was being a politician. He was afraid that if the future Queen was seen sweating over a forge, the native clans would lose their awe of her spiritual power.

She looked up at the platform, her gaze finding Kuni no Miki, who was watching from a secondary balcony. He gave her a slow, deliberate nod of pity, as if to say, “I told you so.”

“Fine,” Akichi whispered, her voice low and laced with a terrifying promise. She picked up her hammer, the weight of it grounding her. “They want to play politics? We’ll play politics. Ina, Ikoto, Sakuya. You take the mechanism through the preliminary review. Pass it with a perfect score. Don’t let them find a single flaw in my math.”

“And what are you going to do?” Ina asked, her brow furrowed in worry.

Akichi turned her back on the registration desk, a wild, rebellious grin breaking through her frustration.

“I’m going to do what the Knight on my father’s dusty diary did when he found a wall he couldn’t climb,” Akichi said, her eyes flashing toward the high towers of the Makimuku Palace in the distance. “I’m going to build a bigger ladder, and then I’m going to drop it right on their heads. They think ‘Pending’ means ‘No’. I’m going to make them beg me to enter that forge. If the Envoy won’t give me a hammer, I’ll go straight to the Sun.”