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You swallowed hard, wringing your hands together.
You'd known there was a chance you'd run into him, but this was so much worse. Knowing it was a possibility and seeing your names side by side were two very different things.
'AZUMA-OU'
The name lit up the screen in front of you, signifying who you would face in your semi-final match.
People were already whispering, wondering what poor sap would have to compete with Azuma this round. You swear you catch someone mutter your name along with a soft sigh of "poor kid," but the voices are slowly drowned out by the heavy pounding of your own heart rattling in your ears.
You were matched up with Azuma. Shit.
Azuma was a god of the Pokémon TCG. The man had been in the game since before you were born, retired years ago, but now he was back for one tournament only. Azuma was famous for more than just his playing, though; he was famous for his attitude. And that's what really worried you.
You'd heard one too many tales about Azuma launching deck boxes at heads. He jumped over tables just to get up in your face. Hell, the man supposedly punched a kid he was supposed to be tutoring.
Slowly, the world around you melts back into your awareness, the crowd staring at you as a man in a tournament uniform waves a hand and calls your name. "Hey, you! You need to move to table 3. Your match is in 15 minutes."
You nod, shifting from foot to foot before trudging past the crowd and toward your seat. You clutch your deck box in one hand, fingers nervously running along the sides. You can smell the pity in the air, but also the anticipation. Everyone wanted to know what Azuma would do this time.
At the table, you see him. Already waiting.
At first he doesn't seem intimidating, an older man with a slim frame and not all that much taller than you. He wears run-down clothing and a beanie with a Seaking pin haphazardly attached at the brim. But then you meet his eyes, or eye in this case. His long white hair parts to reveal one eye that burns into you, following you as you sit.
Focused.
Unblinking.
Then he closes his eye and grins at you with teeth just a little sharper than they should be. "You're my next opponent, huh? Think you can give me an entertaining game? These 'competitors' have been awful so far; you'd think they learned to play from a Slowpoke."
You freeze, unsure how to respond. On one hand, he sounds friendly enough, but on the other... "Azuma-Ou... Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm your next match." You stutter over your words a bit; your palms are sweaty as you wipe them against the legs of your pants.
"Don't be so nervous, kid. We're both here for a game." He insists, but the gleam never leaves his eye.
You nod in response, looking at the crowd as if seeking reassurance. You find none. You need to hype yourself up; you're here now, and you've got a game to play. "Right. A game. Totally cool."
He moves.
He moves fast.
Jumping up and forward so that he comes face to face with you in a moment, hand up like he's going to punch you. Oh God, you were his next victim...
"Bahaha, look at you! I'm not gonna do it, I'm kidding." He cackles, throwing his head back, hair tumbling around the column of his throat as he laughs.
Azuma falls back into his seat, still snickering. "I saw your last match; you have decent strategy. Not amazing or anything, but better than most of these clowns. So lighten up; you made it this far, you can't be that terrible at playing. "
Was that a compliment? Or compliment-adjacent? "I've been training pretty hard this year, actually." You offer hesitantly, a waver to your voice. Maybe he was nicer than the stories made him out to be, or at the very least, being nicer to you in particular. It was unhinged as all Hell, but he didn't actually punch you... You take a deep breath. You can do this.
"You know, I actually hate semi-finals." Azuma muses, leaning back so that his chair nearly tips.
"Huh? Why?"
"It's a big deal but also such low stakes. I mean, there should be a prize for winning semis, right?"
You can feel that he's walking you into something; you're not stupid. But you're also on his good side and really don't want a deck box to the head. "Oh?"
Azuma's grin widens, his face split by his impish expression. "Why don't we make a deal?"
The crowd, previously silent, begins frantically whispering. This was it, the moment Azuma would do what he did best: fuck with his opponents.
Azuma clears his throat, staring you directly in the eyes. "Winner gets to eat the loser. Obviously I'll win, but the deal can go both ways."
You freeze, dumbfounded. Eat...? Was he insane? "E-eat? You're joking..."
It had to be a euphemism. Maybe he meant he would eat you up in the sense of kicking your ass? Or maybe he was kidding at your expense, just like the punch that never reached your face. You slowly nod; that had to be it.
"I guess?" What else were you supposed to say? Sure. Azuma could 'eat' you if it got him to settle down a bit.
Azuma offers you a hand to shake; his hands are rough and calloused, and he has a buildup of dirt under his nails. Considering he runs a card shop rather than any manual labour or outdoor work, you aren't sure you want to know why they're so dirty.
You grasp it, and he shakes, long fingers jabbing into your wrist.
"Let's have a good game, kid."
You were using a Mega Floette deck. It was gimmicky and not all that competitive, but you didn't let that stop you; you had made it this far. You pull them from the deck box and begin to shuffle the cards with practiced ease. You could do this.
Azuma slides out his own deck box. It's a tattered old thing barely held together by several haphazard layers of tape. If you squint, you think you can maybe see a Kyogre design somewhere under it all.
"You ever run an XY deck?" Azuma asks. He doesn't look at you, too focused on his own shuffling now.
"Uh, not competitively. I didn't think they were legal in this tournament."
"Oh, they aren't. Yada yada, power creep. But I asked nicely." He chuckles, shoulders shaking.
You want to question how exactly he'd asked, but you're quickly interrupted by a staff member coming in to remind you the game would start in less than 5 minutes. So you bite your tongue and finish your prep.
Prep didn't prepare you.
Playing against Azuma is… scary. The moment the match begins, he seems to lose the tiny bit of inhibition you'd seen from him. Now the man was slamming down cards with enough force to shake the table.
"And that's three prize cards for moi." Azuma flips over your Mega Floette EX with a flourish before falling back into his seat and kicking his feet a little. "Sucks to suck, eh?"
You stare back, removing the card from play. You worry that if you take your eyes off him, something terrible will happen. Not that he would try to cheat; the guy seemed genuinely passionate about a good, fair game, but that some unnamed horror would occur.
You take his Ludicolo, earning a prize card. He gives you a slow blink before smiling widely, "Oh, that was really smooth. Nice one."
You feel warm inside at his words; they fluster you. It was silly, maybe, but to hear a proper compliment from such a legendary player really boosted your ego.
"Don't look at me like that; I'll still kick your ass."
He takes a prize card; you take two. He takes another. It's game point for him. The crowd oohs and ahs as they begin to trace your downfall.
The Pokémon in his active spot blocks Trainer cards, which is unfortunately what your current hand is full of. You just had to attack and hope he would slip up.
His Pokémon tanks it; his lips turn upward.
He wins.
The staff rush over and call the game for an audience that is unsurprised by the results but shocked you lasted so long at all.
"That's the best match I've had all day. Kudos, I guess." Azuma stands, stretching his arms above his head until his back pops, and he lets out a sigh. "I hope we match again sometime."
Reaching over the table, you shake his hand. "That was actually super fun, Azuma. Thanks." You stand up, giving him a polite but teasing half bow before attempting to slip away. You lost the tournament, but you had a good go at it!
"Ah, ah, ah. Get back here." Azuma snags the back of your shirt with a hand, tugging you towards him. You look over your shoulder to see his eye glinting back. "We made a deal, don't you remember? And I'm pretty hungry after our match."
You freeze, suddenly stiff as a mannequin. You feel his hold on your clothing, tying you to him. Dozens of people stand just beyond the barriers, watching, not one moving to step in. Even the staff seem resigned to whatever scene is about to play out. And that was on you, wasn't it?
YOU said he could eat you.
YOU shook on it.
And now YOU lost the match.
You take a deep breath in; he was still kidding. Right? You spin on your heel back toward Azuma and breathe out. "So, how's this supposed to work?"
"It's pretty simple: I put you in my mouth and swallow." He bites his lip slightly, a pointed tooth peeking out in a way you're convinced is intentional.
Ex-fucking-scuse me?
"You're actually insane. You can't just-" You scan the audience for a saviour, someone to swoop in and carry you away.
"I'll let you out before I leave for the night; I'll even carry your deck box for when you get out. I just need something to hold me off until dinner. You know they don't let you eat in here?" Azuma speaks, watching your every move. He only gets more excited as he reads your expression. "A deal's a deal, kid. Time to get shrunk!"
Shrunk you were, shrunk to about the length of Azuma's pointer finger. That wasn't a comparison you'd usually think of, except you were currently pressed directly against it. You wrap your arms and legs around it with all your strength, dangling impossibly high above the convention center floor.
"Aren't you a tiny little thing?" Azuma coos, pulling you closer to his face. He swings his hand, watching you sway. You grip tighter, holding on for dear life.
"Azuma! Azuma, what the actual hell?"
"Relax, kid. I'm not going to drop you." He pinches your torso between two fingers of his opposite hand, prying you off of him so that he can lift you above his head. His mouth opens, a black void rimmed by massive canines… "Well, not onto the floor."
You wriggle and squirm, but there's nowhere to go. If you were to get free, you'd only fall to your death. You were a bug in this giant's hands, and you felt a strange sort of resignation wash over you. You had to trust his word that you would be safe because you had no other choice.
Azuma moves as if to drop you, and you brace for it, but he stops just short. Instead, his tongue snakes out and licks you. The muscular surface covers most of your body, folding around you as it passes. It's hot and wet, and smells of smoke and poor oral hygiene. You try to push back, but your hands just sink into the warm flesh.
"You know, you taste pretty good." A string of saliva connects you to his mouth, currently molded into the lopsided grin of someone having too much fun.
You sputter and try to wipe the slime from your hands with no success. "You're not supposed to play with your food, Azuma." You manage to squeak out.
He snorts, clearly surprised that you've begun to play along. "No fun." You want to roll your eyes, annoyance at this idiot having taken the baton from panic. "But I guess I can let you go inside if you're so excited."
His jaw ticks open once more, and this time he slips you right in. His teeth slam closed around you with a click, drenching you in darkness. Not a single one of the sharp points cuts into you, but you're hyperaware of how easily they could. His tongue is beneath you this time, already writhing and wrapping around your small form. Before you can really process that this is actually happening, he fully shoves you into his cheek. You go face first, but the surface is actually quite soft, and you sink into it. He's apparently not done playing yet, and you doubt he will be until you've gotten back out.
He continues to push you around with all the glee of an overexcited toddler. You faintly hear a tournament staff member asking him to leave the table so the next match can start; Azuma, humming around you, nods in response. He's already moving back towards the competitor's lounge with you riding in his mouth.
"Gah!" You yelp as his tongue shifts you yet again, pressing you to the roof of his mouth. You gag as a bit of saliva enters your mouth and give his inner maw a good kick in response. "I thought you were going to-"
GULP.
The saliva around you gets dragged down his throat; you can feel the pull but are secured where you lay. Well, you were until he suddenly releases you, pulling back his tongue. Azuma chuckles around you and begins to tilt his head back, letting you tumble towards his waiting gullet. Limbs flail against him as you fail to find purchase anywhere.
GULP.
You're squeezed into his esophagus, suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of pressure coming from all sides. You can feel the outline of a massive hand tracing your descent externally, following you down the column of his throat until you disappear past the thunderous rhythm of his heart. You can't kick, you can't squirm; peristalsis forces you downwards like any other snack gulped down by the man. You're stuck. Completely and utterly stuck. Until you feel the tunnel give way to open space and you tumble into Azuma's eager belly.
You hit the shallow pool with a splash, drenching you in fluids and leaving your hair sopping wet around your face. The ground beneath you gives a little, but it's firm enough to sit up comfortably. You glance around, hoping to be able to see something, but you're met with the pink-tinged darkness of Azuma's stomach. The organ clenches tighter before letting out a groan like a great exhalation, trailing off into smaller gurgles. You nearly laugh at the rumbling; maybe Azuma really was hungry.
"I feel better already." The voice booms from above, somewhat distorted but undeniably Azuma. "Thanks, kid."
Oh, how you want to wipe the smug grin off his face. You can't see it, but you know it's there. But you're just dinner. You lean back, collapsing into the liquid until it laps around your whole torso like water in the bathtub. You want to be mad at him, but it also feels… kind of good. A secret you would take to your grave over telling him, mind you.
"I want you to know I really did enjoy our game." The pressure of his hand against his belly pushes into the small space. "So as a gift of sorts, I got you something."
You push back against his hand in response, giving his inner belly a pinch for good measure. You don't trust his presents one bit. Fool me once and all that jazz.
"I got you front-row seats to the finals!" He cackles, "I hope you don't mind that some of my body is blocking the view, but you'll be right there with me while I win."
You pinch him harder.
Azuma grunts, holding his belly with both hands at the touch, making him just the tiniest bit nauseous. "What was that for? I know for a fact past snacks have given the experience five stars!"
The finals. That meant you'd be at least an hour in here. You slump back against him, trying not to acknowledge how nice the pressure of his hands feels. How your breathing begins to sync in time with his.
"Yeah, maybe it is nice, you freak." It comes out as a mumble, words quickly drowned out by the echoing groans of his guts.
Azuma was seated at the table, legs kicked up and shuffling through his deck. The crowd was gathered, some excited for the game, others curious if he'd really eaten his opponent in his last match. His new competitor shook, almost slipping off his chair in a panic. But you could see none of this; you only heard bits and pieces, only felt it when Azuma moved around.
Azuma speaks as he sets up, mentioning which card he puts in the active spot and then what each card is that he flips on the bench. You listen from your spot inside him, wondering why he was bothering to describe his setup to a crowd who can see what he's doing.
Oh.
He was speaking to you.
Your heart gives a strange little stutter in your chest. Azuma wanted you to be able to enjoy the game too. You run your hands along whatever fleshy surface you can find, splashing the warm fluids around you in the process. You want to thank him for it, though you're aware his response would be something snarky. Maybe he'd tell you that you needed to watch and learn from a Champion like himself.
Azuma hums a lot when he plays, something you hadn't noticed from the outside. He also fidgets in his seat, frequently jostling you and causing you to tumble around. As he takes his first turn, you feel the now familiar pressure of his hand cupping the slight roundness of his belly.
You listen to his every word as he attaches energy. His rumbling voice and groaning innards become a constant of your existence. You feel how his body clenches up tighter around you when his opponent does something unexpected, or when he's anticipating an amazing play he's set up. How it relaxes when he's deep in thought. Somehow his stomach is easier to read than his face.
The opponent must have made a decent move because you feel Azuma enter a jittery, excited state. He really was passionate about a good game. You hope this is the game he needed.
"I've put Kyogre in my active spot," Azuma announces before dropping to a whisper that you realize is just for you. "What do you think? Do I play Primal Reversion next turn?" He prods his abdomen, making sure you're listening.
"Huh?" You can't help the surprised muttering as you realize he's asking for input. You blink slowly, nodding. Ah. Yeah, he can't see that. Right. So you go back to massaging him, hoping he recognizes the 'yes.' He chuckles and pokes back.
The next turn: "Primal Reversion, try killing my Kyogre now! Ha!" He slams his hands onto the table so hard it jolts his own body and you inside. Then, as his opponent groans and makes a move, he snickers: "Oh, I didn't take your advice; that'd be cheating. I was gonna do it anyway, just wanted to see if you were paying attention, kid."
Azuma is on game point again; it's not surprising, but this time you actually want him to win. His energy has reached a peak, and every few minutes he says something along the lines of "You play like a senior citizen, I bet your closest friend is an omanyte's grandpa!" Which frankly made very little sense, but none of this did. At least the guy playing him wasn't getting beat up.
Azuma scores, immediately swiping up the final prize card and then swiping his opponent's cards off the table and onto the floor with a guffaw. Though your experience of it consists of the muffled yell of his opponent and the shaking of Azuma's amusement.
You give the side of his belly a hug in congratulations, something that would've been inconsiderable only a few hours ago. That was actually fun.
Azuma makes his way out of the convention center, comically large trophy in one hand and both his and your deck boxes in a bag carried by the other.
"I'd say you're my good luck charm, but I don't need any luck." No, he really didn't. Listening to each and every play had made you appreciate how skilled a player he was. You wonder if he'd let you watch more of his games. Or even… well. Do this again.
Wait. Wasn't he supposed to let you out before he left? You jolt up, kicking at him to get his attention.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you out when I get back to my place. I'll order pizza."
You slump back again, closing your eyes and listening to the murmurs of his body. You were pretty hungry, and Azuma would be too without you to fill him up.
Pizza sounded pretty damn good.