Hazo, They Called it the Toughest Footrace For A Reason
The people of this world called it the toughest footrace on Earth. At stake, a million dollars prize money. The challenge was to cross two hundred miles in the scorching heat of the desert. Hazō had never run such a length continuously, not counting running in the air for two hundred miles. It should be a piece of cake. Hazō conjured up appropriate clothing from his storage seal and painted his own number that was not on any tags of anybody competing. Hazō couldn't figure out how to register, but if he didn't cheat and he won this race fair and square then they would have to give him the prize, right?
20 miles in, and he was already huffing and puffing. He planned to run at a leisurely pace for a ninja, but he hadn't anticipated how the heat was beating him down. At this rate, there wouldn't be any water left at the end of the day, and he would have to unseal his pile of water bottles. That would be cheating.
---
A few hours later...
Ahead of him was a black man, running at a measured pace with no sign of pain or fatigue. The cheesy theme song from "Rocky" was being blasted by the support truck in front of him. Not that Hazō knew, as he wasn't a native of this Earth. Pop culture reference escaped him.
"Thank you for your support team giving me water," Hazō said.
The black man grunted. He was a man of few grunts, indeed.
"Without your team's help, I would already be dead last. By the way, what's your name?"
The black man pointed at his shirt, with a giant name tag attached to it.
"Oh," Hazō said. He realized that his own name tag wasn't in English, but in "Japanese", whatever that meant. Hazō could barely read English, even with hundreds of hours of shadow clones spent on language study. Hazō stared at the name tag.
"Daav...ave Groucher?" he said.
---
As the day dragged on, and the temperature rose, the heat was taking a toll on Hazō; his breathing became more labored, and he was barely ahead of the marathoner.
But damn it, he wasn't going to let a civvie beat him! Hazō had been to every environment. He had fought in the street, in the snow, in the air, and everywhere else. He was a member of an elite warrior society. He was taught to endure. He would win this!
---
It was dark and cold, in stark contrast to the daytime's scorching heat. Hazō sat by the elite marathoner and his support team around a fire. Apparently, Dave could speak some words, but he was still a man of few grunts (and words).
"Where are you from?" one of the older women asked. She might have been the marathoner's mother or perhaps some other relative.
It immediately conjured up Mariko, a gregarious globe trotting Japanese Russian epidemiologist who occasionally required a team of commandos including Mr. Kagome to extract her from whatever trouble she got herself in. She must be very important to them.
"Russia", Hazō said. "I am Russo-Japanese."
"That makes sense now!" The woman exclaimed. "There was an autonomous region in this new Russia that was full of Japanese people who rebelled against the mother country." Hazō merely thought about how the Japanese people were apparently all descended from his long lost cousin's clan, the Uchiha. Seriously, Earth was weird.
---
Hazō won. He couldn't believe it! No use of shadow clone or endless pools of water. He did it under his own power! Now he had a million dollars, which sounded like a really big number....and...
"DAVID GROUCHER PLACED FIRST!" the official declared.
"NANI?!"
"You are not registered. We don't allow anyone inexperienced to run an ultramarathon."
"But he beat me," Groucher said. It was the most words Hazō had ever heard from the man
Hazō got a check from Mr. Groucher that he didn't know what to do with yet. Honestly, Hazō felt guilty; Hazō had won with his ninja powers. Mr. Groucher apparently won contests through sheer willpower. Heck, Groucher's support team helped Hazō out even when it was clear that Hazō was winning. That was an act of pure kindness.
