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A Lifetime of Competition: Growing Up in Chihayafuru

While watching some sports and competition dramas, I often get the strange impression that nothing in these universes exists apart from the sport or competition they’re pursuing. Every single person in Tennisworld is obsessed with tennis, everyone in Cookingworld frames all of their conflicts in terms of cooking challenges, etcetera. When the meat of your story’s drama and appeal is found in how dedicated competitors clash through some specific mode of competition, it makes some sense for your story’s world to feel a little insular, and for the central mode of conflict to bleed into other aspects of characters’ lives. But in real life, our lives are never all one thing—we balance our competitive passions against our personal and professional lives, and ultimately are forced to make compromises in how the sports we love fit into our larger world.

It’s understandable that a medium and genre so focused on the trials of adolescence would maintain such an all-or-nothing focus—but not all sports shows ignore the wider world. Chihayafuru’s third season has been directly grappling with these questions, as half of its cast start to approach the end of high school, and the other half are already struggling with the trials of adult, or even senior living. The sport of karuta doesn’t discriminate based on age, so long as you’re still able to compete. The most recent arc focused on characters ranging from teens to competitors in their late fifties, all fighting to claim the titles of Master and Queen.

These characters are not single-minded instruments of karuta glory; they are individual people, each with their own life circumstances, yet each united by their passion for the sport they love. Their trials go beyond their efforts to simply be the best, or to work together with some particular group of teammates. As it turns out, when you expand the scope of your characters’ life circumstances, you expand the scope of your story’s overall drama, as well as the poignant questions it can ask. And in Chihayafuru’s case, that expansion of scope has refocused the show on questions that are crucial to any athlete: how do you find healthy joy in competition, and how do you grow up alongside a beloved sport?

The recent Master and Queen tournament arcs have explored that directly, through the contrasting circumstances of the reigning karuta champions and their new challenges. Master Suo, who has reigned as Master for several years straight, is considered an unimpeachable demon of karuta. Yet as we explore his narrative, we find his dedication to the sport comes from a place of deep loneliness and self-doubt. Taken in as a child by a much wealthier household, Suo is guided by the words “be sure to make something of yourself”—to make some value out of himself, rather than pursue his genuine passions. Karuta was simply something he could prove his value through; but as his college education drags on and his vision deteriorates, Suo is finding himself within an increasingly narrow world, and unable to see the person he will be once karuta is gone.

Shinobu, the teenage karuta Queen, seems even more isolated than Suo. Shinobu has never had genuine friends; instead, the karuta cards became her friends, and eventually her source of strength. Shinobu drew strength from karuta, but eventually, her sole focus on karuta led to a rejection of all else, and a disdain for the “emotional weaknesses” tying down other players. But Shinobu’s route has only led to fragility and despair; she might say she doesn’t need attachments, but when she feels abandoned by her grandmother or her few friends, she has no one to fall back on at all.

In contrast, Suo and Shinobu’s challengers seem to both embody a healthier spirit of karuta, while also demonstrating our ability to age alongside the activities we love. Coach Harada missed his chance to become Master back in his youth, and was only able to return to the sport in his middle age, with weak knees and failing stamina. But Harada does not let his physical age get him down; in contrast, he actually embraces the scrappy tactics he’s absorbed over a long lifetime of karuta play, and takes pride in facing off with much younger opponents.

Queen challenger Haruka is actually a former Queen herself, who took off time from the sport in order to raise her children. Now playing with two children and a supportive husband in tow, Haruka lacks the acuity of game sense she possessed as a young challenger. She’s also plagued by doubts regarding her theoretical “selfishness” in returning to karuta, rather than focusing on her new life and demanding children. And yet, when the time for Haruka and Shinobu’s match approaches, Haruka is actually cheered on by her children; rather than distracting her from her passion, they become a source of strength, the bedrock of her competitive spirit.

As we grow older, we gain attachments and obligations that limit our ability to live entirely for ourselves. As teenagers, we’re able to compete entirely on our own terms—but as adults, our time is rationed, and we become responsible to others. But as Chihayafuru sees it, attachments are not weakness—and being groundless is certainly not a strength. Lacking in strong personal bonds, Suo’s motivation is tainted by his obligation to be a “productive adult”—he plays because he has nothing else. Shinobu, as well, is treated as a useless child with one potentially marketable talent; and when the flimsiness of her bonds is revealed, she crumbles into despair.

In contrast, characters like Harada have a support structure that embraces them even in defeat. Whether Harada wins or loses, he has proven to himself that he can still compete—and more importantly, he’s offered inspiration to the hundreds of students he’s trained along the way. Rather than tying him down, Harada’s age and attachments have given him both emotional strength and a vital sense of community. And as one karuta reader tells the nostalgic Haruka, we’re all young from a certain perspective; embrace all the fruits of life you can, because you’re never too old to return to your passion.

Both Harada and Haruka represent a happy vision of aging alongside the sports you love, while embracing all the rambling paths life will take you on. Embracing other passions need not diminish your love for the game; your relationship with a sport may change, but change in all things is inevitable. Harada and Haruka both found communities in the larger world that they brought back to their passion, and their experiences were richer for it. If you make your victory larger than yourself, you can find great strength and comfort in the support of others, and joyous discoveries even in defeat.

Unfortunately, while Chihayafuru’s adult characters have largely graduated into a healthy, emotionally fulfilling relationship with karuta, its teenage leads are still bound by limitless anxieties regarding their karuta performances and personal futures. But that’s how life is, and either way, I appreciate Chihayafuru’s efforts to illustrate the full experience of growing alongside a sport, and the profound vitality of its adult characters. Here’s hoping Chihaya, Taichi, and Arata grow up as gracefully as their karuta seniors!

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Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now, and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

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