Chapter 1: Calming of Turbulent Thoughts
Touya Akira looked back at the boy who sat silent and unmoving in his seat, both hands clenching a fan that lay across his lap. His head hung over an empty Goban, as if unwilling to let the game end.
"Let's go, Shindou. This isn't the end. There is no end."
Shindou had taken the loss hard. It was not surprising, surmised Akira, as the boy had been simmering in a barely-controlled rage after hearing Korea's first board, Ko Yeong-Ha, slight the legendary Shuusaku. He had taken the opening ceremony's speech as a direct challenge and fought for the chance to battle for Shuusaku's honour on the first board. Personally, Akira hadn't minded the switch, although he would have welcomed the opportunity to test his strength against one of Korea's top pros. No, he had sensed that this battle was somehow intensely important to Shindou, and that Shindou had been willing to take the public outrage and flak at having pushed Akira off the first board position just for the chance. He himself understood this sentiment well ... it was with a similar passion that he had barged into the Kaio Junior High School Go club, despite how obviously unwelcome he was, and insisted on playing third board against Shindou so many years ago. Two years and eleven months, to be exact.
Why am I still keeping count?
Well, since he was obviously still keeping count, it had been three years and ... hmmm ... five months since their first, fateful meeting at his father's Go salon. How things have changed since then ... only the mystery surrounding Shindou remained, as veiled and enigmatic as ever. Their conversation at their first pro match not withstanding, there was a complexity to the boy that he had never been able to fathom.
The answer that he had reluctantly, painfully come up with did not answer anything, only bringing with it an even deeper mystery. Shindou's roundabout confirmation of his conclusion at that time, if even that, only intrigued him more. Despite his pleas and demands, no explanation had been forthcoming. "I might tell you about it someday," Shindou had said then. And though their exchange had deteriorated into childish name-calling soon afterwards, he had felt the sincerity in those words and the strange bond of trust that formed in that strange, strange conversation assured him that that someday would come, one day.
That Sai and Shindou were one and yet oddly separate, there was no question in his mind. He did not want to think more deeply on that; it only confused him more. And now, he had to throw Shuusaku into the pot as well. Set at low heat, stir well, and ...
Argh ... my brain's turning into slush. Stop thinking about this.
A chair scraped against the tiled floor, and he looked back at Shindou. The boy had stood up, fan grasped firmly in one hand and eyes slightly downcast. The loss has pained him, but he will be stronger for it, Akira thought as he waited for Shindou to catch up. It will drive him forward, and that in turn will drive me forward as well. Shindou's first few steps were hesitant, but he soon picked up his pace and straightened his back. Akira turned towards Yashiro and followed the mass of people out of the game room.
Yes, there is no end. The first Hokuto Cup has drawn to a close, but there will be a second, and a third, as long as there are people to follow in our footsteps. Into the far future, indeed ...
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He had lost.
Despite his proud, brash words, he had lost to a guy who held no respect for the incredible genius that was Sai. The bitterness of that defeat gnawed at him, and he raged at his own weakness, his inability to salvage his mentor's – and friend's – honour. If Sai were here, there was no doubt that Ko Yeong-Ha would have suffered a crushing defeat. But only he knew Sai ... Shuusaku's body had lain in a grave for over a hundred years, and Sai's spirit had disappeared almost exactly one year ago – now, the only proof of Sai's existence and indomitable strength was his own Go, and today, his Go had failed.
Hikaru's eyes narrowed.
No, his Go did not fail. He had played his best, and he had lost to a stronger player. It was no different – should be no different – from a loss to Touya, or Morashita-sensei, for that matter. Only his pride was injured – it stung painfully, but he knew this pain well. In his mind's eye, he could still see the furious disappointment in Touya's glare during their match at Kaio Junior High and the off-hand disdain when they came face-to-face again in the summer when Sai made his appearance in the world of internet Go. He had grown rapidly then, and now would be no different.
Sai's Go had taken root in him, and if it had not bloomed in time for this match against Ko Yeong-Ha, it would blossom one day – and that one day would not too late to remind that insolent bastard (very, very forcefully) that Shuusaku's legacy was relevant for the ages. He'd see to it that Ko Yeong-Ha would be sent packing straight for the nearest volume of Shuusaku's kifus.
Loss by half a moku. In a way, it was his near win that frustrated him most. He had been that close to shoving Shuusaku back at Ko Yeong-Ha's face, but he had missed it by a mere half moku. Hikaru tightened his grasp on the fan as his determination strengthened. At the next North Star Cup, he'd make sure it would be an overwhelming victory. A measly half moku win would not be enough for him.
The barest wisp of a breeze brushed against his hair and seemed to push away the oppressive, stagnant weight of the air in the room. Hikaru closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to compose himself for the closing ceremony. He wondered if he was going to be pelted with rotten fruit on the way there. Like it or not, Touya was extremely popular among Go fans, and they would not have taken it lightly that he had forced his way to the first board position. And even if he escaped a furious hail of miscellaneous debris today, the ever loud and annoying Kitajima-san, a regular patron of Touya's Go salon, would make sure to have something overripe on hand for his next visit.
Hikaru's brow furrowed, and he let out a small sigh.
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Akira heard the sigh and turned around to glance at Hikaru with a questioning look on his face.
"What?" Hikaru asked in a low, slightly surly voice.
A pause, and then, "I guess there's no need to worry."
"Why would I need you to worry over me?" Hikaru declared somewhat irritably and looked off to the side.
Akira decided not to take up Hikaru's bait (the current environment demanded a bit more decorum than usual) and continued curiously, "What were you sighing about?"
"You're asking someone who just lost to an opponent he swore he'd defeat what he was sighing about? Are you an idiot?"
A vein throbbed alarmingly on Akira's forehead, but with Japan's dignity at stake, he could not afford to throttle the boy right then and there. "When you sighed," he began in a patronizing tone, "It didn't sound heavy or depressed, so I figure it's probably not about the match itself. Well?"
"Eh?" Hikaru was slightly taken aback by his rival's unexpected perceptiveness. "Well ... I was just wondering whether Kitajima-san would try to pelt me with scrunched-up paper balls during the closing ceremony."
Akira almost tripped in surprise at the reply, while Yashiro whipped around and snorted, "If we weren't on the same team, I'd have whacked you a good one with my paper fan!" He frowned, muttering frustratedly, "A second board getting depressed over losing to one of Korea's top players by half a moku? Damn it, I lost by three and a half moku to their third board!"
Kurata Atsushi 7-dan, the team manager, turned and smiled brightly, "Hong Su-Yeong is one of their top players too. You guys did a good job, for your international debut. But next year ..." Kurata's eyes bulged dangerously, "You must win! I will not tolerate watching that An Tae-Seon gloating on stage one more time, do you hear!"
