Title: desynchronization.
Part IV of ? (WIP)
Characters: Ogata, Sai. No pairings
currently.
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the
creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just playing
in their sandbox.
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: 16 and up. Mild cursing and sensuality. It's
possible the rating will go up eventually. Also, plot-device amnesia
and resurrection...
Word Count: 6000
Notes: Much thanks to my betas (aiwritingfic and harumi on LiveJournal.)
"2:00 open. Bring Marlboros."
Ogata smirked, then winced. The computer screen seemed far too relentlessly bright and sharp at the unholy hour of eight in the morning. He leaned back in his leather chair, and removed his glasses to rub at his throbbing temples. Usually, Ogata was not a particularly early riser, but he'd dragged himself out of bed to fire off a short query to Doctor Kiyohara's cell phone. He'd simply asked if she had time available to examine a friend; the particulars weren't necessary, not as long as they'd known each other.
Coffee. Coffee would be good. Then a cigarette. And maybe another coffee. His second game with Fujiwara had lasted until 3:30, but it would have undoubtedly lasted longer if Ogata hadn't insisted on an hour and half time limit. The reading of the game at such a level required at least three hours play time for each side, but Ogata had wanted at least some sleep. It was Fujiwara's own business if he wanted to stay up all night, but Doctor Kiyohara would give Ogata a tongue-lashing, since he'd taken on the responsibility of looking after Fujiwara's health temporarily. The good doctor had elevated verbal flaying to an art-form.
In the second game, Fujiwara hadn't pulled off any spectacularly jaw-dropping plays like in the first and his eyes hadn't taken on that peculiar ancient cast, but his strong, elegant moves alone had been sufficient to propel him to a six moku victory, to Ogata's surprise. Ogata had assumed he would have a slight advantage the second time around. His style of go involved a lot of analysis, so he was strongest when he was familiar with his opponent.
Obviously, so was Fujiwara.
Ogata grinned in anticipation. He couldn't wait to play Fujiwara again, and now that he'd made Fujiwara's acquaintance, he'd certainly have plenty of opportunities to play Fujiwara in the future. Fujiwara probably lived somewhere in Tokyo, so it would be convenient for them to meet for games. Ogata just hoped Fujiwara didn't have an extremely demanding boss or a possessive partner. Non go-players were often rather intolerant of what they regarded as time "wasted" playing go; he'd broken up with more than a few girlfriends over that very issue. Then there was the one who'd thrown a handful of stones at him when he'd bluntly stated that he found go far more interesting than her. (Ogata still maintained that she shouldn't have asked the question if she hadn't wanted an honest answer.) Still, as go-obsessed as Fujiwara was, he'd probably manage to make some time regardless of his personal circumstances.
After a few cups of coffee and two cigarettes, Ogata felt satiated and ready to greet the day properly. He showered, then pulled on a pair of white slacks and a dark green shirt to match his favorite leather jacket. Now as for Fujiwara's clothing... the costume had dried, but it still reeked of canal water. And Doctor Kiyohara would hardly appreciate it either if Fujiwara arrived at the check-up wearing five layers of clothing. Ogata took out a pair of jeans that were small in the hips for him, a belt, and a blue button-down shirt. Then Ogata also got a pair of boxers out, quelling the twinge of embarrassment he felt at sharing underwear with another man, surprised to find that even he was a bit of a prude when it came to some things. As for shoes, Fujiwara would just have to make do with whatever pair he could manage to walk in.
Fujiwara was sitting on the couch, eyes still half-lid with drowsiness when Ogata rapped politely on the living room door's frame. Ogata handed him the clothes, and Fujiwara thanked Ogata with a blush and a stammer, his shy manner and expression bearing little resemblance to the intense player who'd dominated the goban earlier.
"After you take a shower, let's eat breakfast. We'll have some time before the appointment, so I was planning to replay some of my next opponent's games. I have an important match coming up at the end of this month, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like your input."
Fujiwara's face lit up as if he'd just won the Japan Jumbo Draw. "Of course! If you think I'd be useful in helping you prepare, Sensei," he added deferentially.
"Definitely. And don't call me 'sensei'," Ogata said, half-heartedly this time. Fujiwara was beginning to remind him of his mother in that aspect, if she thought something was the "proper" thing to do, she'd continue doing it regardless of what you asked. She would just politely pretend not to hear you if you protested. Ogata thought her selective hearing was definitely one of her more useful skills, and he admired it when it wasn't driving him up the wall. One day, Ogata hoped she would bequeath that skill to him, so he could add to his arsenal in the on-going war against Kuwabara.
Soon, old
man. Soon.
Fujiwara was the very picture of
indignation, arms crossed, two pink spots staining his cheeks, nose
upturned.
Ogata couldn't stop chuckling. The way Fujiwara was standing wasn't helping matters any.
"I don't see what is so terribly funny about what I said," Fujiwara said in clipped tones, sounding severely tempted to say something impolite.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of your condition, but... that's the first time I've ever heard anyone refer to a computer quite like that. Your description was just"--Ogata paused, searching for a diplomatic word that might mollify Fujiwara--"unique," he finished, aware that the apology was a little lacking.
Apparently Fujiwara thought so as well. He swatted his folded fan against his palm sharply, his violet eyes flashing dangerously. "'Unique' as in weird, yes? Then Sensei, please explain to me how you would describe this... 'computer' then."
Not as 'that box with players inside,' that's for certain, Ogata thought wryly. Fujiwara had gotten excited when he'd stepped inside the study and spotted the computer, and had proceeded to identify it in the most amusing of terms. His amnesia had definitely damaged his grasp of modern technology. During breakfast, Ogata had noticed that Fujiwara was watching him very carefully as he operated the microwave. Shortly afterwards, Fujiwara had cautiously approached the microwave to reheat his drink. There was something odd about the manner he had touched the microwave, with wariness yet not complete unfamiliarity, almost as if he had never actually operated one himself. Like he'd only seen microwaves on TV or something. Assuming that Fujiwara knew how to operate a television; Ogata wasn't quite ready to discount his latest outlandish theory, which was that the man had been raised in monastery with robe-clad, go-playing monks and no contact with the outside world. Although that wouldn't explain how Fujiwara had been able to wreak havoc online as s a i.
Regardless, Fujiwara's pride was injured, and Ogata wanted his help. So he gave Fujiwara a concise explanation about the computer and the Internet along with a visual demonstration.
"Ah," Fujiwara said when Ogata finished, looking pacified. He pointed at the modem cable with his fan. "So if you take that cord out, then you can't talk to other players anymore."
"Precisely." Pleased, Ogata nodded. He hated explaining himself twice. Some go players' intelligence didn't extend beyond the goban (there was one notable Korean pro who hadn't bothered to learn to tie his shoes until his late teens), but obviously Fujiwara wasn't one of them. His fractured memory just meant he was lacking reference points for the time being. "Would you like to try?" Ogata stood up and gestured to the seat. It would be interesting to see if Fujiwara retained computer skills without the memory of having them, just like his go skills.
Fujiwara leaned forward, regarding the computer with a mixture of eagerness and caution, but then he remembered the sheaf of kifu Ogata had printed out. "No thank you, not right now. May we play go instead?"
"Of course." Ogata handed the kifu to Fujiwara. "These are my opponent's kifu. His name is Kurata Atsushi. He's a relatively new pro, but talented, and we've played each other frequently so he's familiar with my style. I'd appreciate it if you would review these, then play a game with me the way you think he would play it. I want to determine if there are weaknesses in my game that he could exploit."
"Mmm, yes." Fujiwara nodded absentmindedly, intent on the kifu as he sank to the floor, settling into seiza.
Ogata watched as Fujiwara pored over the kifu with an expression of intense concentration. All successful pros had strong concentration skills, although of course some were better than others. (One of Ogata's favorite memories of Touya Meijin was the time his sensei been playing in a match and hadn't realized the fire alarm had been ringing for a good solid minute. The puzzled expression on the Meijin's face when he finally noticed people scrambling for the door had been priceless.)
The task Ogata had requested of Fujiwara was by no means a simple one; most players simply weren't capable of imitating another player's style for an entire game, but Ogata had little doubt that Fujiwara was quite capable of such a feat. Not after that second game. Ogata was well aware of the quirks and habits that manifested in his personal playing style, but they weren't "weaknesses" that could be exploited; Sensei had pounded any of those out years ago. But by the time they'd reached mid-game, Ogata had been seized by a thrill of dread and admiration: Fujiwara was reacting to his moves with an uncanny accuracy, as if Fujiwara were reading his mind. Fujiwara had already assimilated some of Ogata's idiosyncrasies, and he was wielding that knowledge against Ogata with cunning. Not all of Ogata's plans, of course, but enough to give Fujiwara a lead which he easily maintained throughout yose.
Ogata had known of s a i's ability to adapt quickly, but experiencing it first-hand was a completely different matter. There was a website dedicated to s a i 's kifu, maintained by a Chinese player who went by the handle old man 'n' sea. Ogata had studied the site carefully: old man 'n' sea had painstakingly scraped together ten reproductions of games known to have been played by s a i during his short-lived NetGo career. Ten was a pitifully meager number compared to the actual number of games s a i was rumored to have played. The absence of so many kifu meant that reading all of the kifu together for an overview of s a i's phenomenal development was akin to watching film footage with key scenes missing: it was jerky and sporadic, with inexplicable results. When Ogata had analyzed the kifu, he'd marveled at the difference between the game played against Touya Akira, and the game against Touya Meijin. Both were excellent games between extremely talented players, but the contrast between the levels of play was striking.
That a player could progress so far in only a year was incredible, but not completely unheard of. There were several child prodigies in China and Korea whose play had experienced rapid bursts of development as they'd matured. For an adult, such rapid progress was not quite as common, although not impossible, Kurata being a chief example.
But Ogata had never fathomed that any player,
even s a i, could be capable of such progress after just one
game, without even any downtime from the previous game to mull the
outcome.
There was no doubt in Ogata's mind now that s a i
- Fujiwara – was a go genius in the purest sense of the phrase. The
man was an absolute monster on the board.
Said monster looked up then, beaming as if he'd just unwrapped a particularly nice gift. "His style of play is quite intuitive! Kurata-sensei also has very interesting ideas, and the strength to execute most of them," Fujiwara reported. "How long do you have before your match with him?"
Ogata did some quick math. "Today is May 6th, and the match is on May 29th. So a little over three weeks."
Fujiwara's eyes sharpened and glinted behind his opened fan, and Ogata thought of a sleek jungle cat, tracking its prey from the shadows. "That's plenty of time."
Perfect. Fujiwara had just agreed to coach him for several weeks, and Ogata was very glad Fujiwara was instructing him and not Kurata. Kurata had a nice surprise coming to him. That Gosei title was going to be his again.
Fujiwara hadn't said much since they'd gotten into the Mazda, instead preferring to stare out of the window, wide eyes drinking in the sights they sped by, and his nose pressed up against the window like a little boy.
Ogata would have to Windex the smudge later.
A memory of Touya Akira at three years old flitted through Ogata's mind. It was afternoon, cicadas droning lazily in the summer heat. Akiko-san had gone back into the house to fetch something, so Ogata had stayed in the driveway to keep an eye on Akira, strapped into his little car seat. Ogata had been impressed that the boy had not cried or squirmed, but had merely stared through the window, bright little eyes absorbing every detail, as intent as if he were studying the goban. He'd always liked Akira-kun.
Ogata slipped a Grace Jones CD into the player. Her voice wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, but it was warm and mature.
"You know... English?" Fujiwara asked several songs later.
"Yes," Ogata replied, not explaining that he'd learned English from his mother since he didn't want to answer the inevitable questions about her.
"Ah, Ogata-sensei is very talented," Fujiwara said, but his eyes were distant, as if he were combing his ruined memory.
Probably trying to remember if he knew a foreign language, Ogata thought with a trace of sympathy. He couldn't imagine not knowing anything about himself.
They pulled up to the clinic a short time later. It was a small neighborhood clinic with an unremarkable but respectable brick facade and a white door. Fujiwara stayed unnecessarily close to him as they went inside, just maintaining enough distance to not trip over Ogata's heels. The receptionist, a young woman with a pretty smile, handed Fujiwara a clipboard and pen with a medical questionnaire.
Fujiwara settled into an armchair, frowning as he filled in the date, his last name, gender, and that he was right-handed. Under complaint, he wrote "I can't remember anything" in an elegant calligraphy. "The doctor won't be angry, will she?" Fujiwara whispered, gesturing to the mostly incomplete questionnaire.
"Of course not," Ogata said. "Besides, it can't be helped."
A sheepish-looking teenager with an arm in a sling entered the reception room then. He was ushered by Dr. Kiyohara, who was dictating a list of instructions to the boy in her raspy smoker's voice. Her dark hair had gained several additional streaks of gray since his last visit, Ogata noted with amusement. He'd definitely have to mention it to her.
"Absolutely no sports for six weeks, not even running laps. If you jostle your arm, your bone might grow back funny. Mutant-like, if you catch my drift. Young ladies don't like that at all." The boy's head bobbed up and down in acquiescence as he paid the bill and exited the office with haste. Doctor Kiyohara watched him scurry out of the driveway, her smile almost grandmotherly as she turned to her receptionist. "Kanako-chan, the baseball coach at Tosei school is Suzuki-sensei, isn't it? Call him up, and tell him I'll have his pitching arm for my lunch if he lets that boy even look at a baseball," she said cheerfully.
"Yes ma'am," chirped the receptionist, already dialing a number.
Fujiwara clutched the clipboard to his chest like a shield. "Scary!" he mouthed to Ogata.
Doctor Kiyohara's piercing gaze honed in on them like a hawk locating its prey. "Ogata-kun, you're three months overdue for your physical," she said, her lips pressed firmly together in mock-disapproval.
Ogata stood up, bowing slightly. "I'm afraid I've been rather busy defending my title."
"That's no excuse to neglect your health, young man."
"I can't argue with your mature wisdom." Ogata was unable to suppress a smirk, and Doctor Kiyohara's eyes glimmered with pleasure at the come-back. "Doctor Kiyohara, this is Fujiwara-san. Fujiwara-san, this is Doctor Kiyohara."
Fujiwara bowed gracefully. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Please regard this one favorably," he said, his voice sincere and clear.
Doctor Kiyohara's gaze softened as she returned the bow. "The pleasure is mine. Well, let me see what we have here." She took the clipboard. "Amnesia, hmm? Well, I'll just have a look at you and see if there's anything we can do," she said, patting Fujiwara on the arm. "Ogata-kun can wait here until it's his turn."
Fujiwara cast Ogata an anxious look over his shoulder as he was led past the reception desk, so Ogata gave him a reassuring nod, feeling vaguely out-of-sorts. Ogata wasn't accustomed to playing someone else's support.
Ogata was halfway through the April edition of National Geographic when Fujiwara and Dr. Kiyohara emerged from the back rooms, Dr. Kiyohara speaking in the amused tones she always used to tell stories: "...so then he learned to play with his left hand because he kept dropping the stones with his right, and he was too impatient to just wait for his fingers to heal. And then he'd pull the cutest pouting face because he didn't like using his left hand." Fujiwara glanced in Ogata's direction, hiding his mouth behind his hand to conceal laughter, and Ogata narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"You're telling stories about me again, aren't you?"
"Oh, but you were such a cute boy, Ogata-kun." The doctor sighed. "Then you grew up and grew cranky."
Ogata chose not to make a comment about her growing up and growing gray since she was about to drag him off for his overdue physical. Maybe he was "cranky," but he wasn't stupid.
Dr. Kiyohara turned to Fujiwara. "You should be able to take off that bandage by dinnertime." Fujiwara's left sleeve had been been unbuttoned and pushed up to make room for a thick gauze wrapping around his bicep. She handed him a card, which Fujiwara took with bow. "I'm referring you to Dr. Yamada for that MRI, but if you have any questions or start feeling ill, feel free to call me. Or if you want to hear more stories about Ogata-kun," she said with a wink that promised that she had plenty of embarrassing ones stored up.
Fujiwara and the receptionist shared an identical expression of delight, which Ogata knew would only encourage the doctor – fuel to the fire, so to speak -- so he swiftly made his way over to the counter before she had the chance to start another tale. "I'm surrendering myself to your hands," Ogata said with an air of long-suffering.
"Ah, so soon?" Dr. Kiyohara made a moue of disappointment as she took his patient file from the receptionist. "Fujiwara-san, please make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing towards the waiting room. "I'll try not to keep him too long."
"What are his chances of a complete recovery?" Ogata asked as soon they were inside of the examining room, well out of earshot.
"Your health first, then you can fret over your friend," Dr. Kiyohara said, not bothering to look up from the medical charts she was leafing through. She stopped on the last completed page and clicked her ballpoint pen out. "How have you been eating lately? Not too much of that rich hotel food, I hope."
"I've been eating salads or vegetables. For meat, mostly fish or chicken."
"Exercise?"
"Usually jogging or running a few times a week. I alternate with working out."
The doctor nodded with satisfaction. Although she hadn't said as much, Ogata knew she'd worried more about his health ever since learning about the Meijin's collapse. Of course Ogata wasn't related genetically, but Dr. Kiyohara was a strong believer in "social illnesses." The theory went that people who spent large amounts of time together often shared similar eating and exercise habits, and experienced similar stresses, so they were more likely to be vulnerable to the same illnesses. Doctor Kiyohara didn't approve of the "go lifestyle": competitive, high-stress games that involved long hours of sedentary activity, lots of traveling, and smoke-filled go parlors.
"Any new medications?"
"Only the occasional aspirin. Usually after a long match."
"Alcohol use?"
"The usual. Social drinking. Or a beer after dinner occasionally."
"How much are you smoking now?"
Oh, that was always the fun question. "Most days I'm down to half-a-pack." Unless he was stressed, in which case he tended to chain smoke.
Dr. Kiyohara peered at him from over her half-moon spectacles. "You're well aware of the dangers of smoking by now. We both know exactly how we're killing ourselves. But as long as you're informed, that's what counts." She laughed with a rasp Ogata suspected was intentional. He'd definitely have to quit if his voice started to take on a hoarse quality. The thought of sounding gravelly like Kuwabara was something his pride couldn't tolerate.
She weighed him and took his blood pressure, and then patted the exam table. After he was seated, Dr. Kiyohara checked his heart and lungs and lymph nodes. Then she shone her flashlight into his mouth and ears, nodding to herself.
"Well?" Ogata asked when the doctor turned away. She was prepping a needle, he realized unhappily. He'd never managed a visit without getting pricked at least once.
"Disgustingly healthy, Ogata-kun. Despite your best efforts to poison yourself, your lungs sound clear as a bell and your heart is in good shape too. I pronounce you fit for at least a few more title matches."
"Then why do you have to stab me?" Ogata eyed the needle unhappily as she swabbed his arm with disinfectant.
"Routine cholesterol check, dear. There are some things even my x-ray eyes can't detect. Sometimes people have high cholesterol even if they eat right. Anyway, don't whine. You're only getting pricked once. I stabbed your friend four times and he didn't even flinch."
"Four times? What warranted such wanton sadism?" Ogata arched an eyebrow mockingly in lieu of wincing as the needle pierced his skin.
"Obviously, your amnesiac friend doesn't recall if he had his booster shots as a child. Although even if he did, adults need to have their shots updated. I gave you your new round of diptheria and tetanus shots last year, remember? I also gave Fujiwara one for pneumonia since he was floating around that filthy waterway." Dr. Kiyohara pulled a face as she bandaged Ogata's arm. "He's going to need to be monitored carefully for any signs of a fever. If he develops one, I'll have to get samples of that water." She scribbled a few notes into the chart, then snapped it shut. "Well, all done, Ogata-kun. Let's go into my office and chat. Since we can't destroy our lungs in my examining room."
Dr. Kiyohara's familiar office (or "the war room" as she had affectionately dubbed it) was small and cluttered with books and medical journals, except for her walnut desk, which was meticulously clean. There was a small, stylish laptop perched on the desk.
Ogata handed the doctor the Marlboros, offering her a light before pulling out his Larks. He took a calming drag on his cigarette. He'd never admit it, but receiving shots always stressed him out. "So we've established that I'm going to be around at least long enough to pry the Honinbou title from that old man's grasping hands. How about Fujiwara?"
Dr. Kiyohara blew out a ring of smoke towards the ceiling, then regarded him thoughtfully from behind her spectacles. "He told me about your little medical tests last night. Not bad, Seiji-kun, but you still flunk out of medical school."
"Oh?"
"His amnesia is bad. Truly, shockingly bad. I've dealt with a few head injury cases during my practice, mind, but nothing on this level. You ought to have taken him to a hospital for a scan last night after realizing he couldn't even answer the most basic questions about himself." She fiddled with her cigarette. "But to be fair, I don't think it would have made a difference."
"What do you mean?"
"His amnesia, as far as I can determine, is not related to whatever accident he had in the canal. If he had drowned enough to damage his brain that severely, he'd almost certainly be displaying some signs of motor impairment. His lungs would have some sign of damage. But he said he didn't have any problems breathing last night, no coughing, no wheezing."
Ogata nodded. "His voice was hoarse, but that was it."
Dr. Kiyohara blew out more smoke. "Then there's the question of how he ended up in the canal in the first place. Most drowning accident victims are children – the parents forget to lock the gate to the pool, or Junior decides that dunking his head in a bucket of water would be really fun. The next vulnerable group is young males, teens to early twenties. Usually, alcohol or drugs are involved. Or some sort of water sport, like diving off cliffs. But if he'd injured himself in a sport, he'd certainly have detectable injuries like broken bones or bruising. He said he wasn't drinking either, and he seemed puzzled when I asked him about drug usage."
"He wasn't high or drunk when I found him last night," Ogata said. "I wouldn't have let him get in my car if he had been."
"I didn't think you would, as fond as you are of your baby. Still, I'll know for certain if he's used drugs within the last three months."
Ogata couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "You took some of his hair for drug testing?" Hair was the only body part that could provide a record of drug usage for such a long window of time.
Dr. Kiyohara didn't bat an eye. "Well, I didn't tell him it was for drugs per se. But I have to know who Seiji-kun's keeping company with. If a crazy druggie hurt you, your mother wouldn't invite me over for dinner anymore. She's a much better cook than I am, too."
"Fujiwara is not a crazy druggie. Odd, but not 'crazy.'" Ogata said, defensive about his judgment. And because his mother's name had been invoked.
"A hard drug habit would provide me with a convenient explanation for his memory problems, and his wandering into a canal. But I'm inclined to agree with you. He doesn't fit the profile."
"What do you mean?"
"Physically: no needle tracks, no evidence of sudden weight loss or gain, no problems with coordination. But more than that, he's obviously been well-cared for. There are exceptions, but usually people with good support don't turn to hard drugs. Or if they do, Mommy and Daddy have deep enough pockets to pay for rehab."
Ogata leaned forward and pushed at the bridge of his glasses. He himself had pegged Fujiwara as the sheltered sort, but he was interested in the doctor's reasoning. "How can you determine that?"
Dr. Kiyohara waited before replying, taking the time to cross her legs and adjust her chair. "His posture, for starters. He carries himself like a prince; I didn't see him slouch once. He's also extremely polite; he was speaking to me in keigo the whole time. Most young people don't know keigo, but his is flawless. He's obviously been educated, as well-spoken as he is. Then there's that handwriting of his. I'm guessing a traditional family." Her lips quirked up. "Did you really think he was a woman at first?"
Ogata managed to maintain a cool gaze. "I told you his voice was hoarse. And some women have deep voices. Regardless, how does Fujiwara being from a 'traditional family' help matters any?"
The look Ogata received informed him that he was missing something painfully obvious. "His family probably filed a missing person report as soon as possible, maybe even hired a detective."
"He's an adult. What makes you think they would have noticed?" Ogata asked, thinking about his own situation. He usually tried to meet with his mother for dinner at least once a week, although sometimes it was every other week. If he were to suddenly disappear, it was more likely the Go Association would notice his absence first if he missed scheduled matches or teaching sessions. But they wouldn't probably wouldn't contact the police for quite some time.
"That kind of parent notices," Dr. Kiyohara said decisively, "and I seriously doubt he lives by himself." Her expression became thoughtful. "You'd think that with that sort of amnesia, he'd be feeling just a teeny bit paranoid because he doesn't know anybody. How do you know who you can trust if you can't remember anything? But he's still open and friendly, didn't get defensive about any of my questions. That's the sort of trusting attitude that you only get when you've grown up sheltered and haven't been exposed to the 'real world.'" She shook her head. "Fujiwara-san seems bright enough, but he's not in the right state of mind to be making medical or legal decisions for himself. He needs a guardian. So take him to the police station. It shouldn't take them too long to search their records for missing young men with the last name Fujiwara. Mommy and Daddy can take him to his MRI appointment."
"I didn't think it would be necessary to involve the police. I had expected he would have started remembering things by now. Like where he lives."
"He's really not your problem, dear," the doctor replied. "Although the case itself is interesting. I'll definitely be interested in the results of that MRI scan."
The reluctance Ogata felt must have shown on his face because Dr. Kiyohara smirked and waved a teasing finger at him. "Ah-ha, so you are attracted to him. I'll admit I was curious as to why you were taking such an interest in a complete stranger – you even lent him your clothes."
Ogata pinched at the bridge at his nose. Dr. Kiyohara was aware that he occasionally preferred men because he'd hardly thought it wise to be less than frank about his sexual behavior with his doctor, and her advice was sound. Although she had been a very close friend of his mother for years, Ogata knew Dr. Kiyohara would maintain professional confidentiality and respect his decision that his mother did not need to know. On the other hand, as his friend, she enjoyed ribbing him about his relationships on occasion, real or perceived. "I just met him last night. We're not 'involved.' But he does play go. Very good go."
The doctor took a drag on her cigarette as she mulled his words. "You're the Juudan. Coming from you, that's quite a compliment. Exactly how good are we talking? Amateur level? Professional level? I've never seen him in Go Weekly." Dr. Kiyohara only played go casually, but she had taught Ogata go when he was a child so she would have someone to play. Then, when Ogata had started beating her regularly after just a few months of play, she had introduced him to a doctor who competed in amateur contests. That doctor had recognized Ogata's skill and encouraged him to go pro. (Dr. Kiyohara had groused later that she wouldn't have introduced them if she'd known the outcome of the meeting would be Ogata choosing go over medical school. Eventually, however, she'd grudgingly accepted Ogata's career choice, and purchased a white suit for him to wear to his shodan match, stating that she'd have him wearing white one way or the other.)
"He's not a professional. But I'm certain he's the one who beat Touya Sensei when Sensei was hospitalized and playing NetGo."
Dr. Kiyohara's eyes widened. "Damn," she said finally. That match had become a legend among go players. "He's such a young man. I had assumed Meijin's opponent would be at least as old as he is. Still, knowing that doesn't help any, does it? I heard s a i always maintained anonymity."
Ogata nodded. "I was never able to dig up any useful information on s a i myself. But Fujiwara might not even remember how to use a computer, judging from his reaction to mine. How old you think he is, anyway?"
"Legal," said Dr. Kiyohara with a grin that would shame the Cheshire Cat. "It's difficult to guess age precisely – some people age badly, others well. But I'm supposing his early twenties. He doesn't have lines on his face, and he's got the hands of a young man."
Feigning disappointment, Ogata asked, "Is that the best estimate modern medicine can give us?"
"Unless you want to, say, grind down one of his teeth and send the enamel off for radioactive testing. Then we could determine his age within two years accuracy." Dr. Kiyohara pointed her chin towards an issue of Nature on a table. "It's amazing, the things they come up with nowadays. But I'm quite certain he's under thirty."
Ogata met her measuring gaze evenly. "Is that so?" he said, puffing on his cigarette nonchalantly as if that age had no particular significance.
The doctor arched an eyebrow. "If I know you, Seiji-kun, you're caught up with thinking about how you can use him to improve your go. Which isn't a bad thing in itself, but the situation is more complex than go. You're dealing with a person who is vulnerable right now. I just don't want you to get involved in something... messy."
"I know. Thank you for your advice. I'll contact the police if he hasn't remembered anything by tomorrow," Ogata said, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray before getting to his feet.
"It's the best decision."
Dr. Kiyohara followed him to the waiting room where Fujiwara was listening intently to the receptionist chatter about the pictures of her children. Ogata paid the bill while Dr. Kiyohara made Fujiwara promise to play a game of go with her sometime. "I've heard you're quite talented," she said, and Fujiwara blushed and protested modestly.
"I thought the doctor was a little scary at first, but she is actually very nice," Fujiwara said when they were inside the car. "And she gave you a cute bandage for your arm!"
Ogata cast a baleful eye at his bandage, noticing that the good doctor had seen fit to slap an unnecessary bandaid over his gauze wrapping. It was decorated with a small, glittery bear with a tear in its eye and a bandaid over its furry ass. "She has a wicked, perverse mind," Ogata muttered under his breath, peeling off the offensive object and handing it to Fujiwara, who promptly put it on his own gauze wrapping with relish.
But ignorance was supposedly bliss, so Ogata decided he wouldn't divulge the details of the "war room" conversation with Dr. Kiyohara, especially since the doctor was currently the only other person Fujiwara knew. No, that receptionist made three. Three people made up the sum of Fujiwara's human knowledge. Ogata glanced at Fujiwara out of the corner of his eye after he merged the car into the afternoon traffic rush. The other man was angling his bandage in the sunlight so the glitter sparkled, his expression one of contentment.
Ogata thought then that perhaps he ought to pity Fujiwara, but the other man was smiling.
Thanks for reading! Reviews and constructive criticism are really appreciated. When I am stuck or uninspired, I like to reread your feedback. :)
Notes:
hai yang ocean.
Aiwritingfic has pegged Yang Hai as the type to like puns, so hence
the handle "old man 'n' sea."
A Korean pro who hadn't bothered to learn to tie his shoelaces: based on what I read about a real professional go player. ;;
I made a mistake and forgot that Ogata had actually won the Gosei title in 2001 along with his Juudan title. So in this story-verse, Ogata lost his title in 2002. So he definitely wants it back now, which is why he's so very determined to beat Kurata.
Ogata has been studying with Touya Meijin since before Akira's birth. This is stated right before Akira plays against Ogata in a Honinbou match in the manga.
Ogata has a Grace Jones poster in his study in the manga. She's an extremely interesting person.
Ogata knowing English - as best as I can determine from reading the Viz English translation, Ogata speaks some English at the Young Lions' Tournament. I went with that in my story because knowing English is considered a mark of urbane, sophisticated person in Japan. Sai doesn't know English since he and Hikaru slept through Hikaru's English classes, but he does recognize the sound of it.
Every doctor's office should have copies of National Geographic. It makes waiting less painful.
I researched all the medical information I used. If you see something I managed to get hilariously wrong, let me know.
If you hadn't guessed, I don't care for smoking (although Ogata manages to make it look very sexy, I'll admit.) Japan is the land of secondhand smoke. Most of the no-smoking sections in restaurants and coffee houses are a joke.
There is indeed a doctor who plays amateur go very well in Japan. He's been Japan's representative at the World Amateur Go Cup several times.
Radioactive tooth dating: this is fascinating new science is being used to date the ages of unidentified bodies. Basically, nuclear testing increased the amount of carbon-14 in the atmosphere, and it shows up in one's tooth enamel. The levels of carbon-14 in one's teeth correspond to the year a person was born. However, the technique doesn't work if you were born before 1943. So it wouldn't work on Sai. XD!!
Under thirty: In Japan, you can take the test to become a go professional until you turn thirty.
Regarding Sai and his behaviour
towards technology: I don't think Hikaru took the time to explain
modern technology to Sai, so for more complicated things – like the
Internet – Sai doesn't have the best understanding, although he's
certainly interested. Example: Volume 4, Game 31:
Sai: "It's
so odd. How does this box allow one to play Go against different
people?"
Hikaru: "I told you not to ask me."
Also, Sai's memory is obviously not helping matters right now.
Sai probably doesn't have a grasp beyond what he would know from
direct observation (and there is a difference between "seeing"
and "doing.") This actually ties into my title -
desynchronization because Sai is out of sync with the modern
world. He has to adjust.
