"Hikaru no Go" wo motteinai. Baka na bengoshi wa itsumo kokuso suru. MOTTEINAI! Kiita ka? "Motteinai; Hotta-san to Obata-san ga 'Hikaru no Go' wo motteiru," to itta. Dakara…watashi wo nayamasenaide!

Please enjoy the chapter! This is the longest, I think. Also, if you could please review, do so. After this chapter, only the epilogue is left. (By the way: Has anyone else been having trouble with the site lately? Half the time it says it can't access certain pages...grr. And the asterisks keep disappearing. Oh, well.)

Chapter Six: Touya Akira

He didn't want to watch anymore. Sai's fate had been too cruel. But the dream continued. How much more of this could go on…?

(xxx)

An image faded in: a room in what looked like a traditional Japanese house. There was a futon, a closet (supposedly holding clothes), a desk, many books shelves, and a Go board. A calendar sat on the desk with days crossed off. Three days before the date the calendar indicated, the message "8th birthday" was still readable.

A diffident voice, female, coming from outside the door: "Akira-san. Are you there?"

There was no one in the room. Suddenly, the boy in question emerged from the closet, trying to run and pull on socks at the same time. He looked slightly flustered and glanced at the clock. His expression changed to one of horror: the time was 8:57.

"Akira-san. We have to leave at nine in order to arrive at the Institute on time. Are you almost ready?" the same soft voice asked, almost seeming to hesitate.

"Yes, Mother." The boy hurriedly grabbed a bag from under the desk while straightening his second sock. He quickly ran to the door and slid it open. His mother was there, completely ready (except for the shoes) but patient with her small son.

"Let's go," said his mother. "If we hurry, you won't miss the start of the game."

He could have gone by himself, but this was an important day. His father was challenging the holder of the Kisei title today. He did not want to miss the game, which was set to start in a half an hour. Since his mother knew that many would be watching the match, she wanted to accompany her son, at least until she delivered him to Ogata or Ashiwara, who usually looked after the boy.

They arrived five minutes before the start of the match, which was long enough for his mother to safely hand him over to Ogata 7-dan. Ashiwara 2-dan was also there.

"Hey, Akira-kun," Ashiwara greeted as the boy's mother waved her thanks and departed. "Excited?"

"Yes, very much so. Am I late?" asked the small Akira, looking concerned.

"No," answered Ogata. "Sensei's match starts in…" He glanced at his watch and finished, "Three minutes."

"Oh, Akira-kun, I've been meaning to tell you – the pro test registration is open for this year," said Ashiwara.

"The pro test?" Akira said, looking puzzled. "Why would I take it this year?"

"You're good enough," Ogata muttered. "At least to make it to the upper half."

"Yeah, you're definitely good enough to try this year," Ashiwara said excitedly. "I mean, you beat me one of every five games! That's pretty good."

"But I can never win against Ogata-san or Father," pointed out Akira. "Besides, I am…too young. Mother says so."

"Talk to sensei about it," Ogata said, sounding distracted as he counted the seconds to the imminent game. "Two minutes."

"I think you should try this year," pressed Ashiwara.

"No…my play isn't good enough yet."

"Stop being so humble, Akira-kun! You're good enough!"

"I think I should improve before I take it."

"You'll improve as you take it."

"I shouldn't – what would everyone say? I'm young and not strong enough."

"Akira-kun, how many times am I going to have to say it?"

"Quiet!" Ogata snapped. "Fifteen seconds…"

"He's too stressed," commented Ashiwara. "And he isn't even playing."

"I don't blame Ogata-san. I am apprehensive as well," Akira said.

"Have you been reading those books again?" Ashiwara asked suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Those older books," said Ashiwara. "The ones that my friends in high school read."

"Yes. They're interesting. I really do enjoy them, Ashiwara-san; I've already finished the six that were given to me for my birthday. Why do you ask?"

Ashiwara sighed. "You're old enough. You talk like you're old enough, anyway."

"Why aren't they starting?" Ogata hissed. "They're five seconds late."

Suddenly, a stone was placed on the board. Everyone there (some thirty people) crowded around the tiny television screen in the room that was reserved for those who were not officially taking part in the match.

The discussion quickly began….

(xxx)

"You're going to take it this year, right? Aren't you, Akira-kun?" Ashiwara said.

They were at the Go salon owned by Touya Meijin (and Kisei, and some other title).

"No, I don't think so," Akira said contemplatively.

"I'm sure you're good enough, Akira-kun," Ichikawa Harumi said as she placed two cups of tea beside the Go players. "You're up to one out of four games with Ashiwara-sensei now!"

"Akira-sensei is taking the test this year?" Hirose, one of the older regulars, said as he walked over.

"No, no," Akira said, flushing and shaking his head. "I'm only ten. That's not nearly old enough. And…if I did pass, there wouldn't…."

"Wouldn't what?" Hirose and Ichikawa asked.

"Ah, I get it," Ashiwara said, setting his fist on the table. "There wouldn't be anyone for you to play…not really. They're plenty of guys like me – but Akira-kun doesn't have any peers."

"Peers in strength!" Hirose protested.

"Not in age," Ichikawa pointed out.

Akira was quiet, as usual. People often talked about him in this way, even if he was sitting in front of them. He would not take the professional Go players test this year. His mother said he was too young. He had not discussed it with his father. Akira had decided not to broach the subject, because if his father said he should take the test, he would. Because Father said so, of course – but he still would not feel ready.

He wanted to find something before he turned pro. He was not sure what he was looking for. But there was something. He was not consciously aware of this vague desire, but it was there, and caused his hesitation.

(xxx)

By the time Akira was eleven, he had nearly given up on finding another child like him. Of course, he had never admitted that a rival his age was what he was looking for (not even to himself). In fact, he had even flat-out denied it. But since there was no one, however, he thought that maybe he should do the pro test this year. The final catalyst that caused him to decide to finally take it was meeting another boy – what was his name? He couldn't remember – the boy who had won the Children's Meijin Tournament. He did not compete in such tournaments; his father had said that his strength would discourage other children from playing. Maybe – if those children kept playing – someday….

But the other boy, who had wanted to beat him so badly, had lost miserably. He hadn't been that good at all. And if if that boy was considered one of the best of the children considering going pro, then he himself could certainly pass the test. He would stand someday at the top of the Go world, with Father, with Ogata-san.

So he took the test, with much fanfare and excitement and news but without a single loss. He won game after game once he finally turned pro. He rose through the ranks, and for a while, he was happy. He progressed greatly as he drove himself to improve – improve for the person who never appeared. His imaginary rival – his imaginary friend.

(xxx)

A nine-dan at seventeen. It was nearly unheard of. Everyone was going on about how they were so proud, so impressed, so in awe of the great strength in the new wave coming into the Go world.

Despite his knowledge that he should do interviews and help the image of Go, he hid from those who showered compliments on him the best he could. Often, he would go to his apartment and simply collapse, unable to sleep but equally unable to bring himself to look at anything related to Go – which was practically everything.

He earned more money than he knew what to do with. He had wanted to do something with it, so he had purchased (not rented) the apartment. It was only a few blocks from the Japanese Go Association building. His mother had protested that he was too young and had let him move with the condition that he came home every day for dinner.

He did not eat the dinner, however. He played a game with his father, whom he now faced evenly. He won almost half the time, even when he played white for days at a time. After the game, it would be so late that he would insist on going home, promising his mother to eat once he arrived there.

He never did. He ate breakfast, skipped lunch, and maybe had an apple or rice ball in the late afternoon. That was always enough to carry him through to the next day, and the next, and the next….

He barely had time to complete his homework now. He had decided to attend high school, a decision he partially regretted. But it was an escape. He only attended for one day a week (when he would turn in all the work from the week before and begin to catch up once again), but it was seven hours of isolation. None of the other students spoke to him; none of his own students were allowed to phone him; the only event that he would let interrupt his days was an emergency, and there had never been any.

School gave him an opportunity to think, and today's topic was why is the world so empty. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore. All the games seemed the same – even the games with Ogata-san, and Ashiwara-san, and the title-holders. Only those games with his father in the evenings were enjoyable.

He wanted to play someone. He did not know who. Anyone, his mind sometimes screamed. Anyone who would know me, understand my game – and I his – but that would still be a challenge, a new game, every time.

Something he would have to work for, and keep working for, someone with whom he could play the Hand of God, the Divine Move.

He turned away from thinking and back to his calculus exam.

(xxx)

The days flew by, nothing significant, nothing worth mentioning or living for. Except when his father had a minor heart attack when he was nineteen. He had been afraid – just like a child, he had been so terrified that his father would die, leaving him with nothing. No, he would leave memories and games and teaching, but he would be gone.

After his heart attack, Touya Meijin recovered, then promptly retired. His five titles were now up for grabs. Kuwabara Hon'inbou also retired about the same time. Often, the two older men could be seen playing a game in parks or at Go salons. They went incognito, calling each other by fake names and enjoying themselves. But if anyone actually bothered to watch the game – well, they would simply find a new place to play in peace, without all the pressures of the professional Go world.

By twenty-one, he held two titles. He had first achieved the Meijin, so now he was called Touya Meijin and he kept turning around, looking for his father. He could not get used to it.

By twenty-four, he had four. Every game with his father held the pressure of a title match – sometimes even more so. They played less and less often: the mental strain was too much for both of them some days.

He graduated from college (he had taken only a few classes every semester, resulting in taking six years to complete the requirements for a bachelor's degree). He stopped going to regular school altogether; his days were filled with games, study sessions (still held at his father's house), and teaching his own young students.

And yet it was so empty.

He was doing so much to try to fill his life, and yet…nothing.

One day, he did not have an official game, and the only student who came on Tuesdays had fallen ill and could not come. He had absolutely nothing to do.

He felt hopelessly lost, and went for a walk.

As he walked past the Go Association, he was waylayed by Ogata.

"Good afternoon, Ogata-san," he said.

"Akira-kun, it's been a while," said Ogata. (The man had known him since the moment of his birth and had never called him anything but "Akira-kun." Likewise, Akira never called him anything but "Ogata-san." Their official titles were Ogata Juudan and Touya Meijin – Junior, some said jokingly – but they never used them.)

"Only a few weeks," said Akira.

"My game isn't for a few hours. Sushi?" Ogata asked.

"All right," Akira said. The two walked to the sushi restaurant close to the Ki-in. After Ogata ordered, the older pro looked expectantly at Akira.

"Just water," said the younger.

"Not hungry?" Ogata said, after the waiter had left.

"No." Akira looked out the window. "Not really."

"You should get into the habit of eating lunch," suggested Ogata.

"I never eat between periods in a game. After going pro, all the games are split." Akira still avoided the look he knew Ogata was directing at him.

"You'll have to defend your title in a few weeks," Ogata reminded him. "You do eat between two-day games, Akira-kun."

Akira shook his head. "I don't. No use."

Ogata looked concerned now and began to smoke a cigarette. "Have some sushi," he said.

Akira shrugged apathetically. "Not hungry."

"You haven't been yourself for months," said Ogata. He hesitated before saying quietly, "Is anything the matter, Akira-kun?"

"Why do you and Ichikawa-san and Ashiwara-san all say that?" Akira suddenly exclaimed. "I really am quite well, thank you, Ogata-san. I must be going. You have your game, I have my students." With that, he rose and left.

He was not all right, and he knew it. There was something he could not reach, no matter how many games he played and won, no matter how many titles he had – even games with his father had begun to grow dull and tiring.

He did not know what to do, so he simply returned to his apartment.

Once there, he made a grocery list (soap, rice, miso, socks), checked his email, read online newspapers – anything to keep him busy. Around four o'clock, he finally gave up and took a sleeping pill.

At his last check-up, his doctor had decreed that he was an insomniatic workaholic. He wasn't. He was infinitely glad he had not mentioned the fact that he was hardly ever hungry, because his doctor had made so much fuss about the first two conditions that if he had added a third…he stopped thinking about it. There was nothing truly wrong with him. He was just searching…searching….

(xxx)

Twenty-five. Another title. Another year of nothing.

He could not bear the nothing. He worked harder. He played more and more, loving and hating the game that was the air he breathed, the blood that ran through his veins. He thought that he would never find what he was looking for, no matter how hard he tried. Still, he carried on.

Until the day his father died.

He was in the middle of a game to defend the Kisei title when it happened. He was not informed over the lunch break, but was taken aside after the discussion of the game (and, as the victor, he had to attend to explain his moves) and quietly informed that his father was in the hospital due to another heart attack.

"When?" he asked.

"Earlier this morning," was the reply.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, angry. He would rather have left the game and lost. His father was the only opponent he could truly play now. His childish enthusiasm, his young love from the game, the Akira-ness that he had given up on many years ago when no one had appeared – he could only find it again through his father.

"We – we thought you wouldn't like to be interru–"

Akira turned and ran out the door. He caught a cab, which sped him to the hospital. His father had been in a coma for hours; he died later that night. Akira never had an opportunity to say anything more to him.

Emptiness was not filled, rather expanded by, his consequent despair. The funeral was to be in three days.

He went to his apartment and penned a letter.

(xxx)

There was a fierce storm in three days' time. He had sent the letter two days beforehand. Everything had been arranged. He arrived, barely on time. The funeral passed in a blur. He later recalled nothing, except for a conversation immediately afterwards:

Ogata, Ashiwara, and Ichikawa gathered about him, and his mother was standing a little farther apart, looking forlorn.

"I'll drive you back to the house," Ogata offered.

"We'll come with," volunteered Ashiwara, indicating that "we" also included Ichikawa with a gesture.

"I will go back to my apartment," said Akira, "to get a few things. Then I'll take the train to the house. But if you would take Mother…."

The other three nodded.

"Are you sure you don't want one of us to come with you?" Ashiwara asked him, looking worried.

"No, I'll be all right," Akira said, his voice monotonous. The world was blank and dull and colorless. He did not want to bother with hosting anyone. They would not expect his mother to, but he had always been considered mature enough to deal with everything, even grief.

He was not perfect, or complete. He mused on this as he walked in the rain back to his apartment. The wind was ferocious; the cars in the street were going too fast, in his opinion. He heard on the radio (in a store window he passed) that drivers should get off the road quickly.

He entered his apartment and removed his coat. He was soaked through anyway. He sat on the futon, deciding to watch a bit of television before he proceeded with his shower. Maybe it would distract him…just a little….

He nearly had to squint to see the tiny screen. He rarely watched television, and when he did he never minded the small image. He turned up the volume and heard, "The storm has already claimed nine lives through two separate accidents. In one case, a small van could not see the edge of the road due to weather conditions and fell into a revine. The driver and front-seat passenger were both killed, and identified as…."

He closed his eyes and felt ashamed of himself. For as he heard the deaths announced, he had thought, "My father was more important. That is not on television…." Of course, it had been tragic news in the Go world. The damn Go world that could never satisfy him, could never give him back all that he poured into it – it was all in vain.

"A second accident that occurred fifteen minutes ago involved another van and a red sports car. Some of the rain on the roads has turned to ice. The van lost control due to the slippery conditions and collided with the sports car. The driver of the van and the four in the sports car were killed…."

Akira reopened his eyes and brought them close to the screen. The news showed the close-up of the destroyed vehicles. When the camera zoomed in on the sports car, Akira felt sick.

He had always memorized license plates of those he knew. He had read an article on kidnappings using similar cars to acquaintances when he was six, and had been scared into etching plates into his memory. License plates could not be faked, and every single vehicle that had ever been owned by anyone had unique numbers assigned to them. It had been simple to remember them.

Those plates belonged to Ogata Seiji, holder of the Juudan and Gosei titles.

Nothing was left. Nothing. And he had never found what he was searching for.

(xxx)

The police were searching for the next-of-kin to one of the women killed in the accident. Their investigation led them to the residence of Touya Akira Meijin, a famous Go player, age 25. Since he had not answered phone calls, a detective had decided to stop by the house. He opened the door. A young man lay on the futon in the front room, his hand resting on top of a Go board.

At the Ki-in, Amano, a senior administrator, was sorting through the mail. He picked up a letter from Touya Akira Meijin immediately. That was strange – why would a pro with an enormous amount of influence bother to send a letter by ordinary mail?

The detective quickly called for backup. The police arrived at the apartment shortly. The tears on the man's face were not yet dry, but his body was already cold.

Amano was shocked beyond belief as he read, "I, Touya Akira Meijin, hereby resign from the professional Go community as of this moment."

He had died from an overdose of sleeping pills. There was an empty bottle in the trash. Based on witness statements, he had bought it a week before. He apparently always did, since (according to his medical records) he was a chronic insomniac.

The news was announced. The Go world was stunned. They wondered why, why?

Suicide was never considered. His death was listed under "accidental overdose."

What fools they all were. Maybe the one he had always searched for would have understood. Maybe then they would have been able to play the Hand of God, the Divine Move. But now, finally, it was not be empty. Even death could not be so empty….

(xxx)

Hikaru finally awoke with tears running down his face. He could not ignore this. He rose and went out into the night.

(xxx)

This is, by far, my favorite chapter. It was the first one I wrote, actually. The epilogue is not done yet, and as I'm quite busy, I'm not sure when I'll get it up - but rest assured that I will post as soon as I can! Again, thanks for reading and please review!