Brightly Burning
A Hikaru no Go Alternate Universe
Disclaimers: Hotta and Obata. Shonen Jump. Not Mine.
Notes: ladyaddiction once again gave valuable insights on this. Also, I'd like to say "thank you" to kamitra as well, since I keep referring to her source information.


Part 7: Sweet Child of Mine

Touya Kouyo was a paradox; he existed in a narrowly focused world, but understood almost everything around him. He accepted life was often beyond his control, and this very acceptance led him to control what he could.

On a goban, he was the one in command; everywhere else, there were events that were beyond even his abilities. Despite his brilliance at Go, he was only a mortal man. One thing he couldn't control, he found to his surprise, was his son, Akira.

Akira had always been a biddable sort of child, as infatuated with Go as his father. He was proud of him, the way Akira had set his sights on surpassing his own self, and privately a bit amused. He could see shadows of his younger self in Akira's attitude, and wanted to encourage it.

As his son's prowess grew into a new legend, a part of him thrilled as he recognized that some day, they might face each other as something more than father and son, mentor and student. Sometimes, selfishly, he dreamt of Akira becoming the rival he had long been without. What a wonderful dream come true it would be, if they could find the Hand of God together.

It wasn't anything he ever told his son, instead offer affection and guidance. He really had no idea if he was a good parent or not, but he did his best. He knew most parents wouldn't understand the way Go was so intrinsic to their lives, but it worked for them - until recently.

Lately his son had become withdrawn and moody, prone to staring thoughtfully into space and a touch of forgetfulness. It wasn't anything he was doing overtly, but Kouyo had recognized an uncharacteristic brusqueness in his manner. He wasn't quite rude, but sometimes he pushed the border of abruptness to the point where people were starting to get annoyed. It was like he just didn't have time to deal with the common courtesies.

Akiko had been relieved by their son's subtle changes instead of concerned. "He's growing up," she announced, amusement dancing in her eyes as they shared tea before dinner, a habit they had developed. For fifteen minutes a day, she had his attention. "Don't you remember being a teenager?" she asked.

Kouyo couldn't, actually. By the time he'd been Akira's age, he'd been a professional Go player. "There is no reason for my son to be acting like a brat," he replied. "Akira has always been exceptional."

His wife shook her head, irony curving her lips. "He's still a normal boy."

There was nothing normal about him, Kouyo wanted to protest. He knew that it would be a battle impossible to wind, so instead let the topic drop, complimenting Akiko on the tea blend she had used. His wife was smart enough to recognize the distraction, but discretely let it slide.

He loved her for that, with a distant affection that he hadn't realized he'd possessed until she gave him his son. Akiko was a woman in a million, understanding instinctively that his role as husband came second to his love of Go. She had accepted that, and in turn he tried to be kind to her. It couldn't have been an easy existence, but she always smiled for him.

Lately, he'd become distracted himself. He really didn't have any high ground to stand on when it came to criticizing Akira's inattentiveness. He found himself wondering more and more if he really was as strong as he'd always believed, or if there was something else out there.

He remembered that game, so few months before, that had changed his life. He still had no idea who Sai was, but every now and then, he'd sneak some time on Ogata's laptop, hoping... but Sai never appeared. Ashiwara had told him that Sai vanished after that game, and it was hard not to feel frustrated.

He had been defeated by a nobody, shaking his foundation. There was someone out there who was better than he was, and he wanted to play that person again. He wanted to know the challenge of Sai. He wanted to know if Sai could show him the Hand of God.

Akiko smiled at him, before patting his arm. "Kouyo-san, could you please see if Akira would like to join us for dinner? It will be ready in about ten minutes." She rose, gracefully gliding back to the kitchen. He took a moment to admire her subtlety.

Akira's room was on the second floor, the most modern room in the entire house, with the exception of the kitchen. His son slept in a bed, and was fond of that "damn contraption" he had on his desk. They'd bought it to help him with his school work, but Akira had quickly found Go-related uses for it. Kouyo approved of that.

He knocked on his son's door, waiting for a reply. None came, and he tapped on it again, a bit louder, before calling, "Akira?"

No answer. He listened careful for the sound of someone fidgeting inside. It would be rude to barge in, but he felt concern start to rise. His son could have fallen, or... or he could just be asleep. "Akira?" he said, his voice projecting the way it did during a Go seminar.

"Come in," Akira said finally.

He pushed the door open without hesitation, entering. His son was sitting in a tall computer chair, staring intently at his screen. Touya was struck, suddenly, by how defined his son's face had become. The comfortable baby fat of his youth had fled, leaving the angles of his cheeks standing out unopposed. His chin had firmed and sharpened, and he wondered when the innocence of his eyes had been replaced by determination.

It occurred to him that Akiko had been right - their son was indeed on the verge of becoming an adult. He wondered why that saddened him.

"What are you looking at?" he asked after along moment of silence hung emptily between them. Akira seemed transfixed by the machine, and wasn't acknowledging Touya's presence. His son had always known how to sit still. Not for him was the fidgeting that many children weren't able to contain. This, though, was abnormal since Akira was a polite child by nature. His rudeness was getting even worse than Kouyo had thought.

"I'm just checking the pro exam results," Akira said after a moment.

It seemed ridiculous for his three-dan son to be interested in the upcoming shodans. Akira needed to set his sights on those above him; Kouyo firmly believed his son would be sitting in a title match before he was eightteen. He'd already entered the Honinbou league.

This distraction, it was not healthy. He had a pretty good idea why it was happening, though. Ashiwara had shown him the kifu from the Young Lion's Tournament the very same night the game had been played. He had been impressed at the skill of the insei, and a bit startled. He'd raised his son to be the best, and seeing another teenager verging on Akira's skill level was startling.

"Is there something wrong, Akira?" he asked neutrally. He had always raised his son to talk freely with him, since he wanted to know what was going on in his son's life.

"He won," Akira said. He turned away from the computer screen, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "He passed the pro exams."

Kouyo hissed slightly in surprise. There was still a few more games before the end of the test, and things shouldn't have been decided that quickly. Akira hadn't been defeated during the exams; surely it was discomforting to see another young pro doing the same. Akira had been the prodigy, and now there existed the possibility that there was someone else his age who might be better than he.

Kouyo opened his mouth to offer reassurances, to point out Akira's own strength and how he didn't need to worry, but instinct stopped him. He saw his son's hands shake slightly, and looking into his son's blue eyes, he realized he had misjudged.

Akira wasn't scared at all. He was trembling with excitement.


The last match of the professional test fell on a Thursday late in September. Outside, the leaves painted the sky with their brilliant colors, but inside the world seemed heavy with gloom. Today was the day that would decide the fate of Honda Toshinori.

Honda and Kanou Yuu, an outsider, were both tied for the third position. If either lost, they would most likely be out of competition. The chances of them both losing were slight, since Kanou was playing a man who had a pitiful 6-23 record. Unless he snapped under the pressure, he was almost certain to win. Honda, though... Honda was playing Shindou.

Shindou had passed the test five games ago, but still attended his matches. A few had joked that it was a waste of the bus fare, but Shindou had merely rolled his eyes. "I like playing," he had said simply.

It was something they respected him for, since many wanted the chance to face someone as strong as Shindou. Waya, though, had dreaded his game - he wanted to win and it was hard not to go into it with a defeatist attitude. He had played dozens of games with Shindou, and had never managed to bring him into yose.

Waya had only secured his position on the last test, and was looking forward to enjoying a low-pressure game against Nase. He was worried today anyway, because Honda was his friend and he wanted Honda to become a pro with him and Shindou. He had the creeping feeling that would be an idle wish.

Waya watched as Shindou put the bento he'd brought away on a shelf designated for lunches. He couldn't tell what he was thinking, not uncommon when dealing with Shindou. His features were the perfect blend of cluelessness and interest he always wore. Apparently he had no idea that today's game was important.

Waya clamped down on the small voice in his head that warned him to stay out of things. He cared about Honda; it was worth at least asking. "Shindou? Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked, leaning his hip against the table.

Shindou nodded. "What's up?" He popped open a bottle of water, taking a long pull, before capping it again.

"I was wondering..." Damn, this was awkward. Another tact was needed. "Shindou, you know that Honda... I mean, if Honda loses today, he'll probably have to give up Go."

"Why would he do that? He can enter the pro exams next year, can't he? There's guys a lot older than he is- or are you only allowed to enter a certain number of times?"

Trying to explain reality to Shindou always made Waya wish he kept a copy of Weekly Go on him so Shindou could be regularly smacked. "Shindou, he'll graduate high school this year. Most insei have to quit or turn ronin. It's nearly impossible to devote enough time to Go."

Shindou sighed, brushing his hand through his hair. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked.

Damn, damn, damnit, thought Waya. He opened his mouth, trying to bring the words out and failing miserably. He knew his body was tense.

Shindou studied him for a second, then turned away. Waya was left staring at his back. "You want me to resign the game, don't you?" His voice carried over his shoulders, and Waya wondered what his expression was like.

"He's your friend," Waya said. "Can't you do this for him, so he at least has a chance?" Would it really hurt, for Shindou to drop one match? He knew how hard Honda had been working, knew what would happen if he lost here. Most likely, Honda would be forced out of Go. He was eighteen, too old to remain an insei.

"I don't know if I'll win or not."

"Bullshit, Shindou. You're going to win, just like you have the other dozen times you've played."

"Waya, each game of Go is different. No one can predict the outcome; sometimes the favorite loses because he's having a bad day, sometimes someone manages to think outside the box enough to come up with something completely unexpected. I don't want to turn down a game because it might just contain the Hand of God." He turned around, and Waya was caught by the passion in his eyes.

"Shindou..." How could he redeem himself? Waya wondered. He had offered grave offense, even under the best of intentions.

Shindou was angry. He hadn't really thought of the younger boy having a serious temper, but right now he looked ready to start spitting nails. "Why are you still playing?" he demanded. "You've passed already, too."

"Because I want to pass with the best record I can!" Waya answered. He wanted to enter as the second-ranked new professional. He felt even worse, if possible.

"So do I." Hikaru's voice was sharp.

"Yes, but this game... it means everything to Honda."

Hikaru shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath. He calmed down noticeably, speaking much more softly. "Waya, I wouldn't be showing any respect for my opponent if I forfeited. Don't you think Honda deserves better than that?"

Honda did, Waya knew. "It's not an even match," he said. "Usually a stronger player will offer a handicap."

Shindou shook his head. "This is not about fair, Waya. It's about Go."

Waya tried not to wince again. "Shindou..."

Shindou moved too quick for Waya to stop, weaving passed the table and into the main room. He had screwed up badly; he would have to hope Shindou would be able to understand, after he calmed down.

"Waya, are you ready?" he heard Nase, who had just entered the room, ask.

"Just a second," Waya said, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Throughout his game with Nase, he found himself distracted, glancing over at the Honda-Shindou game. Honda's shoulders were rigid, and he could almost feel the tension wrapping through the other young man. Shindou's face was intent on the board, oblivious to Waya's inquiring looks.

It took even less time than Waya had estimated. He heard a muffled sob, and watched as Honda slumped forward, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. Shindou remained impassive for several moments, not offering comfort. He held himself tightly, before nodding his head with acknowledgment for his opponent. Honda was crying too hard to notice.


Weekly Go was very much a house magazine for the Go Institute, and made no bones about it. Their offices, the cramped facilities served twice as many employees as was legally allowed according to occupancy restrictions, were always filled with some reporter or other.

Amano was just putting the finishing touches on his piece about the winners of the pro exam. A weekly didn't have the same stress as dailies dead, but there were still deadlines to be observed, and the end of the exam was sadly on the night before printing. They'd saved him space, but that meant he had to produce.

Flipping through the pictures his photographer had taken, he tried to find one he liked. Usually there were just head shots of the new pros, but he'd talked his editor into a larger group image. The buzz around Shindou was such that people were curious about what he was like. A few of the lower dans, like Isumi, had been saying intriguing things to their peers, and Ochi's look of sheer rage whenever Shindou was mentioned raised eyebrows.

He finally selected a shot of the three newcomers sitting on the steps of the institute. The oldest, Kanou, was in his mid-twenties and scrawny, looking much like any Go professional Amano had ever met. He was flanked by Waya and Shindou, who each sat comfortably, leaning against the stairs. Waya and Kanou were smiling - Shindou seemed to be completely indifferent.

It was a good picture, but Amano found it lacking. Shindou looked flat on paper. The film was unable to capture his personality, and while he was a handsome boy, the corona of sheer vitality that radiated around him was so much a part of his appeal wasn't conveyed.

It couldn't be helped, he thought. Amano leaned back in the chair, the wheels squeaking slightly as they protested his movement. Even as a senior member of the staff, his equipment still sucked. He'd have to move up to editor or something to get a chair which was both comfortable and functional. He loved reporting too much to give it up for a desk job, but there were times, especially moments like now when it was pushing eight and he hadn't eaten since breakfast, that he considered applying for management.

He heard the click of good shoes on the floor behind him. It was probably his editor, wondering where the hell his piece was. Hastily he created an email, sending it off so he could claim honestly that it was already gone.

"Working on the article on the new shodan?" A soft voice asked. Amano raised an eyebrow, a bit unsettled that Ogata Seiji was standing behind him.

Ogata wasn't an unfamiliar face at Weekly Go. He wasn't as aloof as some pros, though he tended towards silence unless he had something important to say. More than once, Amano had gone out drinking with the man, and found him to be serious, inclined toward broodiness, and utterly obsessed with Go. His presence this late at night was unusual, but not unprecedented. However, the other three times Amano had met him after business had all been related to big games, and it was an off week in the schedule, part of the reason he'd been able to persuade his editor that covering the new pros was worth a bit more ink than usual.

"Just finished," Amano said. He pulled his glasses off his nose, polished them on the tail of his shirt, before returning them. "How are you tonight?"

"Well enough." There was no scent of alcohol around him, so he was apparently sober. Ogata didn't drink often, but when he did, he was a mean drunk. "I wanted to see the results of the pro exam."

Amano blinked in surprise. "Haven't you been keeping up with the web site?" Ogata was one of the younger pros, and had been known to play a game or two of NetGo. He would certainly be familiar with the institute's web site.

"Haven't checked today. I was curious if Shindou passed undefeated. Aside from Akira, no one's done that before." His hands fumbled in his breast pocket before producing a pack of cigarettes. He held it out to Amano, who slid one free with a nod of thanks, before fishing a lighter out and igniting the tip of one for himself.

"He did," Amano confirmed, before digging out a pack of matches and fixing his own cigarette. They weren't supposed to smoke inside, but he figured he'd be able to use Ogata's presence as an excuse. Wouldn't want to get on the bad side of the Jyuudan, after all. "His opponent resigned halfway through."

"The other boy might have passed if he won," Ogata said thoughtfully. "Aren't they in the same class?"

"Honda's ranked third, Shindou's first. They've played several times, Shinoda said." Amano had been curious about their relationship as well. In Shindou's position, many insei might have been persuaded to show mercy on a friend, but that hadn't happened.

Ogata smiled with apparent satisfaction. "Interesting. Maybe he has the soul of a real go player." The second part was said softly, more to himself than Amano.

Amano shifted on his seat, uncomfortable. Ogata was too highly placed to have reason to care about an incoming shodan, although his point about Touya Akira was an interesting one. Amano had his ear to the ground, and their was no rumor of Akira mentioning anything about Shindou.

"Why do you care?" he asked boldly. He had no right to interfere with Ogata, but he could blame his reporter's instincts for the intrusion. There was a story here, and his insatiable appetite to understand what was happening around him was being thoroughly stirred.

Ogata didn't take offense. Instead, he pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, exhaling smoke that curled around his head like a sinister veil. "All players are ultimately playing for one purpose: to find the hand of god," he said. He tapped the ash off his cigarette into an empty cup that had once held Amano's morning coffee. "Have you thought about the New Shodan series yet?" Ogata asked.

"It's not for a couple months yet." It was not an important game, Amano thought, but he had the feeling that this year, it would be different. Ogata was smiling slightly, in a fashion that did nothing to reassure Amano.

"I'd like to play the brat," he said.

It wasn't unheard of for a pro to make a request like that, usually as a favor to a friend who had a special student. Shindou's sensei, Morishita, wasn't particularly close to Ogata (to be honest, Amano had the feeling he despised the younger man) so that wasn't likely.

"Any reason?" he asked neutrally.

"He has Akira spooked. I'm curious," Ogata said. The smoke curled around his head in thin tendrils before dissipating.

Amano realized that Ogata wouldn't be the only pro to volunteer for that game. Shinoda had mentioned the pros attending the insei sessions, hoping to get a chance to play Shindou. Still, who was he to refuse the Jyuudan? Except for Touya-meijin and Kuwabara-honinbou, there was no player more respected. "I'll see what I can do," Amano said.


Shindou Mitsuko checked the clock on the wall, noting that it was well-past time for her son to be arriving. She had prepared dinner to be served an hour ago, and still no Hikaru. She wasn't sure if she should be worried or irate.

In the last year, she'd completely lost control over him. Hikaru had always been a charming child, if a little denser than she would of preferred. He was always ready to smile, and was cheerful no matter what happened. There had been that incident when he was twelve, but aside from that, he rarely was a problem. She'd heard stories from her friends about how moody teenagers got, but she hadn't been able to reconcile the idea with her son.

Then he turned fifteen, and suddenly she was living with a stranger. It wasn't a feeling she was unused to. Her husband was the stereotype of a salaryman, and she rarely saw him for any extended length of time. She'd grown used to mothering Hikaru, perhaps in compensation for her indifferent marriage, and having him change was shocking to her.

She stared at the table, wondering if she should clear it. She could try Hikaru's cell, but he likely had it off. He was in the habit of turning it off for games, and rarely remembered to switch it back on. She felt helpless and incompetent; a mother should know where her son was.

Finally she heard the ring of keys in the lock, and she hurried to the hallway in time to catch her son closing and re-locking the door behind himself. His hair looked a little windblown, and his face was drawn with fatigue, but other than that he appeared perfectly fine. She felt her temper rise at his inconsiderate actions.

"Hikaru! Where have you been?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips in the tried-and-true fashion of all irate mothers.

Her son didn't seem to notice. He pulled his jacket off slowly, folding it neatly over an arm before looking her in the face. "Sorry I'm late. I had to stay for an interview with some reporter," Hikaru said.

Mitsuko still had a hard time believing her son was interesting enough for the press to care about, but her father-in-law had shown her an article where he had been quoted. He came off brash and overconfident, but Heihachi reassured her that people in the Go world were taking notice of him in a good way.

"You have your cell phone, call and let me know if that kind of thing happens," she said, not backing down.

"Sorry, sorry," he murmured, before lifting his nose to scent the air. "Is that curry?" he asked, suddenly interested.

"Yes, I've had to re-heat it twice, so it's probably burnt by now." She mentally gave herself a shake, deciding punctuality just wasn't in her son's dictionary. "Come on, let's eat."

They took their accustomed places at the table, a spot conspicuously absent where Shindou Masao was supposed to sit. She couldn't remember the last time they'd eaten as a family.

Her son was quiet as he ate, and she wondered how to start a conversation. His face was blank except for the hint of fatigue around his mouth, lacking the animation that had so characterized him. She stared a bit at his face, searching for something to say.

"Did your game go well today?" she asked awkwardly. She didn't know much about Go, although she had asked her father-in-law for some basic lessons so she could better understand her child. The game was complex and confusing, and she wondered how her son, admittedly not the brightest bulb in the box, could do so well.

"I won, which means my insei record was perfectly clean."

"That's good, right?"

"I suppose." He sounded distant, and she noticed he was staring slightly off to the side. He'd fallen in that habit years ago, often avoiding looking people directly in the eyes. No matter how many times she'd lectured him about proper manners, he never had completely let it go, although it had gotten better in the last few months.

"Have you seen Akari-chan recently?" she asked, grabbing at straws.

"A couple times. She came to Tuesday's game to congratulate Waya," he said. "I think they went out for sushi or something."

Mitsuko had always nursed hopes that someday, her son and Akari might decide to start dating, but those had been dashed. Her son had no interest in his childhood friend, despite what both sets of parents had wished. Now Akari was dating someone else, and Hikaru didn't seem to care.

The conversation died again before Mitsuko found the nerve to bring up something that had been worrying her. "I was wondering if you'd given any thought what schools you were going to take the entrance exam to," she said carefully. "Your grades aren't the best, so I was thinking Midoriyama might be a good idea - it's got a good soccer program as well, and they might want you for the team." She had never understood why he had quit soccer, but maybe high school would see a renewed interest in the sport.

Hikaru pushed his dish back, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He stared down at his hands, his expression slightly pained. He didn't say anything, but her parental instincts were screaming something wasn't right.

"Hikaru? Is something wrong?" she asked. "I know you might have some make-up work to do, but I think-"

"I'm not going to high school, Mom," Hikaru said. His eyes met hers squarely, and there was determination written in them.

She stared at him in horror. She had indulged his interest in Go, figuring it might help snap him out of the depression that had set in. "Hikaru! What do you plan on doing with yourself, then?" she asked. "You won't be able to get a job-"

"Mom - I just passed the pro exams," he interrupted her. "My job will be to play Go."

"But... but..." She didn't understand Go. She didn't see how someone could make their living playing a game.

"In a couple months, I should be earning enough to live on my own. We can talk about rent, or..." Hikaru shrugged. "Waya and I talked about sharing an apartment, though that might not happen."

"Rent?" she managed to squeak out.

"Sure. If I win a couple of matches, I'll be bringing home more than dad, so it seems fair."

She felt dizzy. She had known her son was growing up, but wasn't ready to confront the idea that he would be entering the adult world so soon. She was supposed to have three more years with Hikaru!

She remembered hearing the sound of his voice, murmuring late into the night as he played on his computer. She hadn't stepped in, because his grades were stable (although lower than they should have been), and he was happy. Now she realized she had made a mistake.

"Hikaru, there's no reason for you to rush so quickly into the working world," she said. "Enjoy your youth, and take your time." She didn't want him to know the heartbreak of reality, a place she couldn't shield him from. "You'll have the rest of your life to be grown up."

He picked up his cup of tea, cradling it in his hands. "Mother, I want to be the best Go player ever. There's not enough time to learn everything I need to know." He drained his tea. "Thanks for the meal," he murmured, before rising to his feet.

"But Hikaru-"

"It'll be fine, okay?" he said, offering his first smile of the evening. "Trust me."

She heard the sound of his feet as he ascended the stairs, and she sat, motionless. She was scared for her son, and her lack of power to prevent him from making a mistake hurt. All she could do was clear the table, trying to keep her mind blank.

Shindou Mitsuko didn't know her son anymore.