Chapter 58

Waya clacked the last stone onto the goban, then leaned back on his palms, grinning at the expression of wide-eyed amazement on Isumi's face.

"White is the man you've been playing at Iwamoto?" Isumi asked, his voice hesitant as if he could barely believe it.

"Yeah, it's him." Waya said with a nonchalant shrug, as if playing a title-level player were a regular occurrence. "Chips?"

Isumi waved the proffered bag away. "Waya... that you could go so far against this player is impressive."

Waya felt his cheeks heat up at Isumi's sincere and unexpected praise: even though he was technically Isumi's "senpai" on account of passing the pro exam a year earlier, Waya had never stopped desiring Isumi's approval. "Well, I still lost by seven moku."

"The quality of a game can't be measured in just moku count, especially not when your opponent is so much more experienced." Isumi gestured to the 3-3 coordinates where White had played a keima with particular effectiveness. "This looks like something Kuwabara-sensei or Ogata-sensei would play. It's hard to imagine this person isn't a pro." Isumi tilted his head to regard Waya contemplatively. "Are you certain that he isn't a Chinese pro on vacation, studying abroad like I did?"

Waya stretched back lazily, wriggling his toes against the tatami as he considered Isumi's question. "Nah, no way he's Chinese. I saw him studying a Chinese textbook once, and why would a Chinese guy need to study Chinese? Anyway, even if he was a Chinese pro, wouldn't he be studying at the Go Association instead of hanging around some little salon? 'Sides, his Japanese is better than mine. He uses all this keigo and crap. Isumi-san. I think he is….Sai."

There was a pause for several seconds as Waya's words sunk in, then Isumi's jaw dropped open. "You don't mean... this is Sai?!"

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"Yep! I'll show you some other games we've played, but yeah, I've got little doubt about it."

Isumi smiled broadly. "I can't believe you just happened to bump into Sai in that salon. I have to confess that I'm really curious about what he's like, after hearing you go on about him so much. Now that he has come back, I might write Yang Hai-san and I bet he'd catch the first flight he could -"

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea right now." Waya interfered.

The smile faded from Isumi's face at Waya's serious tone. "There was a reason you didn't tell us about Sai sooner."

Waya leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Yeah, well, for starters, Fujiwara-san has never exactly admitted to being Sai. He's secretive. Most people don't notice because he's friendly and a chatterbox, but if you ask him questions about himself – like where he lives or what he does - he doesn't really answer the question. And then there's the question of why he hasn't gone pro; he's good enough to take some titles – actually, he's good enough to take any title he wants. He loves go, and he could earn a lot of money playing it. So why not do it unless he wants to stay hidden? Has to stay hidden?"

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"Waya!" Isumi scolded. "You're making it sound like he's a criminal. It's hardly fair to assume something like that on pure conjecture when he probably just has other obligations. And he has to be too old to take the pro exam, with as much experience as he has."

"He's barely older than you! He said he was in his twenties, and he looks it, too."

Isumi blinked, looking stunned again. "A guy our age outread Touya Meijin? I know you're telling the truth, but it's just hard to believe. Unreal." Isumi shook his head. "I feel like I need to start working harder now," he admitted with a small laugh.

Waya grinned. "Well, why don't you come with me to the Iwamoto salon? I'm meeting him on tomorow morning. You're free then, right?"

"Yes... but do you think it would be okay with Fujiwara-san? I don't want to make him uncomfortable."

Waya rolled his eyes. "You couldn't scare a kitten if you tried. Anyway, he'll be thrilled to have a new opponent, and he only gets nervous if people ask him a lot of questions."

"I'd be happy to come along, but why do I get the feeling you've got something up your sleeve?" Isumi eyed the other pro suspiciously.

" 'Cause I always do!" Waya said cheerfully. "People just love Isumi-san. He'll probably just start chattering his whole life story to you before you reach chuuban. Remember that housewife on the train to Nagano? It's like people meet you and suddenly you're their new best friend or something."

Isumi's cheeks flushed bright red. "I think she was just lonely, and you're exaggerating. Regardless, I am not going along with you to pump him for information. I respect his rights to his privacy."

"She shared her homemade cookies with you! And I'm not asking you to pry. Just be yourself and everything will fall into place."

"You're absolutely shameless, Waya," Isumi grumbled, trying and failing to sound disapproving.

Waya smirked. It was mostly true.

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During the train ride to Shinjuku, Waya had warned Isumi that Fujiwara could be a very intimidating opponent. (Well, actually Waya had said "right before he's about to trounce you, his eyes do that psycho cat thing just like Touya!", his fingers curled into claws as he swiped at the air much to the disconcertment of the other passengers). Isumi had just nodded absently; the younger player had always been prone to a bit of exaggeration.

Now that the mid-game clash had begun, however, Isumi was beginning to think that Waya hadn't been exaggerating at all. With his face half-concealed by a folding fan, eyes sharp with anticipation, Fujiwara-san did rather bear a resemblance to a stalking cat. Definitely a predator, Isumi thought after Fujiwara responded to Isumi's last move almost instantly, as if he'd been coiled for the attack during Isumi's entire turn. Despite the apparent haste of the move, Isumi could see that Black's position was brilliant and well-planned.

Isumi found himself shrinking back mentally. It wasn't that Isumi lacked experience playing strong players, but Fujiwara's strength was... in an entirely different class. Black encircled White all over the goban, like hungry lionesses moving in for the kill. Isumi had thought he'd been responding to Fujiwara's hands fairly well, but perhaps he'd just been deluding himself, thinking that he could face Fujiwara on somewhat equal footing since he had studied Fujiwara's kifu.

StudyingSai's kifu was nothing compared to playing him; now that Isumi was facing him, he could sense the true depth of the other man's go.

Isumi felt like he might drown.

His head suddenly felt too heavy for his neck, and Isumi looked down into his lap, eyes unseeing. He hadn't felt so overwhelmed since he'd been struggling to pass the pro exams. Perhaps he'd just been overestimating himself, to think he actually had a chance against a player of such caliber.

But I did pass. Isumi seized that small, warm thought like an anchor. I did pass. Undefeated. I won my Shin Shodan match. I've played many fine players during my professional career, and I'm proud of those games. I'm proud of myself. Of my go.

Isumi lifted his head to look at the board again. The stones were still in the same positions, but somehow the patterns seemed... different. It wasn't an impending slaughter precipitated by a gross imbalance of skill, but instead a dialogue between Black and White, a wordless exchange laid out in stones, each carefully and precisely chosen like syllables in haiku.

It looks like a dance, Isumi thought, a sensation of wonder spreading through him. Yes, Black was definitely the more skilled and experienced of the two; that was undeniable. But Black wasn't executing a plan to ruthlessly dominate the board; instead, Black was responding to White's moves with a delicate sensitivity. Black's patterns were particularly beautiful in the areas where White had played especially well.

Isumi felt his breath hitch: those exquisite patterns on the board were as much a result of his go as Fujiwara's. He glanced up to meet Fujiwara's eyes. The expression in them was no less sharp than earlier, but now Isumi could see another emotion: satisfaction. A genuine satisfaction at a game well-matched.

A tiny smile tugged at Isumi's lips, and he could tell Fujiwara was returning the smile behind that fan. Then the other man inclined his head towards the board in a wordless query. Shall we continue?

Isumi's smile broadened and he answered with a stone, decisively clacking it into a bold position. Fujiwara's eyebrows arched, and Isumi waited for his response eagerly.

As the game continued, Isumi allowed his stones to flow naturally, trusting in his instincts more than the kifu he'd analyzed. Knowledge gleaned from kifu was valuable, but only to an extent. A real conversation wasn't scripted.

When there was nothing left to say, Isumi dipped his head. "Makemashita," he said, feeling simultaneously content and eager to play again. To play an even better game.

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Credits to: Ontogenesis (Desynchronization)