Chapter 60
Fujiwara gradually became more open about himself during the following meetings, his initial reserve fading as he played more games with Isumi and Waya. The things Fujiwara chatted about were mostly inconsequential: what his fish had been doing, fascinating things he'd seen around Tokyo, and an old Chinese lady he seemed to adore (but whom Waya thought sounded frankly terrifying). All of these tales were related with a lot of unnecessary detail, but Waya still listened with particular attentiveness, waiting for the inevitable slip-up. In Waya's experience, the bigger the lie, the harder it was for the fibber in question to maintain the lie over time.
Yet the more Waya learned about Fujiwara, the more Fujiwara's claim actually seemed to make sense in a weird way. It wasn't really anything Fujiwara had said, but rather the way he acted around other people. Sometimes the other customers would start chatting about non-go related things, boring crap like mortgages and health insurance and politics, and Fujiwara would become uncharacteristically quiet, mostly just listening and nodding, and only responding with a generic, noncommittal answer if asked for input ("It certainly seems that way," "I know what you mean," etc). But Waya didn't get the impression that Fujiwara was bored with the conversations and faking interest – his eyes looked keen, as if he were absorbing the information for later analysis. Like Fujiwara really had lost his memory, and was trying to re-learn as much as possible.
All the observations, however, didn't do Waya much good in the end game. He still didn't know anything about how Sai had come to be, and why he'd mysteriously appeared on the Internet and just as mysteriously disappeared after his crowning achievement of defeating the world's top go player. One would think s a i would have stuck around at least a little after that, if only to bask in the glory of his victory.
It was definitely time to play his trump card, Waya thought, fingering the clear file in his hands. Inside were three kifu he'd recorded himself. The first was a match he had recently played against L-L, China's top amateur. Waya had lost, but only after a fierce struggle that had lasted well into yose. The second was his only game as zelda against Sai. The last - the infamous match of Sai versus touya kouyo. There were no identifying marks on the kifu – no net handles, no dates, nothing except black and red circles with move numbers. By the time Fujiwara realized exactly what he was looking at, it would be too late for him to hide his reaction, and Waya had no doubt he'd be able to read Fujiwara's very expressive face easily. There would be no way for Fujiwara to deny the uncanny resemblance between his playing style and Sai's.
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Waya arrived at the Iwamoto Go Salon and glanced around, but Fujiwara wasn't there yet. Waya decided to claim a table near the back, at a safe distance from the rest of the other customers. Then he put the clear file on the table, where Fujiwara couldn't help noticing it.
A few minutes later, Fujiwara arrived and they exchanged greetings as Fujiwara removed his jacket. Waya wrinkled his nose at the sudden acrid smell wafting across the table. Waya's own clothes often smelled after a visit to a go salon, but the jacket smelled like Fujiwara had been chain-smoking. "I didn't think you smoked, Fujiwara-san."
Fujiwara looked puzzled. "I don't," he said, sniffing delicately at one of the jacket sleeves. "Ehh, I suppose it does smell smoky. I hadn't noticed."
"Maybe you're just spending too much time here," Waya said, grinning.
"Does my hair smell too?" Fujiwara said worriedly, holding a lock up for inspection. "That would be awful! It's not that I mind smoke, but I do mind if my hair is smelly. See, I use this really nice strawberry-oh, what's that?" Fujiwara pointed to the conspicuous clear file eagerly, like he'd just spotted candy.
Hook, line, and sinker. "These are some kifu I've recorded," Waya said casually, even though his pulse had started to race. "I played in two of the games so I've been reviewing them. Did you want to look?"
"Of course!" Fujiwara cheerfully accepted the file and took the L-L game out, falling silent as his eyes flickered over the kifu rapidly. Waya watched Fujiwara's face anxiously for signs of approval. Although the game had been included only as a part of Waya's pretext, he was proud of the game and eager to hear Fujiwara's opinion.
After a few minutes, Fujiwara looked up with a smile. "You're White in this one. Nice opening. It forced Black to react too strongly here. He's certainly talented, though. Is he a professional also?"
"No, that's Lee Linshin. He's an amateur from China, and he's won the World Amateur Go Cup several times. What do you think about this ko exchange here?" Waya said, pointing to the left quadrant.
"It's very interesting! Although, if White had placed a stone here first, it would have been more efficient."
They continued discussing the rough spots in the game, and Waya was glad he'd had the foresight to think of all his game-related questions beforehand because he could barely concentrate now, unable to stop thinking about what Fujiwara's reaction would be when he realized Waya was onto him. Would he be angry? Waya had never seen the other man looking even the slightest bit grumpy, but for all Waya knew, that was just a part of Fujiwara's false persona. Surreptitiously, Waya dropped his hands to his lap so he could rub his sweating palms against his blue jeans.
"It's a good, solid game overall, but remember to watch the corners more carefully," Fujiwara said, pulling out the next kifu quickly, as if he could barely contain his curiosity. "Oh Waya-sensei, you didn't get very far in this one!" he said with a gentle laugh after he glanced at the kifu. "You resigned before mid-game!"
A mid-game resignation? That meant... Fujiwara was reading the zelda - s a i match. Waya felt his heart thudding solidly against his chest. He forced himself to keep a steady voice as he responded to Fujiwara: "Geez, that game was played before I even became a pro. I was comparing it to that match with Lee to see how much I've improved, and what I still need to work on. Take it easy on me, okay?"
"I thought you wanted me to go harder on you so you could catch up to Isumi-san," Fujiwara said, smiling and looking down at the kifu again. "I could tell immediately that you were Black because your opening style hasn't changed too much. Although of course your play is more refined now; you've become better at calculating risk as your style has matured, and your ability to read ahead has increased." Fujiwara tapped his fan against his lips in consideration. "Your moves here are solid, but White is a truly superb player. You were out-classed from the start. With such a large difference in skill and no handicap, the outcome-"
Fujiwara's voice broke off, and his eyes went large. "White... White is..."
Waya dug his fingers into his jeans as a wave of adrenaline shot through his body. Now was the moment of truth.
"This doesn't make sense. I don't understand. But..."
"Fujiwara-san, are you okay?" The kifu was shaking in the other man's hands, and his eyes had taken on a glassy sheen.
Fujiwara didn't respond for several long moments, staring off into space as if he'd forgotten about Waya. "Black is... definitely Waya, but not the Waya of now. This is still a child's play. This is an old game. Yet White, there's no question," Fujiwara murmured to himself.
Waya swallowed thickly. He was starting to feel just a little freaked out. He'd been anticipating a strong reaction from Fujiwara, but he hadn't thought Fujiwara would stage a breakdown in if he isn't lying? That stray thought made Waya shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Fujiwara took a deep, ragged breath then, his vision clearing as he seemingly snapped out of his trance. He set the kifu down carefully on the table and laced his trembling fingers together, staring at the kifu. "We... played this game together. There can be no question of that. And your level of play. This game isn't recent." Fujiwara's eyes glistened then, and Waya tensed. Please tell me he isn't going to cry.
"Waya-sensei, please. Do you know me from before my accident?" Fujiwara met Waya's gaze then, his expression vulnerable with longing. "It's okay, if you didn't tell me earlier for some reason. I won't ask why," he said quietly.
Can people fake cry? Waya wondered frantically, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else even though he still really really wanted to find out about Sai.
"I need to know," Fujiwara continued slowly. "I... didn't go into details when I told you and Isumi-san, but I'm suffering from complete retrograde amnesia. I don't remember anything from before my accident in May. Or anyone. Not my friends. Not my family. No one. Please, I need your help."
Waya's stomach churned. There was something in the other man's voice, a genuine, quiet desperation in his tone that struck Waya to the core.He's... telling the truth. Oh god!
"I..." Waya tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his mouth. Waya bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling like an utter shit. Fujiwara sounded so damned desperate, not at all like Waya had been expecting. Isumi-san was right, I shouldn't have meddled. Waya let out a slow, shaky exhalation. "I'm sorry, but I've only met you recently in person. These are all Internet games, played on the NetGo server."
"NetGo? I don't know what that is," said Fujiwara, wiping at his eyes with his shirt sleeve.
Waya's jaw fell open. How could the man who had dominated the online go scene not know about NetGo? He really doesn't know anything. "NetGo is an online forum for people to challenge each other at go. It's just like a regular go game, except all you can see are the stones on the computer screen. You – the player – can reveal as much or as little about yourself as you like."
"You played me online. Did I tell you anything about myself? Anything at all?"
Fujiwara's face fell as Waya shook his head. "No, you never told anyone anything. You wouldn't chat after your games even if someone sent you a message. That's why I didn't ask you about playing online sooner, even though I recognized your style after the first time we played here. I thought—I didn't realize... I thought you were just keeping a secret about your Internet identity."
"Why would I do that?"
"I dunno, some people are shy and keep their online lives separate from real life. And you were famous – you are famous. So maybe you didn't want too much attention?" Waya conjectured carefully. It was really weird to be trying to guess at the motives of a man he barely knew and had been suspicious of until just a minute ago, but Waya felt he owed it to Fujiwara to give him whatever help he could, as an unspoken apology.
Fujiwara stared at the zelda - s a i kifu listlessly. "Famous? I don't even know who I am. I'm not a professional either. Why would my games be that important?"
"That doesn't matter on the Internet!" Waya blurted out, unable to keep from clenching his fists. Hearing that from s a i was just wrong, especially when so many players had dedicated themselves to learning every possible thing about the man and his games. Like Waya himself. Obviously Fujiwara did have a problem if he didn't understand the value of his games. "Look," Waya said, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone, "All that really matters is your ability. During your time online, you played a lot of people from all over the world, some of them really strong, some of them professionals too – and you never lost. NEVER. Do you know what that means?"
"No," said Fujiwara, shrinking back in his chair, looking completely lost.
Waya grabbed the last kifu and thrust it into Fujiwara's hands. "Don't you remember this game? People are still talking about it two years later! Touya Meijin retired after he lost to you! You have to remember," Waya added, almost pleadingly.
Fujiwara's eyes flickered over the kifu, and he made a small, choked noise of recognition. "This is my game." He clutched the kifu to his chest like a child, closing his eyes as if in pain. "I've started writing down my games recently. They're the only thing I really remember from... before." This was said slowly, as if Fujiwara were confessing to a crime. "I have hundreds, but this one is precious to me. I think it's the most beautiful game I've ever played, because of him, my opponent. I wanted to play him again – I want to play him again." Fujiwara's fingers tightened around the kifu, wrinkling the paper. "I felt so terrible that I couldn't remember his name when he gave me such an exquisite game. But I won't forget it again," Fujiwara said, opening his eyes to meet Waya's firmly. " 'Touya Meijin.' " Fujiwara mouthed the name carefully, like a sacred phrase.
Waya felt a small thrill rush up his spine at Fujiwara's tone. He'd been wondering how s a i could possibly be so cold as to ignore the touya kouyo handle, which had become a familiar sight on the NetGo server after that epic clash. Even if s a i had become bored of NetGo, surely he'd come back for his rival. But it wasn't that s a i didn't care anymore – he just simply didn't remembe r touya kouyo, which was almost unbelievable. It did explain a lot, however. "Fujiwara-san, do you remember anything about Touya Kouyo-sensei?" Waya asked carefully.
Fujiwara shook his head, and Waya forced himself to take a few calming breaths before he continued. "Many people," Waya said, "consider Touya-sensei to be the best player alive. Over his career, he won more titles than any other player and defended them for years. He's had some heart problems these past few years, though, and that's probably part of the reason he decided to retire."
"But there's another reason." Waya leaned in over the table, lowering his voice. "He's looking for you."
"For me?" Fujiwara said, blinking in surprise. "Really?" he added, sounding hopeful.
"Yeah, definitely," Waya said, nodding vigorously. "I mean, it's not like he came out and announced it publicly, but since he's retired, he's always travelling to other countries and entering go tournaments. He says he's 'looking for new talent' but everyone knows he wants a rematch with you really badly."
Waya's voice trailed off at the look of dejection on the older man's face. The look of excitement had faded from Fujiwara's expression, and his shoulders were slumped.
Fujiwara smiled sadly at him. "I'm sorry. That's great news you've told me, and I really am happy, as someone who loves go. It would be wonderful to play them. But if these people are 'looking' for me, then they don't actually know who I am. Or if I have... a family. Or friends."
Waya clenched his fists, feeling disgustingly helpless. "I'm sorry, Fujiwara-san. I know more about s a i than most people – that was your net handle, er, your "Internet name" - but it's not much. You never talked to your opponents. Oh wait, I almost forgot! You did say one thing to me after our game. You said 'I'm pretty strong, aren't I?' I remember because I got mad."
"I said that?" Fujiwara blushed. "And I was called s a i? Like a rhino?"
"Yeah, I didn't believe you were an adult after that! I actually thought you were this friend of mine for awhile, 'cause he can be a real brat sometimes." Waya furrowed his brows in deep thought. "There are actually a lot of similarities between your go, though. I even asked him if he knew you, but he said no. Sorry, I guess that's-"
Fujiwara wasn't listening. The other man had started to breathe in short, sharp gasps, and he drew trembling hands up to his face.
Oh god, he really is crying now. Waya really, really wished that Isumi-san was there. "Umm, Fujiwara-san, are you okay?" Waya asked awkwardly, reaching a hand out, then dropping it.
Fujiwara sobbed something incomprehensible about rhinos.
Waya had no idea what he was supposed to do. Fujiwara obviously needed help, but Waya wasn't a doctor or a counselor, and he really didn't know anything important about s a i. So Waya just sat there, trying to stare at the table instead of Fujiwara. At least he'd chosen a table removed from the other customers and Fujiwara wasn't crying loudly enough to draw their attention.
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Credits to: Ontogenesis (Desynchronization)
