Chapter 62

"I'm back," Ogata called out, slipping his shoes off in the apartment's entranceway. But there was no answer, and Ogata frowned. Was Fujiwara still out? It was already dark. Ogata had discouraged Fujiwara from returning home late, warning him that it wasn't safe in Shinjuku. Fujiwara usually obliged him, but Fujiwara was also prone to losing track of time if he got distracted (the usual culprit was a game of go, of course.)

When Ogata entered the kitchen, he was pleased to see that the light in the living room was on. There was the faint pachi pachi of stones clacking on the goban.

Fujiwara had both goke and a printed kifu beside him on the floor, but he did not glance at the kifu as he smoothly laid out the stones.

Quietly, Ogata padded into the room to get a better look at the partially completed game. He stroked his chin in consideration; there was something very familiar about the flow of the patterns even though only a few hands had been recreated.

"I learned something interesting today."

Ogata started slightly; he hadn't thought Fujiwara had noticed him entering. Fujiwara could be remarkably absorbed when it came to go.

"But it might not be so interesting to you," Fujiwara said as he continued laying out the stones.

"Why would you say that?" Ogata said, breaking his attention away from the goban at the odd tone in Fujiwara's statement. He sounded almost... cold. Fujiwara never sounded cold. And it was decidedly strange that Fujiwara hadn't bothered to look up from the goban yet, especially since he was just recreating a game and not playing an actual opponent.

"Because Ogata-sensei already knows, and he hates it when people tell him things he already knows." Fujiwara's level voice wavered for a moment, and Ogata looked sharply at his bent face. Fujiwara's drawn expression and his reddened eyes didn't match that cool tone.

Ogata felt his stomach twist. He'd seen Fujiwara upset before; the other man was sensitive, but Ogata had never personally made him cry. Ogata mentally reviewed the past few days, but dredged up nothing out the ordinary. He had teased Fujiwara about wearing lip gloss on Sunday, but Fujiwara had beamed and coyly offered to buy Ogata his own favorite flavor. "I apologize if I hurt your feelings somehow, but I assure you, it certainly wasn't intentional."

Fujiwara did not respond for a long moment, and the only sound in the room was the clacking of go stones. Ogata looked down at the board again, wondering why Fujiwara persisted in replaying a game when he was obviously wasn't enjoying it; what was so special abo—

Abruptly, Ogata froze, harsh recognition dawning on him like an unforgiving sun. That game.

"I want to believe that, but I can't," Fujiwara said softly, still not meeting his eyes. "When we first met, you said you'd never heard of me. But yet you recognize this game."

s a i vs. touya kouyo. The black and white stones stared up at him accusingly like silent witnesses. You knew, you knew!

"s a i was my handle on the NetGo server when I played this game. But s a i has a more personal meaning to me. My name is Fujiwara-no-Sai. 'Sai' is my given name."

Ogata was unable to pull his eyes off the game, his head suddenly feeling oddly heavy. He'd known without a doubt that Fujiwara was s a i since their first game, but somehow he'd let himself completely downplay the significance of Fujiwara's net identity, and what that knowledge might mean to Fujiwara's recovery. He had been wrong. Horribly wrong.

"Did... you really not know I was s a i?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ogata could see Fujiwara looking up at him, his wide eyes vulnerable and hopeful. As if he were perfectly willing to believe that this was all a big misunderstanding or a mistake, if Ogata would just say so.

Ogata wanted to. He wanted to lie so much that he was nearly overcome by the intensity of that desire.

But he couldn't lie to Fujiwara, not when Fujiwara was looking at him like that. "I knew." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

Fujiwara visibly crumpled, his shoulders sagging. "Did you have a reason for not telling me?"

Not a good one. Mostly, he hadn't wanted to share Fujiwara with Sensei, a reason which had seemed perfectly valid at the time, but now just seemed damned petty, especially now that he knew Fujiwara as more than an amnesiac stranger with an amazing ability. "It was never my intention to hurt you."

Fujiwara's face fell. "I don't understand. You've been very kind to me, taking me into your home and trying to help me regain my memory. I know it was our agreement that I could live here in exchange for the teaching, but you've been my teacher too: you taught me about all the important things I've forgotten, like the trains and fire alarms and cell phones and not answering the door for that NHK man. You've been my friend. So I don't understand why..."

I don't understand why you would be so selfish. Ogata knew what Fujiwara had left unspoken out of kindness or politeness. "I didn't think it was... relevant. You were completely anonymous online. I didn't think you would learn any useful information."

"How could you just decide that by yourself, without discussing it with me?" Fujiwara's fingers tightened around his fan. "When you know nothing, everything is relevant," he said, his voice low. "Today, I learned my name. I learned the name of your teacher: this game I played with him is the best game I've ever played. I learned that other people know of me, they've played me, and some of them want to play me again. I actually existed before my accident; I'm connected in some way." Fujiwara made a little pained noise then and turned towards the balcony, facing away from Ogata, but not before Ogata saw his lower lip trembling. "Why was Waya-sensei the one to tell me all this instead of you?"

Waya... that red-headed student of Morishita's. Of course. Against all odds, Fujiwara had bumped into zelda, a fan who would recognize his style immediately. Ogata's fingers itched for a cigarette, something to distract himself from the fact that Fujiwara was crying because he'd been betrayed by the first person he'd met in his new life, a person he'd obviously trusted far more than he ought.

Ogata had no answer for Fujiwara. He had no justification. Just a tight, aching sensation in his chest.

"I've imposed too much on your generosity," Fujiwara said towards the direction of the balcony, wiping at his face as he took a few deep breaths. "You've done so much for me, and I could only play go with you in return. But you don't need me; you have an excellent teacher and you're already very skilled. I'm certain you will go far in your career."

Fujiwara was leaving. Of course he was. He couldn't even stand to look at Ogata anymore. It was ending, and it was Ogata's fault again. "What will you do?" Ogata asked numbly.

"Iwamoto-san offered me a job at his salon recently. I would watch the counter and answer the phone, and play games with the customers when I'm not busy. He says I might as well, since I'm there so much anyway and I get along with the regulars. And... there's someone I can live with for awhile, until I get my own apartment."

It would be difficult for Fujiwara to start out in Tokyo, especially considering the high cost of living and Fujiwara's damaged memory, but Fujiwara wasn't the type to back down out of fear. That very first time they'd met, Fujiwara had been sopping wet and utterly confused, but still indignant enough to try walking off by himself into the night when Ogata had injured his pride. He wouldn't be able to reason Fujiwara out of his decision, and he could provide little incentive for Fujiwara to want to stay with someone who had hurt him badly.

Ogata was a go player, and a professional player knew when to resign. Only an inexperienced player kept bumbling around when his moves had long lost their effectiveness.

But this was a game Ogata couldn't lose. He couldn't just let Fujiwara leave.

"I'm sorry that this is so sudden," Fujiwara said. His expressive hands were still and folded on top of his knees. "But I've realized that it was unfair for me to simply continue taking advantage of your hospitality until I recover, when I have no idea of when that may be. And I... have to learn to do things for myself instead of being an inconvenience to you, and taking time away from your busy schedule."

An inconvenience? Ogata thought of Fujiwara's awed expression the first time Ogata had taken him the station, or his smirk of childish mischief when he'd successfully managed to spam Ogata's cell phone shortly after learning text messaging. Or the way he just simply knew how to listen when Ogata gave an explanation, his eyes completely intent and head tilted to a slight angle as he absorbed every word. No, it hadn't been about go. But teaching Fujiwara – just being with him - hadn't been an inconvenience at all. Ogata didn't regret a single minute.

"Stay."

Fujiwara's shoulders straightened as if he were steeling himself. "Please, don't ask that. This is better – for both of us."

Ogata was a Go player. He knew how to make sacrifices.

"Stay. You don't have to play Go with me anymore."

"I'm sorry, did you just say...?" Fujiwara was staring at him from over his shoulder now, his expression one of shock.

"You don't have to play Go, or teach Go, or even discuss it with me if you don't wish to," Ogata said quietly.

"Why would you want me to stay if I won't play you?"

Fujiwara's tone of utter disbelief felt like a knife twisting in Ogata's gut, especially since Ogata was the one responsible for Fujiwara having the impression that he was only valued for his Go. And at first, that had been true. The arrangement had been made out of pragmatism; Ogata had wanted to play s a i, and Fujiwara had needed a place to stay.

But somewhere along the line, it had stopped being a merely useful arrangement. Ogata wished he'd realized that sooner. His throat tightened when he tried to answer Fujiwara's question. "I'm... concerned about you. There's still a lot I haven't taught you. And I... I'm afraid that the fish have become rather attached to you. They'll probably sulk and won't eat if you're gone."

"That would be unfortunate," Fujiwara said, smiling sadly as if he knew what Ogata was really trying to say. "It's very kind of you to make such an offer, but I don't know..." He bit at his lip and lowered his eyes.

"You don't have to decide now. But regardless of what you choose, there is something you must know. It's about you from before your accident."

Fujiwara jerked his head up to stare at Ogata.

Ogata took a deep breath. It was time to come completely clean. "It's all I know about s a i, other than what Waya-kun already told you. I should warn you, it's only something I suspect strongly because the young man in question won't discuss it with me or anyone."

Fujiwara frowned, looking confused, but he nodded to encourage Ogata to continue.

"A few years ago, a brilliant player appeared out of nowhere - a complete unknown with apparently no sensei or formal training. He even won an important match against me not long ago. I'm certain he's the one who arranged the game between you and Touya-sensei, which implies that he was in contact with you. But more than that, when I look at his play, I see your shadow in his moves. There's a pattern to the joseki he uses, the way he reads the board, and how he calculates risk: it reminds me of you. If my instincts are correct, he was your student. And if he was your student, he might know you personally."

"Really?" Fujiwara whispered.

"It's possible, however, that it was just an anonymous online mentoring. I have no way of knowing," Ogata cautioned. "But if you wish, I will put you in contact with him."

"Yes, please," Fujiwara said, his voice wavering. "I don't recall any students, but obviously I was experienced with shidougo before I met you. I hope he'll talk to me... what is his name?"

"Shindou. Shindou Hikaru."

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Credits to: Ontogenesis (Desynchronization)