Putting the last of the boxes in the rented car, Hikaru huffed and stretched the soreness out of his back. He was closing the trunk when the voice of his Grandfather, Heiachi, reached him from the house : "Hikaru, the tea is served. You wouldn't go without sharing it with me, would you?"

"Of course, Grandpa, I'm just behind you." Hikaru climbed the large wooden stairs framing the entrance of the traditional house. Putting out his shoes, he breathed deeply the characteristic air of this ancient home, where he had spent hours and days as a child exploring, using its old walls as the theater of his numerous stories. Quite a few of those told about fantastic creatures and errant ghosts.

Hikaru reached the covered patio and settled quietly on the floor, in front of the low table. It was very cold outside, and the heat was very welcome. His Grandfather poured the tea, which released its earthy, comforting aroma.

"Hikaru, I'm sorry for asking, but I'd like to know how your mother is?"

The young man felt his throat tightening. He took a fortifying breath. "I'm going to see her tomorrow afternoon. I'm not sure what I can expect. Doctors don't tell me anything, and it can't be a good sign." Hikaru was angry. He knew that his mother wanted to preserve him, and while openly discussing her death, she refused to keep him updated on all she knew about her state.

Heiachi, usually full of energy, seemed worn out these days. His eyebrows were set on a sad line, and his gestures were slow and cautious, like he was afraid of knocking off precious tableware. He looked every one of his numerous years of age.

"I've always thought that it would be easier with passing years, to lose close people." The old man sighed. "But it always feels so wrong when those who die are younger than you."

Of course it would be hard for his grandpa. Even if Hikaru's mother wasn't his daughter by blood, he had welcomed her into his family the day she married his only son. "During the war, I've lost almost all my family: my parents, aunts and uncles and my big sister in a fire. Later, it was my younger brother who died of cholera." He paused, gaze not really seeing, lost in his memories. "It was a terrible time, but somehow, I was beyond really caring. Back then, I think that I prevented myself from feeling too much. All I wanted was to survive. And I did, with my little sister. Sometimes, I have nightmares when I'm twelve again, and I see the house of my childhood disappear again under the roaring fire. Sometimes, cries of trapped people replace the noise of the inferno, and the dream is crisp and precise like it happened yesterday… but emotions have dulled since a long time ago."

Hikaru listened, silent. His grandpa had never told him anything about this time of his life. Intellectually, he knew that he was a teenager during World War II, but he rarely spoke about specific events he lived through. Now, Hikaru understood why : Heiachi had been marked by violence, tragedy and injustice. He told his story with a detached air, like it had happened to someone else.

"Finding a place to stay and people that could care for me was tough, but I was good with my hands and quick witted. I entered an apprenticeship under a carpenter. I was fed, kept warm, and learned a respectable job. I decided to keep the past where it belonged, behind me. Sometimes, I, however, feel guilty, because I never properly mourned them. I kept them behind a door, in the back of my mind. I sure pay my respect once a year, but I never truly made any effort to keep their memory alive."

Heiachi sighed and sipped his tea slowly. The morning sun made the old, polished parquet floor glow warmly in mahogany hues. The room offered a nice view of the garden, where maple trees showed their autumn spectacular colors.

"Respecting the dead goes beyond bowing before the altar and making offerings. Duty demands that you have to make their legacy alive. You need to cultivate and tend, like a garden, which part of yourself you owe them the most." His gravelly voice went softer. "It makes things easier for you."

Hikaru tried to fight the lump in his throat. Eyes filled by tears threatening to fall, he kept his head bowed in a feeble attempt to preserve his composure. His grandpa put a hand, calloused and gnarled by labor and age, on his shoulder. They finished the tea in the resonning silence, which was bearing the whispers of ancient ghosts threatened by oblivion.

"Grandpa?"

"Hm?"

"Do you still have your old goban? The one that was in the attic?"

o][o

Huffing and sighing, Hikaru set the last box over the dozen pushed against the wall. It was his old teenager's things, which had been stocked in his grandpa's attic when her mother had sold their house. He had promised his grandpa he would clear the attic years ago, and hadn't found the time to do so until then.

He opened them randomly. This one, like many others, was filled with manga and old issues of Shonen Jump. Hikaru didn't know if he would keep them. He could try to sell or give them away. Space was valuable, and he would have to get a lot of shelves to put everything in order. Mildly annoyed, he opened another box, and found his old soccer gear. He had continued to play in the club until sixteen. Highschool demanding nature had put a hold on it, and between homework and Go, he had slowly lost interest in it. He unearthed his soccer shoes, worn but well maintained, studs gleaming in the hallway light. He put them with care on the shelf, next to an old picture of his family, when they were still three and happy. His father had put his arm on his shoulders, and was smiling at the camera. Young Hikaru bore a cute pout and was looking on the left, refusing to grace the camera of his smile. His mother, young and carefree, was laughing while keeping her long hair out of her eyes.

Hikaru averted his eyes, and continued his task. He had a few boxes of old clothes, school uniforms which his mom hadn't wanted to throw away. He had, however, every intention of it. Sore, he sighed and was hesitant to continue. After all, he hadn't used any of these things all these years. He didn't need them, and just could discard everything without bothering to spend precious time on sorting them.

Idly, he knelt before another box and opened it. The sharp intake of breath reflected the shock he felt. In front of him, the box was full of notepads. Kifu notepads. Slightly trembling, he took one gingerly and peered at the front cover. August and September, 2001. The notepad was filled with hundreds of games played during this summer. Leafing, he stopped on a particular game, distant memories tugged at his mind. One of the players had resigned very early, admitting the superiority of his opponent. Another page, another game. This one was played very late on a weekday. He remembered having been anxious to end it to grab a few hours of sleep before school, but Sai and his opponent had created a game so beautiful that the memory of it was still sharp, now that it had been revived.

The box was filled with Sai's kifus. Hikaru had, almost religiously, recorded every game played by the ghost, including games they had played together. And I totally forgot about that. How could he? Stunned, he took a dozen notepads and reached his living room. Settling haphazardly on the couch, he began to consult them.

He could almost feel Sai's presence, like he was peering over his shoulder, fan hiding his mouth, and his laughing eyes a testimony of his delight to spend his time for Go.

Hikaru could almost instantly replace the setup of the games of which he was reading the record. It was like he was transported back in time. Sai had often complimented him for his good memory, and had once qualified it as being exceptional. Hikaru admitted that it had always felt natural for him to memorize and analyze games. He liked to bury himself in them and look for ways and possibilities. For him, it was like remembering a hiking trail, with beautiful landscapes hiding behind turns and curves.

He got back in the hallway and began to search for any remaining notepads. Stacking them on his kitchen table which was soon covered by them, he began to sort them by dates. At first, he hadn't been very thorough in the recording, but it had soon become a habit. He was doing it without even thinking of it, often during the game when Sai was playing against someone on the net. Recording helped him to understand, by immersing in thought processes and strategies.

His heart was beating fast, his head filled by thousands of memories of these instants that had shaped his adolescence. The pain caused by Sai's disappearance had prevented him from thinking of them for a long time. Since he had come back to Japan, it seemed Go was everywhere, while Go had always been a very private side of his life. The young man felt destabilized to discover that Go could be so much more for him. Could he give it the place it deserved in his life?

The last kifu pad was dated in June 2004, the month Sai disappeared. Sai had played black. Black had lost. Hikaru skimmed the page reverently. Old, familiar pain clasped his heart. Deep down, he had always suspected that Sai had disappeared because of this fateful game, when Hikaru had given all he had to finally win against his mentor, without the handicap. The game had gone on for several hours. Hikaru, having observed and played Sai every day for six long years, knew intimately his strategies and tactics, making them his own and using them to lay his traps and deceitful hands.

He had been ruthless, and excessively proud when the last stone had hit the board. Pure elation had filled his heart, like he had finally reached the top of an impassable mountain. A very peculiar smile had graced Sai's lips, when his eyes had shone with pride. Very formally, he had bowed his head while Hikaru danced around his room in delight. Hikaru would have hugged him, but physical contact wasn't a possibility. Later, the memory of this moment had been buried under pain, regret and guilt. In a way, Hikaru was persuaded that Sai's disappearance had been his fault. Maybe if he had lost, Sai wouldn't have to go away, wouldn't have to abandon him.

To remember this game again aroused an odd feeling. Forgotten for too long, he had trouble slipping into the state of mind allowing him to understand not only Sai's moves, but his own as well. He was genuinely surprised by his own skill, and doubted he could pull half the hands he had played in his current state. He wondered about his present level of skill : while he could read professional games just fine, he doubted he could play like he had been able to when he was eighteen. Sai had never been defeated online before, but Hikaru doubted he had played a lot of Go pros on the net.

Going on his computer, Hikaru turned the machine on and waited, lost in thoughts. Maybe he could summarize every game to put them safely somewhere in his harddrive. These records were a concrete testimony of Sai's existence, and Hikaru felt ashamed to not have properly taken care of them. They could have been thrown in a junkyard when he was abroad, and he would have known nothing of it.

Resolutely, Hikaru logged in Netgo. He would play tonight, and he would give everything he had. He was owing Sai this much, and he had waited too long for paying his due.

o][o

Hikaru placed his stone, almost immediately after his opponent had played his hand. The young man probably had several minutes before the next hand. He went over to his kitchen and prepared himself a mug of tea. He could maybe play several games at the same time. Three hours on netgo, and he had yet to play a game even remotely challenging. He didn't really mind. He was slowly rediscovering the feeling of burying himself in the realm of possibilities and patterns of black and whites. It was like he was in the center of all of it, dancing and fighting against another will. Most of his tactics were fruitless, the games never quite reaching the required level to spring them. Hikaru yearned for an opponent who could read more than a few hands ahead, to test his true skill and unfurl his full potential.

Maybe he could request a game against Waya. Akari's boyfriend seemed open to spending time with him, why not use it to play Go? Hikaru wanted a real game to really stretch himself. He felt quite like he was bundled up in tight ropes, and wanted to rediscover the exhilaration brought by a real, fair game.

Finally, his opponent played a hand that forced Hikaru to reconsider his next move. Overall, it was a pretty raisonnable hand, destined to limit damage while disabled one of his traps, and prepare the terrain for a future takeover, in maybe ten or fifteen hands.

Hikaru smiled, content. His opponent had played right in the second layer of his set-up. He liked when action wasn't unfolding in the obvious. Subtlety and cunning were his mark, like Sai had said once. Sai, overall, had a pretty straightforward style, ruthlessly elegant and efficient. Hikaru liked laying traps within traps. Seemingly straight and innocent moves never were what they seemed to appear. Sai had always read between the lines, until their fateful last game where Hikaru had finally outread and outwitted his master.

He responded with a hand destined to nudge his opponent in the right direction. Hikaru could have ended the game ages ago if he had played like Sai, but what would be the fun of that?

Yet, he had to play against someone able to answer to his nudges adequately. He now understood the huge enthusiasm that Sai manifested whenever they had the chance to play against a strong opponent. Hikaru and his adversary played for maybe half an hour until his opponent resigned. HIkaru huffed in disappointment, with all his careful layout going to waste, remaining in the realm of possibility for eternity. A message popped in the chatbox.

Alastair: You're pretty good

Hikaru stared at the message, dumbfounded. When maning the computer for Sai back in the day, he had disabled all the possibilities to message him, not bothering to speak to boring adults trying to communicate with a ghost. He hesitated a few seconds before deciding that socializing couldn't hurt him, now that he was a grown person with good spelling.

Koukei: Thanks, you're not bad yourself.

Alastair: I guess I didn't see that coming, that was an interesting strategy

Koukei:Hehe, thanks for the game anyway, I had fun :)

Alastair: Me too. Do you play in a club? Your profile is unaffiliated.

Koukei:I've begun playing on the net since yesterday.

Alastair: Are you interested in joining ours? We play often in online tournaments, and we're ranked in the top tier. I think you could make a fine addition to our team, even if your stats are very low right now.

An online club ? He didn't know those existed, but it sounded logical. He could ask Akari if it was worth a shot, but for now he didn't think it was wise to get involved.

Koukei:Oh, thanks a lot for your proposition, but I prefer not to engage myself in anything for the moment. But I'll think about it when the time's right.

Alastair: No prob. I'll check you out for another game soon. Bye.

Hikaru stretched his back, and let a satisfied sigh escape his lips.

It was pretty late, but it was Saturday night. He could as well enjoy his time and sleep in tomorrow morning, his visit to the hospital being scheduled in late afternoon.

o][o

Hikaru was gazing at the hands of his mother, which were tightened in a skeletal hold on the wool blanket. She was gazing at the merry spectacle of robins arguing over a suet ball hung down in a camellia. Peace inhabited her face. She wasn't smiling, but Hikaru knew it was one of those rare moments where she was forgetting her pain to simply contemplate the world. He was trading carefully while pushing the wheelchair, to not bang into something and keep the ride as smooth as possible.

"I met interesting people again last week, Mom. I'm still struggling to understand the passion everyone seems to entertain over Go, but it's thrilling to think that this simple game makes the life of all these people." He was maintaining a rather one-sided conversation. His mother was content to hear him speak, and had a very short breath. She was responding to his talk with punctuating humming. "I'm one of those, I guess," he continued, with something akin to wonder. Life was strange : he found an odd job almost by accident, very close to an old passion he was entertaining years ago. His mother pointed her hand toward the pond, and Hikaru dutifully bent their trajectory to finally settle the chair next to a wooden bench. Ducks and swans were maneuvering lazily, rippling the surface water in a slow dance like they were suspended between the sky and the water. Sitting carefully -those laths seemed to have seen better days-, he let his shoulders sag when the warm sun hit his face.

"Aaah, too much rain these days, I really miss the warm weather of Australia!" he crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, basking in the gold sunlight of late october. His mother signed in what felt like contentment, but Hikaru was never sure of what his mother was feeling. The pain was a constant, and tended to saturate every minute of her life.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence. Other people were taking a stroll in the hospital gardens, but conversations were hushed. Hikaru could almost believe himself alone, until his mother spoke with her surprising strong voice :

"I'm sure you'll be able to find your way, Hikaru. You were always such a bright, sunny child. Everyone loved you. It hasn't always been easy for you, but you weren't the kind to sulk for long."

"I don't know if I will stay, or if my boss will keep me for long. I've no idea of what I'll do next if they can't keep me on the editorial board, mom. Somehow, this job doesn't feel like something serious, and I'm not picturing myself long in this."

His mother turned her head toward him and smiled, radiating love and confidence. "You'll find something worth spending your time on. I'm not worried. You'll need to turn the page of my death first, and it's normal, but life goes on, and so will you."

Hikaru sucked a deep breath between his clenched teeth. He didn't want to think of what would soon happen. He didn't want to think of what the world would be without his mother to talk to when he would feel lonely.

"I'm tired of being in pain, Hikaru. You know that I'm waiting for relief, and I hope it'll be soon." She put her hand on his arm.

"You can't say that to me, mom. I'm not ready."

"I can, and you need to hear it. I'm glad you're here for me. Last year, I didn't want to warn you of my state because I wanted to preserve you from any hardship, and the idea to show you my degradation was intolerable at first. But now, I think it's a good thing he made this call. I want you to be part of my end like you were part of the beginning of the person I am today. I'm a mother first, Hikaru, and you are the person I know the best out there. I know there was some kind of event that happened five years ago that changed you irremediably. I think your trip in Australia was more an escape on your part than a real need to discover the world."

Hikaru stayed silent, too hurt to even acknowledge the truth in her words.

"Hikaru, I just hope you'll be able to build the life in which you'll exist to the fullest, and I wish it'll be sooner than later." She put her frail hand on her chest. "Deep down, I know I gave birth and raised someone who'll live according to his values, who will thrive in what's important." She met his eyes, squarely. "What is important to you, Hikaru ?" He didn't know how to respond to this question, so he stayed silent.

"I just don't want to see you inhabit your life like a sleepwalker, like you are too detached to feel anything. Maybe it's easier to deal with negative emotion, but it cuts you from joy, satisfaction and pride. I know because I felt this state after your father's death, and I know it isn't the right path for anyone. Please Hikaru, wake up and live. For me. For you."

Speaking about his teenage years and how the strange friendship had filled his life wasn't possible. He just knew that nobody would believe him, and he didn't care about that anyway. It just had a huge impact on him, this relation with a ghost who couldn't leave his presence, who was there every second of his life since he was twelve. It had had an impact on his growth, and on the way he built himself towards adulthood.

Having someone there to see and comment on every of his actions tends to drive someone to think naturally twice before doing something. Hikaru growth had therefore deviated from its natural course, and was certainly peculiar. Sai had been integrated into his mindscape, like an anchor, like a second voice of reason. Sai and him were sharing more than thoughts, for Sai's emotions were bleeding over the link to color Hikaru thinking. He soon forgot what it was like to be alone and to feel alone, for there was always Sai with him in each second of his life. Sai was more than a friend, more than a brother. Sai was a part of his soul.

Therefore, when Sai disappeared, Hikaru lost a part of his heart, and quite never recovered from this loss.

It was like he was missing a leg or an arm, but inside his head, and the severe imbalance threw him in a pit of hopelessness and loneliness.

Years later, he had somehow reconstructed himself and gone forward. It wasn't fully satisfactory, but he was functioning, and could be somewhat content with his life. It lacked fire and passion, however. The spark defining him when he was younger was irremediably lost.

That's why, when his dying mother said that he was like a walking dead, it made him angry. Angry and unbelievably sad.

And what made this sadness unbearable was the impossibility to share it.

Sai hadn't existed for anyone but himself. It was like his bright childhood, like a treasure sinking towards unattainable depths. You know that it existed once, but you couldn't reach it anymore.

He shook his head, and the lump in his throat prevented any attempt to respond. That was for the best, for he wouldn't hurt his mother with harsh, angry filled words. And he, like so many times before, forced down his searing grief to burn quietly inside. He choked slightly when he inspired, eyes stubbornly averted.

Some time passed, his mother humming quietly an old song in the quiet autumn afternoon. She didn't ask for an answer.