[nori]
by blue_cage
Just like the sun in his eyes
It was a game he could not forget.
Ogata kept remembering it at odd times. In the midst of the preliminary rounds for the year's Honinbou tournament, facing off with a lower-level pro. He'd been distracted to the point of losing a ko fight at the lower right yet played well enough to move the next round. All he could think after was - not the same, it was just not the same kind of play he was seeking.
He might have pissed off a couple of pros who heard him say that aloud, but he didn't care. Title holders were allowed to have their eccentricities, after all.
Ogata recalled it again when Shindou first stepped up on stage to partner against someone who became pro same year - the one with spiky brown hair. Another Morishita student had done the honors of explaining the game. Ogata had tuned him out; he watched Shindou's play with concentration reserved for title matches. Shindou's technique was as expected of a sho-dan, and Ogata wondered why that game from almost a year ago rankled him till now.
He'd thought of it a couple of times before he would go to sleep. He could only remember bits and pieces of the game, of his shoddy moves and the brilliant, clearly thought out attack that reduced his defenses to rubble. He had a kifu notebook by his bed to write down what he could recall, but he still couldn't remember enough.
All he wanted was the completed game, to study and figure out what had been nagging him since that first game.
Ask Shindou, he decided early on. Deciding on it and actually approaching the boy were two different things. Shindou avoided him the way a boy his age would, with a yelp and running the opposite direction, or joining the nearest group of people he could find. These were evasive maneuvers you'd see more in a high school than in the hallowed halls of the Go institute. At first he was amused, then got irritated when people spoke about Ogata Judan's 'stalking' behind his back. Fuel for the gossip mongers, but he was getting desperate.
Ogata asked Akira-kun, who raised his eyebrows at being a go-between, but had complied without demur. The next week Akira passed a folded up kifu sheet without a word. Akira-kun's glance was a question, and he replied with a lift of the shoulders. He'd ask Akira how he'd convince Hikaru to give up the kifu, but that will be for later.
He'd waited till he was home before he opened it up, and carefully laid out the stones until his resignation. Each stone on the board reminded him of that heavy, sinking feeling that sobered him midway through the game.
Ogata lit a cigarette. He pondered the game as it stood, thought if there was a point he could still win. Decided there wasn't, and remembered that on that night, he'd thought why that game had been special.
He ran a finger over the kifu sheet. Five strokes - horizontal, vertical. A stroke curving downwards to the left. A diagonal stroke before the final vertical one. And though he could not see it, it was there, as plainly written as if it was in ink.
He sighed. The kifu only raised more questions, but at least he had a name for that unsettled feeling that had bothered him before. He mouthed the name, refusing to give it reality. Because there were contradictions about the theory of Shindou being equal to Sai, and Sai being Shindou. So many contradictions.
He leaned back on his chair, and closed his eyes. He spoke again, without a sound.
Sai.
Just like the sun in his eyes
It was a game he could not forget.
Ogata kept remembering it at odd times. In the midst of the preliminary rounds for the year's Honinbou tournament, facing off with a lower-level pro. He'd been distracted to the point of losing a ko fight at the lower right yet played well enough to move the next round. All he could think after was - not the same, it was just not the same kind of play he was seeking.
He might have pissed off a couple of pros who heard him say that aloud, but he didn't care. Title holders were allowed to have their eccentricities, after all.
Ogata recalled it again when Shindou first stepped up on stage to partner against someone who became pro same year - the one with spiky brown hair. Another Morishita student had done the honors of explaining the game. Ogata had tuned him out; he watched Shindou's play with concentration reserved for title matches. Shindou's technique was as expected of a sho-dan, and Ogata wondered why that game from almost a year ago rankled him till now.
He'd thought of it a couple of times before he would go to sleep. He could only remember bits and pieces of the game, of his shoddy moves and the brilliant, clearly thought out attack that reduced his defenses to rubble. He had a kifu notebook by his bed to write down what he could recall, but he still couldn't remember enough.
All he wanted was the completed game, to study and figure out what had been nagging him since that first game.
Ask Shindou, he decided early on. Deciding on it and actually approaching the boy were two different things. Shindou avoided him the way a boy his age would, with a yelp and running the opposite direction, or joining the nearest group of people he could find. These were evasive maneuvers you'd see more in a high school than in the hallowed halls of the Go institute. At first he was amused, then got irritated when people spoke about Ogata Judan's 'stalking' behind his back. Fuel for the gossip mongers, but he was getting desperate.
Ogata asked Akira-kun, who raised his eyebrows at being a go-between, but had complied without demur. The next week Akira passed a folded up kifu sheet without a word. Akira-kun's glance was a question, and he replied with a lift of the shoulders. He'd ask Akira how he'd convince Hikaru to give up the kifu, but that will be for later.
He'd waited till he was home before he opened it up, and carefully laid out the stones until his resignation. Each stone on the board reminded him of that heavy, sinking feeling that sobered him midway through the game.
Ogata lit a cigarette. He pondered the game as it stood, thought if there was a point he could still win. Decided there wasn't, and remembered that on that night, he'd thought why that game had been special.
He ran a finger over the kifu sheet. Five strokes - horizontal, vertical. A stroke curving downwards to the left. A diagonal stroke before the final vertical one. And though he could not see it, it was there, as plainly written as if it was in ink.
He sighed. The kifu only raised more questions, but at least he had a name for that unsettled feeling that had bothered him before. He mouthed the name, refusing to give it reality. Because there were contradictions about the theory of Shindou being equal to Sai, and Sai being Shindou. So many contradictions.
He leaned back on his chair, and closed his eyes. He spoke again, without a sound.
Sai.