[xoopi]
BETTER DAYS
by murinae
Part 1
When he woke up, it was no longer the fifth of May. He was no longer in the hotel room he had checked into the night before.
And the world was no longer the same.
He was alone. The air in the unfamiliar room was still and silent -- the place felt empty, (and he had learned long ago to recognize the feeling of an empty room).
His wallet and keys lay on the nightstand beside him. He wore a plain pair of red boxers -- and not much else. He took a moment to take stock of his skin; no bruises, no cuts, no open wounds. He didn't feel like he had been drugged. There weren't any signs of a struggle. He didn't feel sore.
The feeling of violation, however, did not fade.
The place was a nice "eel style" apartment -- the rooms ran in a straight line without separation from the bedroom through to the study then onward to the kitchen and laundry area. Clutter dotted the floors and the desks and the kitchen table, but it was a reassuring sort of mundane clutter -- books and pens, a spoon here, a half finished bowl of ramen there, and a precarious stack of dirty dishes tilting in the sink. A dead ivy plant drooped its way across the windowsill in the kitchen; otherwise, thankfully, there were no other corpses. Nor were there any body parts nor whips nor handcuffs nor anything to suggest that he had been placed in the den of a bloodthirsty serial killer or that he now would be subjected to unimaginable, mind-bending kinkiness and/or torture.
The sheer normalcy, though, was terrifying in its own way.
Cautiously, he eyed the closed bathroom door to the left of the kitchen. He heard no sounds when he put his ear against the door. Upon sliding it open and flicking on the light, he found a single toothbrush and a single razor lingering in a single cup. A wash cloth sagged from its hanger. Dirty clothes overfilled a hamper to his right. They looked vaguely familiar; I would wear these clothes, he thought.
Padding back out to the kitchen area, he braced himself as he opened the fridge. Were there going to be dead babies in the ice maker? Severed fingers in the vegetable crisper? Disembodied heads staring out at him from the meat drawer?
Nothing but an expired carton of milk, two cases of Kirin beer, and a box of wilting edamame. He resisted the urge to grab a beer and drink until he was fuzzy. He hadn't drank any alcohol last night. The tea had been bottled. And he had been alone.
"So what the hell happened?" he said aloud to the empty air.
The phone rang. The sound surprised him into banging his shin against the kitchen table. The pain sizzled sharp and fierce up his leg. Shiiiiiit. I guess I'm not dreaming.
The phone shrilled insistently. It took three tries before he could will his fingers to close around the receiver. "Uh ..."
"Shindou-sensei. Why haven't you reported in yet?" an unfamiliar voice accosted him from the receiver. It was an angry sort of voice. One which made him pull the receiver back as he tried to think of just who he had managed to piss off now. The voice matched none of the usual suspects.
"Well?! The students are waiting!"
"I have ... classes? But this is golden week, i-isn't it?" He stuttered. And I was in Innoshima, last I remember.
"Have you forgotten the day?! It's the sixth now. You told the team that they had Saturday practice. They're waiting!"
"The team?" he blinked. "I was sponsoring a team?"
"Shindou-sensei, are you all right?" the tone of the voice changed, becoming slightly concerned. "With our big match coming up ..."
"Match?"
"Shindou-sensei?"
"I ... am not feeling like myself today." That much was the truth.
"Ah." The voice hesitated. "Well. Seeing it is only a practice, I'll ask Hisakawa to fill in for you. You rest up. We want to make sure we beat Kaio! Right?"
"Kaio! Beat them?"
The response seemed to be enough. The caller hung up.
And Shindou Hikaru swallowed, turning around in a slow circle. Apparently, this apartment was his. Apparently, this life was his.
Even if he didn't remember how he had lived it.
****
He spent twenty minutes throwing things, pulling at his hair, and screaming "WHAT THE FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. He probably would have gone on for a full hour, if not for the little old lady from the apartment under him. Cane in hand, she tromped upstairs, demanding to know why Hikaru-kun was behaving in such a loud and foul manner so early in the morning. Didn't they have a deal about not yelling until at least noon? He could only stare at her, feeling rather exposed in his boxers.
There was something horribly, horribly sobering and real about little old Japanese ladies. If anything else had confronted him -- aliens, the emperor of Japan, or even a ghost in a goban, Hikaru probably would have pitched a hysterical fit, declaring that that there had been some major cosmic screw up and that he wanted to go home now.
But as the little old lady stomped back down the stairs, Hikaru numbly resigned himself that for the moment, whether or not he understood the whys or hows of his current predicament, he probably had to play along. Or at least get dressed.
Hikaru opened the closet and tentatively selected a pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt. They fit him perfectly. He went back to the bathroom, stepped into it fully, and took his first real look at the mirror. He nearly dashed back out again in shock. He no longer had his signature blond bangs, and his face seemed leaner, his jaw more sharply defined. But it was still recognizably his face.
There was also more muscle tone to his chest and his legs, which he had missed in the first panicked moments when he had inspected himself. On closer examination, he could still see the scar on his left leg from when he had fallen out of a tree at age four. So it was probably still his body, despite the new contours.
A quick rifling through "his" wallet yielded 2000 yen, a rather battered credit card and an ID card which let him know that he (or whomever he had bodysnatched) was a teacher at Haze Middle. A driver's license also informed him that he was still twenty five years old. His height hadn't changed, nor had his eye color, although he was slightly heftier, most likely due to his new muscles. A glance around the apartment showed various history textbooks and a half finished lesson plan. A baseball schedule, with its games highlighted and with various notes scribbled (seemingly in his own hand) in the margins, was tacked to the wall.
For a long time, he stared at the desk, feeling as if he had been told he was an astronaut and that the books and schedules were rocks from the moon.
No matter where he looked, he could not find a goban. And when he rubbed his right thumb over his fingers, there were no calluses at the tips. Whatever had happened, it had changed not only his body but the very shape of his hands.
The screaming brought the old lady up the stairs once more. She seemed rather disappointed at his new state of dress, but when she squinted at him, her expression changed to concern.
"Hikaru-kun?" her voice wavered as she squinted through her rheumy eyes. "Do I need to call someone for you? Akari-chan? Your mom?"
"A-akari? My mom? No," he said, somewhat humbled and frightened by her worry and by the familiarity in how she spoke to him.
"You look very shaky. If you don't feel well, I can make some tea."
"No, thank you," he said.
"You're being awfully polite," she muttered, clutching at her cane. "Are you sure?"
He helped her down the stairs, but she did not seemed surprised by this action. Whoever's life he had taken over hadn't totally been a jerk.
As she opened her door, the old lady paused. "Hikaru-kun, if it really is that bad, you can stomp and curse, even if it's before noon. I'll just plug my ears."
He slid a hand through his hair. "I don't think that will help."
The thought of going back into the -- (his?) -- apartment, however, brought a sense of tightening panic. Highly aware of the old lady's gaze, Hikaru forced himself to walk slowly back upstairs, back into the unfamiliar rooms, back to the books and notes and clothes and all the various sundries and sheddings of someone else's life -- not mine, NOT mine -- stopping only to grab the wallet and the keys, Hikaru ran back down the stairs and to the street beyond.
To his surprise, after he finally found the main street, he realized the apartment wasn't very far from his parents house. That makes sense, he thought. If he is a teacher at Haze. It was easier thinking of this non-bleached-black-hair-person as a he rather than a me.
The roads were vaguely familiar too. His feet seemed to know the way, even without his conscious mind providing any sort of direction. A good bout of haphazard wandering brought him to the front of the train station. He stared at the names of the towns. They were all the same as the ones he had grown up with.
But I'm still lost, he swallowed. Do I go to my (his?!) parent's? To my (his?) friends? Ask them if they've experienced any strange changes lately? Should I go to --
No. he knew where his internal compass was pointing first, straight and true. But I can't go there. Not until I find out if -- His thumb rubbed over his fingers, the skin smooth and uncallused at the tips.
In the end, he bought a ticket to Shibuya station.
***
Part 2
The stench of smoke was as thick as it ever had been but Hikaru inhaled the smell deeply, feeling his nerves settle at the gut-level familiarity.
What wasn't quite as settling was the fact he had to pay the entrance fee.
"Is Kawai-san here?" he asked.
"Yeah, but who the hell are you?!" came the rough voice to his back. Hikaru had long learned not to flinch at the loudness of that voice.
It was the fact that Kawaii didn't reach out and ruffle his hair that made him grimace. "Ah. Err. Do you have time for a game?"
"Hah, you've heard of my strength, eh? Come to test your prowess against me?" The thin man beamed, chest thrusting forward.
"I'll give you a five stone handicap," Hikaru said.
"What?!" Kawai-san puffed up even more, eyes growing wide and indignant under the tinted eyeglasses. "Five stones?! Against me?! Who do you think you are?"
"I'm not sure," he replied. Kawai-san frowned, his hands dropping to his sides.
"Eh? Well, it's your slaughter. Howabout we bet something on it?"
"I rather not," Hikaru said. He couldn't help but add, "it'd be too much like fleecing a baby."
"What?!"
In the end, Hikaru won by two moku. Incensed by Hikaru's words, Kawai-san put in an all out effort, attacking Hikaru's shapes ruthlessly. As the points were tallied, Hikaru found his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
So. I can still play. Hikaru let out a deep breath, Oh God, I can still play. But --
"Oi, you're pretty good," Kawai-san said.
"You've gotten better," Hikaru replied. "I usually win by three stones."
"Ha! So you admit you -- eeeeeh, wait, what did you say?" Kawai-san paused, the cigarette butt dropping dramatically out of his mouth. "Have I played you before?!"
"I don't know." Hikaru methodically cleaned the goban, stone by stone. In moments, the board was empty. "Maybe."
"What does that mean? Geez, you are one strange little bastard," Kawai-san gaped as Hikaru pushed away from the table. "I'm just glad you didn't bet me! I would've lost 2000 yen."
"No," said Hikaru. "The stakes were higher than that, Kawai-san."
"What? Damn it, stop talking in riddles! If you think so much of yourself, give me six stones then. What do you say? Another game?"
"Can't. It just doesn't feel ...." Hikaru shrugged. Then, giving into some nameless, aching instinct, he reached out a hand and roughly noogied the other man on the head.
"HEY!"
The yelling followed him out onto the street.
***
It took him about a mile of walking blindly to finally decide on his next move. By then, Shibuya had become a distant point behind him, Shinjuku loomed up bright and bustling before him, and underneath him, his feet didn't hurt quite as much as he thought they would. And on the fifth floor of the Kinokinuya, on the specialty shelf set aside for go, he found the another part of a possible answer.
Shining Go, the title read. The Complete Kifu of Fujiwara no Sai.
He was glad there was no other patrons around to witness his legs giving way. What a stupid title, he thought.
An hour later, he was still in the specialty section, still in a sitting position with his back against the shelves, and still earning some rather angry glares from the few igo enthusiasts who had been forced to step over him.
He was still shaking. He wondered if he would ever stop.
Though his games are now over a thousand years old, Fujiwara no Sai hardly needs an introduction amongst today's players; there are few, if any, who would not recognize his name or his kifu, the introduction to the book stated.
His legacy began early in his life; he became a igo tutor to the imperial court at the tender age of eight. However, since no kifu remain from this time, scholars are left to merely speculate about this period of Fujiwara's life; his first recorded game is perhaps his most famous and most controversial.
A study of court history reveals that a rival tutor challenged Fujiwara to a one game match in order to determine who would be the sole tutor to the emperor. However, the exact circumstances surrounding the event remain steeped in legend; the court records detailing the actual match have been lost or destroyed. The most popular version, written after the fact, holds that Fujiwara's rival, knowing that he had no chance of winning, hid a white stone in his ke. Just as the man was grasping the hidden stone to place it among his captured stones, however, a ray of light broke through the heavens to illuminate his dishonesty to all the watchers.
Igo scholars have long debated whether this "beam of light" story holds any true historical weight. The tally of stones and a study of the shapes does seem to suggest a one point anomaly in favor of black. However, if Fujiwara's opponent had indeed cheated and had been caught, the game should have been stopped immediately, and the man would have most likely been banished from the court. Yet, the kifu shows the game lasted through yose. Fujiwara would go on to win the game by three moku.
Whatever the circumstance, the game must have impressed the emperor enough to order for several copies of the kifu to be spread throughout the court. Perhaps it is this decree that started the practice of recording and copying many of Fujiwara's later games, a good number of which can still be found today and are reproduced in their entirety here.
Moreover, whether or not the legend of the beam of light is true, the truth of kifu cannot be disputed; the game still stands as a testimony to Fujiwara's incomparable strength. Given that komi was yet to be recognized and given Fujiwara was playing white, his victory by three moku was an impressive feat indeed, more so if one factors in an extra stone disadvantage. Later game records would continue to exhibit this brilliance; he never lost when he played black, and only lost three times when playing white.
It should come also as no surprise to any player that Fujiwara's games became known as the shining games, and his style, the go of light.
The bookshelf bit sharply into his back as Hikaru sagged further against it.
"The go of light," he repeated aloud. The words felt strange in his mouth, and he licked his dry lips. When he rubbed his eyes, he wasn't surprised when his fingers came away wet. "So that's it."
"Uh, sir? Is everything all right? Are you finding everything you need?" a voice spoke down to him. Hikaru looked up to find a well dressed man peering down at him. It was probably the manager, Hikaru guessed, come to finally remove the customer service nightmare currently blocking entry to the igo section.
"Yes." Hikaru scrambled to his feet, wiping at his face. "I'm fine. But could you tell me where I can find a copy of Igo weekly?"
"Our periodicals are down one floor. Though you can pay for that book on this one, if you wish to purchase it."
Hikaru tucked the book under an arm, and headed for the cash register. At 8500 yen, it was rather expensive, though he wouldn't have thought twice if he had still been a pro. I hope he can afford it, Hikaru thought as he watched the clerk swipe the credit card. How much do teachers make anyways?
His stomach twisted, and he swallowed against the bitter nausea. Why should I care? It's not my life.
Hikaru could feel the manager's eyes following him as he descended the steps to the fourth floor. Luckily, the man did not follow him, probably hoping that the wandering igo lunatic would become the problem of the floor manager down below.
But I'm not the one going crazy. It's the world's that gone crazy around me.
Igo weekly confirmed his growing suspicions. Hands shaking, Hikaru brushed his fingers over the squares and lines, tracing the moves.
Oh god, it isn't just Kawai-san getting stronger. In a daze, Hikaru staggered to the cash register to pay for the magazine. The games, they're brilliant, a whole level up. Sai was known to the world, here.
He closed his eyes, startled. Sai was ... known. For some reason, something in him wanted to laugh.
So it makes sense that the world would move upwards slightly too.
But where does that leave me? His hands tightened against the magazine.
He didn't remember picking up the package, sliding the credit card back into his wallet, and turning to leave. He didn't remember checking the crossing signal to make sure that the light was in his favor.
But what he did remember afterwards was the sudden yank on his arm, then falling backwards just before the taxi would have hit him. He managed to bowl his rescuer over, and for a moment, the world consisted of a confusing blur of arms and legs and hands and feet in all the wrong places. Even as one part of his brain tried to process what had happened, another, more immediate part of him registered that his face was buried in someone's chest.
It was a rather flat chest, he noticed. Face flaming red, Hikaru pushed away sharply, rolling to his back on the pavement.
Being embarrassed was much better than being dead but he wondered by just how much as he looked up at his savior.
Touya Akira had been shopping in Shinjuku too.
***
Part 3
In retrospect, "Touya?! Why the hell are you here?" probably wasn't the best way to respond to the situation, but that was what burst out of Hikaru mouth.
"E-excuse me?" To Hikaru's ears, Touya still sounded the same. To his eyes, the half bewildered, half offended look was pure undiluted Touya.
What Touya Akira was actually saying, however, may as well have been spoken in a foreign language. "Do I know you?"
"What do you mean by that? You should!" Hikaru glared. "I don't care what happened or if some aliens came by or whatever -- but out of anyone, YOU SHOULD!"
"Ah, well ... " Touya blinked. "W-what?! Aliens?!"
"Damn it all!" Hikaru swore violently as the last bit of shifting fear within him finally gained solidarity. "Even this too?!"
"Are you two all right?" a tentative voice asked. "Do you need help?"
Hikaru groaned as he noticed the small crowd clustering around him and Touya. Some of them had pulled out their cell phones and was currently taking pictures or videos of the entire event. Apparently, two rather attractive and rather grown men lying sprawled together on the Tokyo sidewalk was high entertainment.
"First off, everyone can stop gaping now, okay?" He snapped at the concerned passersby and the curious onlookers. As they stared even more, he waved an irate hand, trying to shoo them off. "I'm fine. I think Touya's fine too. We're both fine. GO AWAY. This is between me and him."
"You and me?" Touya's expression shifted in comic mix between concern, outrage, and confusion. "Did you hit your head?"
"No. Though I sorta wish I had. At least that would make some sort of sense." Hikaru mumbled. "Let me guess. You don't know or remember me either. Figures. This sucks. You suck."
"What? Why I do -- what?! But I ... I just saved your life!" Outrage had apparently won the battle over concern and confusion. Touya surged to his feet. He glared down at Hikaru.
"Oh." Hikaru paused. "Oh yeah. Um. Thanks."
Wincing, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Oww, oww, owwww."
He reached around to pick up his dropped packages, then hissed again. Despite the fact that he was still visibly angry, Touya still knelt, scooped up the fallen books with one hand and offered Hikaru a hand up with his other.
Pointedly ignoring the outstretched hand, Hikaru pushed to his feet on his own.
As Hikaru gestured brusquely for his books, Touya's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the titles of Hikaru's purchases.
"You play igo?" he asked carefully.
"Yeaaaaaah?" Hikaru drawled.
"Ah, am I supposed to play you soon? Is that how you know me? Or have I eh ... defeated you before?" Touya's voice hadn't lost its awkward stiffness, but there was a hint of embarrassment as well now. "I apologize if I should recognize you. I'm not very good with names."
Hikaru did not answer. Something in his expression, however, made Touya's eyebrows draw together. Touya reached out once more, fingers pausing just before they made contact with Hikaru's arm.
"Are you certain you're all right?"
Hikaru could only nod slightly.
"Still," Touya's tone gentled. "Maybe you should go to a doctor and get checked out, just in case."
"I said I'm fine. And why do you care?! It's not like you know me, right?!" Hikaru spat. Touya retreated a step backwards, eying the eddying flow of pedestrian traffic around them.
Shit! He's going to leave! Hikaru's mouth went dry. Touya Akira may not have known him, but compared with the hundreds and hundreds of strangers just passing him by ...
"W-wait, stop." He rubbed at his forehead. "Okay, okay, that's not fair, is it? I know I'm being an ungrateful shithead. Do you have time to get some ramen? Or sushi -- I know you like that better than ramen."
"What? How do you know that -- sushi?" Mouth hanging slightly open, Touya took another step backward. "You want to go out to eat sushi? After --" he gestured helplessly at the traffic.
"Yeah. Course I do. Least I can do, after the you-saving-my-life thing."
In the end, he didn't know why Touya followed him; Hikaru was just grateful that he did. At least that holds true ...
Thank god that still holds true.
Once at the sushi bar, however, Touya merely stared at the colorful line of plates rotating by him, eyes wide. He made no move towards selecting any of the dishes. Every now and then he kept glancing back at the door, as if he wanted to bolt.
"Hey," said Hikaru. "About all that mess before on the street. I'm uh s-sor--uh ... well, seeing you just surprised me."
"I see." Touya said.
Hikaru twitched slightly at the increasingly awkward silence. O-kay. Just where was I going with this? Hello, Touya, I think I've gone and lost my old life somewhere! You see, normally, you should know me because you're my eternal rival. Only not here, because for some reason, I'm not a go player now, but Sai is -- not that you'd know any of that even if you were the real you, because I never told you about Sai.
Yeah. That's going to go well.
As the quiet pause stretched into something distinctly unsettling, Touya shifted his weight forward on his seat.
"If you have nothing else to say to me, I am going to take my leave now --"
"Hey, wait. Don't ..." Hikaru snatched a plate of tuna and set it in front of the other man. "At least eat something. I know you like -- I mean, you seem to look like the sort that likes tuna."
"I look like what?!"
Instead of replying, Hikaru gestured at the plate insistently, before snagging a plate of salmon for himself. "Eat up."
Touya made no move towards the offering.
"I've never played you, have I? I'm certain of that now." Touya's voice was low and sharp. "I remember all of those who have defeated me. And as for the others ... " Touya stopped, eyes shifting abruptly away from Hikaru's. "Of those I have defeated in the past, I may not remember them all -- but I'm certain I would have remembered your attitude, if not your game or your face."
"My attitude?" Hikaru pushed the piece of salmon around his plate, picking it up with the wooden chopsticks, before placing it back down, uneaten. "I-i would've thought --- ah." He licked his lips, and quickly took a sip of his green tea, trying to pass off the slight quaver in his voice as merely a dry throat. "I would've thought you would've remembered more than that."
"Additionally, I know you're not on my schedule. I study all my upcoming opponents. I know all the pros who are in my league. You are not one of them."
"I'm not!? Oh." Hikaru fiddled with his chopsticks. "I guess I'm not."
"I have not played you. You have not played me. Why do you think you know me?" Touya's hands were calm on the counter. His voice never lost its detached tone. Hikaru, though, did not mistake the threat. "Or more importantly, why do you think I should know you?"
"I, well, um, jeez that's a good question." Hikaru tapped his fingers nervously against the table as he stared at the napkin dispenser. "Do you have a pen?"
Touya raised an eyebrow.
"Come on, I know you do. Just fork it over," Hikaru insisted. "It's important."
His eyes never leaving Hikaru's, Touya reached into his pocket and offered up a pen. Hikaru accepted it gratefully as he pulled a napkin out from the dispenser and unfolded it. He scribbled frantically over the soft surface, gritting his teeth as the napkin tore slightly in places, but pushing on grimly anyways.
"Just stay with me for a moment, okay? I know you're thinking I'm an obsessed fan, or that I'm a stalker or that I'm just crazy. And I don't know what to say that won't come out crazy either. But just ... give me one moment. That's all I ask."
Touya said nothing, though the lines around his mouth deepened even further.
With a last, messy flourish, Hikaru pushed the napkin forward. It was rather clumsily drawn; the lines had come out slightly skewed, the numbers were shaky. "I know this might not make sense, but --"
It's all that's still real to me.
Swallowing nervously, Hikaru gripped the pen with both of his hands. "Do you remember playing this game?"
Touya accepted the napkin. His eyes narrowed, lips moving slightly as he read the moves. Hikaru could barely breathe through the tight, cramping feeling in his chest. Finally, Touya crumpled the napkin. "No."
Hikaru stared at his hands. "Oh."
"I've never seen that game before."
"Um. Ah. And you're really sure you never eh, then I ...it ... well ...I just -- it --" Hikaru fumbled, making a vague circling motion with his hands as he searched for the right words. "Well, shit. Then I guess I am crazy."
Bending forward and closing his eyes, he rested his head on the sushi counter. Hikaru grimaced as he heard the squeaking sound of Touya's chair being pushed back. I just want to wake up now. he thought. His hand balled in to a fist so tight that he knew his nails would leave more than just a mark. Please. I want to wake up. Or go back to sleep without dreaming.
A sudden, gentle touch on his back made him draw inward even more.
"I've paid for the two plates," Touya's voice was carefully neutral.
"Um." Hikaru's head popped up. "Oh. I meant to --"
"If you hurry, I have time for a game."
"A game?" Hikaru's eyes widened. "What?!"
"That kifu you drew -- the moves and countermoves, attacks and defense -- all of them are exactly how I would have responded. I may not know you, but you know my go. At a level that is ... troubling," Touya said. "Play me. That should clear up all questions."
Hikaru could only nod dumbly as Touya turned to leave.
***
The familiarity of following Touya through the sliding doors of the salon was almost like a fist to his gut; Hikaru nearly swayed from the impact. For the first time since opening his eyes that day, he felt as if something had abruptly clicked into place, like a gear grinding back in sync. I was right. I should have come here first.
Ichikawa-san bowed politely to them. "Welcome to our igo salon, sir. And welcome back, boss!"
Ichikawa winked at Touya, before turning to Hikaru. "We offer open tables for 1500 yen, private rooms for 2500 per hour."
"He's my guest," Touya said, and Ichikawa raised an eyebrow.
"Ah! Is he someone from the institute?" She scrutinized Hikaru more closely. "Visiting pro?"
Touya shrugged. "That's what I'm going to find out."
If Ichikawa was surprised at his remark, she didn't let it show. "I'll bring you both drinks later," she promised. "What would you like, sir?"
"Uh .... um. Drink?" Hikaru licked his lips; his mind had blanked the moment Ichikawa had turned to him. "The usual?"
"The usual ... what?" Ichikawa gestured with a hand, encouraging him to continue.
"Uh. CC Lemon, please, if you have it." He said. "Thanks, Ichikawa-san."
"Yes ... thank you, Ichikawa-san." Touya flashed Hikaru an odd look, which he tried to avoid.
"No problem." Ichikawa grinned. "Hey, here's hoping for a good game, eh?"
For a moment, something flickered across Ichikawa's expression, but it faded too fast for Hikaru to really understand.
Hikaru could only shrug helplessly, before hurrying to where Touya was waiting patiently in front of a goban.
Hikaru pulled out his chair, then took a deep breath to calm himself.
When he reached for a ke, his hands were steady. "Nigiri?" he said.
Touya's lips quirked slightly. "If you insist."
They both opened their hands at the same moment. The stones clicked against the board, and Hikaru won black.
"Onegaishimasu."
"Onegaishimasu."
The first few moves proceeded without any notable differences from any game with Touya.
But after fifty moves, Hikaru felt the first pricklings of unease shiver through him.
And after hundred, the half panic, half lost feeling that had dogged him since morning had tightened over him again, sharp and binding like ropes cutting into his skin.
If Shindou Hikaru had to describe Touya Akira's style, perhaps he would have said that Touya played honestly, without yielding. Touya preferred to slice cleanly through his opponents' shapes, killing them instantly instead of drawing them out in a prolonged battle. He rarely played "testing" or "trick" hands.
Beginners often mistook Touya's style as being arrogant or dismissive. Pros knew better. To be straightforward on the board was a mark of strength.
Most opponents fell in a panic before that deadly confidence.
In contrast, Hikaru's own style was one of hidden strength, of something waiting in the corners, and of strategies needing time to mature. Opponents were lulled into thinking they had the upper edge until that one last moment, when the stone would sound on the board, and they realized the game had turned, irrevocably.
Touya Akira hunted; Shindou Hikaru waited -- one forever a predator, the other a predator pretending to be prey.
And move, countermove, they balanced each other -- Touya's quiet, steady strength against Hikaru's slowly building momentum.
But in this game, there was nothing of the ebb and flow that Hikaru had learned to expect. Every move felt odd and out of rhythm; it was akin to fighting the ocean tide. With Touya, Hikaru had become accustomed to being a part of the crossing currents, to push and obstruct in equal amounts to the inevitable coastal pull.
Here, he was being swept over by the waves. Which Touya am I playing?!
"Arimasen." Hikaru bowed his head. "I have nothing."
"Why did you stop?" Touya's voice was very, very quiet. His eyes flicked up, and something unfamiliar glinted there. Hikaru had seen Touya when he had been angry, disgusted, sad and even in the occasional joyous moment. He knew how to read Touya, in the quiet movement of his fingers or the way he'd gather himself up just before launching into a battle -- either with words or with stones.
Now, he couldn't even guess what Touya what was feeling.
Probably disappointment, if he's anything like the "other" him.
"It wasn't over yet." Touya's voice made him glance up. "You could've fought back, regained some more territory."
"You were winning." Hikaru's hands drifted above the stone clusters, pausing briefly at each weak point. Touya's eyes followed each movement.
"Perhaps. But we weren't anywhere near the deciding point. You gave up far too early."
"No, I didn't. I'm not so bad yet that I can't read it through," Hikaru said. His hands fell back to his sides.
"Bad? You're not bad at all." Frowning, Touya folded his arms together. "Forgive me for my earlier words and assumptions. You're a pro right? Seven dan -- or its equivalent? Perhaps you studied overseas."
"You think I'm a seven dan?" Hikaru pushed the go ke away. "So what's your rank?"
"You don't know?" Touya drew backwards, his hands coming to flutter awkwardly at the board. "But I thought --"
"I know I seem like a freak, but I'm NOT some random stalker fan of yours. I just know --" Hikaru cut off abruptly, eyes closing briefly. "All I know ... well, all I know about you now is what I saw in your go here. Just tell me, what rank are you?"
Touya tilted his head to the side, lips pursing as if he was trying to find the best way to word his answer. "Technically, I guess you could call me a nine dan. But most people refer to me by my title of Meijin."
"Hoooooooooooly fuck! You?" Hikaru gripped the table tightly in order to stop himself from tipping out of his chair. "M-mejin? Already?"
The tips of Touya's ears flushed slightly. "Yes. You ... you really didn't know who you were playing? When you asked for an even game, I thought you were merely being an obnoxious --" Touya immediately covered his mouth with one hand, obviously flustered. "But you haven't answered my question. I thought I knew all the current rising players."
"About that, err ..." Hikaru scratched the back of his neck, grimacing. "I was wrong. I don't think you know me."
"Then you don't play professionally? You can't be in the amateur leagues. Did you come from abroad? Do you play online? You couldn't have been an insei here -- China perhaps? Or Korea." Touya ticked off the possible solutions, and his voice growing softer each time Hikaru shook his head.
"No. I'm not in any of the igo circles. I think ... for me here -- this probably is my fir-- ah!" Eyes widening as his thoughts caught up with his words, Hikaru bit down on the side of his cheek, to stop himself from saying anymore. Oh SHIT! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Touya leaned forward immediately, eyes wide. "What? This your first game?!"
I don't ever learn, do I? How many times am I gonna screw up the exact same way?
"No! Of course not -- how could this possibly be my first game? You just heard me wrong -- or it came out wrong, or whatever. Anyways, your game ... you play really, really well." Hikaru said as he pushed his chair back and rose to leave. "Too good really. Way above me. I mean, a meijin?! You must be going `what the Hell was he thinking?'"
"Wait. Don't you want to discuss the game? And --" Touya's eyes were wide, as if Hikaru had physically slapped him with his words.
"There's no point. I already know what I did wrong." Hikaru said. As he backed up another step, Touya surged to his feet and threw out an arm.
"Wait. Let me finish. I enjoyed the game. You have a style I've never seen before -- there are some familiarities but --"
Hikaru pushed him aside. "But I'm not at your level."
"What does that matter? It was a good game! Your technique and your attacks are very unique." Touya's hands clenched. "Where are you going? I'm not done --"
"Well, I don't care. I'm done!" Hikaru headed for the exit, even as Touya dodged around him once more, arms outspread.
"I don't even know who you are."
"It doesn't matter!" Hikaru snarled, loud enough to startle all the patrons around them. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Ichikawa standing, a tray in hand, looking rather shocked. Hikaru gritted his teeth, mentally forcing himself to calm down and lower his voice. "I got that, okay? It doesn't matter, not to you, not here."
Touya grabbed his arm. "Who are you to decide that? Listen to me. It was an interesting game! Let's finish it. Or if I insulted you before, perhaps it's because I don't yet have a true measure of your strength."
"A true measure of --" Hikaru stopped. He glanced backwards at the goban they had left behind. Stones still littered it surface; Touya had been right, and the game hadn't quite been decided yet. But the overwhelming sensation of being drawn under rose up within him, and he shuddered. A true measure, huh?
"It's not that." Bowing his head slightly, Hikaru slowly forced himself to release the tension that had bunched up his shoulders. "Look, for the record, I'm sorry for barging into your life so goddamn arrogantly. I never thought what it would feel like, what it might mean. I was only focused on me, on how my life had changed back then. I didn't think that by trying to push forward, I might push something back."
He glanced at Touya's fingers on his arms, then wrapped his own hand around Touya's, gently prying each finger off. "Hey. We're not kids anymore, eh? It's kinda dumb to make big stupid scene. And you're a meijin too. I'm just a ... I'm sorry."
Turning around, he started slowly towards the exit, forcing himself not to break into a run. I won't make that mistake again either.
"I don't understand." Touya's voice was a low growl, barely audible to Hikaru. "At least tell me your name. Or what I've done to deserve your apology."
Hikaru chuckled wryly. "Isn't it what I've done? But it's Shindou Hikaru. My name. Shindou Hikaru."
"I am going to remember that, Shindou Hikaru," Touya said solemnly.
Hikaru smiled faintly. "Don't know why you would. I'm not going to be here long enough that it'll matter."
"What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering, Hikaru pushed out the door. He didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed when Touya did not follow.
It was not until he reached the train station that he realized while he had the keys, he had lost the wallet. And when he finally scrounged up enough change in his pockets to buy a train ticket back to the apartment, he realized he had also forgotten just where the apartment was.
God DAMN IT!
***
next parts
by murinae
Part 1
When he woke up, it was no longer the fifth of May. He was no longer in the hotel room he had checked into the night before.
And the world was no longer the same.
He was alone. The air in the unfamiliar room was still and silent -- the place felt empty, (and he had learned long ago to recognize the feeling of an empty room).
His wallet and keys lay on the nightstand beside him. He wore a plain pair of red boxers -- and not much else. He took a moment to take stock of his skin; no bruises, no cuts, no open wounds. He didn't feel like he had been drugged. There weren't any signs of a struggle. He didn't feel sore.
The feeling of violation, however, did not fade.
The place was a nice "eel style" apartment -- the rooms ran in a straight line without separation from the bedroom through to the study then onward to the kitchen and laundry area. Clutter dotted the floors and the desks and the kitchen table, but it was a reassuring sort of mundane clutter -- books and pens, a spoon here, a half finished bowl of ramen there, and a precarious stack of dirty dishes tilting in the sink. A dead ivy plant drooped its way across the windowsill in the kitchen; otherwise, thankfully, there were no other corpses. Nor were there any body parts nor whips nor handcuffs nor anything to suggest that he had been placed in the den of a bloodthirsty serial killer or that he now would be subjected to unimaginable, mind-bending kinkiness and/or torture.
The sheer normalcy, though, was terrifying in its own way.
Cautiously, he eyed the closed bathroom door to the left of the kitchen. He heard no sounds when he put his ear against the door. Upon sliding it open and flicking on the light, he found a single toothbrush and a single razor lingering in a single cup. A wash cloth sagged from its hanger. Dirty clothes overfilled a hamper to his right. They looked vaguely familiar; I would wear these clothes, he thought.
Padding back out to the kitchen area, he braced himself as he opened the fridge. Were there going to be dead babies in the ice maker? Severed fingers in the vegetable crisper? Disembodied heads staring out at him from the meat drawer?
Nothing but an expired carton of milk, two cases of Kirin beer, and a box of wilting edamame. He resisted the urge to grab a beer and drink until he was fuzzy. He hadn't drank any alcohol last night. The tea had been bottled. And he had been alone.
"So what the hell happened?" he said aloud to the empty air.
The phone rang. The sound surprised him into banging his shin against the kitchen table. The pain sizzled sharp and fierce up his leg. Shiiiiiit. I guess I'm not dreaming.
The phone shrilled insistently. It took three tries before he could will his fingers to close around the receiver. "Uh ..."
"Shindou-sensei. Why haven't you reported in yet?" an unfamiliar voice accosted him from the receiver. It was an angry sort of voice. One which made him pull the receiver back as he tried to think of just who he had managed to piss off now. The voice matched none of the usual suspects.
"Well?! The students are waiting!"
"I have ... classes? But this is golden week, i-isn't it?" He stuttered. And I was in Innoshima, last I remember.
"Have you forgotten the day?! It's the sixth now. You told the team that they had Saturday practice. They're waiting!"
"The team?" he blinked. "I was sponsoring a team?"
"Shindou-sensei, are you all right?" the tone of the voice changed, becoming slightly concerned. "With our big match coming up ..."
"Match?"
"Shindou-sensei?"
"I ... am not feeling like myself today." That much was the truth.
"Ah." The voice hesitated. "Well. Seeing it is only a practice, I'll ask Hisakawa to fill in for you. You rest up. We want to make sure we beat Kaio! Right?"
"Kaio! Beat them?"
The response seemed to be enough. The caller hung up.
And Shindou Hikaru swallowed, turning around in a slow circle. Apparently, this apartment was his. Apparently, this life was his.
Even if he didn't remember how he had lived it.
****
He spent twenty minutes throwing things, pulling at his hair, and screaming "WHAT THE FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. He probably would have gone on for a full hour, if not for the little old lady from the apartment under him. Cane in hand, she tromped upstairs, demanding to know why Hikaru-kun was behaving in such a loud and foul manner so early in the morning. Didn't they have a deal about not yelling until at least noon? He could only stare at her, feeling rather exposed in his boxers.
There was something horribly, horribly sobering and real about little old Japanese ladies. If anything else had confronted him -- aliens, the emperor of Japan, or even a ghost in a goban, Hikaru probably would have pitched a hysterical fit, declaring that that there had been some major cosmic screw up and that he wanted to go home now.
But as the little old lady stomped back down the stairs, Hikaru numbly resigned himself that for the moment, whether or not he understood the whys or hows of his current predicament, he probably had to play along. Or at least get dressed.
Hikaru opened the closet and tentatively selected a pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt. They fit him perfectly. He went back to the bathroom, stepped into it fully, and took his first real look at the mirror. He nearly dashed back out again in shock. He no longer had his signature blond bangs, and his face seemed leaner, his jaw more sharply defined. But it was still recognizably his face.
There was also more muscle tone to his chest and his legs, which he had missed in the first panicked moments when he had inspected himself. On closer examination, he could still see the scar on his left leg from when he had fallen out of a tree at age four. So it was probably still his body, despite the new contours.
A quick rifling through "his" wallet yielded 2000 yen, a rather battered credit card and an ID card which let him know that he (or whomever he had bodysnatched) was a teacher at Haze Middle. A driver's license also informed him that he was still twenty five years old. His height hadn't changed, nor had his eye color, although he was slightly heftier, most likely due to his new muscles. A glance around the apartment showed various history textbooks and a half finished lesson plan. A baseball schedule, with its games highlighted and with various notes scribbled (seemingly in his own hand) in the margins, was tacked to the wall.
For a long time, he stared at the desk, feeling as if he had been told he was an astronaut and that the books and schedules were rocks from the moon.
No matter where he looked, he could not find a goban. And when he rubbed his right thumb over his fingers, there were no calluses at the tips. Whatever had happened, it had changed not only his body but the very shape of his hands.
The screaming brought the old lady up the stairs once more. She seemed rather disappointed at his new state of dress, but when she squinted at him, her expression changed to concern.
"Hikaru-kun?" her voice wavered as she squinted through her rheumy eyes. "Do I need to call someone for you? Akari-chan? Your mom?"
"A-akari? My mom? No," he said, somewhat humbled and frightened by her worry and by the familiarity in how she spoke to him.
"You look very shaky. If you don't feel well, I can make some tea."
"No, thank you," he said.
"You're being awfully polite," she muttered, clutching at her cane. "Are you sure?"
He helped her down the stairs, but she did not seemed surprised by this action. Whoever's life he had taken over hadn't totally been a jerk.
As she opened her door, the old lady paused. "Hikaru-kun, if it really is that bad, you can stomp and curse, even if it's before noon. I'll just plug my ears."
He slid a hand through his hair. "I don't think that will help."
The thought of going back into the -- (his?) -- apartment, however, brought a sense of tightening panic. Highly aware of the old lady's gaze, Hikaru forced himself to walk slowly back upstairs, back into the unfamiliar rooms, back to the books and notes and clothes and all the various sundries and sheddings of someone else's life -- not mine, NOT mine -- stopping only to grab the wallet and the keys, Hikaru ran back down the stairs and to the street beyond.
To his surprise, after he finally found the main street, he realized the apartment wasn't very far from his parents house. That makes sense, he thought. If he is a teacher at Haze. It was easier thinking of this non-bleached-black-hair-person as a he rather than a me.
The roads were vaguely familiar too. His feet seemed to know the way, even without his conscious mind providing any sort of direction. A good bout of haphazard wandering brought him to the front of the train station. He stared at the names of the towns. They were all the same as the ones he had grown up with.
But I'm still lost, he swallowed. Do I go to my (his?!) parent's? To my (his?) friends? Ask them if they've experienced any strange changes lately? Should I go to --
No. he knew where his internal compass was pointing first, straight and true. But I can't go there. Not until I find out if -- His thumb rubbed over his fingers, the skin smooth and uncallused at the tips.
In the end, he bought a ticket to Shibuya station.
***
Part 2
The stench of smoke was as thick as it ever had been but Hikaru inhaled the smell deeply, feeling his nerves settle at the gut-level familiarity.
What wasn't quite as settling was the fact he had to pay the entrance fee.
"Is Kawai-san here?" he asked.
"Yeah, but who the hell are you?!" came the rough voice to his back. Hikaru had long learned not to flinch at the loudness of that voice.
It was the fact that Kawaii didn't reach out and ruffle his hair that made him grimace. "Ah. Err. Do you have time for a game?"
"Hah, you've heard of my strength, eh? Come to test your prowess against me?" The thin man beamed, chest thrusting forward.
"I'll give you a five stone handicap," Hikaru said.
"What?!" Kawai-san puffed up even more, eyes growing wide and indignant under the tinted eyeglasses. "Five stones?! Against me?! Who do you think you are?"
"I'm not sure," he replied. Kawai-san frowned, his hands dropping to his sides.
"Eh? Well, it's your slaughter. Howabout we bet something on it?"
"I rather not," Hikaru said. He couldn't help but add, "it'd be too much like fleecing a baby."
"What?!"
In the end, Hikaru won by two moku. Incensed by Hikaru's words, Kawai-san put in an all out effort, attacking Hikaru's shapes ruthlessly. As the points were tallied, Hikaru found his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
So. I can still play. Hikaru let out a deep breath, Oh God, I can still play. But --
"Oi, you're pretty good," Kawai-san said.
"You've gotten better," Hikaru replied. "I usually win by three stones."
"Ha! So you admit you -- eeeeeh, wait, what did you say?" Kawai-san paused, the cigarette butt dropping dramatically out of his mouth. "Have I played you before?!"
"I don't know." Hikaru methodically cleaned the goban, stone by stone. In moments, the board was empty. "Maybe."
"What does that mean? Geez, you are one strange little bastard," Kawai-san gaped as Hikaru pushed away from the table. "I'm just glad you didn't bet me! I would've lost 2000 yen."
"No," said Hikaru. "The stakes were higher than that, Kawai-san."
"What? Damn it, stop talking in riddles! If you think so much of yourself, give me six stones then. What do you say? Another game?"
"Can't. It just doesn't feel ...." Hikaru shrugged. Then, giving into some nameless, aching instinct, he reached out a hand and roughly noogied the other man on the head.
"HEY!"
The yelling followed him out onto the street.
***
It took him about a mile of walking blindly to finally decide on his next move. By then, Shibuya had become a distant point behind him, Shinjuku loomed up bright and bustling before him, and underneath him, his feet didn't hurt quite as much as he thought they would. And on the fifth floor of the Kinokinuya, on the specialty shelf set aside for go, he found the another part of a possible answer.
Shining Go, the title read. The Complete Kifu of Fujiwara no Sai.
He was glad there was no other patrons around to witness his legs giving way. What a stupid title, he thought.
An hour later, he was still in the specialty section, still in a sitting position with his back against the shelves, and still earning some rather angry glares from the few igo enthusiasts who had been forced to step over him.
He was still shaking. He wondered if he would ever stop.
Though his games are now over a thousand years old, Fujiwara no Sai hardly needs an introduction amongst today's players; there are few, if any, who would not recognize his name or his kifu, the introduction to the book stated.
His legacy began early in his life; he became a igo tutor to the imperial court at the tender age of eight. However, since no kifu remain from this time, scholars are left to merely speculate about this period of Fujiwara's life; his first recorded game is perhaps his most famous and most controversial.
A study of court history reveals that a rival tutor challenged Fujiwara to a one game match in order to determine who would be the sole tutor to the emperor. However, the exact circumstances surrounding the event remain steeped in legend; the court records detailing the actual match have been lost or destroyed. The most popular version, written after the fact, holds that Fujiwara's rival, knowing that he had no chance of winning, hid a white stone in his ke. Just as the man was grasping the hidden stone to place it among his captured stones, however, a ray of light broke through the heavens to illuminate his dishonesty to all the watchers.
Igo scholars have long debated whether this "beam of light" story holds any true historical weight. The tally of stones and a study of the shapes does seem to suggest a one point anomaly in favor of black. However, if Fujiwara's opponent had indeed cheated and had been caught, the game should have been stopped immediately, and the man would have most likely been banished from the court. Yet, the kifu shows the game lasted through yose. Fujiwara would go on to win the game by three moku.
Whatever the circumstance, the game must have impressed the emperor enough to order for several copies of the kifu to be spread throughout the court. Perhaps it is this decree that started the practice of recording and copying many of Fujiwara's later games, a good number of which can still be found today and are reproduced in their entirety here.
Moreover, whether or not the legend of the beam of light is true, the truth of kifu cannot be disputed; the game still stands as a testimony to Fujiwara's incomparable strength. Given that komi was yet to be recognized and given Fujiwara was playing white, his victory by three moku was an impressive feat indeed, more so if one factors in an extra stone disadvantage. Later game records would continue to exhibit this brilliance; he never lost when he played black, and only lost three times when playing white.
It should come also as no surprise to any player that Fujiwara's games became known as the shining games, and his style, the go of light.
The bookshelf bit sharply into his back as Hikaru sagged further against it.
"The go of light," he repeated aloud. The words felt strange in his mouth, and he licked his dry lips. When he rubbed his eyes, he wasn't surprised when his fingers came away wet. "So that's it."
"Uh, sir? Is everything all right? Are you finding everything you need?" a voice spoke down to him. Hikaru looked up to find a well dressed man peering down at him. It was probably the manager, Hikaru guessed, come to finally remove the customer service nightmare currently blocking entry to the igo section.
"Yes." Hikaru scrambled to his feet, wiping at his face. "I'm fine. But could you tell me where I can find a copy of Igo weekly?"
"Our periodicals are down one floor. Though you can pay for that book on this one, if you wish to purchase it."
Hikaru tucked the book under an arm, and headed for the cash register. At 8500 yen, it was rather expensive, though he wouldn't have thought twice if he had still been a pro. I hope he can afford it, Hikaru thought as he watched the clerk swipe the credit card. How much do teachers make anyways?
His stomach twisted, and he swallowed against the bitter nausea. Why should I care? It's not my life.
Hikaru could feel the manager's eyes following him as he descended the steps to the fourth floor. Luckily, the man did not follow him, probably hoping that the wandering igo lunatic would become the problem of the floor manager down below.
But I'm not the one going crazy. It's the world's that gone crazy around me.
Igo weekly confirmed his growing suspicions. Hands shaking, Hikaru brushed his fingers over the squares and lines, tracing the moves.
Oh god, it isn't just Kawai-san getting stronger. In a daze, Hikaru staggered to the cash register to pay for the magazine. The games, they're brilliant, a whole level up. Sai was known to the world, here.
He closed his eyes, startled. Sai was ... known. For some reason, something in him wanted to laugh.
So it makes sense that the world would move upwards slightly too.
But where does that leave me? His hands tightened against the magazine.
He didn't remember picking up the package, sliding the credit card back into his wallet, and turning to leave. He didn't remember checking the crossing signal to make sure that the light was in his favor.
But what he did remember afterwards was the sudden yank on his arm, then falling backwards just before the taxi would have hit him. He managed to bowl his rescuer over, and for a moment, the world consisted of a confusing blur of arms and legs and hands and feet in all the wrong places. Even as one part of his brain tried to process what had happened, another, more immediate part of him registered that his face was buried in someone's chest.
It was a rather flat chest, he noticed. Face flaming red, Hikaru pushed away sharply, rolling to his back on the pavement.
Being embarrassed was much better than being dead but he wondered by just how much as he looked up at his savior.
Touya Akira had been shopping in Shinjuku too.
***
Part 3
In retrospect, "Touya?! Why the hell are you here?" probably wasn't the best way to respond to the situation, but that was what burst out of Hikaru mouth.
"E-excuse me?" To Hikaru's ears, Touya still sounded the same. To his eyes, the half bewildered, half offended look was pure undiluted Touya.
What Touya Akira was actually saying, however, may as well have been spoken in a foreign language. "Do I know you?"
"What do you mean by that? You should!" Hikaru glared. "I don't care what happened or if some aliens came by or whatever -- but out of anyone, YOU SHOULD!"
"Ah, well ... " Touya blinked. "W-what?! Aliens?!"
"Damn it all!" Hikaru swore violently as the last bit of shifting fear within him finally gained solidarity. "Even this too?!"
"Are you two all right?" a tentative voice asked. "Do you need help?"
Hikaru groaned as he noticed the small crowd clustering around him and Touya. Some of them had pulled out their cell phones and was currently taking pictures or videos of the entire event. Apparently, two rather attractive and rather grown men lying sprawled together on the Tokyo sidewalk was high entertainment.
"First off, everyone can stop gaping now, okay?" He snapped at the concerned passersby and the curious onlookers. As they stared even more, he waved an irate hand, trying to shoo them off. "I'm fine. I think Touya's fine too. We're both fine. GO AWAY. This is between me and him."
"You and me?" Touya's expression shifted in comic mix between concern, outrage, and confusion. "Did you hit your head?"
"No. Though I sorta wish I had. At least that would make some sort of sense." Hikaru mumbled. "Let me guess. You don't know or remember me either. Figures. This sucks. You suck."
"What? Why I do -- what?! But I ... I just saved your life!" Outrage had apparently won the battle over concern and confusion. Touya surged to his feet. He glared down at Hikaru.
"Oh." Hikaru paused. "Oh yeah. Um. Thanks."
Wincing, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Oww, oww, owwww."
He reached around to pick up his dropped packages, then hissed again. Despite the fact that he was still visibly angry, Touya still knelt, scooped up the fallen books with one hand and offered Hikaru a hand up with his other.
Pointedly ignoring the outstretched hand, Hikaru pushed to his feet on his own.
As Hikaru gestured brusquely for his books, Touya's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the titles of Hikaru's purchases.
"You play igo?" he asked carefully.
"Yeaaaaaah?" Hikaru drawled.
"Ah, am I supposed to play you soon? Is that how you know me? Or have I eh ... defeated you before?" Touya's voice hadn't lost its awkward stiffness, but there was a hint of embarrassment as well now. "I apologize if I should recognize you. I'm not very good with names."
Hikaru did not answer. Something in his expression, however, made Touya's eyebrows draw together. Touya reached out once more, fingers pausing just before they made contact with Hikaru's arm.
"Are you certain you're all right?"
Hikaru could only nod slightly.
"Still," Touya's tone gentled. "Maybe you should go to a doctor and get checked out, just in case."
"I said I'm fine. And why do you care?! It's not like you know me, right?!" Hikaru spat. Touya retreated a step backwards, eying the eddying flow of pedestrian traffic around them.
Shit! He's going to leave! Hikaru's mouth went dry. Touya Akira may not have known him, but compared with the hundreds and hundreds of strangers just passing him by ...
"W-wait, stop." He rubbed at his forehead. "Okay, okay, that's not fair, is it? I know I'm being an ungrateful shithead. Do you have time to get some ramen? Or sushi -- I know you like that better than ramen."
"What? How do you know that -- sushi?" Mouth hanging slightly open, Touya took another step backward. "You want to go out to eat sushi? After --" he gestured helplessly at the traffic.
"Yeah. Course I do. Least I can do, after the you-saving-my-life thing."
In the end, he didn't know why Touya followed him; Hikaru was just grateful that he did. At least that holds true ...
Thank god that still holds true.
Once at the sushi bar, however, Touya merely stared at the colorful line of plates rotating by him, eyes wide. He made no move towards selecting any of the dishes. Every now and then he kept glancing back at the door, as if he wanted to bolt.
"Hey," said Hikaru. "About all that mess before on the street. I'm uh s-sor--uh ... well, seeing you just surprised me."
"I see." Touya said.
Hikaru twitched slightly at the increasingly awkward silence. O-kay. Just where was I going with this? Hello, Touya, I think I've gone and lost my old life somewhere! You see, normally, you should know me because you're my eternal rival. Only not here, because for some reason, I'm not a go player now, but Sai is -- not that you'd know any of that even if you were the real you, because I never told you about Sai.
Yeah. That's going to go well.
As the quiet pause stretched into something distinctly unsettling, Touya shifted his weight forward on his seat.
"If you have nothing else to say to me, I am going to take my leave now --"
"Hey, wait. Don't ..." Hikaru snatched a plate of tuna and set it in front of the other man. "At least eat something. I know you like -- I mean, you seem to look like the sort that likes tuna."
"I look like what?!"
Instead of replying, Hikaru gestured at the plate insistently, before snagging a plate of salmon for himself. "Eat up."
Touya made no move towards the offering.
"I've never played you, have I? I'm certain of that now." Touya's voice was low and sharp. "I remember all of those who have defeated me. And as for the others ... " Touya stopped, eyes shifting abruptly away from Hikaru's. "Of those I have defeated in the past, I may not remember them all -- but I'm certain I would have remembered your attitude, if not your game or your face."
"My attitude?" Hikaru pushed the piece of salmon around his plate, picking it up with the wooden chopsticks, before placing it back down, uneaten. "I-i would've thought --- ah." He licked his lips, and quickly took a sip of his green tea, trying to pass off the slight quaver in his voice as merely a dry throat. "I would've thought you would've remembered more than that."
"Additionally, I know you're not on my schedule. I study all my upcoming opponents. I know all the pros who are in my league. You are not one of them."
"I'm not!? Oh." Hikaru fiddled with his chopsticks. "I guess I'm not."
"I have not played you. You have not played me. Why do you think you know me?" Touya's hands were calm on the counter. His voice never lost its detached tone. Hikaru, though, did not mistake the threat. "Or more importantly, why do you think I should know you?"
"I, well, um, jeez that's a good question." Hikaru tapped his fingers nervously against the table as he stared at the napkin dispenser. "Do you have a pen?"
Touya raised an eyebrow.
"Come on, I know you do. Just fork it over," Hikaru insisted. "It's important."
His eyes never leaving Hikaru's, Touya reached into his pocket and offered up a pen. Hikaru accepted it gratefully as he pulled a napkin out from the dispenser and unfolded it. He scribbled frantically over the soft surface, gritting his teeth as the napkin tore slightly in places, but pushing on grimly anyways.
"Just stay with me for a moment, okay? I know you're thinking I'm an obsessed fan, or that I'm a stalker or that I'm just crazy. And I don't know what to say that won't come out crazy either. But just ... give me one moment. That's all I ask."
Touya said nothing, though the lines around his mouth deepened even further.
With a last, messy flourish, Hikaru pushed the napkin forward. It was rather clumsily drawn; the lines had come out slightly skewed, the numbers were shaky. "I know this might not make sense, but --"
It's all that's still real to me.
Swallowing nervously, Hikaru gripped the pen with both of his hands. "Do you remember playing this game?"
Touya accepted the napkin. His eyes narrowed, lips moving slightly as he read the moves. Hikaru could barely breathe through the tight, cramping feeling in his chest. Finally, Touya crumpled the napkin. "No."
Hikaru stared at his hands. "Oh."
"I've never seen that game before."
"Um. Ah. And you're really sure you never eh, then I ...it ... well ...I just -- it --" Hikaru fumbled, making a vague circling motion with his hands as he searched for the right words. "Well, shit. Then I guess I am crazy."
Bending forward and closing his eyes, he rested his head on the sushi counter. Hikaru grimaced as he heard the squeaking sound of Touya's chair being pushed back. I just want to wake up now. he thought. His hand balled in to a fist so tight that he knew his nails would leave more than just a mark. Please. I want to wake up. Or go back to sleep without dreaming.
A sudden, gentle touch on his back made him draw inward even more.
"I've paid for the two plates," Touya's voice was carefully neutral.
"Um." Hikaru's head popped up. "Oh. I meant to --"
"If you hurry, I have time for a game."
"A game?" Hikaru's eyes widened. "What?!"
"That kifu you drew -- the moves and countermoves, attacks and defense -- all of them are exactly how I would have responded. I may not know you, but you know my go. At a level that is ... troubling," Touya said. "Play me. That should clear up all questions."
Hikaru could only nod dumbly as Touya turned to leave.
***
The familiarity of following Touya through the sliding doors of the salon was almost like a fist to his gut; Hikaru nearly swayed from the impact. For the first time since opening his eyes that day, he felt as if something had abruptly clicked into place, like a gear grinding back in sync. I was right. I should have come here first.
Ichikawa-san bowed politely to them. "Welcome to our igo salon, sir. And welcome back, boss!"
Ichikawa winked at Touya, before turning to Hikaru. "We offer open tables for 1500 yen, private rooms for 2500 per hour."
"He's my guest," Touya said, and Ichikawa raised an eyebrow.
"Ah! Is he someone from the institute?" She scrutinized Hikaru more closely. "Visiting pro?"
Touya shrugged. "That's what I'm going to find out."
If Ichikawa was surprised at his remark, she didn't let it show. "I'll bring you both drinks later," she promised. "What would you like, sir?"
"Uh .... um. Drink?" Hikaru licked his lips; his mind had blanked the moment Ichikawa had turned to him. "The usual?"
"The usual ... what?" Ichikawa gestured with a hand, encouraging him to continue.
"Uh. CC Lemon, please, if you have it." He said. "Thanks, Ichikawa-san."
"Yes ... thank you, Ichikawa-san." Touya flashed Hikaru an odd look, which he tried to avoid.
"No problem." Ichikawa grinned. "Hey, here's hoping for a good game, eh?"
For a moment, something flickered across Ichikawa's expression, but it faded too fast for Hikaru to really understand.
Hikaru could only shrug helplessly, before hurrying to where Touya was waiting patiently in front of a goban.
Hikaru pulled out his chair, then took a deep breath to calm himself.
When he reached for a ke, his hands were steady. "Nigiri?" he said.
Touya's lips quirked slightly. "If you insist."
They both opened their hands at the same moment. The stones clicked against the board, and Hikaru won black.
"Onegaishimasu."
"Onegaishimasu."
The first few moves proceeded without any notable differences from any game with Touya.
But after fifty moves, Hikaru felt the first pricklings of unease shiver through him.
And after hundred, the half panic, half lost feeling that had dogged him since morning had tightened over him again, sharp and binding like ropes cutting into his skin.
If Shindou Hikaru had to describe Touya Akira's style, perhaps he would have said that Touya played honestly, without yielding. Touya preferred to slice cleanly through his opponents' shapes, killing them instantly instead of drawing them out in a prolonged battle. He rarely played "testing" or "trick" hands.
Beginners often mistook Touya's style as being arrogant or dismissive. Pros knew better. To be straightforward on the board was a mark of strength.
Most opponents fell in a panic before that deadly confidence.
In contrast, Hikaru's own style was one of hidden strength, of something waiting in the corners, and of strategies needing time to mature. Opponents were lulled into thinking they had the upper edge until that one last moment, when the stone would sound on the board, and they realized the game had turned, irrevocably.
Touya Akira hunted; Shindou Hikaru waited -- one forever a predator, the other a predator pretending to be prey.
And move, countermove, they balanced each other -- Touya's quiet, steady strength against Hikaru's slowly building momentum.
But in this game, there was nothing of the ebb and flow that Hikaru had learned to expect. Every move felt odd and out of rhythm; it was akin to fighting the ocean tide. With Touya, Hikaru had become accustomed to being a part of the crossing currents, to push and obstruct in equal amounts to the inevitable coastal pull.
Here, he was being swept over by the waves. Which Touya am I playing?!
"Arimasen." Hikaru bowed his head. "I have nothing."
"Why did you stop?" Touya's voice was very, very quiet. His eyes flicked up, and something unfamiliar glinted there. Hikaru had seen Touya when he had been angry, disgusted, sad and even in the occasional joyous moment. He knew how to read Touya, in the quiet movement of his fingers or the way he'd gather himself up just before launching into a battle -- either with words or with stones.
Now, he couldn't even guess what Touya what was feeling.
Probably disappointment, if he's anything like the "other" him.
"It wasn't over yet." Touya's voice made him glance up. "You could've fought back, regained some more territory."
"You were winning." Hikaru's hands drifted above the stone clusters, pausing briefly at each weak point. Touya's eyes followed each movement.
"Perhaps. But we weren't anywhere near the deciding point. You gave up far too early."
"No, I didn't. I'm not so bad yet that I can't read it through," Hikaru said. His hands fell back to his sides.
"Bad? You're not bad at all." Frowning, Touya folded his arms together. "Forgive me for my earlier words and assumptions. You're a pro right? Seven dan -- or its equivalent? Perhaps you studied overseas."
"You think I'm a seven dan?" Hikaru pushed the go ke away. "So what's your rank?"
"You don't know?" Touya drew backwards, his hands coming to flutter awkwardly at the board. "But I thought --"
"I know I seem like a freak, but I'm NOT some random stalker fan of yours. I just know --" Hikaru cut off abruptly, eyes closing briefly. "All I know ... well, all I know about you now is what I saw in your go here. Just tell me, what rank are you?"
Touya tilted his head to the side, lips pursing as if he was trying to find the best way to word his answer. "Technically, I guess you could call me a nine dan. But most people refer to me by my title of Meijin."
"Hoooooooooooly fuck! You?" Hikaru gripped the table tightly in order to stop himself from tipping out of his chair. "M-mejin? Already?"
The tips of Touya's ears flushed slightly. "Yes. You ... you really didn't know who you were playing? When you asked for an even game, I thought you were merely being an obnoxious --" Touya immediately covered his mouth with one hand, obviously flustered. "But you haven't answered my question. I thought I knew all the current rising players."
"About that, err ..." Hikaru scratched the back of his neck, grimacing. "I was wrong. I don't think you know me."
"Then you don't play professionally? You can't be in the amateur leagues. Did you come from abroad? Do you play online? You couldn't have been an insei here -- China perhaps? Or Korea." Touya ticked off the possible solutions, and his voice growing softer each time Hikaru shook his head.
"No. I'm not in any of the igo circles. I think ... for me here -- this probably is my fir-- ah!" Eyes widening as his thoughts caught up with his words, Hikaru bit down on the side of his cheek, to stop himself from saying anymore. Oh SHIT! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Touya leaned forward immediately, eyes wide. "What? This your first game?!"
I don't ever learn, do I? How many times am I gonna screw up the exact same way?
"No! Of course not -- how could this possibly be my first game? You just heard me wrong -- or it came out wrong, or whatever. Anyways, your game ... you play really, really well." Hikaru said as he pushed his chair back and rose to leave. "Too good really. Way above me. I mean, a meijin?! You must be going `what the Hell was he thinking?'"
"Wait. Don't you want to discuss the game? And --" Touya's eyes were wide, as if Hikaru had physically slapped him with his words.
"There's no point. I already know what I did wrong." Hikaru said. As he backed up another step, Touya surged to his feet and threw out an arm.
"Wait. Let me finish. I enjoyed the game. You have a style I've never seen before -- there are some familiarities but --"
Hikaru pushed him aside. "But I'm not at your level."
"What does that matter? It was a good game! Your technique and your attacks are very unique." Touya's hands clenched. "Where are you going? I'm not done --"
"Well, I don't care. I'm done!" Hikaru headed for the exit, even as Touya dodged around him once more, arms outspread.
"I don't even know who you are."
"It doesn't matter!" Hikaru snarled, loud enough to startle all the patrons around them. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Ichikawa standing, a tray in hand, looking rather shocked. Hikaru gritted his teeth, mentally forcing himself to calm down and lower his voice. "I got that, okay? It doesn't matter, not to you, not here."
Touya grabbed his arm. "Who are you to decide that? Listen to me. It was an interesting game! Let's finish it. Or if I insulted you before, perhaps it's because I don't yet have a true measure of your strength."
"A true measure of --" Hikaru stopped. He glanced backwards at the goban they had left behind. Stones still littered it surface; Touya had been right, and the game hadn't quite been decided yet. But the overwhelming sensation of being drawn under rose up within him, and he shuddered. A true measure, huh?
"It's not that." Bowing his head slightly, Hikaru slowly forced himself to release the tension that had bunched up his shoulders. "Look, for the record, I'm sorry for barging into your life so goddamn arrogantly. I never thought what it would feel like, what it might mean. I was only focused on me, on how my life had changed back then. I didn't think that by trying to push forward, I might push something back."
He glanced at Touya's fingers on his arms, then wrapped his own hand around Touya's, gently prying each finger off. "Hey. We're not kids anymore, eh? It's kinda dumb to make big stupid scene. And you're a meijin too. I'm just a ... I'm sorry."
Turning around, he started slowly towards the exit, forcing himself not to break into a run. I won't make that mistake again either.
"I don't understand." Touya's voice was a low growl, barely audible to Hikaru. "At least tell me your name. Or what I've done to deserve your apology."
Hikaru chuckled wryly. "Isn't it what I've done? But it's Shindou Hikaru. My name. Shindou Hikaru."
"I am going to remember that, Shindou Hikaru," Touya said solemnly.
Hikaru smiled faintly. "Don't know why you would. I'm not going to be here long enough that it'll matter."
"What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering, Hikaru pushed out the door. He didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed when Touya did not follow.
It was not until he reached the train station that he realized while he had the keys, he had lost the wallet. And when he finally scrounged up enough change in his pockets to buy a train ticket back to the apartment, he realized he had also forgotten just where the apartment was.
God DAMN IT!
***
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