Square One Part 1
Title: Square One
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Rating: PG-13 for language and non-explicit slash in part 2 and 3.
Timeline: Post series
Credits: DUDE! SO MUCH LOVE TO IMBRIUM, SILVERMUSE, AISHUU, HIMA-D and T-CHAN!
They ALL sat up late with me, helped me correct the errors, and encouraged me to post the monster.
There's still a lot of errors -- this fic didn't come easy. All errors are still my fault for not listening to those wiser than me.
Warning: It is also slightly angsty.
Dedication: To all BG members, readers, and to the Hikago community in general. Joyous Boxing Day and Happy New Year!!!!
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When Akira finds Shindou in the back garden, just right after the burst of sudden spring rain, the odd image of a frog in a fairytale springs to his mind. It's the glassy way Shindou's eyes are staring through him. Or perhaps it's the way Shindou crouches against the flagstones, as if transfixed by some sort of spell.
But if Shindou Hikaru is a frog prince waiting, that would make him, perhaps, the princess. And since Akira refuses to accept such a role, he kicks Shindou's sandals with a not-so-gentle thump and says, "What are you doing out here, you idiot?"
Shindou looks at him quietly, through the damp blond bangs. In his clenched hands, a single piece of paper drips. He's shivering, teeth nearly rattling from the force.
"Shindou?" Thoughts of frogs vanish and Akira closes the last step between them. "Are you all right?"
Shindou lost the Tengen title just two days ago, but surely that in itself is not enough to provoke this sort of reaction. If anything, losses on the board seem to make his rival that much more determined. There are rumors that Shindou is after the Honinbou title now.
Shindou arms tighten around his waist. His eyes blink slowly. His head dips down again.
"Shindou!" Akira grabs the other man's shoulders, jerking him to his feet. "What's --"
He doesn't finish his sentence. Shindou has turned those eyes to him again. No, there's nothing like frogs or fish in those watery gaze. Just something all too human. And drowning.
"They say I cheated," Shindou murmurs, before turning to look at the ground once more.
Further words are merely a waste. Akira tightens his hold and tows his rival towards the house.
Shindou lets him push their bodies along. He lets Akira steer his steps.
This, even more than Shindou's drowning gaze, chills Akira enough that he starts shivering as well.
---
Back in Akira's foyer, Shindou doesn't respond to the initial question of "are you just going to stand there and freeze to death?"
Akira crosses his arms. The prospect of stripping a silent Shindou of his wet clothing is neither titillating nor particularly arousing. It's actually rather creepy.
However, Shindou finally starts moving and takes over the process when Akira reluctantly grabs the edge of his shirt. When Shindou's hands are at his waistline, Akira quickly turns and heads down the hall towards the guest bathroom.
"Well. I'll go to start some hot water," he says.
When he comes back, he finds Shindou has taken off his shoes but has left on his boxers. Shindou stands barefooted at the edge of the genkan, skin still slick with the rain.
"Bath's ready," Akira says, handing him a towel. Shindou accepts it, but remains unmoving. "Well, go on."
"But I'll make your floorboards wet," Shindou finally responds.
This sudden attention to lifelong cultural mandates makes Akira rub his temples in frustration. Naturally, of all the times that Shindou chooses to be polite, it has to be when it's completely inappropriate.
"I have a mop," Akira says. He tugs Shindou onto the floorboards, across the hallway, to the hot bath waiting.
Then, because Akira does have a mop but doesn't have anything else to do with his hands, he goes to pick up and clean the soggy mess in his foyer. As he slings Shindou's pants and sweatshirt into the washing machine, he notices that Shindou has also dropped the soggy piece of paper.
The ink has run in black tendrils across the page, and the entire paper threatens to melt away to nothing, but Akira's fingers know the value of patience. Carefully, carefully, he teases the mangled mess open. He cannot read all the blobs of kanji, but what he can read is enough.
Official Notice is stamped across the top. The blurred red ink seal of the Nihon Ki-in adorns the bottom of the page. And in between, in the smearing, dripping ink, Akira divines why his eternal rival has shown up in such a state in the back garden.
Investigation pending on the Tengen matches.
All matches considered forfeited until further notice.
He stares at the closed bathroom door.
His cell has been switched off for most of the day, otherwise he certainly would have heard the news sooner. He walks to the kitchen and looks; indeed, the message machine light blinks with a stark red pulse.
As if called to life by Akira's thoughts, the phone rings. He turns off the sound, ignoring the call. He fishes out his cellphone as well and shuts it into the nearest drawer.
Then, he takes the piece of paper and rolls it viciously in between his palms. The wet pulp quickly dissolves. Akira walks over to the sink, washes off the remains of the ink and the fiber, then scrubs again for good measure. The paper wouldn't have dried out properly anyway. It isn't like he's trying to change anything or make it go away.
No, it isn't that.
He walks back over to the bathroom and sits with his back against the door.
"Shindou. I know," he says. "No matter who is saying what. It won't change what I know. You'd never throw a game."
He stops, listening. He hears a faint splashing sound. Then a slight pop as Shindou releases the drain, followed by the sound of water gurgling. And when Shindou opens the door and his face is still wet, Akira doesn't comment. He hands him a spare set of pajamas instead.
Shindou still moves as if he is a puppet being dragged along by its strings. All Shindou says, when Akira finally marches him to his room, is "I'm really tired, Touya."
Shindou ends up on Akira's bed while Akira settles into a futon upon the floor. It's not the first time they've slept in the same room. Akira knows, from past matches and past hotel rooms, that Shindou tends to snore when he's deeply exhausted.
Tonight, though, when Shindou finally drops off, he sleeps as if he is dead. He doesn't move. Doesn't make a sound. Around midnight, Akira gives into his worry and climbs into the bed, shoving Shindou towards the wall. Shindou doesn't awaken, but now Shindou's back touches Akira's every time he breathes in.
It is only then, with that comforting rhythm behind him, that the tight feeling in Akira's chest loosens enough so he can sleep.
He will deal with the repercussions in the morning.
---
Morning comes and with it the paper. There isn't a mention of Shindou, but it isn't the right kind of paper. Akira wonders what Igo Weekly might say. The issue is due out tomorrow; the match and tournament lists had been delivered yesterday.
Even if the investigation hasn't been made public knowledge, the absence of Shindou's name will stir wild speculation; it is only a matter of time.
Sick of scandals already, Akira is just about to jam the paper and its offending articles into the wastebasket when he hears shuffling footsteps enter his kitchen. When he looks up, tousled blond hair and a hesitant smile greet him. Akira had tried not to wake Shindou initially, but when he rolled off the side of his bed, Shindou had roused and had met Akira's eyes rather blearily. After a moment though, the young pro had merely shrugged and turned back over to doze again.
Akira's pajamas hang loose on Shindou's wiry frame; Akira's last teenaged growth spurt gave him a half inch of height over his rival. At the moment, the morning light softens the angular cut of Shindou's chin, and the rest of him seems strangely too short and too young for his years. But his eyes are bright again, focused. Akira's own shoulders relax, hands smoothing out the newspaper reflexively.
"So, uh ..." Shindou fumbles, one hand running through his short hair, "about last night in the garden."
"Yes?"
"You probably want to know why right? Why I was in the rain and ... uh ... it ... I don't know why I was being that stupid. I mean, damn. I guess I kinda went nuts, huh? I saw the letter and it's like something ... broke ... in my head."
Shindou's gaze darts to the floor. "At first, I was really, really mad, I felt like screaming, but then, even more than that ... I don't know. Um, thanks for ... well ... I'm sorry I freaked out on you."
Akira remembers those wide eyes, lost in the rain.
"I can't explain it," Shindou says.
"Then don't," Akira shrugs. "You want miso for breakfast?"
Shindou stares at him, eyebrows arched and forehead wrinkled, as if waiting for something. But as Akira gestures towards the stove impatiently, his expression clears.
"Yeah. That'll be good," Shindou says. He walks over and takes the paper from the counter.
"Must be a slow news day. There's an article about a fortune telling chicken in the entertainment section," Shindou says offhandedly as Akira sets the kettle to boil. "Huh. Oh and the price of daikon is going up again. Housewives are enraged," the paper rustles as Shindou folds it. "Hey, better enjoy daikon miso while we can then."
Then, perhaps feeling a little out of sorts with small talk but not willing to handle anything larger, they lapse into silence. With an ease born from familiarity, Shindou pulls the bowls from the cabinet and spoons from the drawer and sets the kitchen table.
When did Shindou become so familiar ...? Akira pushes the thought out of mind and fixes the tea and the miso. They drink quickly and efficiently, though Akira notes that Shindou's knuckles are white around the spoon.
"What are your plans for the day?" Akira asks as he finishes the last gritty bit from the bottom. "Or more accurately, what can you tell me?"
"I ... well, before I came here and ... uh, when I was still really angry, I called the association. They said they had evidence I'd rigged the Tengen matches. There's going to be full panel and a formal inquiry. Until they come to some sort of conclusion, I am banned from the association, my rank has been suspended, and I'm not allowed to play in any official matches." Shindou clinks his spoon against the clay sides of the bowl. The sound is arrhythmic, picking up and losing speed at helpless intervals.
Akira stifles the urge to stop it; seeing those fingers so unsteady makes him want to lash out. But at what -- Shindou or some yet unnamed face -- he isn't too sure.
Shindou notices his expression, and with one last clink, he puts down the spoon. "The council told me to meet them at one to discuss some sort of shit. I can hear it in their voices though; something's seriously fucked and it's like they've already decided."
"You don't know that. And until this matter is cleared, you're welcome stay here for as long as you need."
"Thanks." Shindou takes the bowl to the sink. He hasn't eaten much; just a few mouthfuls. "But I shouldn't have come in the first place. I can't run away from this forever. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't."
"Coming here isn't the same as running away. And one night is not forever," Akira states firmly. "We need to think of a plan of attack. We're losing time as is. If we're going to prove your innocence, we have to start now, before the rumors spread."
"You don't have to ..."
"Enough. Stop it." Akira holds up a hand. "When you came, I didn't ask why, did I? And you don't have to ask now. You have my help."
Shindou stares at him. He runs a hand through his hair again.
"Or are you just going to let them accuse you of something you didn't do? Are you going to let them force you out of the institute, give up being a pro, playing matches and tournaments ... and me?"
Shindou freezes, muscles tensing. He bows his head and rocks slightly on the balls of his feet. He is shaking again.
Akira roughly shoves past Shindou and puts his own bowl in the sink.
For a moment, the unfocused shimmer of Shindou's eyes worries Akira. But then, he shoves back when Akira moves. The tight bundle of nerves in Akira's stomach unwinds.
It isn't like last night. Shindou shakes with anger, and anger is an acceptable reaction. It's the other emotions, unexplainable, that get in the way.
"I didn't cheat," Shindou's hands clench at the countertop. "I didn't cheat. I wouldn't cheat, I would never betray the game or him like that," he hisses.
"Shindou?" Akira feels the question, heavy and weighted like a sour plum on his tongue. It is not the time to ask, however, so he just swallows back the bitterness.
"I wouldn't."
"I know that," Akira says.
"Um. Well ...thanks." Shindou turns on the tap. He has ducked his head down, so that his hair obscures his face. However, Akira can still read the genuine gratitude in his rival's words.
"Well," Akira turns to finish clearing the table. "You're welcome."
___
There are advantages in having the name that he does, with the father that he has, and the talent he wields.
A few discreet calls later, he turns to Shindou. His rival has his arms folded on the table and his chin resting on his hands. His cellphone lays cradled between his jaw and his elbow. A notebook lays open before him; Shindou has scribbled several names on the paper.
"The upper levels know something's wrong," Akira says. "The institute has already made the announcement that all your foreseeable matches are canceled; they haven't said why, however. Igo Weekly's editors are under the impression that you've asked for personal leave. That means the Nihon Ki-in is trying to keep it quiet, at least for now."
Shindou rubs at his eyes. "It's not going to stay secret for very long."
"No. It will not. That's why we strike first. I've already received voicemails from Ogata and Kurata. I haven't answered yet, but I assume they've called your mobile as well."
"Yes. Kuwabara too." Shindou's fingers twitch as he tries to recall all the names. "And Waya, Isumi, and Yashiro and even that bastard Ko Yongha -- that's before the mailbox got full. They're all worried that I've gotten sick or something's happened to my family. Isumi asked ..." Shindou sighs. "He wants to know if he needs to come over to play me. Like last time I ... well ..."
Akira tilts his head, then nods. "Like the last time you started forfeiting all your matches?" The words probably come out a little harsher than he intends.
"That was a long time ago!" Shindou glares at him. "And it wasn't for some stupid shit like this! I'm not the one who decided to stop playing this time!"
"No. And that's what makes the difference."
"Thing is, I've already lost the title, why are they saying I did it deliberately? That makes no sense. Who in Hell would lose their title on purpose?" Shindou scowls.
"Don't be naive. It's not just the titles involved. Or the honor or the love of the game. There's the money aspect too as well as sponsorships and status." Akira walks around the kitchen, slowly, step by step. Each wall, each brick had been paid by tournaments and matches unnumbered. "You and I, we have the luxury of not needing to worry. But the competition among the lower dans and even among the middle ranks -- you remember that, don't you? Your first years must have been lean."
Shindou's scowl falters. He gazes down at his hands. "Not really. I was lucky I started early, and mom built a nest egg up for me. But I never thought you'd notice that sort of thing."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You always seemed to be rather erm ..." Shindou gestured vaguely, "Above all of the petty bits. You always play igo for its own sake and all that."
Shindou must have read something in his expression because he throws up both hands defensively. "Hey, I think that part of you is cool, okay? I know you worked hard to get where you have. I kinda ... um, like that about you." The last words come in a grunted rush.
"But I don't ignore reality." Akira crosses his arms. "Igo is the lifeblood for us pros. Without it, we cannot make a living. And if the community loses faith in your games ... well, to be accused of cheating is a professional death sentence."
Shindou is giving him a spot on impression of a trod on toad. His mouth opens and closes, and he is emitting a croaking sound.
Akira sniffs. "If anybody has a romanticized view of the go world, it's you -- and the dramatic way you let your passions blind you and how you respond to insults. Though ... honestly, I do not know who would risk such a move against you. I've made enemies, but you just tend to piss off people, instead of having them hate you. Whomever did this is not after your title or ranking. They may be after you directly, and they want to make it so you never play as a pro again."
"What?" Shindou scratches the side of his face, and his eyebrows wrinkle together. "But ... but ... why? What did I ever do to anyone?" he stops abruptly, shoulders sagging. "It's just not right! It's just like what happened to ..."
"Shindou?" Akira steps forward as his rival sways. Shindou, though, pushes away the proffered hand and steadies himself.
"I'm fine. I just realized that ... it's just not fair." Shindou pinches the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand. "It's never been fair, has it?"
Akira does not dignify that question with an answer. Shindou knows well enough, fair or not, it doesn't change the situation.
"You better get ready or you're going to be late for the panel. I've dried and ironed your clothes from yesterday, but you can hardly go in those, so you'll have to stop off at your apartment first. Prepare an overnight bag while you're doing that. And in the panel, find out what you can. Call me on your way back. We have plans to make."
Eyes wide, Shindou's gaze follows the imperious finger that Akira has pointed towards the laundry room. He opens his mouth, as if to say something.
"If you're going to whine again about this not being fair, I do not want to hear it," Akira snaps.
A wry smile twists across Shindou's face. "No, I was just going to say I was impressed. Laundry AND ironing, huh? You're gonna make someone a great housewife someday."
"Shut up, Shindou."
---
Shindou leaves for his own apartment at half past eleven, and Akira leaves for the salon at a quarter past twelve, as he does at least once a week when his schedule permits. His duties are still his duties, after all.
Ishikawa-san greets him cheerfully, though she is visibly puzzled when he tells her that he isn't accepting games or teaching lessons to the patrons.
The news hasn't hit the lower levels of the igo world yet; the salon is calm and the customers gossip about normal igo related things such as the next title matches or the upcoming insei. Next to the Five Stars institute, his family's salon is the next best source to track any emerging rumors.
People also know to seek him there, between matches.
"And how is your father, Touya-kun?" Ogata asks politely as he saunters in. "I have a few minutes, and I was in your area, so I thought I'd drop by."
"He and mother are fine. Still in Korea though; I haven't been able to contact him for the past day or so." But not for the lack of trying, especially in the last twenty four hours, Akira amends silently.
Now that the opening greeting is out of the way, Ogata leans against the counter. "So, have you heard about Shindou?"
"If you mean the sudden rash of forfeits, yes," Akira answers.
If Akira has read the situation correctly, Ogata has come to put in a presence and perhaps, to create an opening bid. For what purpose though ... Akira folds his hands together, calculating.
And then, because sometimes showing a bit of his own intentions prompts the other to show his intentions as well, "He's staying over at my house at the moment."
Ogata bends his head slightly, and the lens of his glasses flash. "Really. Did he say anything about why he's forfeiting all the games?"
"There are probably reasons," Akira says.
"I see. Do you know why?"
"Perhaps," Akira replies.
Ogata pushed his glasses up slowly. Then, to Akira's surprise, he shrugs. Long, thin fingers reach into his jacket pocket and fish out a cigarette. He doesn't light it, however; Akira knows that Ogata respects both him and his father too much to do so in the salon. But Ogata lets it dangle in one hand. "And you're still letting him stay at your house. Well, at least someone can keep track of him then."
"Ogata-san?"
"You keep your eye on Shindou and I'll keep my eyes open as well," The pro turns, heading for the door. "Who knows? I might even let you know what I find."
"Ogata-san?"
"Yeah?"
"Why?"
He cannot see Ogata's face, but by the way the man's shoulders shake, Akira knows Ogata's giving a silent laugh. "Just dropped by to say I was interested. I have my own, selfish reasons. Shindou has the key to something I want."
With a wave of the cigarette, Ogata leaves.
And like the scent of smoke left after a fire, it only occurs to Akira afterwards what Ogata hasn't said. Ogata already assumes Shindou hasn't voluntarily forfeited his games. And that Shindou is innocent.
His phone rings. It's three o' clock and by its timing, he knows it's Shindou.
"I can't talk now. I'll meet you at home," Shindou says shortly. As Akira steps out of the salon, he wonders if Shindou meant to leave out the word "your" out or -- if Shindou means it -- when exactly his place become home for his rival.
----
Shindou is sitting at the side of the house, in the shady space where the wisteria climbs up the stone. It is one of Akira's most favorite spots; the garden and the walkway around is one of the reasons Akira had purchased the house in the first place.
Shindou, of course, knew most of the nooks and crannies as well as he knew the ins and outs of Akira's kitchen and guest room. They had both spent several long afternoons playing igo, arguing with each other, and generally driving the neighborhood bird life to seek new nests in the next prefecture over. Luckily, the elderly neighbors next door were quite deaf.
Akira's mother had planted the wisteria a year and a half ago, taking cuttings from her own garden. The scent of flowers had made his first summer there a lot less awkward.
Like some forlorn dog, a large duffel bag drapes across Shindou's knees. His rival dozes, his head slung back against the new leaves, but when he hears Akira approach, Shindou rouses and stands up.
"Hey," he says in greeting. They both enter the house, and Shindou breaks off to throw the duffel into the guest room. When they meet again at the hall, Akira hands him fresh towels and the spare key.
"Eh?" Shindou jingles the object.
"You're crushing the wisteria," he informs him.
"Oh," Shindou pockets the key, then pitches the towel back into the room. He ignores Akira's grimace, matching it with his own grim expression. Shindou, apparently, is in no mood for their usual interaction. "The panel didn't go very well."
"I see." Akira walks the kitchen to start up the kettle; gut instinct tells him it will be a four cup ordeal, at least.
"Someone called in, during the first match of the Tengen Tournament, accurately predicting that I would lose -- and they did it down to the last moku." Shindou says. "The organizers ignored it but the asshole called again during the second and third games, with the same result. And they did the same for the fifth game."
"What about the fourth game? You won that one."
"The committee didn't mention anything about that. But the fifth game was predicted accurately." Shindou takes out two tea cups.
Akira rummages for the teabags. "Those are hardly grounds for starting an investigation, let alone banning you from playing. Predicting outcomes is something any good enough pro can do. Once you're far enough into it joseki, the end is clear ..."
"No. They called right after opening fuseki. Predicted some of the plays I would use, the attacks I'd implement. Sometimes down to the last stone."
"But that's impossible. You can't rig a game like that. That would take coordination with your opponent. Are they accusing Nara as well?"
"They didn't mention Nara. But for all I know, they could've be grilling him in another room," Shindou shrugs. "I don't think it'd be too smart for me to call Nara right now though. If they suspect the both of us, then it'll look suspicious. I don't want to drag Nara down into this if he isn't involved."
"As of this afternoon, Nara's games are still on the schedule; they haven't been canceled like yours," the kettle whistles, and Akira fills their cups. "Though that may be a front as well. If both of you, as top ranked pros, are taken out of the rotation, it'd would definitely create more speculation than they want. Perhaps I should call Nara-kun."
Shindou accepts the tea Akira pushes towards him and sits down at the table with a thump. Akira chooses to remain standing; for once, something in him resists being still.
"No, I don't think that's a good idea either. They know you're uh ... close to me." Shindou turns the cup in his hands. "Touya -- about that, you getting involved in this --"
"Yes?"
Shindou's voice suddenly sounds subdued. "It might be a good idea if I went back to my own place. You know?" He pushes his chair away from the kitchen table.
"So you're leaving now?" Akira crosses his arms.
"It might be better; that way --"
"Do you want to leave?"
"What I don't want is for you to --"
"That's not what I asked. Though I'd also like to point out that people normally don't pack an overnight bag just to have tea with me," Akira stares pointedly at his rival.
Shindou doesn't answer, choosing to gaze out the kitchen window instead.
"Even if you didn't come here, I'd be involved," Akira says. "You should know that. Otherwise, I am going to have to think that you've severely underestimated me. And in turn, I'm going to be severely annoyed."
Shindou sighs, then walks back over to the table and pulls out the chair again. "The panel admitted that the caller didn't name me or Nara specifically as the one who cheated. I don't even know if the caller said anything about cheating. But the association definitely thinks it's me."
"Why? They must have a reason." Akira takes another sip of tea, holding the warm, mellow taste as he considers the information. "So why aren't they hunting for this new genius that can predict igo moves?"
"Uh, well," Shindou ducks his head slightly. His tone has become distinctly sheepish. "Um ... the day after I lost the match, 14000000 yen somehow showed up in my bank accounts."
"What?" Akira stops his pacing, coming to stand just inches away from his rival. Shindou scowls and inches away. "How?"
"Electronic transfer. At least that's what they say. I'm not sure."
"How could you not notice a large amount of money randomly appearing in your accounts!?"
"My mom handles those for me! And she's used to sums of money just dropping in; she doesn't understand titles or igo," Shindou buries both hands into his hair. "I don't know how the money got there. They're tracing the wire transfer, but it's sent through some weird process overseas -- in other words, it looks really high tech and really damn shady!"
"But how did the Nihon Ki-in know about it? They can't just break into your bank records ..."
"They can if I'm under suspicion of setting up or aiding an illegal betting ring. I guess the phone calls were enough to obtain a warrant. I'm in high level shit, Touya! I could go to jail."
"Shindou --"
"They wanted me to confess. They brought me in and grilled me under a video camera for two hours. They asked me all sorts of weird questions, like who did I speak with about the tournament, what I thought about my title, why I used the attacks I did. They made me justify almost every move I made in every game! Then they let me go and told me to stay nearby and not leave town."
Shindou squeezes his eyes shut, even as Akira resumes his pacing "They're going to drag me to jail!"
"Stop being melodramatic. They suspect you, yes, and the police are probably involved, but they can't throw you in jail, otherwise they would have already," he murmurs. "The only piece of evidence they have are the phone calls, and that will be hard to back up unless the caller steps forward. Another thing that bothers me ... the amount that appeared in your account -- isn't it the exact amount you would've won for winning the title?"
Shindou freezes, then nods slowly.
"Why would you lose your title for the same amount of money that you would have gained by winning? They will have to prove motive. Also they have to show that you deliberately lost the game and deliberately manipulated Nara into the exact sequence of moves the caller predicted. Neither you nor your opponent are low level players, and neither you nor your opponent would have let the other dominate."
"No. If anything, Nara was the one who was manipulating me! He went above me, Touya. It was incredible." Shindou's face lights up; his eyes practically glow. "I could hardly believe it! I couldn't pin down his style or anything, it was just ..." Shindou licks his lips.
"You know how they used to say that we were the new wave, Touya? Well, he and the new insei are the ocean behind us. Those games, if they throw them out -- " Shindou slams his fist into the table, then winces. "Owwwww."
Akira will never admit he feels a small flicker of jealousy. Due to a challenge to his own title, he hadn't been able to witness Shindou's matches for himself, though he had heard the praise given to the tournament by various other pros.
Nara Hideki is a meteoric rising star; Shindou Hikaru is one still burning bright. Their matches had been the talk of the igo world for days even before they had met on the goban.
Akira had been meaning to study the Tengen kifu and the games more thoroughly, but he had been loathe to do so until he had a chance to really devote time to the effort. Such games, especially ones that could make Shindou's eyes light up so much, are things meant to be savored.
Now Akira will be looking through them without any joy or delight.
To have all that potential, all those hard fought games, tainted by scandal -- Akira can understand the need to pound things, though he limits his own actions to rummaging noisily in the freezer.
Shindou ducks as Akira lobs the ice pack at him. Akira follows the pitch by sliding the cordless phone across the counter.
"Put that on your hand and call the institute. Tell them you are staying here with me."
"Uh, maybe I should just tell them I'm staying with ... a friend. They know my cell phone number." Shindou bends to pick up the icepack. "That way --"
"They will know I am involved, Shindou, so you better just admit that up front with them. I want them to know I am involved. And I challenge them to prove that I, the former Meijin's son and the current Judan, would ever lower myself to lose deliberately for something as petty as money. Or that I would associate with anyone who does so."
"But --"
"Why aren't you dialing?" Akira glares. "I am not going to wait months to play you officially while you mull things out. And my house is bigger than your apartment -- where I will be staying if you decide to leave here. Don't you feel it's easier, anyway? For both of us to coordinate this problem together?"
Shindou stares at him for a long moment. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he places the icepack across his bruised knuckles and picks up the phone.
"Damn," he finally chuckles. "You are an absolute bastard sometimes, you know that?"
Akira ignores him in favor of pulling out his planner and flipping through the contact list.
"Finding the caller is the key. If he can indeed predict the game down to the last stone by just watching the opening fuseki, then ..." Akira rubs the bridge his nose. "He has skill in igo beyond anything I have ever encountered. A person like that can't be hidden for long. He has to play somewhere. And if he plays at that level, that means we can find him."
Shindou has stilled. His eyes have something of the same haunted cast as when Akira found him yesterday.
"Okay," he finally says as he pulls out his own PDA, "I think I know where to start."
The afternoon slips into evening. They both spend most of the time on their cell phones; Shindou has to plug his in after the second hour, when his batteries run out.
Touya's house phone rings mercilessly as well. Four cups of tea turn into six then into twelve. Sometime between the eight and ninth cup, Akira places an order for bento delivery. With the amount of attention Shindou pays to the food though, he might have saved the money and fed Shindou cardboard instead.
Akira has yet to talk to his father, but he has managed to talk with Kurata and Kuwabara.
They are trying to keep a tight control of the details, but Akira lets slip enough. No, he couldn't really say why Shindou has dropped out. But he thinks it has something to do with the Tengen Tournament. Something about those games.
Kuwabara and Kurata will both go tonight and pour over the kifu. When the time comes, if they are asked, he knows they will reply that such a game cannot be set up by Shindou. Not to their knowledge. But who are they to say anything? Just the Honinbou. And the Oza.
Shindou plants his own seeds as well. His network lies among the mid-level pros, mainly with the ones who have been with him since his insei years. Between his own calls, Akira listens in, and is struck by how many times Shindou pauses to say thank you, deeply, meaning every word.
Even if Akira cannot hear the other end of the conversation, he has the feeling that they are letting Shindou know he is missed already. That he is supported. More than anything, they still want to play him.
Finally, at ten, Akira puts an end to the phone calls. Shindou's head is nearly flush against the kitchen table, and his eyes are blinking more and more slowly.
"It's late," Akira says pointedly. "And it's rude to call people now. And I have a match at nine am tomorrow."
He almost regrets his words when Shindou flinches, but he will not dance around the subject. Duty is duty. Shindou tilts his head, then nods.
"Sucks to be you. I plan to sleep in." Shindou yawns, stretches, then plods towards the shower. Akira goes to his own room and makes his own preparations for bed.
But at three am, Akira wakes. He isn't sure why; the house is somewhat silent, with only the normal creaks and cracks of as it settles on its foundations. He slips out of bed anyway.
The light is on in Shindou's room. And when Akira knocks on the door, he hears the rustling sound of papers being hastily shoved to the floor.
"Oops!" Shindou opens the door. "Did I wake you?"
"What are you doing now?" Three am is not the time for niceties. "Why aren't you asleep like most sane people?"
"Uh. I don't know. I just couldn't. So I thought I'd look at kifu," Shindou gestures vaguely to the blizzard of papers spread around him. Some are from Akira's games. Some are from Shindou's own. A majority of them are Shuusaku Honinbou games. "You could say it's kinda like catching up. With old friends."
"Three am is hardly time for pillow talk with these friends of yours," Akira grumbles as he stalks over. On the very top of the pile, in a semicircle around Shindou, are the kifu from the Tengen Tournament. Picking up the nearest kifu, Akira settles down and narrows his eyes.
"YO!" A hand waves in front of his face.
"What are you doing?!" Akira snaps as he turns to glare at his rival.
"Nothing. Just wanted your attention so I could do this."
Shindou abruptly snatches the paper out of Akira's hands.
"But I was looking at that," Akira protests.
"Yeah, but what you should be doing is sleeping. Match, tomorrow at nine am? It's enough for me to be out of commission. It'd drive me crazy if I thought you'd be penalized as well." Shindou finishes gathering up the rest of the kifu and stuffing them into the large folder. "You don't need to be seeing these in your head when you're supposed to be kicking the ass of your opponent."
Akira narrows his eyes. "Are you suggesting that I would not be able to plan more than one strategy?"
"More than one strategy? Yes. But being able to let it go? NO." Shindou rolls his eyes. "Look, yes, I know you're able to think on multiple levels, but .... It'd honestly drive me batshit if you do end up losing because of this dumbass crap. I ... I ... well, isn't it enough that I gotta worry about this?"
Akira frowns. "Very well. But you haven't answered my question though. Why are you still awake?"
"I don't exactly have a lot to do tomorrow." Shindou points out. "And you know I have a lot on my mind." He stops. "And ... it's the wrong sort of quiet here."
"What?"
"There's different kinds of quiet. Especially in new places," Shindou says, and Akira watches at the tips of his ears flush red. "I know it sounds loony, but yeah. I can't sleep in places until I get used to the quiet."
"You've stayed over before in this room. And you're fine in hotels."
"That's different. This time's different. It's not the same kind of quiet. Or empty. Look, I said it was screwed up." Shindou flops back on the covers. "I'm a big boy, Touya. I'll get to bed soon. Stop acting like a mother hen."
Akira frowns. After a moments' decision, he trots back to his own room. Damn Shindou. The creaks and cracks of the house sound abnormally loud now. After fifteen minutes, he gives up and drags out the futon into the guest room.
Shindou has yet to turn out the lights, but he hasn't spread out the kifu again. When Akira enters, he blinks. "Eh?"
"Shut up. You and your stupid ideas. I have a match tomorrow and now I can't sleep."
"Sorry." Shindou looks as if he is trying to put on a sorrowful expression. He fails miserably. "At least let me sleep on the futon."
"No. Just turn out the light, shut up, and go to sleep."
"No, really, I'm the guest."
"And I'm the host."
"Don't be an idiot. You're not going to sleep on a futon in your own guest room!"
"I'm not moving, Shindou."
How they both end up back to back on the futon, Akira does not know. What really surprises him, however, is how fast Shindou drops to sleep right afterwards.
And it is only when the sun rises and he awakens that Akira finds he has slept rather deeply, as well.
---
When he steps through the door after his match, the scent of cooking beef greets him. Something sizzles in the kitchen.
"I'm home, Shindou."
"Welcome back," Shindou yells from the kitchen. "Uh, you better be hungry!"
Hungry is perhaps an understatement. Shindou has made a huge plate of teriyaki beef. The rice maker steams in the corner. He is also wearing a trashbag tied around his chest and hips.
"Shindou!?"
"How did you match go? I wanted to call, but figured you were busy." Shindou flips the piece of beef over and pokes it with the spatula. The scene is oddly domestic. Akira nearly walks out, almost certain he can't be in his own kitchen. With Shindou Hikaru. Who is wearing a trashbag.
"The match ... went as expected."
"Or in other words, you left ol' Takamine crying in his miso again, huh?" Shindou waves the spatula triumphantly.
Perhaps confronting this odd vision will dispel it. Akira wanders over to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. He notices, too, that Shindou has filled the unit to capacity with all sorts of greens and meats. He even thinks he sees some fresh fish in the back.
"Why is there food in my refrigerator?" he says out loud, before he can really consider the words.
"Because the laundry room was full of detergent?" Shindou snorts. "Idiot. Where else am I going to put food?"
Akira takes a deep breath. "Oh, pardon me for overburdening your overly literal mind. Perhaps I should've worded it better. Why did you buy so much food?"
"Cause I'm not a leech," Shindou flips the beef.
"I never said you were. But this is overdoing it, a little."
"I am NOT a leech. And I refuse to be in your debt."
"So you decide to pay me back in fish and leafy greens?" Akira gives up on trying to figure out the contents of his fridge and just retrieves his water. "And, just out of curiosity, why are you wearing a trashbag? You're not destitute yet."
"You don't own an apron and this is my favorite shirt," Shindou grumbles. "And as for the cooking -- it's not like I've never seen your Great Wall of Takeout Menus, but I could do with less MSG and artificial flavoring."
"Shut up, Shindou. Where did you learn to cook?"
"My mom. We used to cook together when I was really little." Shindou swings the pan away from the stove and expertly slides the meat onto the waiting plate. The kitchen knife flashes as he he cuts the beef into strips.
"Dad was always late coming home, so she used to make it like a game for the both of us. Now that I think about it, it probably was so I didn't whine about having to wait. You know how it is," Shindou says, but Akira doesn't answer, because in truth, he does not. He always accompanied his father to work.
It is this world of knives and sizzling beef that is foreign.
Oblivious, Shindou continues, "It stopped when I started fifth grade though. And the whole -- igo thing. But it's like your first fuseki's ... I still remember basic steps. Uh, I hope. Could you pull out three bowls and plates?"
"Three?"
"Yeah, Ogata-sensei called. He's coming too," Shindou says as he scoops the rice into the bowls. As if on target, the doorbell rings.
Akira has seen Ogata in many situations. He has played the man in matches, he's participated in tournaments, and Ogata was a fixture in the Touya household throughout much of Akira's childhood.
Having Ogata over for a dinner prepared by his eternal rival, however, is altogether different.
"I've found out something interesting," Ogata says as he steps through the door and changes out of his shoes. "Shindou said that you'd be back by now, so I decided to -- eeh?"
By the way both of his eyebrows rise, Akira assumes Ogata hadn't been expecting Shindou to cook dinner either. He feels somewhat gratified; at least he's not the only one feeling a little out of place.
"Always full of surprises, aren't you, Shindou?" Ogata says. He sounds amused, though there is a strange undercurrent as well.
Shindou shrugs. Akira has noticed that Shindou has always been a little distant with Ogata. He's not unfriendly, but he's not as open with the man as he is with most people. Ogata, too, seems to go out of his way to needle the younger pro.
Still, there is an odd camaderie between the two; Shindou had once mentioned that Ogata helped him enter the Five Stars Institute as an insei. And Ogata has an odd smile when he talks of past tournaments with Shindou.
"I'll never get drunk around him again," he said once, and had merely chuckled at Akira's dark look.
It is, Akira decides, going to be an interesting meal.
At least the food is excellent. When he first bites into the beef, Akira nearly chokes as the muscles in his jaw ache from the burst of flavor. The fact he has not eaten all day roars to the surface of Akira's consciousness.
The kitchen drops into silence as they wolf down the meat. Akira gets up from his seat to refill his rice, and has to detour when Ogata offers forth his own empty bowl as well.
"Surprising indeed," Ogata mutters as he starts on his second helping. Shindou merely smirks.
The peace lasts until the last piece of meat is consumed and the dishes are bundled away to the sink. When all three of them are sitting at the table again, Ogata proceeds to pull a cigarette from his pocket. But like the time in the salon, he merely holds it between two fingers.
"So how much do you know?" Shindou asks. He has taken out his folder of kifu, and the Tengen tournament lay spread before them.
"I know that you," he points to Shindou, "have started quite the mess. Withdrawing from all present games -- there are rumors that you're breaking down after having lost the Tengen title."
"What do you think?" Shindou shoots the man a rather belligerent look.
"Pure shit. The Tengen games were excellent. I wouldn't have minded losing like that. But then again, I probably wouldn't have lost." Ogata says. "There are also rumors that it isn't a breakdown. That you were forced to resign because of a scandal."
Akira does not look at Shindou and his rival does not look back. Neither want to give too much away, not at this stage. Ogata's fingers lazily twirl the cigarrette. He pulls out a lighter, and flicks it on, then off.
"What do you believe, Ogata-san?" Akira asks.
"I don't merely believe anything, Touya-kun. I know." Ogata flicks on the lighter again, but this time he lets the flame burn. "The Nihon Ki-in don't want a scandal. Having a pro turn dirty is bad publicity for all of us. No one is eager or going out of their way to pin this on you. But unfortunately, all the signs point to you selling out, Shindou-kun."
Ogata leans backwards, as if waiting for sort of explosive reaction from Shindou. Akira stiffens as well.
It doesn't come. Shindou pushes his bangs back, eyes thoughtful. "That's the easiest answer, right?" he says.
"Yes," Ogata says.
Shindou raises both eyebrows. "So how much do you know? Wait. How do you know?"
"I ... have a special, ah, relationship with Meiyo Yuki."
"The official recorder of the games?!" Shindou's eyebrows have risen even higher.
"Hmm. Yes. Among ... other ... things." Ogata clicks off the lighter. "She didn't hear the calls herself, but she told me the chairman of the ethics board received the first one. And after the first one, there were three people who heard the conversations-- the chairman, the president, and the vice president. All of the calls happened right after the opening fuseki and the caller was quite specific about which moves you would play and the sequences you'd use. They were specific enough that they couldn't have been conjectures. I find that fascinating. But if someone had to choose a target, you are an easy one."
Silence seeps into the kitchen for a moment. Ogata folds his hands on the table. Then he smiles.
"What do you mean?" Akira narrows his eyes.
"Shindou's always been an odd one. His sudden rise in the igo world. His inexplicable actions -- like the time he played so horribly against your father, during his first Shin Shodan match. Or when he insisted on being first board when he played the Hokuto cup -- and lost, may I remind you. And how he didn't even know half the igo terminology in the beginning -- people remember that sort of behavior."
"Odd behavior isn't basis for assuming Shindou would cheat," Akira points out.
"But it doesn't help. Face it, Shindou. From the moment you entered the igo world, your reputation has been a little mysterious. And because of that, they have reasons to doubt."
"No. They don't." Akira pushes his chair back. Tea. Suddenly, he needs tea. It is going to be a twelve cup night again. "Just look at his games."
"Hmm." Ogata makes a noncommittal sound. "I know that's good enough for you but --"
"The truth's in there," Akira cuts him off. Picking up a kifu of the first game, he scans it quickly. "Take this one, for example. Shindou starts off attacking from the fifth stone; wouldn't it be easier just to play a passive game, if he wanted to lose? Why would he set up such a long strategy, from fuseki to joseki? What would be the point? There are faster, easier ways to make a loss. The way Shindou's igo plays out -- the brilliance in his games -- how can any of that be manufactured?"
For a long moment, Ogata stares at him. Then, a half smile curls around his lips, showing the hint of tobacco stained teeth. "You don't have to convince me so ... passionately, Touya-kun."
"And you both need to stop talking about me as if I wasn't here!" Shindou says. His cheeks are an interesting shade of pink.
"Sorry," Akira mutters.
"Whatever," Ogata waves him off. "Anyway, calling Shindou-kun a cheater is the easiest answer. Easier than believing that the match wasn't set up beforehand. That there is someone out there, an unknown person, who can predict the complex moves of two high level players move by merely watching a few plays. That sort of talent is rather terrifying, don't you think?"
Shindou turns away from Ogata's gaze.
"Like I said, the Nihon Ki-in is not stupid. They can see all the possibilities as well. But people have odd reasons not to acknowledge talent like that," Ogata says. He has not taken his eyes off Shindou. "Right Shindou-kun? Would you know anything about that?"
Silence seeps into the kitchen.
"It's not him," Shindou finally mutters. "I know what you're thinking, Ogata-sensei. But it's not him. He wouldn't ever do this to me. Not him. Not like this. Not cheating."
Again, Akira feels that sour plum sensation in his mouth.
Ogata's shoulders are rigid. He slowly slips the cigarette back into his pocket, before pushing his glasses up. "I see. But we're still left with some unknown person who can predict the igo of high level pros. Someone who has gone undetected for so long, but has enough connections to reach the chairman of the board. It speaks of an inside job. And perhaps that's another reason for the silence on the part of the Nihon Ki-in. Whomever called ... well, if they wanted to create a spectacle or start a true smear campaign against you, Shindou, they would've gone to Igo Weekly or another news outlet. They went to the Institute directly instead."
"Maybe they want or need to be recognized officially," Shindou's fingers tap the kitchen table fretfully.
Ogata makes a low hmmm sound. "So far, this person has only called on your games. I wonder why? Shindou-kun, think. Could it possibly be someone you know?" Ogata leans forward. "To be able to predict your moves like that -- someone must have studied or played you often."
"I don't think so. The only person that could've even come close, nowadays ..." Shindou rolls his eyes.
"Yes?" Akira prods.
"Don't be a dumbass," Shindou snorts. "Of course it's you."
"Ah," Akira says, and Shindou rolls his eyes again.
Ogata has a pinched expression on his face throughout the exchange. "Are you absolutely certain it isn't someone from your past catching up to you?"
"You don't give up, do you? My past? Catching up with me?" Shindou blinks. "My past? If it's anything, it's more like ... hang on."
Shindou straightens, expression twisting in puzzlement as he shoves a hand in his back pocket. He pulls out his cellphone, which is vibrating frantically. Akira and Ogata exchange looks; for whatever the reason, fate always seems willing to give Shindou a hand in avoiding certain issues.
"Tsutsui-sempai? What?" Shindou's eyes widen, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Reeeally."
He turns to wave at Akira, making a writing motion in the air. Akira slides him a pen and paper.
"Huh. All my records?" Shindou scribbles wildly on the paper. "And who's? What? Every one?! Just before the match -- and all the matches of the Tengen Tournament, not just mine. Huh. But you can't track ... no, I don't understand really, but I trust you. Aoidai. Got it. Yeah, I'm okay. No, I can't tell you why, Tsutsui-sempai, but please, keep an eye on it. I promise I'll explain it all later. And ... thank you. Tell Akari and Hikaru-chan hello for me, will ya? And let Hikaru-chan know that her favorite uncle'll come visit soon, okay? Yeah, I'll be there this fall."
Akira leans over as Shindou's chatter switches over to more mundane things, such as babies and weddings and such.
On the piece of paper, Shindou has sketched several circles. One of them has his name. The other has the words Shusaku Honinbou. Yet another has the katakana spelling out Aoidai. But it is the last circle that makes Akira freeze.
Beside him, he can feel Ogata tensing as well.
In the last circle, Shindou has written only one name.
Sai.
----
To be continued
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Rating: PG-13 for language and non-explicit slash in part 2 and 3.
Timeline: Post series
Credits: DUDE! SO MUCH LOVE TO IMBRIUM, SILVERMUSE, AISHUU, HIMA-D and T-CHAN!
They ALL sat up late with me, helped me correct the errors, and encouraged me to post the monster.
There's still a lot of errors -- this fic didn't come easy. All errors are still my fault for not listening to those wiser than me.
Warning: It is also slightly angsty.
Dedication: To all BG members, readers, and to the Hikago community in general. Joyous Boxing Day and Happy New Year!!!!
______________________________________________________
When Akira finds Shindou in the back garden, just right after the burst of sudden spring rain, the odd image of a frog in a fairytale springs to his mind. It's the glassy way Shindou's eyes are staring through him. Or perhaps it's the way Shindou crouches against the flagstones, as if transfixed by some sort of spell.
But if Shindou Hikaru is a frog prince waiting, that would make him, perhaps, the princess. And since Akira refuses to accept such a role, he kicks Shindou's sandals with a not-so-gentle thump and says, "What are you doing out here, you idiot?"
Shindou looks at him quietly, through the damp blond bangs. In his clenched hands, a single piece of paper drips. He's shivering, teeth nearly rattling from the force.
"Shindou?" Thoughts of frogs vanish and Akira closes the last step between them. "Are you all right?"
Shindou lost the Tengen title just two days ago, but surely that in itself is not enough to provoke this sort of reaction. If anything, losses on the board seem to make his rival that much more determined. There are rumors that Shindou is after the Honinbou title now.
Shindou arms tighten around his waist. His eyes blink slowly. His head dips down again.
"Shindou!" Akira grabs the other man's shoulders, jerking him to his feet. "What's --"
He doesn't finish his sentence. Shindou has turned those eyes to him again. No, there's nothing like frogs or fish in those watery gaze. Just something all too human. And drowning.
"They say I cheated," Shindou murmurs, before turning to look at the ground once more.
Further words are merely a waste. Akira tightens his hold and tows his rival towards the house.
Shindou lets him push their bodies along. He lets Akira steer his steps.
This, even more than Shindou's drowning gaze, chills Akira enough that he starts shivering as well.
---
Back in Akira's foyer, Shindou doesn't respond to the initial question of "are you just going to stand there and freeze to death?"
Akira crosses his arms. The prospect of stripping a silent Shindou of his wet clothing is neither titillating nor particularly arousing. It's actually rather creepy.
However, Shindou finally starts moving and takes over the process when Akira reluctantly grabs the edge of his shirt. When Shindou's hands are at his waistline, Akira quickly turns and heads down the hall towards the guest bathroom.
"Well. I'll go to start some hot water," he says.
When he comes back, he finds Shindou has taken off his shoes but has left on his boxers. Shindou stands barefooted at the edge of the genkan, skin still slick with the rain.
"Bath's ready," Akira says, handing him a towel. Shindou accepts it, but remains unmoving. "Well, go on."
"But I'll make your floorboards wet," Shindou finally responds.
This sudden attention to lifelong cultural mandates makes Akira rub his temples in frustration. Naturally, of all the times that Shindou chooses to be polite, it has to be when it's completely inappropriate.
"I have a mop," Akira says. He tugs Shindou onto the floorboards, across the hallway, to the hot bath waiting.
Then, because Akira does have a mop but doesn't have anything else to do with his hands, he goes to pick up and clean the soggy mess in his foyer. As he slings Shindou's pants and sweatshirt into the washing machine, he notices that Shindou has also dropped the soggy piece of paper.
The ink has run in black tendrils across the page, and the entire paper threatens to melt away to nothing, but Akira's fingers know the value of patience. Carefully, carefully, he teases the mangled mess open. He cannot read all the blobs of kanji, but what he can read is enough.
Official Notice is stamped across the top. The blurred red ink seal of the Nihon Ki-in adorns the bottom of the page. And in between, in the smearing, dripping ink, Akira divines why his eternal rival has shown up in such a state in the back garden.
Investigation pending on the Tengen matches.
All matches considered forfeited until further notice.
He stares at the closed bathroom door.
His cell has been switched off for most of the day, otherwise he certainly would have heard the news sooner. He walks to the kitchen and looks; indeed, the message machine light blinks with a stark red pulse.
As if called to life by Akira's thoughts, the phone rings. He turns off the sound, ignoring the call. He fishes out his cellphone as well and shuts it into the nearest drawer.
Then, he takes the piece of paper and rolls it viciously in between his palms. The wet pulp quickly dissolves. Akira walks over to the sink, washes off the remains of the ink and the fiber, then scrubs again for good measure. The paper wouldn't have dried out properly anyway. It isn't like he's trying to change anything or make it go away.
No, it isn't that.
He walks back over to the bathroom and sits with his back against the door.
"Shindou. I know," he says. "No matter who is saying what. It won't change what I know. You'd never throw a game."
He stops, listening. He hears a faint splashing sound. Then a slight pop as Shindou releases the drain, followed by the sound of water gurgling. And when Shindou opens the door and his face is still wet, Akira doesn't comment. He hands him a spare set of pajamas instead.
Shindou still moves as if he is a puppet being dragged along by its strings. All Shindou says, when Akira finally marches him to his room, is "I'm really tired, Touya."
Shindou ends up on Akira's bed while Akira settles into a futon upon the floor. It's not the first time they've slept in the same room. Akira knows, from past matches and past hotel rooms, that Shindou tends to snore when he's deeply exhausted.
Tonight, though, when Shindou finally drops off, he sleeps as if he is dead. He doesn't move. Doesn't make a sound. Around midnight, Akira gives into his worry and climbs into the bed, shoving Shindou towards the wall. Shindou doesn't awaken, but now Shindou's back touches Akira's every time he breathes in.
It is only then, with that comforting rhythm behind him, that the tight feeling in Akira's chest loosens enough so he can sleep.
He will deal with the repercussions in the morning.
---
Morning comes and with it the paper. There isn't a mention of Shindou, but it isn't the right kind of paper. Akira wonders what Igo Weekly might say. The issue is due out tomorrow; the match and tournament lists had been delivered yesterday.
Even if the investigation hasn't been made public knowledge, the absence of Shindou's name will stir wild speculation; it is only a matter of time.
Sick of scandals already, Akira is just about to jam the paper and its offending articles into the wastebasket when he hears shuffling footsteps enter his kitchen. When he looks up, tousled blond hair and a hesitant smile greet him. Akira had tried not to wake Shindou initially, but when he rolled off the side of his bed, Shindou had roused and had met Akira's eyes rather blearily. After a moment though, the young pro had merely shrugged and turned back over to doze again.
Akira's pajamas hang loose on Shindou's wiry frame; Akira's last teenaged growth spurt gave him a half inch of height over his rival. At the moment, the morning light softens the angular cut of Shindou's chin, and the rest of him seems strangely too short and too young for his years. But his eyes are bright again, focused. Akira's own shoulders relax, hands smoothing out the newspaper reflexively.
"So, uh ..." Shindou fumbles, one hand running through his short hair, "about last night in the garden."
"Yes?"
"You probably want to know why right? Why I was in the rain and ... uh ... it ... I don't know why I was being that stupid. I mean, damn. I guess I kinda went nuts, huh? I saw the letter and it's like something ... broke ... in my head."
Shindou's gaze darts to the floor. "At first, I was really, really mad, I felt like screaming, but then, even more than that ... I don't know. Um, thanks for ... well ... I'm sorry I freaked out on you."
Akira remembers those wide eyes, lost in the rain.
"I can't explain it," Shindou says.
"Then don't," Akira shrugs. "You want miso for breakfast?"
Shindou stares at him, eyebrows arched and forehead wrinkled, as if waiting for something. But as Akira gestures towards the stove impatiently, his expression clears.
"Yeah. That'll be good," Shindou says. He walks over and takes the paper from the counter.
"Must be a slow news day. There's an article about a fortune telling chicken in the entertainment section," Shindou says offhandedly as Akira sets the kettle to boil. "Huh. Oh and the price of daikon is going up again. Housewives are enraged," the paper rustles as Shindou folds it. "Hey, better enjoy daikon miso while we can then."
Then, perhaps feeling a little out of sorts with small talk but not willing to handle anything larger, they lapse into silence. With an ease born from familiarity, Shindou pulls the bowls from the cabinet and spoons from the drawer and sets the kitchen table.
When did Shindou become so familiar ...? Akira pushes the thought out of mind and fixes the tea and the miso. They drink quickly and efficiently, though Akira notes that Shindou's knuckles are white around the spoon.
"What are your plans for the day?" Akira asks as he finishes the last gritty bit from the bottom. "Or more accurately, what can you tell me?"
"I ... well, before I came here and ... uh, when I was still really angry, I called the association. They said they had evidence I'd rigged the Tengen matches. There's going to be full panel and a formal inquiry. Until they come to some sort of conclusion, I am banned from the association, my rank has been suspended, and I'm not allowed to play in any official matches." Shindou clinks his spoon against the clay sides of the bowl. The sound is arrhythmic, picking up and losing speed at helpless intervals.
Akira stifles the urge to stop it; seeing those fingers so unsteady makes him want to lash out. But at what -- Shindou or some yet unnamed face -- he isn't too sure.
Shindou notices his expression, and with one last clink, he puts down the spoon. "The council told me to meet them at one to discuss some sort of shit. I can hear it in their voices though; something's seriously fucked and it's like they've already decided."
"You don't know that. And until this matter is cleared, you're welcome stay here for as long as you need."
"Thanks." Shindou takes the bowl to the sink. He hasn't eaten much; just a few mouthfuls. "But I shouldn't have come in the first place. I can't run away from this forever. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't."
"Coming here isn't the same as running away. And one night is not forever," Akira states firmly. "We need to think of a plan of attack. We're losing time as is. If we're going to prove your innocence, we have to start now, before the rumors spread."
"You don't have to ..."
"Enough. Stop it." Akira holds up a hand. "When you came, I didn't ask why, did I? And you don't have to ask now. You have my help."
Shindou stares at him. He runs a hand through his hair again.
"Or are you just going to let them accuse you of something you didn't do? Are you going to let them force you out of the institute, give up being a pro, playing matches and tournaments ... and me?"
Shindou freezes, muscles tensing. He bows his head and rocks slightly on the balls of his feet. He is shaking again.
Akira roughly shoves past Shindou and puts his own bowl in the sink.
For a moment, the unfocused shimmer of Shindou's eyes worries Akira. But then, he shoves back when Akira moves. The tight bundle of nerves in Akira's stomach unwinds.
It isn't like last night. Shindou shakes with anger, and anger is an acceptable reaction. It's the other emotions, unexplainable, that get in the way.
"I didn't cheat," Shindou's hands clench at the countertop. "I didn't cheat. I wouldn't cheat, I would never betray the game or him like that," he hisses.
"Shindou?" Akira feels the question, heavy and weighted like a sour plum on his tongue. It is not the time to ask, however, so he just swallows back the bitterness.
"I wouldn't."
"I know that," Akira says.
"Um. Well ...thanks." Shindou turns on the tap. He has ducked his head down, so that his hair obscures his face. However, Akira can still read the genuine gratitude in his rival's words.
"Well," Akira turns to finish clearing the table. "You're welcome."
___
There are advantages in having the name that he does, with the father that he has, and the talent he wields.
A few discreet calls later, he turns to Shindou. His rival has his arms folded on the table and his chin resting on his hands. His cellphone lays cradled between his jaw and his elbow. A notebook lays open before him; Shindou has scribbled several names on the paper.
"The upper levels know something's wrong," Akira says. "The institute has already made the announcement that all your foreseeable matches are canceled; they haven't said why, however. Igo Weekly's editors are under the impression that you've asked for personal leave. That means the Nihon Ki-in is trying to keep it quiet, at least for now."
Shindou rubs at his eyes. "It's not going to stay secret for very long."
"No. It will not. That's why we strike first. I've already received voicemails from Ogata and Kurata. I haven't answered yet, but I assume they've called your mobile as well."
"Yes. Kuwabara too." Shindou's fingers twitch as he tries to recall all the names. "And Waya, Isumi, and Yashiro and even that bastard Ko Yongha -- that's before the mailbox got full. They're all worried that I've gotten sick or something's happened to my family. Isumi asked ..." Shindou sighs. "He wants to know if he needs to come over to play me. Like last time I ... well ..."
Akira tilts his head, then nods. "Like the last time you started forfeiting all your matches?" The words probably come out a little harsher than he intends.
"That was a long time ago!" Shindou glares at him. "And it wasn't for some stupid shit like this! I'm not the one who decided to stop playing this time!"
"No. And that's what makes the difference."
"Thing is, I've already lost the title, why are they saying I did it deliberately? That makes no sense. Who in Hell would lose their title on purpose?" Shindou scowls.
"Don't be naive. It's not just the titles involved. Or the honor or the love of the game. There's the money aspect too as well as sponsorships and status." Akira walks around the kitchen, slowly, step by step. Each wall, each brick had been paid by tournaments and matches unnumbered. "You and I, we have the luxury of not needing to worry. But the competition among the lower dans and even among the middle ranks -- you remember that, don't you? Your first years must have been lean."
Shindou's scowl falters. He gazes down at his hands. "Not really. I was lucky I started early, and mom built a nest egg up for me. But I never thought you'd notice that sort of thing."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You always seemed to be rather erm ..." Shindou gestured vaguely, "Above all of the petty bits. You always play igo for its own sake and all that."
Shindou must have read something in his expression because he throws up both hands defensively. "Hey, I think that part of you is cool, okay? I know you worked hard to get where you have. I kinda ... um, like that about you." The last words come in a grunted rush.
"But I don't ignore reality." Akira crosses his arms. "Igo is the lifeblood for us pros. Without it, we cannot make a living. And if the community loses faith in your games ... well, to be accused of cheating is a professional death sentence."
Shindou is giving him a spot on impression of a trod on toad. His mouth opens and closes, and he is emitting a croaking sound.
Akira sniffs. "If anybody has a romanticized view of the go world, it's you -- and the dramatic way you let your passions blind you and how you respond to insults. Though ... honestly, I do not know who would risk such a move against you. I've made enemies, but you just tend to piss off people, instead of having them hate you. Whomever did this is not after your title or ranking. They may be after you directly, and they want to make it so you never play as a pro again."
"What?" Shindou scratches the side of his face, and his eyebrows wrinkle together. "But ... but ... why? What did I ever do to anyone?" he stops abruptly, shoulders sagging. "It's just not right! It's just like what happened to ..."
"Shindou?" Akira steps forward as his rival sways. Shindou, though, pushes away the proffered hand and steadies himself.
"I'm fine. I just realized that ... it's just not fair." Shindou pinches the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand. "It's never been fair, has it?"
Akira does not dignify that question with an answer. Shindou knows well enough, fair or not, it doesn't change the situation.
"You better get ready or you're going to be late for the panel. I've dried and ironed your clothes from yesterday, but you can hardly go in those, so you'll have to stop off at your apartment first. Prepare an overnight bag while you're doing that. And in the panel, find out what you can. Call me on your way back. We have plans to make."
Eyes wide, Shindou's gaze follows the imperious finger that Akira has pointed towards the laundry room. He opens his mouth, as if to say something.
"If you're going to whine again about this not being fair, I do not want to hear it," Akira snaps.
A wry smile twists across Shindou's face. "No, I was just going to say I was impressed. Laundry AND ironing, huh? You're gonna make someone a great housewife someday."
"Shut up, Shindou."
---
Shindou leaves for his own apartment at half past eleven, and Akira leaves for the salon at a quarter past twelve, as he does at least once a week when his schedule permits. His duties are still his duties, after all.
Ishikawa-san greets him cheerfully, though she is visibly puzzled when he tells her that he isn't accepting games or teaching lessons to the patrons.
The news hasn't hit the lower levels of the igo world yet; the salon is calm and the customers gossip about normal igo related things such as the next title matches or the upcoming insei. Next to the Five Stars institute, his family's salon is the next best source to track any emerging rumors.
People also know to seek him there, between matches.
"And how is your father, Touya-kun?" Ogata asks politely as he saunters in. "I have a few minutes, and I was in your area, so I thought I'd drop by."
"He and mother are fine. Still in Korea though; I haven't been able to contact him for the past day or so." But not for the lack of trying, especially in the last twenty four hours, Akira amends silently.
Now that the opening greeting is out of the way, Ogata leans against the counter. "So, have you heard about Shindou?"
"If you mean the sudden rash of forfeits, yes," Akira answers.
If Akira has read the situation correctly, Ogata has come to put in a presence and perhaps, to create an opening bid. For what purpose though ... Akira folds his hands together, calculating.
And then, because sometimes showing a bit of his own intentions prompts the other to show his intentions as well, "He's staying over at my house at the moment."
Ogata bends his head slightly, and the lens of his glasses flash. "Really. Did he say anything about why he's forfeiting all the games?"
"There are probably reasons," Akira says.
"I see. Do you know why?"
"Perhaps," Akira replies.
Ogata pushed his glasses up slowly. Then, to Akira's surprise, he shrugs. Long, thin fingers reach into his jacket pocket and fish out a cigarette. He doesn't light it, however; Akira knows that Ogata respects both him and his father too much to do so in the salon. But Ogata lets it dangle in one hand. "And you're still letting him stay at your house. Well, at least someone can keep track of him then."
"Ogata-san?"
"You keep your eye on Shindou and I'll keep my eyes open as well," The pro turns, heading for the door. "Who knows? I might even let you know what I find."
"Ogata-san?"
"Yeah?"
"Why?"
He cannot see Ogata's face, but by the way the man's shoulders shake, Akira knows Ogata's giving a silent laugh. "Just dropped by to say I was interested. I have my own, selfish reasons. Shindou has the key to something I want."
With a wave of the cigarette, Ogata leaves.
And like the scent of smoke left after a fire, it only occurs to Akira afterwards what Ogata hasn't said. Ogata already assumes Shindou hasn't voluntarily forfeited his games. And that Shindou is innocent.
His phone rings. It's three o' clock and by its timing, he knows it's Shindou.
"I can't talk now. I'll meet you at home," Shindou says shortly. As Akira steps out of the salon, he wonders if Shindou meant to leave out the word "your" out or -- if Shindou means it -- when exactly his place become home for his rival.
----
Shindou is sitting at the side of the house, in the shady space where the wisteria climbs up the stone. It is one of Akira's most favorite spots; the garden and the walkway around is one of the reasons Akira had purchased the house in the first place.
Shindou, of course, knew most of the nooks and crannies as well as he knew the ins and outs of Akira's kitchen and guest room. They had both spent several long afternoons playing igo, arguing with each other, and generally driving the neighborhood bird life to seek new nests in the next prefecture over. Luckily, the elderly neighbors next door were quite deaf.
Akira's mother had planted the wisteria a year and a half ago, taking cuttings from her own garden. The scent of flowers had made his first summer there a lot less awkward.
Like some forlorn dog, a large duffel bag drapes across Shindou's knees. His rival dozes, his head slung back against the new leaves, but when he hears Akira approach, Shindou rouses and stands up.
"Hey," he says in greeting. They both enter the house, and Shindou breaks off to throw the duffel into the guest room. When they meet again at the hall, Akira hands him fresh towels and the spare key.
"Eh?" Shindou jingles the object.
"You're crushing the wisteria," he informs him.
"Oh," Shindou pockets the key, then pitches the towel back into the room. He ignores Akira's grimace, matching it with his own grim expression. Shindou, apparently, is in no mood for their usual interaction. "The panel didn't go very well."
"I see." Akira walks the kitchen to start up the kettle; gut instinct tells him it will be a four cup ordeal, at least.
"Someone called in, during the first match of the Tengen Tournament, accurately predicting that I would lose -- and they did it down to the last moku." Shindou says. "The organizers ignored it but the asshole called again during the second and third games, with the same result. And they did the same for the fifth game."
"What about the fourth game? You won that one."
"The committee didn't mention anything about that. But the fifth game was predicted accurately." Shindou takes out two tea cups.
Akira rummages for the teabags. "Those are hardly grounds for starting an investigation, let alone banning you from playing. Predicting outcomes is something any good enough pro can do. Once you're far enough into it joseki, the end is clear ..."
"No. They called right after opening fuseki. Predicted some of the plays I would use, the attacks I'd implement. Sometimes down to the last stone."
"But that's impossible. You can't rig a game like that. That would take coordination with your opponent. Are they accusing Nara as well?"
"They didn't mention Nara. But for all I know, they could've be grilling him in another room," Shindou shrugs. "I don't think it'd be too smart for me to call Nara right now though. If they suspect the both of us, then it'll look suspicious. I don't want to drag Nara down into this if he isn't involved."
"As of this afternoon, Nara's games are still on the schedule; they haven't been canceled like yours," the kettle whistles, and Akira fills their cups. "Though that may be a front as well. If both of you, as top ranked pros, are taken out of the rotation, it'd would definitely create more speculation than they want. Perhaps I should call Nara-kun."
Shindou accepts the tea Akira pushes towards him and sits down at the table with a thump. Akira chooses to remain standing; for once, something in him resists being still.
"No, I don't think that's a good idea either. They know you're uh ... close to me." Shindou turns the cup in his hands. "Touya -- about that, you getting involved in this --"
"Yes?"
Shindou's voice suddenly sounds subdued. "It might be a good idea if I went back to my own place. You know?" He pushes his chair away from the kitchen table.
"So you're leaving now?" Akira crosses his arms.
"It might be better; that way --"
"Do you want to leave?"
"What I don't want is for you to --"
"That's not what I asked. Though I'd also like to point out that people normally don't pack an overnight bag just to have tea with me," Akira stares pointedly at his rival.
Shindou doesn't answer, choosing to gaze out the kitchen window instead.
"Even if you didn't come here, I'd be involved," Akira says. "You should know that. Otherwise, I am going to have to think that you've severely underestimated me. And in turn, I'm going to be severely annoyed."
Shindou sighs, then walks back over to the table and pulls out the chair again. "The panel admitted that the caller didn't name me or Nara specifically as the one who cheated. I don't even know if the caller said anything about cheating. But the association definitely thinks it's me."
"Why? They must have a reason." Akira takes another sip of tea, holding the warm, mellow taste as he considers the information. "So why aren't they hunting for this new genius that can predict igo moves?"
"Uh, well," Shindou ducks his head slightly. His tone has become distinctly sheepish. "Um ... the day after I lost the match, 14000000 yen somehow showed up in my bank accounts."
"What?" Akira stops his pacing, coming to stand just inches away from his rival. Shindou scowls and inches away. "How?"
"Electronic transfer. At least that's what they say. I'm not sure."
"How could you not notice a large amount of money randomly appearing in your accounts!?"
"My mom handles those for me! And she's used to sums of money just dropping in; she doesn't understand titles or igo," Shindou buries both hands into his hair. "I don't know how the money got there. They're tracing the wire transfer, but it's sent through some weird process overseas -- in other words, it looks really high tech and really damn shady!"
"But how did the Nihon Ki-in know about it? They can't just break into your bank records ..."
"They can if I'm under suspicion of setting up or aiding an illegal betting ring. I guess the phone calls were enough to obtain a warrant. I'm in high level shit, Touya! I could go to jail."
"Shindou --"
"They wanted me to confess. They brought me in and grilled me under a video camera for two hours. They asked me all sorts of weird questions, like who did I speak with about the tournament, what I thought about my title, why I used the attacks I did. They made me justify almost every move I made in every game! Then they let me go and told me to stay nearby and not leave town."
Shindou squeezes his eyes shut, even as Akira resumes his pacing "They're going to drag me to jail!"
"Stop being melodramatic. They suspect you, yes, and the police are probably involved, but they can't throw you in jail, otherwise they would have already," he murmurs. "The only piece of evidence they have are the phone calls, and that will be hard to back up unless the caller steps forward. Another thing that bothers me ... the amount that appeared in your account -- isn't it the exact amount you would've won for winning the title?"
Shindou freezes, then nods slowly.
"Why would you lose your title for the same amount of money that you would have gained by winning? They will have to prove motive. Also they have to show that you deliberately lost the game and deliberately manipulated Nara into the exact sequence of moves the caller predicted. Neither you nor your opponent are low level players, and neither you nor your opponent would have let the other dominate."
"No. If anything, Nara was the one who was manipulating me! He went above me, Touya. It was incredible." Shindou's face lights up; his eyes practically glow. "I could hardly believe it! I couldn't pin down his style or anything, it was just ..." Shindou licks his lips.
"You know how they used to say that we were the new wave, Touya? Well, he and the new insei are the ocean behind us. Those games, if they throw them out -- " Shindou slams his fist into the table, then winces. "Owwwww."
Akira will never admit he feels a small flicker of jealousy. Due to a challenge to his own title, he hadn't been able to witness Shindou's matches for himself, though he had heard the praise given to the tournament by various other pros.
Nara Hideki is a meteoric rising star; Shindou Hikaru is one still burning bright. Their matches had been the talk of the igo world for days even before they had met on the goban.
Akira had been meaning to study the Tengen kifu and the games more thoroughly, but he had been loathe to do so until he had a chance to really devote time to the effort. Such games, especially ones that could make Shindou's eyes light up so much, are things meant to be savored.
Now Akira will be looking through them without any joy or delight.
To have all that potential, all those hard fought games, tainted by scandal -- Akira can understand the need to pound things, though he limits his own actions to rummaging noisily in the freezer.
Shindou ducks as Akira lobs the ice pack at him. Akira follows the pitch by sliding the cordless phone across the counter.
"Put that on your hand and call the institute. Tell them you are staying here with me."
"Uh, maybe I should just tell them I'm staying with ... a friend. They know my cell phone number." Shindou bends to pick up the icepack. "That way --"
"They will know I am involved, Shindou, so you better just admit that up front with them. I want them to know I am involved. And I challenge them to prove that I, the former Meijin's son and the current Judan, would ever lower myself to lose deliberately for something as petty as money. Or that I would associate with anyone who does so."
"But --"
"Why aren't you dialing?" Akira glares. "I am not going to wait months to play you officially while you mull things out. And my house is bigger than your apartment -- where I will be staying if you decide to leave here. Don't you feel it's easier, anyway? For both of us to coordinate this problem together?"
Shindou stares at him for a long moment. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he places the icepack across his bruised knuckles and picks up the phone.
"Damn," he finally chuckles. "You are an absolute bastard sometimes, you know that?"
Akira ignores him in favor of pulling out his planner and flipping through the contact list.
"Finding the caller is the key. If he can indeed predict the game down to the last stone by just watching the opening fuseki, then ..." Akira rubs the bridge his nose. "He has skill in igo beyond anything I have ever encountered. A person like that can't be hidden for long. He has to play somewhere. And if he plays at that level, that means we can find him."
Shindou has stilled. His eyes have something of the same haunted cast as when Akira found him yesterday.
"Okay," he finally says as he pulls out his own PDA, "I think I know where to start."
The afternoon slips into evening. They both spend most of the time on their cell phones; Shindou has to plug his in after the second hour, when his batteries run out.
Touya's house phone rings mercilessly as well. Four cups of tea turn into six then into twelve. Sometime between the eight and ninth cup, Akira places an order for bento delivery. With the amount of attention Shindou pays to the food though, he might have saved the money and fed Shindou cardboard instead.
Akira has yet to talk to his father, but he has managed to talk with Kurata and Kuwabara.
They are trying to keep a tight control of the details, but Akira lets slip enough. No, he couldn't really say why Shindou has dropped out. But he thinks it has something to do with the Tengen Tournament. Something about those games.
Kuwabara and Kurata will both go tonight and pour over the kifu. When the time comes, if they are asked, he knows they will reply that such a game cannot be set up by Shindou. Not to their knowledge. But who are they to say anything? Just the Honinbou. And the Oza.
Shindou plants his own seeds as well. His network lies among the mid-level pros, mainly with the ones who have been with him since his insei years. Between his own calls, Akira listens in, and is struck by how many times Shindou pauses to say thank you, deeply, meaning every word.
Even if Akira cannot hear the other end of the conversation, he has the feeling that they are letting Shindou know he is missed already. That he is supported. More than anything, they still want to play him.
Finally, at ten, Akira puts an end to the phone calls. Shindou's head is nearly flush against the kitchen table, and his eyes are blinking more and more slowly.
"It's late," Akira says pointedly. "And it's rude to call people now. And I have a match at nine am tomorrow."
He almost regrets his words when Shindou flinches, but he will not dance around the subject. Duty is duty. Shindou tilts his head, then nods.
"Sucks to be you. I plan to sleep in." Shindou yawns, stretches, then plods towards the shower. Akira goes to his own room and makes his own preparations for bed.
But at three am, Akira wakes. He isn't sure why; the house is somewhat silent, with only the normal creaks and cracks of as it settles on its foundations. He slips out of bed anyway.
The light is on in Shindou's room. And when Akira knocks on the door, he hears the rustling sound of papers being hastily shoved to the floor.
"Oops!" Shindou opens the door. "Did I wake you?"
"What are you doing now?" Three am is not the time for niceties. "Why aren't you asleep like most sane people?"
"Uh. I don't know. I just couldn't. So I thought I'd look at kifu," Shindou gestures vaguely to the blizzard of papers spread around him. Some are from Akira's games. Some are from Shindou's own. A majority of them are Shuusaku Honinbou games. "You could say it's kinda like catching up. With old friends."
"Three am is hardly time for pillow talk with these friends of yours," Akira grumbles as he stalks over. On the very top of the pile, in a semicircle around Shindou, are the kifu from the Tengen Tournament. Picking up the nearest kifu, Akira settles down and narrows his eyes.
"YO!" A hand waves in front of his face.
"What are you doing?!" Akira snaps as he turns to glare at his rival.
"Nothing. Just wanted your attention so I could do this."
Shindou abruptly snatches the paper out of Akira's hands.
"But I was looking at that," Akira protests.
"Yeah, but what you should be doing is sleeping. Match, tomorrow at nine am? It's enough for me to be out of commission. It'd drive me crazy if I thought you'd be penalized as well." Shindou finishes gathering up the rest of the kifu and stuffing them into the large folder. "You don't need to be seeing these in your head when you're supposed to be kicking the ass of your opponent."
Akira narrows his eyes. "Are you suggesting that I would not be able to plan more than one strategy?"
"More than one strategy? Yes. But being able to let it go? NO." Shindou rolls his eyes. "Look, yes, I know you're able to think on multiple levels, but .... It'd honestly drive me batshit if you do end up losing because of this dumbass crap. I ... I ... well, isn't it enough that I gotta worry about this?"
Akira frowns. "Very well. But you haven't answered my question though. Why are you still awake?"
"I don't exactly have a lot to do tomorrow." Shindou points out. "And you know I have a lot on my mind." He stops. "And ... it's the wrong sort of quiet here."
"What?"
"There's different kinds of quiet. Especially in new places," Shindou says, and Akira watches at the tips of his ears flush red. "I know it sounds loony, but yeah. I can't sleep in places until I get used to the quiet."
"You've stayed over before in this room. And you're fine in hotels."
"That's different. This time's different. It's not the same kind of quiet. Or empty. Look, I said it was screwed up." Shindou flops back on the covers. "I'm a big boy, Touya. I'll get to bed soon. Stop acting like a mother hen."
Akira frowns. After a moments' decision, he trots back to his own room. Damn Shindou. The creaks and cracks of the house sound abnormally loud now. After fifteen minutes, he gives up and drags out the futon into the guest room.
Shindou has yet to turn out the lights, but he hasn't spread out the kifu again. When Akira enters, he blinks. "Eh?"
"Shut up. You and your stupid ideas. I have a match tomorrow and now I can't sleep."
"Sorry." Shindou looks as if he is trying to put on a sorrowful expression. He fails miserably. "At least let me sleep on the futon."
"No. Just turn out the light, shut up, and go to sleep."
"No, really, I'm the guest."
"And I'm the host."
"Don't be an idiot. You're not going to sleep on a futon in your own guest room!"
"I'm not moving, Shindou."
How they both end up back to back on the futon, Akira does not know. What really surprises him, however, is how fast Shindou drops to sleep right afterwards.
And it is only when the sun rises and he awakens that Akira finds he has slept rather deeply, as well.
---
When he steps through the door after his match, the scent of cooking beef greets him. Something sizzles in the kitchen.
"I'm home, Shindou."
"Welcome back," Shindou yells from the kitchen. "Uh, you better be hungry!"
Hungry is perhaps an understatement. Shindou has made a huge plate of teriyaki beef. The rice maker steams in the corner. He is also wearing a trashbag tied around his chest and hips.
"Shindou!?"
"How did you match go? I wanted to call, but figured you were busy." Shindou flips the piece of beef over and pokes it with the spatula. The scene is oddly domestic. Akira nearly walks out, almost certain he can't be in his own kitchen. With Shindou Hikaru. Who is wearing a trashbag.
"The match ... went as expected."
"Or in other words, you left ol' Takamine crying in his miso again, huh?" Shindou waves the spatula triumphantly.
Perhaps confronting this odd vision will dispel it. Akira wanders over to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. He notices, too, that Shindou has filled the unit to capacity with all sorts of greens and meats. He even thinks he sees some fresh fish in the back.
"Why is there food in my refrigerator?" he says out loud, before he can really consider the words.
"Because the laundry room was full of detergent?" Shindou snorts. "Idiot. Where else am I going to put food?"
Akira takes a deep breath. "Oh, pardon me for overburdening your overly literal mind. Perhaps I should've worded it better. Why did you buy so much food?"
"Cause I'm not a leech," Shindou flips the beef.
"I never said you were. But this is overdoing it, a little."
"I am NOT a leech. And I refuse to be in your debt."
"So you decide to pay me back in fish and leafy greens?" Akira gives up on trying to figure out the contents of his fridge and just retrieves his water. "And, just out of curiosity, why are you wearing a trashbag? You're not destitute yet."
"You don't own an apron and this is my favorite shirt," Shindou grumbles. "And as for the cooking -- it's not like I've never seen your Great Wall of Takeout Menus, but I could do with less MSG and artificial flavoring."
"Shut up, Shindou. Where did you learn to cook?"
"My mom. We used to cook together when I was really little." Shindou swings the pan away from the stove and expertly slides the meat onto the waiting plate. The kitchen knife flashes as he he cuts the beef into strips.
"Dad was always late coming home, so she used to make it like a game for the both of us. Now that I think about it, it probably was so I didn't whine about having to wait. You know how it is," Shindou says, but Akira doesn't answer, because in truth, he does not. He always accompanied his father to work.
It is this world of knives and sizzling beef that is foreign.
Oblivious, Shindou continues, "It stopped when I started fifth grade though. And the whole -- igo thing. But it's like your first fuseki's ... I still remember basic steps. Uh, I hope. Could you pull out three bowls and plates?"
"Three?"
"Yeah, Ogata-sensei called. He's coming too," Shindou says as he scoops the rice into the bowls. As if on target, the doorbell rings.
Akira has seen Ogata in many situations. He has played the man in matches, he's participated in tournaments, and Ogata was a fixture in the Touya household throughout much of Akira's childhood.
Having Ogata over for a dinner prepared by his eternal rival, however, is altogether different.
"I've found out something interesting," Ogata says as he steps through the door and changes out of his shoes. "Shindou said that you'd be back by now, so I decided to -- eeh?"
By the way both of his eyebrows rise, Akira assumes Ogata hadn't been expecting Shindou to cook dinner either. He feels somewhat gratified; at least he's not the only one feeling a little out of place.
"Always full of surprises, aren't you, Shindou?" Ogata says. He sounds amused, though there is a strange undercurrent as well.
Shindou shrugs. Akira has noticed that Shindou has always been a little distant with Ogata. He's not unfriendly, but he's not as open with the man as he is with most people. Ogata, too, seems to go out of his way to needle the younger pro.
Still, there is an odd camaderie between the two; Shindou had once mentioned that Ogata helped him enter the Five Stars Institute as an insei. And Ogata has an odd smile when he talks of past tournaments with Shindou.
"I'll never get drunk around him again," he said once, and had merely chuckled at Akira's dark look.
It is, Akira decides, going to be an interesting meal.
At least the food is excellent. When he first bites into the beef, Akira nearly chokes as the muscles in his jaw ache from the burst of flavor. The fact he has not eaten all day roars to the surface of Akira's consciousness.
The kitchen drops into silence as they wolf down the meat. Akira gets up from his seat to refill his rice, and has to detour when Ogata offers forth his own empty bowl as well.
"Surprising indeed," Ogata mutters as he starts on his second helping. Shindou merely smirks.
The peace lasts until the last piece of meat is consumed and the dishes are bundled away to the sink. When all three of them are sitting at the table again, Ogata proceeds to pull a cigarette from his pocket. But like the time in the salon, he merely holds it between two fingers.
"So how much do you know?" Shindou asks. He has taken out his folder of kifu, and the Tengen tournament lay spread before them.
"I know that you," he points to Shindou, "have started quite the mess. Withdrawing from all present games -- there are rumors that you're breaking down after having lost the Tengen title."
"What do you think?" Shindou shoots the man a rather belligerent look.
"Pure shit. The Tengen games were excellent. I wouldn't have minded losing like that. But then again, I probably wouldn't have lost." Ogata says. "There are also rumors that it isn't a breakdown. That you were forced to resign because of a scandal."
Akira does not look at Shindou and his rival does not look back. Neither want to give too much away, not at this stage. Ogata's fingers lazily twirl the cigarrette. He pulls out a lighter, and flicks it on, then off.
"What do you believe, Ogata-san?" Akira asks.
"I don't merely believe anything, Touya-kun. I know." Ogata flicks on the lighter again, but this time he lets the flame burn. "The Nihon Ki-in don't want a scandal. Having a pro turn dirty is bad publicity for all of us. No one is eager or going out of their way to pin this on you. But unfortunately, all the signs point to you selling out, Shindou-kun."
Ogata leans backwards, as if waiting for sort of explosive reaction from Shindou. Akira stiffens as well.
It doesn't come. Shindou pushes his bangs back, eyes thoughtful. "That's the easiest answer, right?" he says.
"Yes," Ogata says.
Shindou raises both eyebrows. "So how much do you know? Wait. How do you know?"
"I ... have a special, ah, relationship with Meiyo Yuki."
"The official recorder of the games?!" Shindou's eyebrows have risen even higher.
"Hmm. Yes. Among ... other ... things." Ogata clicks off the lighter. "She didn't hear the calls herself, but she told me the chairman of the ethics board received the first one. And after the first one, there were three people who heard the conversations-- the chairman, the president, and the vice president. All of the calls happened right after the opening fuseki and the caller was quite specific about which moves you would play and the sequences you'd use. They were specific enough that they couldn't have been conjectures. I find that fascinating. But if someone had to choose a target, you are an easy one."
Silence seeps into the kitchen for a moment. Ogata folds his hands on the table. Then he smiles.
"What do you mean?" Akira narrows his eyes.
"Shindou's always been an odd one. His sudden rise in the igo world. His inexplicable actions -- like the time he played so horribly against your father, during his first Shin Shodan match. Or when he insisted on being first board when he played the Hokuto cup -- and lost, may I remind you. And how he didn't even know half the igo terminology in the beginning -- people remember that sort of behavior."
"Odd behavior isn't basis for assuming Shindou would cheat," Akira points out.
"But it doesn't help. Face it, Shindou. From the moment you entered the igo world, your reputation has been a little mysterious. And because of that, they have reasons to doubt."
"No. They don't." Akira pushes his chair back. Tea. Suddenly, he needs tea. It is going to be a twelve cup night again. "Just look at his games."
"Hmm." Ogata makes a noncommittal sound. "I know that's good enough for you but --"
"The truth's in there," Akira cuts him off. Picking up a kifu of the first game, he scans it quickly. "Take this one, for example. Shindou starts off attacking from the fifth stone; wouldn't it be easier just to play a passive game, if he wanted to lose? Why would he set up such a long strategy, from fuseki to joseki? What would be the point? There are faster, easier ways to make a loss. The way Shindou's igo plays out -- the brilliance in his games -- how can any of that be manufactured?"
For a long moment, Ogata stares at him. Then, a half smile curls around his lips, showing the hint of tobacco stained teeth. "You don't have to convince me so ... passionately, Touya-kun."
"And you both need to stop talking about me as if I wasn't here!" Shindou says. His cheeks are an interesting shade of pink.
"Sorry," Akira mutters.
"Whatever," Ogata waves him off. "Anyway, calling Shindou-kun a cheater is the easiest answer. Easier than believing that the match wasn't set up beforehand. That there is someone out there, an unknown person, who can predict the complex moves of two high level players move by merely watching a few plays. That sort of talent is rather terrifying, don't you think?"
Shindou turns away from Ogata's gaze.
"Like I said, the Nihon Ki-in is not stupid. They can see all the possibilities as well. But people have odd reasons not to acknowledge talent like that," Ogata says. He has not taken his eyes off Shindou. "Right Shindou-kun? Would you know anything about that?"
Silence seeps into the kitchen.
"It's not him," Shindou finally mutters. "I know what you're thinking, Ogata-sensei. But it's not him. He wouldn't ever do this to me. Not him. Not like this. Not cheating."
Again, Akira feels that sour plum sensation in his mouth.
Ogata's shoulders are rigid. He slowly slips the cigarette back into his pocket, before pushing his glasses up. "I see. But we're still left with some unknown person who can predict the igo of high level pros. Someone who has gone undetected for so long, but has enough connections to reach the chairman of the board. It speaks of an inside job. And perhaps that's another reason for the silence on the part of the Nihon Ki-in. Whomever called ... well, if they wanted to create a spectacle or start a true smear campaign against you, Shindou, they would've gone to Igo Weekly or another news outlet. They went to the Institute directly instead."
"Maybe they want or need to be recognized officially," Shindou's fingers tap the kitchen table fretfully.
Ogata makes a low hmmm sound. "So far, this person has only called on your games. I wonder why? Shindou-kun, think. Could it possibly be someone you know?" Ogata leans forward. "To be able to predict your moves like that -- someone must have studied or played you often."
"I don't think so. The only person that could've even come close, nowadays ..." Shindou rolls his eyes.
"Yes?" Akira prods.
"Don't be a dumbass," Shindou snorts. "Of course it's you."
"Ah," Akira says, and Shindou rolls his eyes again.
Ogata has a pinched expression on his face throughout the exchange. "Are you absolutely certain it isn't someone from your past catching up to you?"
"You don't give up, do you? My past? Catching up with me?" Shindou blinks. "My past? If it's anything, it's more like ... hang on."
Shindou straightens, expression twisting in puzzlement as he shoves a hand in his back pocket. He pulls out his cellphone, which is vibrating frantically. Akira and Ogata exchange looks; for whatever the reason, fate always seems willing to give Shindou a hand in avoiding certain issues.
"Tsutsui-sempai? What?" Shindou's eyes widen, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Reeeally."
He turns to wave at Akira, making a writing motion in the air. Akira slides him a pen and paper.
"Huh. All my records?" Shindou scribbles wildly on the paper. "And who's? What? Every one?! Just before the match -- and all the matches of the Tengen Tournament, not just mine. Huh. But you can't track ... no, I don't understand really, but I trust you. Aoidai. Got it. Yeah, I'm okay. No, I can't tell you why, Tsutsui-sempai, but please, keep an eye on it. I promise I'll explain it all later. And ... thank you. Tell Akari and Hikaru-chan hello for me, will ya? And let Hikaru-chan know that her favorite uncle'll come visit soon, okay? Yeah, I'll be there this fall."
Akira leans over as Shindou's chatter switches over to more mundane things, such as babies and weddings and such.
On the piece of paper, Shindou has sketched several circles. One of them has his name. The other has the words Shusaku Honinbou. Yet another has the katakana spelling out Aoidai. But it is the last circle that makes Akira freeze.
Beside him, he can feel Ogata tensing as well.
In the last circle, Shindou has written only one name.
Sai.
----
To be continued