(no subject)
Title: Kitsune Weather
Fandom: Hikaru No Go
Status: In editing/Beta-stage
Sequel to ITFOTN
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The air still smelled of ozone, even though the storm had nearly passed. It had been a rather odd, wayward sort of storm, springing up rather suddenly -- much to the surprise of the weather forecasters and the dismay of hapless pedestrians. And even during the downpour, sunlight had shone through the rain, as if the sky itself hadn't quite made up its mind as to which sort of weather should hold dominance.
However, the rays of sunlight had been growing undeniably stronger, and the sidewalks of Tokyo steamed slightly as the afternoon heat resumed. The wind felt humid and heavy.
Touya Akira scowled down at his shoes.
The cheap 100 yen umbrella hadn't kept his socks safe. The cuffs of his pants still remained damp. But at least the top part of his suit felt dry to the touch.
But Akira sighed, Tanagawa-san probably had more on his mind than my state of dress.
By the end the game, Tanagawa's fingers had trembled so much that the stones had clattered as he had reached into the ke.
Not that I can say the same of myself.
His frown deepened. His father would have certainly chided him for being even noticing -- midgame, no less -- the uncomfortable squelching between his toes.
But his father would have been really disappointed if he knew that Akira had also crushed his opponent by a very wide margin in what should have been shidogo.
No matter what the person he was playing might have thought.
"I'm not some boy with his first beard. So don't go lightly on me, Touya-kun!" Tanagawa had chortled. "I don't want a teaching game --- you got that?"
It had been a challenge, at first, as he wove his stones in and out of Tanagawa's, nudging here and there to shape the game towards something on which they both could build. He was being paid after all, and if it not for being a teacher then what did it mean ...
But Tanagawa had just enough knowledge to recognize -- and resent -- any and all ego saving tactics ... but not enough intelligence to realize the grace in learning to play within his own strengths and weaknesses.
"This isn't why I came all this way! I'm not one of your students!"
Akira narrowed his eyes. He rather play rank beginners or housewives or even children -- nearly any sort of player was better than an opponent that just had enough talent to be a righteous idiot.
"I am paying for a real game, Touya-kun. You even play that wannabe Shindo Hikaru with more fire than this!"
He couldn't explain it. But something in him, something not quite under his normally tight control had stirred, defiant and snarling.
"You can not pay for a real game. At least not with coins. And I am still a sensei -- whether yours or not -- and you shall address me as such. Moreover, Shindo is not a wannabe. He just is."
And ... from there, everything had rolled inevitably downhill, building momentum from midgame towards yose to deliver a crushing twenty five moku defeat.
Tanagawa had thanked him, in the end. But there had been a hollow look to his eyes and a defeated slump to his shoulders. It rather matched the posture of the organizers, who had watched their chances of Tanagawa Unlimited's continuing sponsership going down with each moku Akira had gained.
Akira twisted the umbrella handle in his hands.
It wasn't the first time, it wasn't even the second or third or fourth time. It wouldn't be the last. He lived for the games that challenged him, that made his heart pound and fingers twitch ... those were the sort that fed his mind -- or if he felt like waxing poetic about it -- his soul.
But he still had to eat too.
"Real" games.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. Not every game will be challenging. Not every game is tournament level. Not every game can be with --
Frustrated, he kicked viciously at a puddle, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of childlike glee as the muddy water scattered.
It did make him feel strangely better though.
"Kiyiii! Lovely weather we're having, ne?" a quiet voice chuckled from behind him. "First water coming down from above ... now splashing up from below."
Startled out of his thougths, Akira turned around abruptly. Oh no ...
It wasn't some well tailored business man or tourist he had inadvertantly splattered. The man before him was dressed in a dark black and grey kimono. One for a wedding, if Akira had to hazard a guess, given the highly formal nature of the outfit. Every piece was in perfect place, from the various knots and sashes tied to exactly the right lengths down to the polished, split-toe sandals. Reaching into one of his voluminous sleeves, the man pulled out a handkerchief and began to daub at the droplets of water and mud.
"Oh! I ... I'm sorry." Akira quickly bowed ... and unfortunately sent another spray of water from his tilting umbrella. "Ah!"
"Tis' quite alright. To be expected even -- I'm the one who's gone walking in the rain. I wager I could order the sky not fall down on me, but I doubt it would actually listen," the man laughed. There was a richness to the sound, something that curled upon itself, like a bell reverberating. "Water flows as it will, true to its nature. Though I hardly have to be telling you, I'm sure."
Akira blinked, feeling slightly uneasy at the stranger's odd phrasing.
"Anyways, you don't have to look quite so horrified," the man said. "I won't melt -- wrong story and species, not to mention pantheon."
"Excuse me?" It's like I understand each individual word, but I'm missing the meaning behind them.
"Oh? You don't know that story? Pity. You look like you're used to following a rainbow or two." A smile curled demurely across the nearly-perfect lips, and Akira felt his skin prickle, ever so slightly.
Still feeling shifted off-center by the bizarre conversation, Akira fumbled in his pocket. "But still -- I apologize. You can send the cleaning bill to this address..."
Taking out his wallet, Akira struggled to tug out a business card. It always made him feel a little self conscious to give one out; most of the time, people -- at least those who mattered -- already knew who he was (or at least who his father was). Thus, the majority of them remained unused and wedged rather tightly behind his student ID and his pocket igo schedule.
Awkwardly juggling his umbrella so that it rested between his chin and his shoulder, he presented the card to the man with both hands. "I will be glad to cover all costs."
"How very ... well I guess you could say ... responsible ... of you, to give such promises so easily," the man reached for the card, elegant fingers brushing Akira's briefly. A black eyebrows raised. "Hmm. Touya five dan? How interesting! So I guess you're the Touya then?"
"Uh ..." Akira licked his lips, feeling more and more uneasy as the seconds passed. "I'm a Touya. Touya Akira. Son of the Touya Kouyo ..."
"Excellent." The man's smile widened. His teeth gleamed. "It's not every day I get splattered by a go master of your caliber. Wait til I tell all my friends."
"You ... play igo?" Akira asked. The long fingers had been uncalloused, and the slightly longer than normal nails (although they were neat and well tended) certainly didn't speak of lots of time scraping against the goban. Yet nowadays, the state of hands and fingers didn't mean as much. There was, of course, netgo.
Akira felt a little flicker of interest, before chiding himself. You're turning into Ogata-sensei, searching everywhere you go. He's just a random igo fan.
Albeit ... a strange one.
The random igo fan in question was now beaming at Akira's business card as if he had been given the title of meijin. "I play a little, here and there. Though it's been a bit of a while. I sure I'm just awful at it now. But say ..." the man snapped his fingers briskly, "I have the most brilliant idea. Instead of going through the trouble of bothering you for a payment, I would truly appreciate a game with you. Though really, I might be asking for a bit more than these old rags are worth."
Akira said nothing; the man's kimono looked like anything but "old rags." He took another half step back, hands gripping at his umbrella even more tightly. The man raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, but where are my manners? I bet you've just come back from the most stimulating of games, yes? You must be tired. And then having a random stranger just stepping up to you on the streets and challenging you ... no, kiyii, that's not the proper way to do things at all, is it? Tch." the man clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I fear I might have overstepped my bounds. I do so apologize."
"That's ... all right. Please send the bill to me, and again, I apologize for the trouble I have caused you." Carefully angling his umbrella back so as to not cause any more accidents, Akira bowed formally before turning to leave.
"Wait, if I could just have merely one more moment ... you know Shindo Hikaru, right?"
Akira stopped, mid-step. He did not turn around.
"What am I saying, silly me ... of course you know him. I ... ah ... read in the ... go magazines that you two are very close rivals ..." the voice trailed off.
He couldn't help himself. Akira turned around. The man still held Akira's card in one hand, idly flipping it back and forth in his fingers. The slow, windmill-like motion was almost hypnotic.
"What about him?" Akira hadn't quite meant for the words to come out so defensively. He was surprised to find too, that his fingers were turning white from their grip on the umbrella handle.
"Just curious ... how has little Shindo-kun been doing lately?"
Something in his expression must have matched his inner turmoil; the man immediately put up both of his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"Oh dear, I know it must seem inappropriate for someone like me -- as a stranger to you -- asking about a young man like Shindo! It must look like the proverbial fox trying to get into a henhouse. But we know each other -- him and I." the man said. "Ah, I realize, I haven't introduced myself. You may call me Osusuki."
"O-su-su-ki?" Akira repeated slowly, waiting to see if the man would add a surname or a first name.
Osusuki did not. "And I shall call you ... Akira-kun? Or Touya-kun? Probably something of that sort -- let's not worry about titles."
"Uh. I guess ... " Akira licked his lips. He had been called sensei, though more often, the -san suffix had been used. He didn't even mind been called -kun, depending on the context. Most people presumed -- or instinctively knew -- where he stood.
And he, of course, knew his place.
But no one ever declared what they were going to call him ... as if they had right to do so.
Staring at Osusuki, however, Akira wondered why it felt as if this man did.
"Touya ... kun is fine." Akira said. "Osusuki...san?"
"Wonderful! Shindo-kun must've mentioned me? No?" Osusuki frowned, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Ah well, it has been quite awhile by his reckoning, I guess. No matter. I was just wondering, especially since ..."
"Especially since?" Akira repeated. Shindo was fine ... he didn't mention anything yesterday, he thought.
But his stomach tightened all the same.
"Well, all that past unpleasantness with ... well ... I guess you can call him his sensei."
"Morishita-sensei?" Akira frowned. Shindo hadn't mentioned anything about Morishita's study group.
"Morishita?" Osusuki wrinkled his nose. "Who's that? No, I meant Fujiwara no S--." the man tilted his head, stopping midword. One hand drifted up to cover his mouth demurely. "Oh. I think I may have misspoken again."
Against all common sense, Akira took several steps forward, confronting the stranger face to face. It was a dangerous distance, one that was close enough to touch ... close enough to be attacked.
Nonetheless, he did not back down.
"What do you know about Shindo Hikaru?" Akira narrowed his eyes. "How do you know Shindo?"
"No, no ... I must'nt. Pretend you didn't hear that, will you? Sometimes I forget how ... odd ... little Shindo-kun can be about his past." Osusuki shook his head, clicking his tongue. "I am so embarrassed. But honestly, since you two were considered to be such close rivals I thought that you must have known ...?"
The man smiled again, and the way his lips thinned -- Akira could see the barest outline of his teeth through the skin.
He's playing me ... baiting me. But why?
His instincts screamed for him to run away, to escape, to find shelter from this odd man in the dark kimono. Definitely a trap.
But Akira never broke his gaze or his stance. As the silence continued, Osusuki's lips quirked upwards even further, eyebrows raising. Finally, he chuckled and tucked both of his hands into his sleeves. He bowed once, and for a quick, fleeting second, there was something in the grace of the movement, something uncanny and fleeting and not quite right.
"Ah well. You're smarter than he was, that's for sure. And I thank you for your offer to handle my dry cleaning, but ... no, this is not a debt you have to settle. I guess I'll have find Shindo-kun on my own ..."
"Wait." Akira said.
Osusuki paused midstep, robes swirling around him.
"Are you still interested in a game, sir?"
"Ah. I know just the place."
***
All seasoned players know this much; a game begins long before the goban is even approached and the first stone is placed. It begins the moment two players accept the challenge to a game.
For many an igo pro, it begins in the early days of their insei years, in the long hours drilling against opponents, never letting up. It begins when a player finally admit the game means more than idle entertainment -- that the game means life, itself. Perhaps in trade, nearly every part of his life then becomes a part of the game, whether or not he is sitting in front of the board. And as such, there are more than the paper kifus that he leaves like footprints in his wake.
Akira remembered the time Go Weekly had run a small article on his father's tea ceremony hobby. The upsurge in fancy teapots his father had received had forced his mother to buy a whole new cabinet for the kitchen. He knew his father's opponents often chatted with him about various flavors of teas, the merits of Chinese leaves versus the Japanese ones, or how the recent rains might affect the new crop.
It all served as a polite reminder.
I am watching you. And I am waiting.
So even as he kept staring straight at the stranger, Akira did not feel as if he was being rude. It was expected, when first meeting an opponent.
What disturbed him, however, is that he had no idea what sort of footprints -- kifu or otherwise -- that the stranger before him had left behind in either the igo world or with Shindo Hikaru. Unknowns were few and far between, in the world of the pros.
I'll know when I play him though.
For his part, Osusuki seemed not to mind being studied. Akira had to admit that there wasn't anything very remarkable about the man -- he was of an average height with an average build. He bore the neat, trimmed hairstyle that was currently being favored by the Prince of Japan himself. He also seemed comfortable in the kimono he wore, wasting not the slightest bit of movement nor showing the slightest sign of awkwardness, even though the thick cloth of the kimono should have weighted down his movements. His wooden sandals made a sharp clacking sound against the cement of the sidewalk, not unlike the hollow click of claws.
Even though there were enough people around that Akira knew he could raise a disturbance and be noticed if there was need, he couldn't quite stem the growing surge of nervous energy within him. The passerbys on the street did not give them a second look. Perhaps they assumed -- Akira being dressed in a suit and all -- that they had both come from the same ceremony and were out for a drink afterwards. Perhaps they both seemed like normal young men out for a mid afternoon stroll.
But that's because they can't see his eyes, Akira thought. They're green. A wild, shifting green, like leaves seen through shadows.
Other little details nibbled at Akira's attention, leaving caution in its place. The way Osusuki would throw an occasional glance back at Akira, and how that smile would just twitch upwards ... or how he still had not put away the business card that Akira had given him, but held it tight in his hand, with his fingers over the Akira's name ...
Akira was no fool. He knew that it was quite dangerous to go with some unknown man to an unknown destination. It was the stuff that educational films were made of -- as well as the nightly news.
I should call this off. Or I should suggest that we take this to father's salon. Or ...
But despite himself, he still followed.
Without warning, Osusuki stopped abruptly at the entrance to a side alley. It was a rather narrow one, too small for most cars to drive through. As if to further obstruct traffic, an open air shrine sat at the mouth of the alleyway. It consisted of a crude wooden construct that housed a single statue of a long-nosed, red faced man holding a spear. Offerings littered the dias in front of the figure, though most of them seemed a little soggy from the recent rain. Osusuki rummaged in a sleeve and pulled out, much to Akira's surprise, an onigiri. He set this in front of the shrine and patted the statue fondly.
"That should do it," he winked at Akira. "It's always good to do things properly ... let the locals know you're coming, eh? There shouldn't be any trouble, but you never know."
Akira's hand slipped down to his pocket, tracing the familiar smooth curve of his cell phone.
"You coming?" Osusuki asked. "Though yes ... perhaps you should let someone know where you are. And a word of advice -- you really shouldn't just wander off with strange men. You can't always know where they will take you. Or what harm they may mean."
Akira's fingers tightened further around his cell phone.
"I am not asking you to trust me." The green eyes locked onto his. "Nor will I force you to come with me. It is your decision alone.... as are the consequences. You can still step back now ... but then, you'll never know. And I swear to you this much -- he will never tell you."
Osusuki's hands remained relaxed at his sides. He had not moved forward nor backwards, and his posture wasn't threatening in the least. Yet, Akira could not help but think of something poised and ready to strike. His jaw tightened.
"And for what it's worth, I do give you my word that no physical harm will come to you, if it's in my power," Osusuki bowed with that same strange grace again, as if to seal his words with the motion.
And although Akira did not know why, this time, the nervous tension ebbed the slightest bit within him.
"Call someone. Let them know where you are. And tell them you will be back soon enough. This shouldn't take too long," Osusuki chuckled. "Well, that is if we ever stop chattering here on the street."
His eyes never leaving the stranger, Akira phoned the salon. Ichikawa-san didn't seem too surprised that he had been waylaid by an unexpected game. He dutifully told her which street he was on and that he should be back shortly.
When he closed his phone, he nodded to Osusuki. Together, they entered the shadows of the alley.
Akira shivered as a sudden wind pulled at his hair. The scattered bits of leaves and other debris rattled down the black asphalt, as if fleeing their approach. And though the rain had ceased, the clouds overhead seemed even thicker than before.
As he walked, the pavement below his feet began to break up and give way to cobblestones, then dirt. The walls of the buildings beside him seemed to almost bend and close in above him as the alley narrowed even further. Except for the snakelike ribbon of grey sky above him, it was almost as if he had entered a tunnel.
Akira found he had to keep looking upwards, though, just to check.
Just when he was about to suggest they turn back, Akira spotted the sign for the igo salon. Unlike most of the signs in Tokyo, however, this one was neither flashy nor especially eyecatching. Perhaps that's why it stood out. Consisting of a simple wood plank, the kanji Tengubanashi had been handwritten upon the sign. Two red lanterns hung on either side. Even in the inclement weather, the candles within them still flickered, shedding a rather uncertain light.
Real candles Akira noticed. Not electric ones.
Despite the danger of fire, the facade of the building consisted of bamboo and pinewood, and a red curtain hung in front of the doorway. The symbol of crow clutching a staff had been embroidered in gold on the cloth.
Osusuki tilted his head towards Akira. "Last chance," he said.
Instead of replying, Akira pushed through the curtains and opened the door.
The first thing he noticed was the scent of incense, heavy and thick in the air like a second skin. The salon was dim, and he had to blink several times as his eyes tried to adjust. Unlike pristine and clean atmosphere of his father's salon, the Tengubanashi was cluttered, with its tables and gobans scattered haphazardly in the room, with no rhyme nor reason to the distance between each of them. The interior of the building matched the exterior; no effort had been made to paint or wallpaper the walls. Instead, the pine branch and bamboo motif continued. The trunks of the plants wove into each other, given the illusion of a dark, leafy depth that stretched into a distance beyond sight. Here and there, a potted ferns and other foilage was interspersed between the tables, which -- Akira was surprised to note -- were made of smoothed tree trunks.
I was aware of themed restaurants and hotels in Tokyo ... Akira thought, but forest-park igo salons?! What next? Disney-land-igo?!
Perhaps due to the early afternoon hour or the fact that it was a weekday, the salon did not have many clients. There was one pair of players, tucked into the back corner of the establishment. Both of them had their heads bowed towards the board, in rapt concentration.
One of them was massive in size. His hands, which were bunched into fists at the side of the table, resembled small hams. Akira couldn't really see any features because the player also wore a full length grey cloak, much like the kind a monk might wear. The back of the cloak though, was lumpy, as if the cloth concealed something ridgid and spiny.
In contrast, the other player was very small -- childlike in size. He -- or she-- was also wearing a robe that covered any identifying features. But unlike the first player, the robe was pure white and had long flowing sleeves. But as Akira watched, they both looked up ...
And their faces ---
Only years of practice over the goban helped Akira from betraying any sort of surprise. They both had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth -- in relatively the right places.
But their eyes have no pupils. And ... there's something odd with their mouths. Fangs?!
A sudden chiming sound broke into his thoughts. Osusuki had rung the bell on the counter.
"Welcome, honored guests! Please accept my most sincere regrets at not being there to greet you!" Akira winced as a harsh, cawing voice erupted out from a small room to the side of the cash counter. A feathery fan poked through the curtains that served as a door, quickly followed by the rest of the clerk. "I hope that you find ... oh my goodness, Osusuki-sama!"
The man hurried out from behind a counter to fold his rather skinny and knobby body into a prostrate bow. The sight of the man's small, bald head and the long nose bobbing up and down -- Akira had the sudden mental image of a flustered chicken.
"I am beyond honored! But it's been so long since you've come that I thought .... " he babbled. "Oh, this is beyond the highest honor that I could even dream of ... to think you would ever revisit this unworthy little hovel once more ..."
"That's quite enough, Tengutake." Osusuki waved in a dismissived gesture. Tengutake immediately scrabbled to his feet. "If you could lend us one of your more private rooms ... and do you still have that old goban I gave for you to keep?"
"Yes of course, of course! Kikurage, Amigasatake, Kindoku! Come here at once! We have important guests! And make sure you're decent and in correct form!"
Decent? Form?!
There came a flurry of rustling the back room, punctuated by the occasional "ow!" "letmegofirst!" "you'resteppingonme!" "ow!that'smytail!"
Tail?! Akira tilted his head to the side, not quite sure he had heard correctly.
After a few more moments of scuffling, three youngsters popped up in front of Akira, rather like mushrooms after a strong rain. They were a bit ... short, Akira noticed. And squat. They wore dark tan yukatas, with the pattern of bamboo leaves stamped in dark grey across the cloth. They also smelled rather ... odd, like moist earth. Even the incense could not quite cover their scent.
None of them, to Akira's relief, had any visible tails.
"Yeah pops?" one of the three asked.
"What have I told you about calling me pops ..." the man rapped the child sharply on the head with his fan. "I will tolerate no disrespect, not in front of Osusuki-sama! If you know what's good for you, you will prepare our best foods, you will clean out our best room, you will bring out our best tea set, and you will take Osusuki-sama and his ..." Tengutake hesistated in the midst of his diatribe, a startled expression crossing his face as he took his real first look at Akira. "His ... guest to the back room."
Instead of obeying, another one of the trio stepped closer to Akira, peering up at his face. "Poppa! He's a --"
"Kindoku!" Tengutake's fan descended again, cracking loudly against an errant head. "I am so sorry sir! I most humbly beg for your forgiveness. Let me take your umbrella for you?"
"I got it, poppa!"
Akira stumbled backwards as one of the trio grabbed his umbrella, tugging at it enthusiastically. To his surprise, the child immediately began sniffing the umbrella, much like a hound dog.
"Ewww! Did you know you're pretty stinky?" he asked Akira as the other two giggled.
"Kikurage! Stop that at once! And you two!" Tengutake dropped to his knees, then reached out and yanked on the yukatas of his three children, forcing them onto their knees as well. "I am so sorry, sir. They're just not used to ... ah ... strangers. And Osusuki-sama, I have no words to express my deepest, humblest apologies ... please do not take this as an insult to you, your guest, or your clan ..."
"Poppa why we gots ta kneel to a hu--"
"K-KINDOKU! That's enough!" Tengutake's gnarled hands shook, and his nervous head bobbing increased. "Osusuki-sama, please, they do not know any better."
"I can see that." Osusuki had pursed his lips. Akira could not tell whether it meant he was amused ... or exasperated. "Though I'm not surprised. I have more than enough experience with rowdy children, trust me on this."
He turned to the three children. "And I am sure the three of you will be on your best behavior, won't you? Because I'm sure you three are smart little children. Smart enough to know all the stories about what happen to naughty little children? It always comes down to hungry wolves and such. So nasty."
Although Osusuki's tone remained light and cheerful, it still made Akira's skin prickle into goosebumps. It also had a similar effect on Kindoku, Kikurage, and Amigasatake. As one, they all cowered low, folding their bodies prostrate to the ground, their small foreheads nearly making a dent in the brown carpeting. "Y-yes, Osusuki-sama. Please forgive us, we're s-sorry."
Long moments ticked past. Akira shifted nervously as the small family remained tucked in their almost fetal position.
"Please, Osusuki-sama. Forgive us," Tengutake pleaded.
Osusuki sighed. "Kiyii, that's enough already. Like I said, they are but kitlings -- it would be a bit beneath me to take offense at something as paltry as that. Still, I will not permit further disrespect towards me or my guest. That means no tricks, no traps, nothing of that sort. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Osusuki-sama," chorused three very tiny, very subdued voices.
"And that goes for everyone here." Osusuki spoke calmly enough, but Akira watched as the other two igo players shrunk backwards, hastily looking away and back down at their board. With one last, flurried bow, Tengutake and his children scrambled off, presumably to prepare the igo room.
I wonder what that's gonna look like. Akira swallowed thickly. So far, the only thing that Tengubanashi shared with a normal igo salon was the fact the building had the words "igo" on the outside and the gobans within.
Otherwise ...
What kind of atmosphere .... what kind of place is this? he wondered. Do they really play igo here?
"Touya-kun? If my ears do not deceive me, the lack of scuffling and yelping leads me to believe the room is nearly ready. Unless, of course, you want to stand there gaping a little longer." Osusuki coughed politely. "I know this isn't what you're quite used to, but I've known Tengutake for all of his life, and he can be trusted, even if he runs a rather unconventional sort of establishment."
Akira frowned; he would have guessed that Tengutake was older than Osusuki by a good ten or fifteen years. Perhaps having children aged the man.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the three children came running back towards them, nearly tumbling over themselves in haste.
"The room is ready now!" they said cheerfully. "If Osusuki-sama and his guest-who-we-are-not-allowed-to-say-anything-about-or-else-sama would please follow us ..."
Although they had obviously been cowed by Osusuki, Akira did not miss the occasional side glances and snickering coming from the youngsters as they led him back to the room. Judging by the raised eyebrows and the sardonic twist to his lips, he could tell Osusuki had noted that as well, but the man chose not to say anything, for which Akira was grateful.
The way Tengutake -- and the other patrons -- had reacted around the man ... Akira had seen respect before, had grown up seeing the honor paid to his father. Tanagawa-san, too, held respect for a different reason -- as the boss and top executive of one of the top business firms on the global market. His sort of prestige came from money and wealth.
But the respect given to Osusuki was different. It involved fear.
Maybe he's a Yakuza boss?! Akira's eyes widened momentarily as the thought. But no. That wouldn't explain ... no, I'm still missing pieces here.
And of course, Shindo Hikaru is mixed up in all this.
But whatever doubts he might have had about the Tengubanashi as an igo establishment, he did feel a sense of almost palpable relief when the children pulled open the sliding doors to a normal looking tatami room. It was devoid of the bamboo and the pine, housing only a single bonsai tree in the very back of the room. The gold of the reed mats gleamed from a recent polishing, and two legless chairs waited for the players. Otherwise, the settings were very austere.
Akira smiled faintly. It was almost like coming home, after a long journey through a foreign land.
And in the very center of the room ... Akira felt his breath catch.
It was an old, somewhat battered board. He wasn't an expert in the subject, no, but the way the lines had faded --but had been reinked countless times -- the style of the legs, the way the corners had been worn smooth ... it was a very, very old board -- but still, exquisite in its simple beauty.
"It's from China, originally," Osusuki said as he dismissed the children. Both of them paused a moment to take off their shoes, before proceeding onto the tatami. "A thousand or so years ago? I believe it was one of the boards imported to Japan during the Heian era. It's held up quite well, eh? They say that the emperor himself may have played on it. Though I'm pretty sure it probably belonged to a mere tutor or something -- it's good quality, but it's not quite fancy enough. More for everyday use ... for people who just wanted to enjoy the simple pleasure of playing a game without ceremony"
"But this ..." Akira said. "This should be in a museum."
"Why?" Osusuki sounded genuinely puzzled. "What good would it be there?"
"It's a part of history, it's ..."
"It's a goban." Osusuki ran his fingers over the wood. "And its nature is to be used for games."
Hesitantly, Akira approached the board himself, touching its surface lightly. His father had a few antique boards dating back several hundred years. Shindo, himself, was rumored to have a board from the Edo period. But it was the first time he had actually played on a board that held so much history within its lines. He was almost disappointed at the normal, smooth texture of the wood.
If he's not lying and this goban is a thousand years old ... Akira traced the faded lines, then it has been around hundreds of years before the Western world stepped foot in Japan, before the discovery of the new Americas, when kings and emperors and dynasties still held sway.
He had known the game he played was an ancient art. He had known it, had respected it, but it had never been so solid to him as in the firm edges of polished wood before him. Akira took a deep breath, and was surprised to find that his fingers were shaking, just the slightest bit. He wasn't superstitious by nature.
But the thought of the weight in all those games, all those players before me ...
The wood itself may have seemed the same as any other, normal goban, but suddenly, Akira felt very small and insignificant, unsure of his place for the first time since he played Shindo Hikaru.
Yes. The feeling of all those years ... it's ... similar to that.
Shaken, his hands fell away from the goban.
"Is everything all right, Touya-kun?"
Taking a deep breath, Akira forced his fingers to steady.
Stop that, or he's already won. It is just a goban. Akira gritted his teeth. The game stays true. No matter the time or place. No matter who he is. The only part I need worry about is what he will bring to the board.
"I'm fine."
Osusuki indicated the legless chairs set in front of the goban. "Shall we talk of stakes?"
Taking a seat, Akira looked the man straight in the eyes. "Very well."
***
"So," said Osusuki. "What are your deepest, darkest desires? I shall make them happen, if it's within my power."
Akira blinked. "My what?!"
Osusuki snickered. "Sorry -- I couldn't resist. I just love that reaction. You could say that I'm a fan of the old horror stories, so you must pardon my jokes. But I can see I've put you off your train of thought. Let me go first then, since I already know what I want."
Akira straightened, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Go on."
"Should I win, all I ask is for you to challenge Shindo Hikaru to a game," Osusuki said. "I assume it won't be much of a hardship?"
"No. Except ... if you want to judge him through how he plays me, it won't work. The best way to find out would be to play him yourself." Akira narrowed his eyes. "But beyond that, there are plenty of kifus of our games together. You could easily find those."
"But what if I'm not interested in how you play each other?"
"Then I'm not sure I understand what's at stake ..." Akira said quietly. "I still play Shindo frequently and I will play Shindo in the future -- this will not change this, no matter if you win or not."
"Ah. I believe that's the most diplomatic `what's the catch' that I've ever heard," Osusuki's eyes crinkled at the corners ever so slightly; Akira almost thought he was pleased. "I admit -- I am not asking for a simple game."
Osusuki placed both of his hands on his knees, in a rather relaxed manner. In contrast, Akira tensed further. "The game will be under certain ... conditions."
For a long moment, Akira studied his opponent. Osusuki betrayed nothing in his gaze nor expression.
"What kind of conditions?"
"When I win, I'll let you know." Osusuki grinned as Akira opened his mouth to protest. "Look at it this way, your curiousity will make this game ever so much more fun for you, don't you think? But what I want is only half of entertainment -- now we really reach the important part, what do you want, Touya-kun?"
"I believe I am trying to repay the damage for your kimono," Akira said.
"For these old rags? Feh, you think too simply. Like I said before, what I'm asking of you .... well, it has to be an equal trade." Osusuki folded his hands together. "Though I wonder -- do you even know what you desire?"
"I cannot think of anything I want from you." Akira's voice became even softer. Shindo Hikaru would have realized he was angry. Perhaps the stranger before him knew -- but simply did not care. Osusuki's smile deepened.
"Ah. So you really don't know, do you? Just like you're not sure why you followed me here, but felt you had to, nonetheless." Osusuki's eyes half closed. "Perhaps that's why you've never figured him out."
The resentment roiled within Akira, coiling tightly around his chest and making it hard to breathe. "What do you mean?"
"I meant no offense; it's just the simple truth."
Akira gritted his teeth tightly, knowing that his every move was being scrutinized. Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, he deliberately looked up, straight into Osusuki's eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was low and steady. "And I mean no offense when I say you're wrong."
"Am I? Tell me, what does Shindo Hikaru mean to you? That you would follow him this far, into somewhere unknown?"
"He's my eternal rival." The answer came instantaneously, as sure as if Osusuki had asked him if it was night or day, or if the room was dark or bright.
Osusuki tilted his head to one side. "But what does that mean?"
"It means ..." Akira stared at the empty face of the goban, with its waiting lines. It means I follow him, he follows me ... he's my opponent ... he makes me play at my best. "Just that. He's my rival."
"But it can't merely be just that ..." Osusuki tapped his lips with a finely manicured finger. "If that was the case, you wouldn't be interested after your first few victories over him."
"Nonetheless, he is still my rival." Akira sunk into silence again. Sometimes, he knew, it was better not to speak, especially since the uncertainty within him was growing. And this person ... my words are like stones he can capture and turn against me.
"Hmmmm." Raising an eyebrow, Osusuki leaned forward, cupping his chin with a hand. "I see. Kiyiiiii... both you and Shindo Hikaru are very fascinating ... so alike, but so different too. When I first met Shindo, I asked him a similar question to what I asked you. Now Hikaru, he was unsure of who he was and where he stood ... but never unsure of what he wanted. You, on the other hand, know exactly who you are, where you came from, and your place in your world ... but as for what you want ... ah."
"Answer or not on that matter -- to be honest, I don't care." Osusuki snorted. "Still, it has be an even trade. And since you're not going to tell me what you want, I'm willing to guess what you might need are answers. So how about this -- if you win, I'll let you ask me one question about Shindo Hikaru. And I will answer you true."
Akira narrowed his eyes. "But who are you to know anything about him?"
"Kiyiii," Osusuki chuckled. "Aren't we bold? What I know, Touya Akira, would probably surprise you. For instance, I know that Shindo Hikaru carries a fan with him everywhere he goes. Yes, I could've merely gotten this by watching his televised matches ... but I also know why, just like I know he has refused to tell you. I also know that on the fifth day on the fifth month of the year -- no matter if he has matches scheduled, no matter if you ask him for a game -- he disappears for two days, and you cannot find him, no matter how hard you look. And when he comes back, he seems hesistent and unsure of himself. And for days afterwards, there's something ... off ... in his playing style. And something old fashioned and wistful emerges his strategies, like a deep sleeper waking briefly."
Osusuki was no longer smiling, but there was something half pleased and smug about his attitude anyways. "And most of all, I know he told you he'd explain all of this mystery 'some day' ... but that day has yet to come."
Despite his efforts to school his expression, Akira's mouth dropped open slightly. "How?"
"Oh, no, no, don't be naughty," Osusuki waved his pointer finger mockingly, "If you want to know, you will have to play me. And win."
Osusuki reached for the stone ke sitting beside him and opened the lid to the black stones. "Nigiri?"
Akira did not reach for the stones. He folded his arms tight against his chest instead. Am I being complimented? Or insulted?
Shoulders heaving dramatically, Osusuki let out a deliberate sigh. "I can see this will be an uphill battle with you. I guess I could spare you a three stone handicap, Touya five dan. But ... an even game is the only way it'll be fair, when playing for stakes, don't you think?"
After another moment of hesistation, Akira acquieced. "And even game, then."
He dipped his hands into the black stones, and watched as Osusuki did the same to the white stones. The pieces made a soft clicking sound as they both opened their hands.
"Oh," said Osusuki. "It seems I have the advantage."
"Onegeishimasu," replied Akira, with a slight bow of his head.
***
Within the first five moves, Akira knew he wasn't playing a beginner. Within ten moves, he knew he wasn't playing someone from the insei or amateur circles -- at least, not anyone from recent memory.
And within twenty moves, despite himself, despite the situation, despite the man's veiled insults, he felt the first inklings of delight, growing soft tendrils tentatively through his thoughts.
Osusuki, it seemed, could actually play.
So you had something to back up your demeanor, he thought. Akira had little use for pride. But talent ...I won't know, though, until a few more moves, how good you really are.
Five more exchanges of stones brought him no closer to an answer.
Something is off here. Akira could feel his plays slowing down in response. His fingers lingered on the stones longer. I do not think he's better than me. But I can't tell ...
Why can't I tell ...
"Ooh, isn't this interesting?" Osusuki said. He had one hand relaxed on his thigh. The other tapped at his chin. The green eyes never left the board. "Are you having fun yet, little kitling?"
Akira said nothing. It's time. He reached out, placing the stone firmly. There. Sente's a bit of a risk ... it's neither a bad move nor a good move. But you have to respond ... or I'm going to kill this group.
But Osusuki did not. Instead of attacking or defending against the stone Akira had left, the man merely placed a stone elsewhere, thus leaving his cluster open to attack.
He accepted gote ...? No. Not just that. Akira's eyes narrowed. It's more than that. I could kill this small group but in turn ... he's shifting around me, circling. Hiding his strength.
His fingers stirred the stones in his ke. Despite himself, he could feel his interest clicking up a notch. He was playing because the man had mentioned Shindo. He was still playing because of that. But ...
"Hmm. You're actually beginning to be curious about me too, aren't you ... beyond the promises I'm dangling. I'm flattered." Osusuki said, and the words came at a near purr. "I was beginning to think you had nothing else driving you besides Shindo Hikaru."
Focus. Akira thought firmly. He will reveal himself. I will force him to reveal himself. And with him ... His fingers finally selected a stone and tightened around its smooth edge. With the support of the previous stone, he was able to bridge this one -- though there was no question behind its placement.
The stone made a solid crack against the old wood.
"An attack? You know, for someone who doesn't talk much, you certainly get your point across quite stupendously." Osusuki clapped his hands lightly together, fingertips touching. "Very well, little hunter. If that's the way you want it. But you know ..."
The thin, delicate hand lightly placed the stone two points above Akira's.
It was a solid move ... and a threatening one as well.
Osusuki's smile became thin. His eyes narrowed. "I'm a hunter too. Take care you don't become my prey."
The game jumped a pace from there, its tone sidling away from the passive territory acquisition into the more subtle, but fierce. Beyond his early response to Akira attack, Osusuki never engaged him directly, but Akira could read him creeping up the sides, stone by stone. The territories between remained tricky -- there were several spots that ko battle could erupt, but had not yet.
It was only a matter of time, however. Something was building in the game, and Akira felt his fingers twitch in response. The longer they held off of each other ...
We're just stalking right now. A skirmish here. A tiny engagement there. Small stuff, while we build our power. But it'll come down to something climactic, soon. This will not go to yose or endgame.
For once this balance breaks...
The tension made him close his eyes briefly. His heart pounded slightly faster now, and his mouth was dry. Winner take all.
Osusuki, too, had become silent. The man didn't look particularly concerned, but Akira saw that he was taking longer with his moves. Whereas before, he'd idly flip stones or flick his nails, Osusuki's hands were still.
And his igo ... it's like shadows on the water. I can see a vague shape, but I can't get a grasp on it or him.
Akira stared at the board. Tengen. I can break it here. And then either I will have a grasp on his throat -- or he will sink his fangs into mine. But either way ...
The stone left his hand, shaking slightly on the point. I'll have my answer.
And then Osusuki placed his stone.
Touya Akira had never thought of the impossible before. He was very intelligent, and a genius in his chosen path. But for him, the world was generally divided up into three categories -- things he could do, things he could not do (yet), and things he chose not to do.
For instance, under the subject things he could do, he could beat anyone at his age level in igo -- and most people three times his age.
Things he could not do included defeating his father at an even game (yet), defeating Kuwabara Honinbo (yet), or figuring out Shindo Hikaru (yet).
Things he chose not to do were various. For instance, he chose not to engage in the petty squabbles between players. He chose to conduct himself in a manner that would honor his father, his game, or himself.
And therefore, he was choosing not to run out of the Tengubanashi.
For what was staring at him, from the board, was an impossibility.
"Who are you?" before his mind could process the words, they had left his mouth. "What are you?"
"What do you mean?" Osusuki asked. The man had both of his hands folded in his lap. His expression neither had a smile nor a frown. But something sharp and glinting lingered in his eyes. Akira forced himself to meet that look head on.
"Once, at an igo exhibition, I played against a computer simulation. It wasn't very good, but there wasn't anything inherently wrong about its moves, and it was great way to practice strategies. Still, it seemed to me that there was something ... off ... about its play. Something unemotional and not real, without a face. Something ... not human." Akira said slowly.
"Osusuki-san, you play far, far better than a computer ... you play with a strength worthy of a top pro. And your moves aren't without passion. But ... you're not like anyone I've ever played before. For your strength and your style ... you should have been known long before now. So I must ask ... who are you?"
"Hmm. I believe you also asked me what I am." Osusuki laughed, and it was a harsh, barking sort of sound. "You're very clever, little kitling. Though one could also say you're being quite rude."
Akira said nothing. He stared at the board, at the stones and their black and white reality.
"Who am I? The answer to that question lies within the answer to your greatest question about Shindo Hikaru -- and the game is not over yet." Osusuki said. "But simply enough, I'm an igo player. You have seen part of my game. So you should be able to tell me."
The man leaned over the board, sleeves of his kimono just above the stones. "What am I?"
***
----------------------
Fandom: Hikaru No Go
Status: In editing/Beta-stage
Sequel to ITFOTN
--------------------
The air still smelled of ozone, even though the storm had nearly passed. It had been a rather odd, wayward sort of storm, springing up rather suddenly -- much to the surprise of the weather forecasters and the dismay of hapless pedestrians. And even during the downpour, sunlight had shone through the rain, as if the sky itself hadn't quite made up its mind as to which sort of weather should hold dominance.
However, the rays of sunlight had been growing undeniably stronger, and the sidewalks of Tokyo steamed slightly as the afternoon heat resumed. The wind felt humid and heavy.
Touya Akira scowled down at his shoes.
The cheap 100 yen umbrella hadn't kept his socks safe. The cuffs of his pants still remained damp. But at least the top part of his suit felt dry to the touch.
But Akira sighed, Tanagawa-san probably had more on his mind than my state of dress.
By the end the game, Tanagawa's fingers had trembled so much that the stones had clattered as he had reached into the ke.
Not that I can say the same of myself.
His frown deepened. His father would have certainly chided him for being even noticing -- midgame, no less -- the uncomfortable squelching between his toes.
But his father would have been really disappointed if he knew that Akira had also crushed his opponent by a very wide margin in what should have been shidogo.
No matter what the person he was playing might have thought.
"I'm not some boy with his first beard. So don't go lightly on me, Touya-kun!" Tanagawa had chortled. "I don't want a teaching game --- you got that?"
It had been a challenge, at first, as he wove his stones in and out of Tanagawa's, nudging here and there to shape the game towards something on which they both could build. He was being paid after all, and if it not for being a teacher then what did it mean ...
But Tanagawa had just enough knowledge to recognize -- and resent -- any and all ego saving tactics ... but not enough intelligence to realize the grace in learning to play within his own strengths and weaknesses.
"This isn't why I came all this way! I'm not one of your students!"
Akira narrowed his eyes. He rather play rank beginners or housewives or even children -- nearly any sort of player was better than an opponent that just had enough talent to be a righteous idiot.
"I am paying for a real game, Touya-kun. You even play that wannabe Shindo Hikaru with more fire than this!"
He couldn't explain it. But something in him, something not quite under his normally tight control had stirred, defiant and snarling.
"You can not pay for a real game. At least not with coins. And I am still a sensei -- whether yours or not -- and you shall address me as such. Moreover, Shindo is not a wannabe. He just is."
And ... from there, everything had rolled inevitably downhill, building momentum from midgame towards yose to deliver a crushing twenty five moku defeat.
Tanagawa had thanked him, in the end. But there had been a hollow look to his eyes and a defeated slump to his shoulders. It rather matched the posture of the organizers, who had watched their chances of Tanagawa Unlimited's continuing sponsership going down with each moku Akira had gained.
Akira twisted the umbrella handle in his hands.
It wasn't the first time, it wasn't even the second or third or fourth time. It wouldn't be the last. He lived for the games that challenged him, that made his heart pound and fingers twitch ... those were the sort that fed his mind -- or if he felt like waxing poetic about it -- his soul.
But he still had to eat too.
"Real" games.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. Not every game will be challenging. Not every game is tournament level. Not every game can be with --
Frustrated, he kicked viciously at a puddle, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of childlike glee as the muddy water scattered.
It did make him feel strangely better though.
"Kiyiii! Lovely weather we're having, ne?" a quiet voice chuckled from behind him. "First water coming down from above ... now splashing up from below."
Startled out of his thougths, Akira turned around abruptly. Oh no ...
It wasn't some well tailored business man or tourist he had inadvertantly splattered. The man before him was dressed in a dark black and grey kimono. One for a wedding, if Akira had to hazard a guess, given the highly formal nature of the outfit. Every piece was in perfect place, from the various knots and sashes tied to exactly the right lengths down to the polished, split-toe sandals. Reaching into one of his voluminous sleeves, the man pulled out a handkerchief and began to daub at the droplets of water and mud.
"Oh! I ... I'm sorry." Akira quickly bowed ... and unfortunately sent another spray of water from his tilting umbrella. "Ah!"
"Tis' quite alright. To be expected even -- I'm the one who's gone walking in the rain. I wager I could order the sky not fall down on me, but I doubt it would actually listen," the man laughed. There was a richness to the sound, something that curled upon itself, like a bell reverberating. "Water flows as it will, true to its nature. Though I hardly have to be telling you, I'm sure."
Akira blinked, feeling slightly uneasy at the stranger's odd phrasing.
"Anyways, you don't have to look quite so horrified," the man said. "I won't melt -- wrong story and species, not to mention pantheon."
"Excuse me?" It's like I understand each individual word, but I'm missing the meaning behind them.
"Oh? You don't know that story? Pity. You look like you're used to following a rainbow or two." A smile curled demurely across the nearly-perfect lips, and Akira felt his skin prickle, ever so slightly.
Still feeling shifted off-center by the bizarre conversation, Akira fumbled in his pocket. "But still -- I apologize. You can send the cleaning bill to this address..."
Taking out his wallet, Akira struggled to tug out a business card. It always made him feel a little self conscious to give one out; most of the time, people -- at least those who mattered -- already knew who he was (or at least who his father was). Thus, the majority of them remained unused and wedged rather tightly behind his student ID and his pocket igo schedule.
Awkwardly juggling his umbrella so that it rested between his chin and his shoulder, he presented the card to the man with both hands. "I will be glad to cover all costs."
"How very ... well I guess you could say ... responsible ... of you, to give such promises so easily," the man reached for the card, elegant fingers brushing Akira's briefly. A black eyebrows raised. "Hmm. Touya five dan? How interesting! So I guess you're the Touya then?"
"Uh ..." Akira licked his lips, feeling more and more uneasy as the seconds passed. "I'm a Touya. Touya Akira. Son of the Touya Kouyo ..."
"Excellent." The man's smile widened. His teeth gleamed. "It's not every day I get splattered by a go master of your caliber. Wait til I tell all my friends."
"You ... play igo?" Akira asked. The long fingers had been uncalloused, and the slightly longer than normal nails (although they were neat and well tended) certainly didn't speak of lots of time scraping against the goban. Yet nowadays, the state of hands and fingers didn't mean as much. There was, of course, netgo.
Akira felt a little flicker of interest, before chiding himself. You're turning into Ogata-sensei, searching everywhere you go. He's just a random igo fan.
Albeit ... a strange one.
The random igo fan in question was now beaming at Akira's business card as if he had been given the title of meijin. "I play a little, here and there. Though it's been a bit of a while. I sure I'm just awful at it now. But say ..." the man snapped his fingers briskly, "I have the most brilliant idea. Instead of going through the trouble of bothering you for a payment, I would truly appreciate a game with you. Though really, I might be asking for a bit more than these old rags are worth."
Akira said nothing; the man's kimono looked like anything but "old rags." He took another half step back, hands gripping at his umbrella even more tightly. The man raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, but where are my manners? I bet you've just come back from the most stimulating of games, yes? You must be tired. And then having a random stranger just stepping up to you on the streets and challenging you ... no, kiyii, that's not the proper way to do things at all, is it? Tch." the man clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I fear I might have overstepped my bounds. I do so apologize."
"That's ... all right. Please send the bill to me, and again, I apologize for the trouble I have caused you." Carefully angling his umbrella back so as to not cause any more accidents, Akira bowed formally before turning to leave.
"Wait, if I could just have merely one more moment ... you know Shindo Hikaru, right?"
Akira stopped, mid-step. He did not turn around.
"What am I saying, silly me ... of course you know him. I ... ah ... read in the ... go magazines that you two are very close rivals ..." the voice trailed off.
He couldn't help himself. Akira turned around. The man still held Akira's card in one hand, idly flipping it back and forth in his fingers. The slow, windmill-like motion was almost hypnotic.
"What about him?" Akira hadn't quite meant for the words to come out so defensively. He was surprised to find too, that his fingers were turning white from their grip on the umbrella handle.
"Just curious ... how has little Shindo-kun been doing lately?"
Something in his expression must have matched his inner turmoil; the man immediately put up both of his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"Oh dear, I know it must seem inappropriate for someone like me -- as a stranger to you -- asking about a young man like Shindo! It must look like the proverbial fox trying to get into a henhouse. But we know each other -- him and I." the man said. "Ah, I realize, I haven't introduced myself. You may call me Osusuki."
"O-su-su-ki?" Akira repeated slowly, waiting to see if the man would add a surname or a first name.
Osusuki did not. "And I shall call you ... Akira-kun? Or Touya-kun? Probably something of that sort -- let's not worry about titles."
"Uh. I guess ... " Akira licked his lips. He had been called sensei, though more often, the -san suffix had been used. He didn't even mind been called -kun, depending on the context. Most people presumed -- or instinctively knew -- where he stood.
And he, of course, knew his place.
But no one ever declared what they were going to call him ... as if they had right to do so.
Staring at Osusuki, however, Akira wondered why it felt as if this man did.
"Touya ... kun is fine." Akira said. "Osusuki...san?"
"Wonderful! Shindo-kun must've mentioned me? No?" Osusuki frowned, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Ah well, it has been quite awhile by his reckoning, I guess. No matter. I was just wondering, especially since ..."
"Especially since?" Akira repeated. Shindo was fine ... he didn't mention anything yesterday, he thought.
But his stomach tightened all the same.
"Well, all that past unpleasantness with ... well ... I guess you can call him his sensei."
"Morishita-sensei?" Akira frowned. Shindo hadn't mentioned anything about Morishita's study group.
"Morishita?" Osusuki wrinkled his nose. "Who's that? No, I meant Fujiwara no S--." the man tilted his head, stopping midword. One hand drifted up to cover his mouth demurely. "Oh. I think I may have misspoken again."
Against all common sense, Akira took several steps forward, confronting the stranger face to face. It was a dangerous distance, one that was close enough to touch ... close enough to be attacked.
Nonetheless, he did not back down.
"What do you know about Shindo Hikaru?" Akira narrowed his eyes. "How do you know Shindo?"
"No, no ... I must'nt. Pretend you didn't hear that, will you? Sometimes I forget how ... odd ... little Shindo-kun can be about his past." Osusuki shook his head, clicking his tongue. "I am so embarrassed. But honestly, since you two were considered to be such close rivals I thought that you must have known ...?"
The man smiled again, and the way his lips thinned -- Akira could see the barest outline of his teeth through the skin.
He's playing me ... baiting me. But why?
His instincts screamed for him to run away, to escape, to find shelter from this odd man in the dark kimono. Definitely a trap.
But Akira never broke his gaze or his stance. As the silence continued, Osusuki's lips quirked upwards even further, eyebrows raising. Finally, he chuckled and tucked both of his hands into his sleeves. He bowed once, and for a quick, fleeting second, there was something in the grace of the movement, something uncanny and fleeting and not quite right.
"Ah well. You're smarter than he was, that's for sure. And I thank you for your offer to handle my dry cleaning, but ... no, this is not a debt you have to settle. I guess I'll have find Shindo-kun on my own ..."
"Wait." Akira said.
Osusuki paused midstep, robes swirling around him.
"Are you still interested in a game, sir?"
"Ah. I know just the place."
***
All seasoned players know this much; a game begins long before the goban is even approached and the first stone is placed. It begins the moment two players accept the challenge to a game.
For many an igo pro, it begins in the early days of their insei years, in the long hours drilling against opponents, never letting up. It begins when a player finally admit the game means more than idle entertainment -- that the game means life, itself. Perhaps in trade, nearly every part of his life then becomes a part of the game, whether or not he is sitting in front of the board. And as such, there are more than the paper kifus that he leaves like footprints in his wake.
Akira remembered the time Go Weekly had run a small article on his father's tea ceremony hobby. The upsurge in fancy teapots his father had received had forced his mother to buy a whole new cabinet for the kitchen. He knew his father's opponents often chatted with him about various flavors of teas, the merits of Chinese leaves versus the Japanese ones, or how the recent rains might affect the new crop.
It all served as a polite reminder.
I am watching you. And I am waiting.
So even as he kept staring straight at the stranger, Akira did not feel as if he was being rude. It was expected, when first meeting an opponent.
What disturbed him, however, is that he had no idea what sort of footprints -- kifu or otherwise -- that the stranger before him had left behind in either the igo world or with Shindo Hikaru. Unknowns were few and far between, in the world of the pros.
I'll know when I play him though.
For his part, Osusuki seemed not to mind being studied. Akira had to admit that there wasn't anything very remarkable about the man -- he was of an average height with an average build. He bore the neat, trimmed hairstyle that was currently being favored by the Prince of Japan himself. He also seemed comfortable in the kimono he wore, wasting not the slightest bit of movement nor showing the slightest sign of awkwardness, even though the thick cloth of the kimono should have weighted down his movements. His wooden sandals made a sharp clacking sound against the cement of the sidewalk, not unlike the hollow click of claws.
Even though there were enough people around that Akira knew he could raise a disturbance and be noticed if there was need, he couldn't quite stem the growing surge of nervous energy within him. The passerbys on the street did not give them a second look. Perhaps they assumed -- Akira being dressed in a suit and all -- that they had both come from the same ceremony and were out for a drink afterwards. Perhaps they both seemed like normal young men out for a mid afternoon stroll.
But that's because they can't see his eyes, Akira thought. They're green. A wild, shifting green, like leaves seen through shadows.
Other little details nibbled at Akira's attention, leaving caution in its place. The way Osusuki would throw an occasional glance back at Akira, and how that smile would just twitch upwards ... or how he still had not put away the business card that Akira had given him, but held it tight in his hand, with his fingers over the Akira's name ...
Akira was no fool. He knew that it was quite dangerous to go with some unknown man to an unknown destination. It was the stuff that educational films were made of -- as well as the nightly news.
I should call this off. Or I should suggest that we take this to father's salon. Or ...
But despite himself, he still followed.
Without warning, Osusuki stopped abruptly at the entrance to a side alley. It was a rather narrow one, too small for most cars to drive through. As if to further obstruct traffic, an open air shrine sat at the mouth of the alleyway. It consisted of a crude wooden construct that housed a single statue of a long-nosed, red faced man holding a spear. Offerings littered the dias in front of the figure, though most of them seemed a little soggy from the recent rain. Osusuki rummaged in a sleeve and pulled out, much to Akira's surprise, an onigiri. He set this in front of the shrine and patted the statue fondly.
"That should do it," he winked at Akira. "It's always good to do things properly ... let the locals know you're coming, eh? There shouldn't be any trouble, but you never know."
Akira's hand slipped down to his pocket, tracing the familiar smooth curve of his cell phone.
"You coming?" Osusuki asked. "Though yes ... perhaps you should let someone know where you are. And a word of advice -- you really shouldn't just wander off with strange men. You can't always know where they will take you. Or what harm they may mean."
Akira's fingers tightened further around his cell phone.
"I am not asking you to trust me." The green eyes locked onto his. "Nor will I force you to come with me. It is your decision alone.... as are the consequences. You can still step back now ... but then, you'll never know. And I swear to you this much -- he will never tell you."
Osusuki's hands remained relaxed at his sides. He had not moved forward nor backwards, and his posture wasn't threatening in the least. Yet, Akira could not help but think of something poised and ready to strike. His jaw tightened.
"And for what it's worth, I do give you my word that no physical harm will come to you, if it's in my power," Osusuki bowed with that same strange grace again, as if to seal his words with the motion.
And although Akira did not know why, this time, the nervous tension ebbed the slightest bit within him.
"Call someone. Let them know where you are. And tell them you will be back soon enough. This shouldn't take too long," Osusuki chuckled. "Well, that is if we ever stop chattering here on the street."
His eyes never leaving the stranger, Akira phoned the salon. Ichikawa-san didn't seem too surprised that he had been waylaid by an unexpected game. He dutifully told her which street he was on and that he should be back shortly.
When he closed his phone, he nodded to Osusuki. Together, they entered the shadows of the alley.
Akira shivered as a sudden wind pulled at his hair. The scattered bits of leaves and other debris rattled down the black asphalt, as if fleeing their approach. And though the rain had ceased, the clouds overhead seemed even thicker than before.
As he walked, the pavement below his feet began to break up and give way to cobblestones, then dirt. The walls of the buildings beside him seemed to almost bend and close in above him as the alley narrowed even further. Except for the snakelike ribbon of grey sky above him, it was almost as if he had entered a tunnel.
Akira found he had to keep looking upwards, though, just to check.
Just when he was about to suggest they turn back, Akira spotted the sign for the igo salon. Unlike most of the signs in Tokyo, however, this one was neither flashy nor especially eyecatching. Perhaps that's why it stood out. Consisting of a simple wood plank, the kanji Tengubanashi had been handwritten upon the sign. Two red lanterns hung on either side. Even in the inclement weather, the candles within them still flickered, shedding a rather uncertain light.
Real candles Akira noticed. Not electric ones.
Despite the danger of fire, the facade of the building consisted of bamboo and pinewood, and a red curtain hung in front of the doorway. The symbol of crow clutching a staff had been embroidered in gold on the cloth.
Osusuki tilted his head towards Akira. "Last chance," he said.
Instead of replying, Akira pushed through the curtains and opened the door.
The first thing he noticed was the scent of incense, heavy and thick in the air like a second skin. The salon was dim, and he had to blink several times as his eyes tried to adjust. Unlike pristine and clean atmosphere of his father's salon, the Tengubanashi was cluttered, with its tables and gobans scattered haphazardly in the room, with no rhyme nor reason to the distance between each of them. The interior of the building matched the exterior; no effort had been made to paint or wallpaper the walls. Instead, the pine branch and bamboo motif continued. The trunks of the plants wove into each other, given the illusion of a dark, leafy depth that stretched into a distance beyond sight. Here and there, a potted ferns and other foilage was interspersed between the tables, which -- Akira was surprised to note -- were made of smoothed tree trunks.
I was aware of themed restaurants and hotels in Tokyo ... Akira thought, but forest-park igo salons?! What next? Disney-land-igo?!
Perhaps due to the early afternoon hour or the fact that it was a weekday, the salon did not have many clients. There was one pair of players, tucked into the back corner of the establishment. Both of them had their heads bowed towards the board, in rapt concentration.
One of them was massive in size. His hands, which were bunched into fists at the side of the table, resembled small hams. Akira couldn't really see any features because the player also wore a full length grey cloak, much like the kind a monk might wear. The back of the cloak though, was lumpy, as if the cloth concealed something ridgid and spiny.
In contrast, the other player was very small -- childlike in size. He -- or she-- was also wearing a robe that covered any identifying features. But unlike the first player, the robe was pure white and had long flowing sleeves. But as Akira watched, they both looked up ...
And their faces ---
Only years of practice over the goban helped Akira from betraying any sort of surprise. They both had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth -- in relatively the right places.
But their eyes have no pupils. And ... there's something odd with their mouths. Fangs?!
A sudden chiming sound broke into his thoughts. Osusuki had rung the bell on the counter.
"Welcome, honored guests! Please accept my most sincere regrets at not being there to greet you!" Akira winced as a harsh, cawing voice erupted out from a small room to the side of the cash counter. A feathery fan poked through the curtains that served as a door, quickly followed by the rest of the clerk. "I hope that you find ... oh my goodness, Osusuki-sama!"
The man hurried out from behind a counter to fold his rather skinny and knobby body into a prostrate bow. The sight of the man's small, bald head and the long nose bobbing up and down -- Akira had the sudden mental image of a flustered chicken.
"I am beyond honored! But it's been so long since you've come that I thought .... " he babbled. "Oh, this is beyond the highest honor that I could even dream of ... to think you would ever revisit this unworthy little hovel once more ..."
"That's quite enough, Tengutake." Osusuki waved in a dismissived gesture. Tengutake immediately scrabbled to his feet. "If you could lend us one of your more private rooms ... and do you still have that old goban I gave for you to keep?"
"Yes of course, of course! Kikurage, Amigasatake, Kindoku! Come here at once! We have important guests! And make sure you're decent and in correct form!"
Decent? Form?!
There came a flurry of rustling the back room, punctuated by the occasional "ow!" "letmegofirst!" "you'resteppingonme!" "ow!that'smytail!"
Tail?! Akira tilted his head to the side, not quite sure he had heard correctly.
After a few more moments of scuffling, three youngsters popped up in front of Akira, rather like mushrooms after a strong rain. They were a bit ... short, Akira noticed. And squat. They wore dark tan yukatas, with the pattern of bamboo leaves stamped in dark grey across the cloth. They also smelled rather ... odd, like moist earth. Even the incense could not quite cover their scent.
None of them, to Akira's relief, had any visible tails.
"Yeah pops?" one of the three asked.
"What have I told you about calling me pops ..." the man rapped the child sharply on the head with his fan. "I will tolerate no disrespect, not in front of Osusuki-sama! If you know what's good for you, you will prepare our best foods, you will clean out our best room, you will bring out our best tea set, and you will take Osusuki-sama and his ..." Tengutake hesistated in the midst of his diatribe, a startled expression crossing his face as he took his real first look at Akira. "His ... guest to the back room."
Instead of obeying, another one of the trio stepped closer to Akira, peering up at his face. "Poppa! He's a --"
"Kindoku!" Tengutake's fan descended again, cracking loudly against an errant head. "I am so sorry sir! I most humbly beg for your forgiveness. Let me take your umbrella for you?"
"I got it, poppa!"
Akira stumbled backwards as one of the trio grabbed his umbrella, tugging at it enthusiastically. To his surprise, the child immediately began sniffing the umbrella, much like a hound dog.
"Ewww! Did you know you're pretty stinky?" he asked Akira as the other two giggled.
"Kikurage! Stop that at once! And you two!" Tengutake dropped to his knees, then reached out and yanked on the yukatas of his three children, forcing them onto their knees as well. "I am so sorry, sir. They're just not used to ... ah ... strangers. And Osusuki-sama, I have no words to express my deepest, humblest apologies ... please do not take this as an insult to you, your guest, or your clan ..."
"Poppa why we gots ta kneel to a hu--"
"K-KINDOKU! That's enough!" Tengutake's gnarled hands shook, and his nervous head bobbing increased. "Osusuki-sama, please, they do not know any better."
"I can see that." Osusuki had pursed his lips. Akira could not tell whether it meant he was amused ... or exasperated. "Though I'm not surprised. I have more than enough experience with rowdy children, trust me on this."
He turned to the three children. "And I am sure the three of you will be on your best behavior, won't you? Because I'm sure you three are smart little children. Smart enough to know all the stories about what happen to naughty little children? It always comes down to hungry wolves and such. So nasty."
Although Osusuki's tone remained light and cheerful, it still made Akira's skin prickle into goosebumps. It also had a similar effect on Kindoku, Kikurage, and Amigasatake. As one, they all cowered low, folding their bodies prostrate to the ground, their small foreheads nearly making a dent in the brown carpeting. "Y-yes, Osusuki-sama. Please forgive us, we're s-sorry."
Long moments ticked past. Akira shifted nervously as the small family remained tucked in their almost fetal position.
"Please, Osusuki-sama. Forgive us," Tengutake pleaded.
Osusuki sighed. "Kiyii, that's enough already. Like I said, they are but kitlings -- it would be a bit beneath me to take offense at something as paltry as that. Still, I will not permit further disrespect towards me or my guest. That means no tricks, no traps, nothing of that sort. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Osusuki-sama," chorused three very tiny, very subdued voices.
"And that goes for everyone here." Osusuki spoke calmly enough, but Akira watched as the other two igo players shrunk backwards, hastily looking away and back down at their board. With one last, flurried bow, Tengutake and his children scrambled off, presumably to prepare the igo room.
I wonder what that's gonna look like. Akira swallowed thickly. So far, the only thing that Tengubanashi shared with a normal igo salon was the fact the building had the words "igo" on the outside and the gobans within.
Otherwise ...
What kind of atmosphere .... what kind of place is this? he wondered. Do they really play igo here?
"Touya-kun? If my ears do not deceive me, the lack of scuffling and yelping leads me to believe the room is nearly ready. Unless, of course, you want to stand there gaping a little longer." Osusuki coughed politely. "I know this isn't what you're quite used to, but I've known Tengutake for all of his life, and he can be trusted, even if he runs a rather unconventional sort of establishment."
Akira frowned; he would have guessed that Tengutake was older than Osusuki by a good ten or fifteen years. Perhaps having children aged the man.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the three children came running back towards them, nearly tumbling over themselves in haste.
"The room is ready now!" they said cheerfully. "If Osusuki-sama and his guest-who-we-are-not-allowed-to-say-anything-about-or-else-sama would please follow us ..."
Although they had obviously been cowed by Osusuki, Akira did not miss the occasional side glances and snickering coming from the youngsters as they led him back to the room. Judging by the raised eyebrows and the sardonic twist to his lips, he could tell Osusuki had noted that as well, but the man chose not to say anything, for which Akira was grateful.
The way Tengutake -- and the other patrons -- had reacted around the man ... Akira had seen respect before, had grown up seeing the honor paid to his father. Tanagawa-san, too, held respect for a different reason -- as the boss and top executive of one of the top business firms on the global market. His sort of prestige came from money and wealth.
But the respect given to Osusuki was different. It involved fear.
Maybe he's a Yakuza boss?! Akira's eyes widened momentarily as the thought. But no. That wouldn't explain ... no, I'm still missing pieces here.
And of course, Shindo Hikaru is mixed up in all this.
But whatever doubts he might have had about the Tengubanashi as an igo establishment, he did feel a sense of almost palpable relief when the children pulled open the sliding doors to a normal looking tatami room. It was devoid of the bamboo and the pine, housing only a single bonsai tree in the very back of the room. The gold of the reed mats gleamed from a recent polishing, and two legless chairs waited for the players. Otherwise, the settings were very austere.
Akira smiled faintly. It was almost like coming home, after a long journey through a foreign land.
And in the very center of the room ... Akira felt his breath catch.
It was an old, somewhat battered board. He wasn't an expert in the subject, no, but the way the lines had faded --but had been reinked countless times -- the style of the legs, the way the corners had been worn smooth ... it was a very, very old board -- but still, exquisite in its simple beauty.
"It's from China, originally," Osusuki said as he dismissed the children. Both of them paused a moment to take off their shoes, before proceeding onto the tatami. "A thousand or so years ago? I believe it was one of the boards imported to Japan during the Heian era. It's held up quite well, eh? They say that the emperor himself may have played on it. Though I'm pretty sure it probably belonged to a mere tutor or something -- it's good quality, but it's not quite fancy enough. More for everyday use ... for people who just wanted to enjoy the simple pleasure of playing a game without ceremony"
"But this ..." Akira said. "This should be in a museum."
"Why?" Osusuki sounded genuinely puzzled. "What good would it be there?"
"It's a part of history, it's ..."
"It's a goban." Osusuki ran his fingers over the wood. "And its nature is to be used for games."
Hesitantly, Akira approached the board himself, touching its surface lightly. His father had a few antique boards dating back several hundred years. Shindo, himself, was rumored to have a board from the Edo period. But it was the first time he had actually played on a board that held so much history within its lines. He was almost disappointed at the normal, smooth texture of the wood.
If he's not lying and this goban is a thousand years old ... Akira traced the faded lines, then it has been around hundreds of years before the Western world stepped foot in Japan, before the discovery of the new Americas, when kings and emperors and dynasties still held sway.
He had known the game he played was an ancient art. He had known it, had respected it, but it had never been so solid to him as in the firm edges of polished wood before him. Akira took a deep breath, and was surprised to find that his fingers were shaking, just the slightest bit. He wasn't superstitious by nature.
But the thought of the weight in all those games, all those players before me ...
The wood itself may have seemed the same as any other, normal goban, but suddenly, Akira felt very small and insignificant, unsure of his place for the first time since he played Shindo Hikaru.
Yes. The feeling of all those years ... it's ... similar to that.
Shaken, his hands fell away from the goban.
"Is everything all right, Touya-kun?"
Taking a deep breath, Akira forced his fingers to steady.
Stop that, or he's already won. It is just a goban. Akira gritted his teeth. The game stays true. No matter the time or place. No matter who he is. The only part I need worry about is what he will bring to the board.
"I'm fine."
Osusuki indicated the legless chairs set in front of the goban. "Shall we talk of stakes?"
Taking a seat, Akira looked the man straight in the eyes. "Very well."
***
"So," said Osusuki. "What are your deepest, darkest desires? I shall make them happen, if it's within my power."
Akira blinked. "My what?!"
Osusuki snickered. "Sorry -- I couldn't resist. I just love that reaction. You could say that I'm a fan of the old horror stories, so you must pardon my jokes. But I can see I've put you off your train of thought. Let me go first then, since I already know what I want."
Akira straightened, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Go on."
"Should I win, all I ask is for you to challenge Shindo Hikaru to a game," Osusuki said. "I assume it won't be much of a hardship?"
"No. Except ... if you want to judge him through how he plays me, it won't work. The best way to find out would be to play him yourself." Akira narrowed his eyes. "But beyond that, there are plenty of kifus of our games together. You could easily find those."
"But what if I'm not interested in how you play each other?"
"Then I'm not sure I understand what's at stake ..." Akira said quietly. "I still play Shindo frequently and I will play Shindo in the future -- this will not change this, no matter if you win or not."
"Ah. I believe that's the most diplomatic `what's the catch' that I've ever heard," Osusuki's eyes crinkled at the corners ever so slightly; Akira almost thought he was pleased. "I admit -- I am not asking for a simple game."
Osusuki placed both of his hands on his knees, in a rather relaxed manner. In contrast, Akira tensed further. "The game will be under certain ... conditions."
For a long moment, Akira studied his opponent. Osusuki betrayed nothing in his gaze nor expression.
"What kind of conditions?"
"When I win, I'll let you know." Osusuki grinned as Akira opened his mouth to protest. "Look at it this way, your curiousity will make this game ever so much more fun for you, don't you think? But what I want is only half of entertainment -- now we really reach the important part, what do you want, Touya-kun?"
"I believe I am trying to repay the damage for your kimono," Akira said.
"For these old rags? Feh, you think too simply. Like I said before, what I'm asking of you .... well, it has to be an equal trade." Osusuki folded his hands together. "Though I wonder -- do you even know what you desire?"
"I cannot think of anything I want from you." Akira's voice became even softer. Shindo Hikaru would have realized he was angry. Perhaps the stranger before him knew -- but simply did not care. Osusuki's smile deepened.
"Ah. So you really don't know, do you? Just like you're not sure why you followed me here, but felt you had to, nonetheless." Osusuki's eyes half closed. "Perhaps that's why you've never figured him out."
The resentment roiled within Akira, coiling tightly around his chest and making it hard to breathe. "What do you mean?"
"I meant no offense; it's just the simple truth."
Akira gritted his teeth tightly, knowing that his every move was being scrutinized. Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, he deliberately looked up, straight into Osusuki's eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was low and steady. "And I mean no offense when I say you're wrong."
"Am I? Tell me, what does Shindo Hikaru mean to you? That you would follow him this far, into somewhere unknown?"
"He's my eternal rival." The answer came instantaneously, as sure as if Osusuki had asked him if it was night or day, or if the room was dark or bright.
Osusuki tilted his head to one side. "But what does that mean?"
"It means ..." Akira stared at the empty face of the goban, with its waiting lines. It means I follow him, he follows me ... he's my opponent ... he makes me play at my best. "Just that. He's my rival."
"But it can't merely be just that ..." Osusuki tapped his lips with a finely manicured finger. "If that was the case, you wouldn't be interested after your first few victories over him."
"Nonetheless, he is still my rival." Akira sunk into silence again. Sometimes, he knew, it was better not to speak, especially since the uncertainty within him was growing. And this person ... my words are like stones he can capture and turn against me.
"Hmmmm." Raising an eyebrow, Osusuki leaned forward, cupping his chin with a hand. "I see. Kiyiiiii... both you and Shindo Hikaru are very fascinating ... so alike, but so different too. When I first met Shindo, I asked him a similar question to what I asked you. Now Hikaru, he was unsure of who he was and where he stood ... but never unsure of what he wanted. You, on the other hand, know exactly who you are, where you came from, and your place in your world ... but as for what you want ... ah."
"Answer or not on that matter -- to be honest, I don't care." Osusuki snorted. "Still, it has be an even trade. And since you're not going to tell me what you want, I'm willing to guess what you might need are answers. So how about this -- if you win, I'll let you ask me one question about Shindo Hikaru. And I will answer you true."
Akira narrowed his eyes. "But who are you to know anything about him?"
"Kiyiii," Osusuki chuckled. "Aren't we bold? What I know, Touya Akira, would probably surprise you. For instance, I know that Shindo Hikaru carries a fan with him everywhere he goes. Yes, I could've merely gotten this by watching his televised matches ... but I also know why, just like I know he has refused to tell you. I also know that on the fifth day on the fifth month of the year -- no matter if he has matches scheduled, no matter if you ask him for a game -- he disappears for two days, and you cannot find him, no matter how hard you look. And when he comes back, he seems hesistent and unsure of himself. And for days afterwards, there's something ... off ... in his playing style. And something old fashioned and wistful emerges his strategies, like a deep sleeper waking briefly."
Osusuki was no longer smiling, but there was something half pleased and smug about his attitude anyways. "And most of all, I know he told you he'd explain all of this mystery 'some day' ... but that day has yet to come."
Despite his efforts to school his expression, Akira's mouth dropped open slightly. "How?"
"Oh, no, no, don't be naughty," Osusuki waved his pointer finger mockingly, "If you want to know, you will have to play me. And win."
Osusuki reached for the stone ke sitting beside him and opened the lid to the black stones. "Nigiri?"
Akira did not reach for the stones. He folded his arms tight against his chest instead. Am I being complimented? Or insulted?
Shoulders heaving dramatically, Osusuki let out a deliberate sigh. "I can see this will be an uphill battle with you. I guess I could spare you a three stone handicap, Touya five dan. But ... an even game is the only way it'll be fair, when playing for stakes, don't you think?"
After another moment of hesistation, Akira acquieced. "And even game, then."
He dipped his hands into the black stones, and watched as Osusuki did the same to the white stones. The pieces made a soft clicking sound as they both opened their hands.
"Oh," said Osusuki. "It seems I have the advantage."
"Onegeishimasu," replied Akira, with a slight bow of his head.
***
Within the first five moves, Akira knew he wasn't playing a beginner. Within ten moves, he knew he wasn't playing someone from the insei or amateur circles -- at least, not anyone from recent memory.
And within twenty moves, despite himself, despite the situation, despite the man's veiled insults, he felt the first inklings of delight, growing soft tendrils tentatively through his thoughts.
Osusuki, it seemed, could actually play.
So you had something to back up your demeanor, he thought. Akira had little use for pride. But talent ...I won't know, though, until a few more moves, how good you really are.
Five more exchanges of stones brought him no closer to an answer.
Something is off here. Akira could feel his plays slowing down in response. His fingers lingered on the stones longer. I do not think he's better than me. But I can't tell ...
Why can't I tell ...
"Ooh, isn't this interesting?" Osusuki said. He had one hand relaxed on his thigh. The other tapped at his chin. The green eyes never left the board. "Are you having fun yet, little kitling?"
Akira said nothing. It's time. He reached out, placing the stone firmly. There. Sente's a bit of a risk ... it's neither a bad move nor a good move. But you have to respond ... or I'm going to kill this group.
But Osusuki did not. Instead of attacking or defending against the stone Akira had left, the man merely placed a stone elsewhere, thus leaving his cluster open to attack.
He accepted gote ...? No. Not just that. Akira's eyes narrowed. It's more than that. I could kill this small group but in turn ... he's shifting around me, circling. Hiding his strength.
His fingers stirred the stones in his ke. Despite himself, he could feel his interest clicking up a notch. He was playing because the man had mentioned Shindo. He was still playing because of that. But ...
"Hmm. You're actually beginning to be curious about me too, aren't you ... beyond the promises I'm dangling. I'm flattered." Osusuki said, and the words came at a near purr. "I was beginning to think you had nothing else driving you besides Shindo Hikaru."
Focus. Akira thought firmly. He will reveal himself. I will force him to reveal himself. And with him ... His fingers finally selected a stone and tightened around its smooth edge. With the support of the previous stone, he was able to bridge this one -- though there was no question behind its placement.
The stone made a solid crack against the old wood.
"An attack? You know, for someone who doesn't talk much, you certainly get your point across quite stupendously." Osusuki clapped his hands lightly together, fingertips touching. "Very well, little hunter. If that's the way you want it. But you know ..."
The thin, delicate hand lightly placed the stone two points above Akira's.
It was a solid move ... and a threatening one as well.
Osusuki's smile became thin. His eyes narrowed. "I'm a hunter too. Take care you don't become my prey."
The game jumped a pace from there, its tone sidling away from the passive territory acquisition into the more subtle, but fierce. Beyond his early response to Akira attack, Osusuki never engaged him directly, but Akira could read him creeping up the sides, stone by stone. The territories between remained tricky -- there were several spots that ko battle could erupt, but had not yet.
It was only a matter of time, however. Something was building in the game, and Akira felt his fingers twitch in response. The longer they held off of each other ...
We're just stalking right now. A skirmish here. A tiny engagement there. Small stuff, while we build our power. But it'll come down to something climactic, soon. This will not go to yose or endgame.
For once this balance breaks...
The tension made him close his eyes briefly. His heart pounded slightly faster now, and his mouth was dry. Winner take all.
Osusuki, too, had become silent. The man didn't look particularly concerned, but Akira saw that he was taking longer with his moves. Whereas before, he'd idly flip stones or flick his nails, Osusuki's hands were still.
And his igo ... it's like shadows on the water. I can see a vague shape, but I can't get a grasp on it or him.
Akira stared at the board. Tengen. I can break it here. And then either I will have a grasp on his throat -- or he will sink his fangs into mine. But either way ...
The stone left his hand, shaking slightly on the point. I'll have my answer.
And then Osusuki placed his stone.
Touya Akira had never thought of the impossible before. He was very intelligent, and a genius in his chosen path. But for him, the world was generally divided up into three categories -- things he could do, things he could not do (yet), and things he chose not to do.
For instance, under the subject things he could do, he could beat anyone at his age level in igo -- and most people three times his age.
Things he could not do included defeating his father at an even game (yet), defeating Kuwabara Honinbo (yet), or figuring out Shindo Hikaru (yet).
Things he chose not to do were various. For instance, he chose not to engage in the petty squabbles between players. He chose to conduct himself in a manner that would honor his father, his game, or himself.
And therefore, he was choosing not to run out of the Tengubanashi.
For what was staring at him, from the board, was an impossibility.
"Who are you?" before his mind could process the words, they had left his mouth. "What are you?"
"What do you mean?" Osusuki asked. The man had both of his hands folded in his lap. His expression neither had a smile nor a frown. But something sharp and glinting lingered in his eyes. Akira forced himself to meet that look head on.
"Once, at an igo exhibition, I played against a computer simulation. It wasn't very good, but there wasn't anything inherently wrong about its moves, and it was great way to practice strategies. Still, it seemed to me that there was something ... off ... about its play. Something unemotional and not real, without a face. Something ... not human." Akira said slowly.
"Osusuki-san, you play far, far better than a computer ... you play with a strength worthy of a top pro. And your moves aren't without passion. But ... you're not like anyone I've ever played before. For your strength and your style ... you should have been known long before now. So I must ask ... who are you?"
"Hmm. I believe you also asked me what I am." Osusuki laughed, and it was a harsh, barking sort of sound. "You're very clever, little kitling. Though one could also say you're being quite rude."
Akira said nothing. He stared at the board, at the stones and their black and white reality.
"Who am I? The answer to that question lies within the answer to your greatest question about Shindo Hikaru -- and the game is not over yet." Osusuki said. "But simply enough, I'm an igo player. You have seen part of my game. So you should be able to tell me."
The man leaned over the board, sleeves of his kimono just above the stones. "What am I?"
***
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