Hikaru No Go Fic: Desynchronization (WIP) Part X
Title: desynchronization. Part X of ?
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai, Akira, Hikaru.
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 16 and up. Cursing and sensuality. It's possible the rating will go up eventually.
Word Count: 6300
Notes: Er, I didn't get quite as far as I had hoped in the plot... Akira had more to say than I had suspected. Rest assured, the next chapter will contain what many of you have been pestering me for, although I hope this chapter is enjoyable in its own way. ^^;; Much thanks, as usual, to my betas aiwritingfic and harumi who took a forceful hand to this chapter's characterizations.
Also, thank you to macey_muse and thephoenixboy who kindly allowed me to pester them during a blind_go chat.
Summary: When Akira receives some startling news from Ogata, how will Hikaru react?
Previous chapters can be found on the Master Fic List.
~ ~ ~
Shindou was snoring.
Akira shook his head before turning towards his laptop, which he'd set up on the vanity. He wasn't particularly surprised at the sight of Shindou passed out on his bed, sweat-darkened bangs already dampening the sheets, despite Shindou's earlier declaration that he would shower first. Akira was relieved he had thought to request that the sponsors book a hotel room with two single beds, instead of a queen. After “The Beijing Incident,” Akira had flatly refused to ever share a bed with Shindou again, especially since Shindou still broke out in hysterical giggles at the mere mention of “Beijing” and “hotel.”
Regardless, Akira had never regretted that Shindou was his rival: he wanted to play Shindou until one of them dropped dead, or at least until Shindou acknowledged that Akira was superior in every single aspect of go. (Akira suspected that the former was more likely). No, Akira didn't regret Shindou as his rival, but he did, however, occasionally regret that his fated rival was quite insane.
Like today. Akira sighed as he opened his e-mail to begin deleting the spam in his inbox. Only an insane man would cheerfully announce “Guess what? It's only 32 degrees Celsius!” and then proceed to drag Akira out of the air-conditioned hotel room into Fukuoka's sweltering August weather for sight-seeing. Usually, Akira enjoyed the opportunity to explore the local sights when he was travelling on go-related business; in particular, he'd always enjoyed museums and historical sites.
But not when the air was so humid that his clothes were sticking to his body after only fifteen minutes outside. Shindou had seemed oblivious to the heat, though, as he exuberantly led Akira to Canal City mall, where he then spent the better part of two hours comparing various sets of “fashionable” clothing, occasionally asking Akira for his opinion. Frankly, Akira couldn't tell them apart - they all looked equally hideously colored and baggy to him -- but Shindou had critiqued the clothing with the level of detail that he usually reserved for the goban. Eventually Shindou had settled on an orange-yellow combination that Akira had insisted should be worn only by persons directing traffic, but Shindou had just grinned and purchased the set anyway.
Shindou next decided they ought to trek to the opposite side of Fukuoka to visit the city's tower. When Akira had protested about the distance and heat, Shindou insisted that the tower was the “tallest seaside tower” in Japan, and therefore it would be horribly wrong not to visit it, surely even a socially stunted idiot could see that. When Shindou's stunningly compelling rationale failed to win Akira over, the other boy had offered to treat Akira to sushi for lunch - and Shindou had played a very dirty hand by coupling the offer with large, pleading eyes.
Stupid Shindou and his stupid puppy dog eyes.
In retrospect, Akira had to admit that the tower did have a nice panoramic view of the cityscape and the bay below. And he'd been able to pick up souvenirs for his parents, Ichikawa-san, Ogata-san, and his favorite regulars at the go salon. Of course, Shindou hadn't remembered to buy souvenirs until Akira had pointedly steered him towards the postcard racks.
Afterwards, they'd stopped for lunch (at a classy sushi restaurant, Akira wasn't about to let Shindou get off cheap with conveyer belt sushi). Shindou had declared in between bites of tuna that their next stop would be the city's aquarium, Umi no Nakamichi. Akira hadn't been opposed to it, even though it was over an hour's train ride from Fukuoka; he'd developed a liking for aquariums early on due to Ogata-san's influence, and fish were peaceful and quiet unlike cats and dogs. But Akira had been surprised Shindou had suggested the trip, since Shindou had never mentioned any interest in fish or aquariums. Somehow, Akira had always imagined Shindou to be more of a “Labrador” person -- loud, energetic, and liable to jump on you in order to slobber on your face.
Akira ducked his head at the thought of Shindou and licking, and he was relieved that Shindou wasn't awake to notice the flush spreading across his face. Not that Shindou had ever done anything to Akira's face, but he had licked Akira's camera in Beijing so it was his own crazy bleached-hair fault that Akira was thinking about Shindou's tongue instead of reading the e-mail his mother had sent him.
Shindou was so unsanitary.
Anyway, it wasn't like Shindou had to tell Akira everything about himself just because they were rivals and saw each other at least four times a week and yelled at each other at least twice a week, but Akira didn't like that his rival knew a lot about him, while Akira remained ignorant to many important details about Shindou. Like that time he'd spotted a copy of Genji Monogatari in Shindou's backpack, and Shindou wouldn't tell him why he was reading it. Shindou had offered some explanation about wanting to continue his education on his own, which would have been a perfectly plausible explanation if it hadn't been coming from the lips of Shindou Hikaru, who considered playing video games with Waya to be “educational.”
Then there was s a i. That other person inside Shindou. The one Shindou had promised to tell Akira about. Someday.
During their first official match, Akira had told Shindou that his go was enough. Shindou was his rival, not s a i. His relationship with Shindou was that of a rival; their go had defined their relationship exclusively. All Shindou was to Akira was the go he played, and all Akira was to Shindou was the go he played. That balance had been perfect, like a beautiful game of go, elegant in its simplicity. And it was enough, because Akira had only been speaking to Shindou as His Rival, the one who inspired him and drove his go to dizzying new heights.
At that time, Akira hadn't known that Shindou had to re-bleach his bangs every two weeks, or that he could devour a bowl of ramen in five minutes, and that he had a scar on his knee from falling out of a tree when he was ten. He'd known that Shindou was incredibly brash and rude and didn't mind his manners at all; anyone who had been in Shindou's acquaintance for more than five minutes knew that. But he hadn't known that Shindou could also be surprisingly thoughtful until that day the salon had been unusually busy, and Shindou had offered to answer the phone for a rather harried Ichikawa-san.
He'd known that Shindou had an arsenal of a thousand bright, brassy smiles which he shared freely with his friends. But Akira hadn't known until today at the aquarium that Shindou possessed another smile. Shindou had been admiring a leafy seahorse, his nose pressed against the tank's glass. “He would have liked that one,” Shindou had whispered to himself, a surprisingly delicate smile crossing his face, and his hand had closed around that ever-present fan.
There was no doubt in Akira's mind who “he” was.
Akira wanted to know about s a i. Not just because s a i was a stunningly insightful go player. Not only because he wanted to play s a i again to see how far he'd progressed. Not because his father's greatest wish was a rematch with s a i. Akira wanted to - needed to --know more about s a i because of the grip s a i still had over Shindou. Akira wondered if Shindou secretly preferred playing s a i over him, then bit at his lip, scolding himself for foolishly comparing himself to someone who obviously wasn't there anymore. It was pointless, and Akira did not like mulling over things he could not change.
All the same, he couldn't help thinking about it. He didn't have many... friends.
His laptop chimed then, and an instant messenger window flashed open. Akira brightened when he saw who the message was from.
gofish: hello akira-kun. how is fukuoka?
goforever: Quite nice, thank you. We didn't have the conference today, so we went sight-seeing. And how are you?
gofish: fine, thanks. a free day? i suppose the accomplice kept you busy, then.
Akira grinned as he typed a reply. Since his mother was out of the country so frequently, travelling with his father, she had asked Ashiwara-san and Ogata-san to check up on him for her. Being monitored had irritated Akira initially (he was seventeen after all, and quite capable of resisting the urge to play with matches) but Ogata and Ashiwara handled the matter casually enough that Akira didn't feel like he was being patronized.
goforever: Yes, he did. We went shopping, and then we visited the Fukuoka Tower. We went to an aquarium, too. I think you would like it - I got you some postcards.
gofish: i look forward to seeing them. by the way, i'll need a detailed summary of everything you've eaten, for my report. you know how your mother obsesses over your health.
goforever: Ramen, C.C. Lemon, and more ramen. Although I did make Shindou buy me sushi today.
gofish: i'm pleased to see you're maintaining a well-balanced diet even while on the lam. and how has the conference been? you've been doing demonstration matches, iirc.
goforever: Very well, thank you for asking. Yes, the organizers want to highlight different playing styles. Shindou and I aren't the only ones doing demonstration matches, of course; many players were invited. But our matches have been well-attended.
gofish: i'm not surprised. you two are always so... passionate when you're playing each other.
Akira's cheeks flamed as he imagined Ogata mouthing the word “passionate” while he typed. Ogata-san had a talent for making any innocent word sound perfectly filthy by emphasizing it just so. Akira straightened his shoulders primly before typing his reply.
goforever: We just take our matches very seriously; that's all. If people happen to find that interesting, then I'm glad they are enjoying watching go.
gofish: now now, akira-kun. no need to get defensive just because i noted that your go has a lot of chemistry. you're fortunate to have a rival that you feel so intensely about.
Ogata-san was definitely having too much fun at his expense. Akira did not bother protesting, however, since he'd learned over the years that the only way to make Ogata stop was to offer him a better diversion. Such as...
goforever: Speaking of rivalry, shall we play a game? It's been awhile since we've played.
An embarrassingly obvious attempt at changing the subject, but Akira knew that Ogata-san really was just as big of a go nerd as he was, despite the cigarettes and the cool demeanor.
gofish: did i embarrass you? but actually, i did want you to look at a kifu. it's a game i played recently with a friend. thought you might find it interesting.
gofish wants to send file C:\DocumentsandSettings\Ogata\kifu\Fujiwara\August13.pdf.
goforever: I have it now. Any handicaps?
gofish: no. just 6.5 komi.
Akira wondered who Ogata's opponent had been. He did not know many people who could play Ogata without a handicap, and of those, Akira did not think Ogata would refer to any of them as “a friend.” Probably someone from NetGo, then.
Akira skimmed quickly over the opening moves. Ogata had definitely been playing Black; Akira had played him more often than anyone other than his father, so Ogata's openings were as familiar to Akira as Ogata's precise handwriting. A grin tugged at the corners of Akira's mouth when he noticed Ogata's keima at 11-6 and 12-4. Ogata had played a very similar move against Akira before, and he'd used it to set up a trap. White hadn't fallen for the trap, though. Instead, White had responded two hands later with a countermove that effectively neutralized Ogata's trap. Akira's pulse quickened as his eyes flickered to the mid-game exchange. White wasn't merely holding his own with Ogata-san, he was forcing Ogata to respond to his moves. Ogata's advantage in playing first had quickly evaporated under White's brilliant, aggressive assault.
Akira frowned; there was something odd about White's fascinating moves. His underlying style indicated a classical approach to the goban. It was as if White had studied primarily kifu from an era when a strong emphasis on early domination required that the player with White also play aggressively from the opening moves. With modern komi, however, logic dictated that White ought merely play conservatively to protect his or her lead, especially against a powerful opponent like Ogata-san.
White hadn't. In fact, Akira saw several daring exchanges on the kifu which made him suspect that White was deliberately challenging Black, forcing Ogata to place brilliant, decisive hands in response. Yet Ogata's hands weren't enough to hold off White: White knew how to use modern joseki as well, and he'd fused it seamlessly with his classical style. The result was play that was simultaneously beautiful and utterly devastating. And very familiar.
A sudden recollection flashed across Akira's mind like an epiphany at the goban, a remark one of his father's students had made at a study group: And what if Shuusaku knew modern joseki?
Shuusaku.
Shindou.
s a i.
s a i, the other person inside of Shindou.
Akira felt his hands trembling as he entered his reply.
goforever: You were playing s a i.
gofish: yes, and he beat me by five and a half moku. he was playing nasty.
Akira swallowed, his mind a jittery rush of questions.
goforever: Where did you find him? What server is he on now? What is his new handle?
gofish: i'm not playing him online. i found him in ichigaya.
goforever: I'm sorry, I don't understand.
gofish: s a i is a man named fujiwara sai. i found him floating in the ichigaya canal.
goforever: In the canal? Ogata-san, please don't make jokes like that.
gofish: i'm quite serious, akira-kun. fujiwara suffers from severe retrograde amnesia. he doesn't remember anything from before the accident.
goforever: The accident? He's hurt?! What happened? Is he okay? Is he in the hospital?
gofish: calm down. the accident - and we don't really know what happened, the doctors can't figure it out - was some time ago. his condition is stable, and he's not in the hospital. fujiwara's perfectly healthy, other than his memory.
Akira exhaled slowly, trying to regain some of his composure. His imagination had automatically jumped to the worst case-scenario, that s a i was somehow so ill that his father would never get a chance to play him again. That Shindou--Akira grimaced, forcing himself to halt that morbid line of thinking. He had to be calm, even though Ogata's explanation was too incredible to be believed.
Akira knew, though, that Ogata would not lie about something so serious. Not to him. Also, White's play in the kifu bore the mark of s a i as surely as any masterpiece bore its maker's name. It was not something that could be forged.
gofish: you still there?
goforever: Yes, I'm sorry. It's just a lot to think about. May I ask more about S-Fujiwara-san's condition?
gofish: i suppose it couldn't hurt. what do you want to know?
goforever: You said you found him in the canal. Did he almost drown?
gofish: it doesn't seem that way. he would have had fluid in his lungs or other physical damage. he was dazed, though. maybe he hit his head and that caused the amnesia, but nothing showed up in the scans.
goforever: I see. I'm glad he isn't suffering from additional injuries. What exactly does “severe retrograde amnesia” mean?
gofish: it means that his memories from before the accident are mostly gone. some things he's completely forgotten, so he has to be re-educated about them, like how to use a cell phone or a ticket machine. other things, he remembers, but he needs a trigger first.
gofish: for example, he didn't remember that he knew how to play go until he saw a goban and just automatically started putting down stones. i had even asked him if he played go before that, and he said no.
goforever: But he played beautifully in this game. How can he play so well if he's suffering from mental injuries?
gofish: he doesn't have any difficulty forming new memories or learning new things. he's not mentally impaired, per se... other than not remembering very much. he doesn't even know how old he is or what he does.
goforever: Can't his family and friends tell him that? They know him, so they can be his “trigger.”
gofish: akira-kun. he doesn't remember them.
Akira blinked at the laptop screen. s a i--Fujiwara-san -- didn't remember his own family? Akira couldn't imagine not remembering his own parents, and he felt a deep surge of sympathy for Fujiwara-san. He wondered what he would do if he were suddenly stripped of his own memories, with no memories of go, his home, his family. Or Shindou.
goforever: But where has he been living, then?
gofish: he's been living with me. it was a convenient arrangement.
Akira's eyebrows shot up. Ogata had lived alone as long as Akira could remember, and Ogata had always seemed rather determined to continue in that manner. Akira squirmed, recalling the particular dinner that his mother had cheerfully offered to introduce Ogata to “a very nice young lady.” Ogata had almost choked on his soup.
So if Ogata was allowing Fujiwara to live with him, Ogata obviously believed that he was indeed s a i.
Yet Ogata had kept silent about Fujiwara. It didn't sound as if the accident had happened last week, either; the way Ogata referred to Fujiwara suggested long familiarity.
goforever: How long has he been living with you? You said he's been like this for a long time.
There was a pause.
gofish: i found him on may 5.
It was August. Fujiwara-san had been living with Ogata almost all summer, and Ogata hadn't mentioned anything to Akira at all. That stung more than Akira liked to admit. Ogata knew how much Akira had wanted to know about s a i. And his father as well. Akira closed his eyes, thinking of his father stubbornly sitting in front of that goban with the bowl of white stones always on the opposite side, and wondered how Ogata could be so cold. If Ogata hadn't told Akira about s a i, then he definitely hadn't told his sensei.
Ogata was more than just his father's oldest and most talented student. He'd held Akira when he was a baby, and had even made stupid faces at Akira when he'd thought no one was looking (Akira wouldn't have believed it if his mother hadn't shown him the photos). Ogata had watched as Akira had placed his first go stone all by himself.
Akira knew Ogata very well. Akira knew how kind and generous Ogata could be -- and Akira also knew exactly how selfish and calculating Ogata could be.
goforever: Ogata-san. Why are you telling me this now? You want something.
gofish: suspicious, aren't we? but i'll get to the point: it's for fujiwara.
the two of us have always suspected that there is a connection between shindou and s a i. i tried to ask shindou about it when you got back from beijing, but he refused to speak to me.
goforever: You want me to ask Shindou about s a i.
gofish: if shindou was fujiwara's student, then he probably knows some personal details about him. shindou trusts you. he'll talk to you.
goforever: I don't want to ask Shindou. I respect his privacy.
gofish: this is bigger than a privacy issue. fujiwara needs help.
Akira bit at his lower lip, hesitating as he cast a wary glance at Shindou. Shindou was still sprawled out on the bed, one of his arms hanging over the bed. His face was relaxed in sleep. Without that confident grin, he seemed... vulnerable.
Part of Akira just wanted to log off and ignore Ogata. But the better part of him couldn't just ignore someone who needed help.
goforever: I'll ask Shindou, for Fujiwara-san's sake. But why you didn't say anything sooner?
gofish: ...later. we can discuss this in person.
i'm sending you a picture of fujiwara to show to shindou. see if he recognizes it.
gofish wants to send file C:\DocumentsandSettings\Ogata\MyDocuments\MyPictures\FujiwaraAquarium2.jpg
Akira downloaded the image to his desktop and then clicked it open. He stared in disbelief. There was no way that could be the right picture. The beaming man in the picture looked like a college student, not a battle-hardened go veteran who could defeat his father.
goforever: I think you sent me the wrong picture. This man is too young.
gofish: it's the correct picture. anyway, i need to log off now. text my phone after you've talked to shindou, please. good night.
gofish signed off at 8:15:05.
Akira sighed in exasperation and turned his attention back to the picture. Fujiwara had unusually long black hair that fell past his hips. He was standing in front of a fish tank, his fingers splayed out in a “V” sign as he posed for the camera. Akira had never paid particular attention to other people's appearances--other than Shindou, only because Shindou dressed very tackily, and was thus extremely hard not to look at in the same way a train crash was hard not to look at--but he couldn't help noticing that Fujiwara was stunningly beautiful.
This man was really his father's rival?
Ever since his first official match with Shindou, Akira had developed a vague, nebulous idea of s a i not being an actual “person” in the strictest sense of the word, although on occasion his mind had conjured up the image of a white-haired man with age-wizened hands, and piercing eyes like his father's. Akira tried to imagine Fujiwara sitting across from his father at the goban. His smiling face just didn't match the fierce, brilliant play in the kifu Ogata had sent him.
Akira knew better than to judge a player by his or her appearance, especially since Akira himself had often been underestimated for that very same reason. Yet s a i's play indicated an experience on par with his father's, an experience gleaned only from years and years of labour and sweat. Even if Fujiwara had been playing since he was a toddler like Akira, he couldn't have possibly accumulated that much experience.
Fujiwara didn't seem old enough to have been Shindou's teacher, either. Usually go players didn't start taking on serious disciples until their thirties, at least. But he did look kind... Akira furrowed his brows together. It was easy to imagine someone like that being Shindou's friend, probably the sort who would laugh at Shindou's jokes and get along easily with all of Shindou's friends. Fujiwara would probably be the exact opposite of Akira, who didn't get the pop-culture references, and often felt like he was only being tolerated by Shindou's friends for Shindou's sake. Fujiwara probably wouldn't fight with Shindou constantly, either.
“Are you still messing around on your computer? I'm hungry. Let's go get some ramen.”
Akira quickly minimized the picture and the kifu as he heard the mattress squeak under Shindou's shifting weight. “We've already eaten ramen every single day, Shindou. Haven't you had enough?” he said, trying to mask his nervousness with feigned grumpiness.
“But Touyaaa!! Kyuushuu is famous for its ramen. This is like, Ramen Mecca. We have to try all the different styles while we're here so we can compare them. Besides, it's fun to eat at the outdoor stalls.” Shindou gestured dramatically with his hands as he argued his point.
“Okay, whatever.”
Shindou's face brightened, and Akira chewed at his lip nervously, dreading the subject he was about to broach with Shindou. Akira had chosen to trust that Shindou would keep his promise to tell him about s a i someday, so he had done his best to respect Shindou's wishes. Akira didn't want to breach Shindou's trust in him, not even for s a i. But Fujiwara-san needs help, Akira chided himself, fighting to push down the queasy premonition in his stomach. This wasn't about his rivalry and sort-of friendship with Shindou.
“Hey, um, before we go, there's something you need to look at.” Akira stood up and gestured for Shindou to take the seat at the laptop.
“Sure,” Shindou said, flopping casually into the chair. “What is it?”
“A kifu Ogata-san just sent me. He wanted you to look at it. He's playing Black,” Akira said, reaching over Shindou to maximize the window.
Shindou scowled. “That guy again? It's creepy how he's always hanging around you and texting you. Doesn't he have friends, like his own age?”
“I told you already! My mother asked him to look out for me. And Ogata-san is not creepy. He's actually very nice. Most of the time, anyway.”
Shindou snorted and turned his attention to the laptop screen. “Nice for a creepy old guy, I'm sure.” His eyes skimmed the kifu, and he leaned in closer. “Hey, this is actually a really good game. Ogata's getting his ass kicked all over the goban.” Shindou grinned rakishly. “But why would he want me to see that? He's always pretty sore about his losses at the Institute, especially if Kuwabara's involved. Still, White's amazing. I'd like to play him myself, it was really cool what he did right--”
Shindou went rigid, his expressive hands suddenly lifeless. He stared at the screen in complete silence, his green eyes glassy.
Akira felt his pulse slow to almost a crawl. He'd been right all along. Shindou knew s a i; he knew Fujiwara, the mysterious man Ogata had found in the canal. “Shindou?” he ventured.
“What is this?” Shindou said, his voice oddly flat.
A shiver worked its way down Akira's spine, but he forced himself to sound calm. “You recognize the style, don't you? It's s a i.”
Shindou gave no indication of having heard Akira but instead moved to maximize the picture. Don't, Akira wanted to say, but instead he watched as Shindou stared at the image for a long, long time, as if Shindou was searching for answers.
Then Shindou's lips started to tremble.
Akira reached out a tentative hand for Shindou's shoulder, but Shindou whirled around suddenly, his face contorted horribly, and Akira recoiled, stepping back several steps.
“What is that bastard up to?!” Shindou hissed, his voice full of venom. “How DARE he screw with Sai's memory like that!”
Shindou's hands were shaking, Akira noted numbly as the other boy continued ranting. He had never seen Shindou in such a state.
“He wanted to get revenge on me for not letting him play Sai, even though I actually did and he was just too wasted to appreciate it! He made this all up just to make me feel guilty. But I already feel guilty enough, you stupid old man.” Shindou let out a dry, ragged sob. “I already feel guilty. Why did he have to remind me?” Shindou buried his face in his hands and hunched over, his crying interspersed with mumbles. “Stupid fucking liar... that picture looks just like him. He was. Really young when he, you know. It wasn't fair. I wasn't fair either. That's why... he left. I deserved it.”
Shindou dissolved completely into tears then, and Akira watched blankly, his hands frozen by his sides.
After what seemed like forever, Shindou looked up with reddened eyes, his face blotchy with tears. “I hope you don't like Ogata too much, because I'm gonna kill him next time I see him. Like Sai would have ever hung out with a jerk like him. Fucking liar.”
Akira blinked at Shindou. He had expected Shindou to have a strong reaction at being confronted again about s a i, but not like this. But Shindou kept speaking of Sai in the past tense. Did he think that Fujiwara had been... dead? “Shindou, what's wrong? Why are you so angry?” Akira asked in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I'm sorry if you are angry with Ogata and me for asking about Fujiwara-san, but we're trying to help him. He's lost his memory.”
Shindou gave Akira a heated glare and he stood up abruptly. “You don't understand anything.” He started walking quickly for the door as if he couldn't stand to be in the same room any longer.
Hot anger flared in Akira's chest at the sight of Shindou distancing himself. He was only trying to help, so why did Shindou refuse to talk to him clearly? Didn't he even warrant an explanation? If not as Shindou's rival, then as his friend? “It's not my fault that I am obviously the stupidest person in the world and I don't understand anything, Shindou!” Akira heard himself snap as he clenched his fists at his sides.
Shindou stopped in the doorway to look over his shoulder, and his eyes seemed very old and tired. “No, you don't understand at all. Sai was dead, Touya. Sai was always dead. Then he left. I have to go now.”
Then Shindou was gone.
Akira sat down heavily on the bed, digging his fingers into the covers. How could Sai “always” have been dead? How could Shindou possibly know a dead man well enough to care about him like that? Shindou was also furious with Ogata because of the kifu and the picture. What were the odds that Ogata would have found a man who looked and played exactly like a dead man whom Shindou couldn't have possibly known? And who had apparently “left” Shindou?
Akira stared at the empty room, trying to make sense of the night's events, but he kept thinking of when Shindou had stopped coming to his pro games. Akira had gone so far as to track Shindou down in his school's library, but Shindou had just run from him, his face marked with a pain Akira did not understand.
Akira understood now. It had been s a i. Shindou had run from him because of s a i.
Again.
~ ~ ~
The door creaked open several hours later, and Shindou entered, still looking pale but more composed. He held out a plastic bag sheepishly, a peace offering. “Got you some sushi and onigiri at Family Mart, since I figured you haven't eaten yet.”
Akira accepted the bag with a frown. “You didn't take your cell phone.” He had discovered this after trying to text Shindou, only to hear the phone ringing in Shindou's backpack beside the bed.
“I'm sorry.” Shindou sat on the bed next to Akira, clutching his fan tightly. He stared at the fan and did not look at Akira. “Look, I said I would tell you about Sai someday. I guess it's going to have to be now.”
Akira's heart started to knock against his chest.
“I want you to know. He, uh, really liked playing you. You were the first person he played, you know. It's just... kinda hard. I've never told anyone. Why would anyone believe me? It's crazy.” Shindou took a deep, ragged breath then, and Akira wondered if he was going to cry again.
“Shindou.” Akira's own voice sounded foreign to his ears, low and intense. “I think you should know this first. I do trust Ogata-san, and I don't think he would try to deceive you. But I also want you to know that if he's done something wrong to you, I'll stand up for you. And I believe you. No matter what you say, I trust you. I know you better than anyone. You won't lie to me.” And you'll come back to me, just like before.
A tear streaked down Shindou's cheek. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.
Then, as if a flood wall had been breached, the words came pouring out. Akira listened like in a trance as Shindou told his story in broken, disjointed fragments, but Akira hung on every word and the pieces fell into place like patterns coalescing on the goban.
~ ~ ~
“Sai was my best friend for two and a half years. And I still really miss him,” Shindou finished, wiping at his eyes. “After he disappeared, I wished more than anything that he could come back. That's why I quit go, I thought it meant he could come back. But I know now it's not possible, so I have to play for him instead. To find the Hand of God.”
Akira stared at Shindou, amazed. It was an insane, crazy story, but it made sense. Shindou's wildly fluctuating abilities, the lies, the emergence of s a i on NetGo, Shindou quitting go, then his renewed determination to play, Shindou's hatred of Ko Yongha, the fan... it all made sense. “I'm sorry, Shindou. What happened tonight must have hurt you a lot,” Akira said quietly. He didn't understand how Fujiwara fit into all of this yet, but he knew that Shindou's pain at losing a friend was genuine.
“You actually believe me?” Shindou asked, fixating his eyes on his socks as if he were afraid to meet Akira's eyes. Shindou wriggled his toes, and Akira noticed that one of his bright yellow socks had a tiny hole.
“Yes.” Akira said this firmly, as if the possibility of another answer had never even existed.
A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of Shindou's lips. “I was afraid you wouldn't, or that maybe you would, and you'd be angry and not want to be my rival anymore. Or come to eat ramen with me on lunch break.”
Akira scowled, although he felt a warm sensation spreading in his stomach. Shindou cared a lot about what Akira thought, more than Akira had realized. Shindou valued him. “You're not getting rid of me that easily, you idiot.” Even if this Fujiwara was somehow Shindou's s a i, and a better player and a better all-around person than Akira, Akira was fully prepared to fight for his rival's attention if necessary. Shindou was his.
Shindou smirked, although it seemed weaker than usual. “Lucky me.”
“What about Fujiwara-san? Are you going to meet him?” Akira said. He didn't want to upset Shindou, but the matter had to be resolved.
“I dunno. I'm tired. I'll worry about it in the morning, 'kay? I don't want to talk about it right now,” Shindou mumbled, effectively halting all the questions Akira still desperately wanted to ask. Shindou grabbed at his pillow and buried his face in it. A few minutes later, his breathing evened out and his frame relaxed.
Akira let out a long breath and began to prepare himself for bed. He didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow, but somehow things were going to work out. Shindou trusted him, and that was enough.
~ ~ ~
Author's Notes:
I don't really have much to say, other than that Akira proved to be very difficult for me to write. At first I made him sound too much like Ogata. Then I had to trim down on the romance, because it was apparently too drippy and there wasn't enough build-up to it. XD;; Still, I wanted to have someone else's perspective on Shindou flipping out, and the logical choice was Akira. Luckily my betas put up with the numerous revisions, ehhehe.
We'll have some more Akira POV in the next chapter, although I'll probably switch back to Ogata soon. He's easier for me. ^^;;
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai, Akira, Hikaru.
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 16 and up. Cursing and sensuality. It's possible the rating will go up eventually.
Word Count: 6300
Notes: Er, I didn't get quite as far as I had hoped in the plot... Akira had more to say than I had suspected. Rest assured, the next chapter will contain what many of you have been pestering me for, although I hope this chapter is enjoyable in its own way. ^^;; Much thanks, as usual, to my betas aiwritingfic and harumi who took a forceful hand to this chapter's characterizations.
Also, thank you to macey_muse and thephoenixboy who kindly allowed me to pester them during a blind_go chat.
Summary: When Akira receives some startling news from Ogata, how will Hikaru react?
Previous chapters can be found on the Master Fic List.
~ ~ ~
Shindou was snoring.
Akira shook his head before turning towards his laptop, which he'd set up on the vanity. He wasn't particularly surprised at the sight of Shindou passed out on his bed, sweat-darkened bangs already dampening the sheets, despite Shindou's earlier declaration that he would shower first. Akira was relieved he had thought to request that the sponsors book a hotel room with two single beds, instead of a queen. After “The Beijing Incident,” Akira had flatly refused to ever share a bed with Shindou again, especially since Shindou still broke out in hysterical giggles at the mere mention of “Beijing” and “hotel.”
Regardless, Akira had never regretted that Shindou was his rival: he wanted to play Shindou until one of them dropped dead, or at least until Shindou acknowledged that Akira was superior in every single aspect of go. (Akira suspected that the former was more likely). No, Akira didn't regret Shindou as his rival, but he did, however, occasionally regret that his fated rival was quite insane.
Like today. Akira sighed as he opened his e-mail to begin deleting the spam in his inbox. Only an insane man would cheerfully announce “Guess what? It's only 32 degrees Celsius!” and then proceed to drag Akira out of the air-conditioned hotel room into Fukuoka's sweltering August weather for sight-seeing. Usually, Akira enjoyed the opportunity to explore the local sights when he was travelling on go-related business; in particular, he'd always enjoyed museums and historical sites.
But not when the air was so humid that his clothes were sticking to his body after only fifteen minutes outside. Shindou had seemed oblivious to the heat, though, as he exuberantly led Akira to Canal City mall, where he then spent the better part of two hours comparing various sets of “fashionable” clothing, occasionally asking Akira for his opinion. Frankly, Akira couldn't tell them apart - they all looked equally hideously colored and baggy to him -- but Shindou had critiqued the clothing with the level of detail that he usually reserved for the goban. Eventually Shindou had settled on an orange-yellow combination that Akira had insisted should be worn only by persons directing traffic, but Shindou had just grinned and purchased the set anyway.
Shindou next decided they ought to trek to the opposite side of Fukuoka to visit the city's tower. When Akira had protested about the distance and heat, Shindou insisted that the tower was the “tallest seaside tower” in Japan, and therefore it would be horribly wrong not to visit it, surely even a socially stunted idiot could see that. When Shindou's stunningly compelling rationale failed to win Akira over, the other boy had offered to treat Akira to sushi for lunch - and Shindou had played a very dirty hand by coupling the offer with large, pleading eyes.
Stupid Shindou and his stupid puppy dog eyes.
In retrospect, Akira had to admit that the tower did have a nice panoramic view of the cityscape and the bay below. And he'd been able to pick up souvenirs for his parents, Ichikawa-san, Ogata-san, and his favorite regulars at the go salon. Of course, Shindou hadn't remembered to buy souvenirs until Akira had pointedly steered him towards the postcard racks.
Afterwards, they'd stopped for lunch (at a classy sushi restaurant, Akira wasn't about to let Shindou get off cheap with conveyer belt sushi). Shindou had declared in between bites of tuna that their next stop would be the city's aquarium, Umi no Nakamichi. Akira hadn't been opposed to it, even though it was over an hour's train ride from Fukuoka; he'd developed a liking for aquariums early on due to Ogata-san's influence, and fish were peaceful and quiet unlike cats and dogs. But Akira had been surprised Shindou had suggested the trip, since Shindou had never mentioned any interest in fish or aquariums. Somehow, Akira had always imagined Shindou to be more of a “Labrador” person -- loud, energetic, and liable to jump on you in order to slobber on your face.
Akira ducked his head at the thought of Shindou and licking, and he was relieved that Shindou wasn't awake to notice the flush spreading across his face. Not that Shindou had ever done anything to Akira's face, but he had licked Akira's camera in Beijing so it was his own crazy bleached-hair fault that Akira was thinking about Shindou's tongue instead of reading the e-mail his mother had sent him.
Shindou was so unsanitary.
Anyway, it wasn't like Shindou had to tell Akira everything about himself just because they were rivals and saw each other at least four times a week and yelled at each other at least twice a week, but Akira didn't like that his rival knew a lot about him, while Akira remained ignorant to many important details about Shindou. Like that time he'd spotted a copy of Genji Monogatari in Shindou's backpack, and Shindou wouldn't tell him why he was reading it. Shindou had offered some explanation about wanting to continue his education on his own, which would have been a perfectly plausible explanation if it hadn't been coming from the lips of Shindou Hikaru, who considered playing video games with Waya to be “educational.”
Then there was s a i. That other person inside Shindou. The one Shindou had promised to tell Akira about. Someday.
During their first official match, Akira had told Shindou that his go was enough. Shindou was his rival, not s a i. His relationship with Shindou was that of a rival; their go had defined their relationship exclusively. All Shindou was to Akira was the go he played, and all Akira was to Shindou was the go he played. That balance had been perfect, like a beautiful game of go, elegant in its simplicity. And it was enough, because Akira had only been speaking to Shindou as His Rival, the one who inspired him and drove his go to dizzying new heights.
At that time, Akira hadn't known that Shindou had to re-bleach his bangs every two weeks, or that he could devour a bowl of ramen in five minutes, and that he had a scar on his knee from falling out of a tree when he was ten. He'd known that Shindou was incredibly brash and rude and didn't mind his manners at all; anyone who had been in Shindou's acquaintance for more than five minutes knew that. But he hadn't known that Shindou could also be surprisingly thoughtful until that day the salon had been unusually busy, and Shindou had offered to answer the phone for a rather harried Ichikawa-san.
He'd known that Shindou had an arsenal of a thousand bright, brassy smiles which he shared freely with his friends. But Akira hadn't known until today at the aquarium that Shindou possessed another smile. Shindou had been admiring a leafy seahorse, his nose pressed against the tank's glass. “He would have liked that one,” Shindou had whispered to himself, a surprisingly delicate smile crossing his face, and his hand had closed around that ever-present fan.
There was no doubt in Akira's mind who “he” was.
Akira wanted to know about s a i. Not just because s a i was a stunningly insightful go player. Not only because he wanted to play s a i again to see how far he'd progressed. Not because his father's greatest wish was a rematch with s a i. Akira wanted to - needed to --know more about s a i because of the grip s a i still had over Shindou. Akira wondered if Shindou secretly preferred playing s a i over him, then bit at his lip, scolding himself for foolishly comparing himself to someone who obviously wasn't there anymore. It was pointless, and Akira did not like mulling over things he could not change.
All the same, he couldn't help thinking about it. He didn't have many... friends.
His laptop chimed then, and an instant messenger window flashed open. Akira brightened when he saw who the message was from.
gofish: hello akira-kun. how is fukuoka?
goforever: Quite nice, thank you. We didn't have the conference today, so we went sight-seeing. And how are you?
gofish: fine, thanks. a free day? i suppose the accomplice kept you busy, then.
Akira grinned as he typed a reply. Since his mother was out of the country so frequently, travelling with his father, she had asked Ashiwara-san and Ogata-san to check up on him for her. Being monitored had irritated Akira initially (he was seventeen after all, and quite capable of resisting the urge to play with matches) but Ogata and Ashiwara handled the matter casually enough that Akira didn't feel like he was being patronized.
goforever: Yes, he did. We went shopping, and then we visited the Fukuoka Tower. We went to an aquarium, too. I think you would like it - I got you some postcards.
gofish: i look forward to seeing them. by the way, i'll need a detailed summary of everything you've eaten, for my report. you know how your mother obsesses over your health.
goforever: Ramen, C.C. Lemon, and more ramen. Although I did make Shindou buy me sushi today.
gofish: i'm pleased to see you're maintaining a well-balanced diet even while on the lam. and how has the conference been? you've been doing demonstration matches, iirc.
goforever: Very well, thank you for asking. Yes, the organizers want to highlight different playing styles. Shindou and I aren't the only ones doing demonstration matches, of course; many players were invited. But our matches have been well-attended.
gofish: i'm not surprised. you two are always so... passionate when you're playing each other.
Akira's cheeks flamed as he imagined Ogata mouthing the word “passionate” while he typed. Ogata-san had a talent for making any innocent word sound perfectly filthy by emphasizing it just so. Akira straightened his shoulders primly before typing his reply.
goforever: We just take our matches very seriously; that's all. If people happen to find that interesting, then I'm glad they are enjoying watching go.
gofish: now now, akira-kun. no need to get defensive just because i noted that your go has a lot of chemistry. you're fortunate to have a rival that you feel so intensely about.
Ogata-san was definitely having too much fun at his expense. Akira did not bother protesting, however, since he'd learned over the years that the only way to make Ogata stop was to offer him a better diversion. Such as...
goforever: Speaking of rivalry, shall we play a game? It's been awhile since we've played.
An embarrassingly obvious attempt at changing the subject, but Akira knew that Ogata-san really was just as big of a go nerd as he was, despite the cigarettes and the cool demeanor.
gofish: did i embarrass you? but actually, i did want you to look at a kifu. it's a game i played recently with a friend. thought you might find it interesting.
gofish wants to send file C:\DocumentsandSettings\Ogata\kifu\Fujiwara\August13.pdf.
goforever: I have it now. Any handicaps?
gofish: no. just 6.5 komi.
Akira wondered who Ogata's opponent had been. He did not know many people who could play Ogata without a handicap, and of those, Akira did not think Ogata would refer to any of them as “a friend.” Probably someone from NetGo, then.
Akira skimmed quickly over the opening moves. Ogata had definitely been playing Black; Akira had played him more often than anyone other than his father, so Ogata's openings were as familiar to Akira as Ogata's precise handwriting. A grin tugged at the corners of Akira's mouth when he noticed Ogata's keima at 11-6 and 12-4. Ogata had played a very similar move against Akira before, and he'd used it to set up a trap. White hadn't fallen for the trap, though. Instead, White had responded two hands later with a countermove that effectively neutralized Ogata's trap. Akira's pulse quickened as his eyes flickered to the mid-game exchange. White wasn't merely holding his own with Ogata-san, he was forcing Ogata to respond to his moves. Ogata's advantage in playing first had quickly evaporated under White's brilliant, aggressive assault.
Akira frowned; there was something odd about White's fascinating moves. His underlying style indicated a classical approach to the goban. It was as if White had studied primarily kifu from an era when a strong emphasis on early domination required that the player with White also play aggressively from the opening moves. With modern komi, however, logic dictated that White ought merely play conservatively to protect his or her lead, especially against a powerful opponent like Ogata-san.
White hadn't. In fact, Akira saw several daring exchanges on the kifu which made him suspect that White was deliberately challenging Black, forcing Ogata to place brilliant, decisive hands in response. Yet Ogata's hands weren't enough to hold off White: White knew how to use modern joseki as well, and he'd fused it seamlessly with his classical style. The result was play that was simultaneously beautiful and utterly devastating. And very familiar.
A sudden recollection flashed across Akira's mind like an epiphany at the goban, a remark one of his father's students had made at a study group: And what if Shuusaku knew modern joseki?
Shuusaku.
Shindou.
s a i.
s a i, the other person inside of Shindou.
Akira felt his hands trembling as he entered his reply.
goforever: You were playing s a i.
gofish: yes, and he beat me by five and a half moku. he was playing nasty.
Akira swallowed, his mind a jittery rush of questions.
goforever: Where did you find him? What server is he on now? What is his new handle?
gofish: i'm not playing him online. i found him in ichigaya.
goforever: I'm sorry, I don't understand.
gofish: s a i is a man named fujiwara sai. i found him floating in the ichigaya canal.
goforever: In the canal? Ogata-san, please don't make jokes like that.
gofish: i'm quite serious, akira-kun. fujiwara suffers from severe retrograde amnesia. he doesn't remember anything from before the accident.
goforever: The accident? He's hurt?! What happened? Is he okay? Is he in the hospital?
gofish: calm down. the accident - and we don't really know what happened, the doctors can't figure it out - was some time ago. his condition is stable, and he's not in the hospital. fujiwara's perfectly healthy, other than his memory.
Akira exhaled slowly, trying to regain some of his composure. His imagination had automatically jumped to the worst case-scenario, that s a i was somehow so ill that his father would never get a chance to play him again. That Shindou--Akira grimaced, forcing himself to halt that morbid line of thinking. He had to be calm, even though Ogata's explanation was too incredible to be believed.
Akira knew, though, that Ogata would not lie about something so serious. Not to him. Also, White's play in the kifu bore the mark of s a i as surely as any masterpiece bore its maker's name. It was not something that could be forged.
gofish: you still there?
goforever: Yes, I'm sorry. It's just a lot to think about. May I ask more about S-Fujiwara-san's condition?
gofish: i suppose it couldn't hurt. what do you want to know?
goforever: You said you found him in the canal. Did he almost drown?
gofish: it doesn't seem that way. he would have had fluid in his lungs or other physical damage. he was dazed, though. maybe he hit his head and that caused the amnesia, but nothing showed up in the scans.
goforever: I see. I'm glad he isn't suffering from additional injuries. What exactly does “severe retrograde amnesia” mean?
gofish: it means that his memories from before the accident are mostly gone. some things he's completely forgotten, so he has to be re-educated about them, like how to use a cell phone or a ticket machine. other things, he remembers, but he needs a trigger first.
gofish: for example, he didn't remember that he knew how to play go until he saw a goban and just automatically started putting down stones. i had even asked him if he played go before that, and he said no.
goforever: But he played beautifully in this game. How can he play so well if he's suffering from mental injuries?
gofish: he doesn't have any difficulty forming new memories or learning new things. he's not mentally impaired, per se... other than not remembering very much. he doesn't even know how old he is or what he does.
goforever: Can't his family and friends tell him that? They know him, so they can be his “trigger.”
gofish: akira-kun. he doesn't remember them.
Akira blinked at the laptop screen. s a i--Fujiwara-san -- didn't remember his own family? Akira couldn't imagine not remembering his own parents, and he felt a deep surge of sympathy for Fujiwara-san. He wondered what he would do if he were suddenly stripped of his own memories, with no memories of go, his home, his family. Or Shindou.
goforever: But where has he been living, then?
gofish: he's been living with me. it was a convenient arrangement.
Akira's eyebrows shot up. Ogata had lived alone as long as Akira could remember, and Ogata had always seemed rather determined to continue in that manner. Akira squirmed, recalling the particular dinner that his mother had cheerfully offered to introduce Ogata to “a very nice young lady.” Ogata had almost choked on his soup.
So if Ogata was allowing Fujiwara to live with him, Ogata obviously believed that he was indeed s a i.
Yet Ogata had kept silent about Fujiwara. It didn't sound as if the accident had happened last week, either; the way Ogata referred to Fujiwara suggested long familiarity.
goforever: How long has he been living with you? You said he's been like this for a long time.
There was a pause.
gofish: i found him on may 5.
It was August. Fujiwara-san had been living with Ogata almost all summer, and Ogata hadn't mentioned anything to Akira at all. That stung more than Akira liked to admit. Ogata knew how much Akira had wanted to know about s a i. And his father as well. Akira closed his eyes, thinking of his father stubbornly sitting in front of that goban with the bowl of white stones always on the opposite side, and wondered how Ogata could be so cold. If Ogata hadn't told Akira about s a i, then he definitely hadn't told his sensei.
Ogata was more than just his father's oldest and most talented student. He'd held Akira when he was a baby, and had even made stupid faces at Akira when he'd thought no one was looking (Akira wouldn't have believed it if his mother hadn't shown him the photos). Ogata had watched as Akira had placed his first go stone all by himself.
Akira knew Ogata very well. Akira knew how kind and generous Ogata could be -- and Akira also knew exactly how selfish and calculating Ogata could be.
goforever: Ogata-san. Why are you telling me this now? You want something.
gofish: suspicious, aren't we? but i'll get to the point: it's for fujiwara.
the two of us have always suspected that there is a connection between shindou and s a i. i tried to ask shindou about it when you got back from beijing, but he refused to speak to me.
goforever: You want me to ask Shindou about s a i.
gofish: if shindou was fujiwara's student, then he probably knows some personal details about him. shindou trusts you. he'll talk to you.
goforever: I don't want to ask Shindou. I respect his privacy.
gofish: this is bigger than a privacy issue. fujiwara needs help.
Akira bit at his lower lip, hesitating as he cast a wary glance at Shindou. Shindou was still sprawled out on the bed, one of his arms hanging over the bed. His face was relaxed in sleep. Without that confident grin, he seemed... vulnerable.
Part of Akira just wanted to log off and ignore Ogata. But the better part of him couldn't just ignore someone who needed help.
goforever: I'll ask Shindou, for Fujiwara-san's sake. But why you didn't say anything sooner?
gofish: ...later. we can discuss this in person.
i'm sending you a picture of fujiwara to show to shindou. see if he recognizes it.
gofish wants to send file C:\DocumentsandSettings\Ogata\MyDocuments\MyPictures\FujiwaraAquarium2.jpg
Akira downloaded the image to his desktop and then clicked it open. He stared in disbelief. There was no way that could be the right picture. The beaming man in the picture looked like a college student, not a battle-hardened go veteran who could defeat his father.
goforever: I think you sent me the wrong picture. This man is too young.
gofish: it's the correct picture. anyway, i need to log off now. text my phone after you've talked to shindou, please. good night.
gofish signed off at 8:15:05.
Akira sighed in exasperation and turned his attention back to the picture. Fujiwara had unusually long black hair that fell past his hips. He was standing in front of a fish tank, his fingers splayed out in a “V” sign as he posed for the camera. Akira had never paid particular attention to other people's appearances--other than Shindou, only because Shindou dressed very tackily, and was thus extremely hard not to look at in the same way a train crash was hard not to look at--but he couldn't help noticing that Fujiwara was stunningly beautiful.
This man was really his father's rival?
Ever since his first official match with Shindou, Akira had developed a vague, nebulous idea of s a i not being an actual “person” in the strictest sense of the word, although on occasion his mind had conjured up the image of a white-haired man with age-wizened hands, and piercing eyes like his father's. Akira tried to imagine Fujiwara sitting across from his father at the goban. His smiling face just didn't match the fierce, brilliant play in the kifu Ogata had sent him.
Akira knew better than to judge a player by his or her appearance, especially since Akira himself had often been underestimated for that very same reason. Yet s a i's play indicated an experience on par with his father's, an experience gleaned only from years and years of labour and sweat. Even if Fujiwara had been playing since he was a toddler like Akira, he couldn't have possibly accumulated that much experience.
Fujiwara didn't seem old enough to have been Shindou's teacher, either. Usually go players didn't start taking on serious disciples until their thirties, at least. But he did look kind... Akira furrowed his brows together. It was easy to imagine someone like that being Shindou's friend, probably the sort who would laugh at Shindou's jokes and get along easily with all of Shindou's friends. Fujiwara would probably be the exact opposite of Akira, who didn't get the pop-culture references, and often felt like he was only being tolerated by Shindou's friends for Shindou's sake. Fujiwara probably wouldn't fight with Shindou constantly, either.
“Are you still messing around on your computer? I'm hungry. Let's go get some ramen.”
Akira quickly minimized the picture and the kifu as he heard the mattress squeak under Shindou's shifting weight. “We've already eaten ramen every single day, Shindou. Haven't you had enough?” he said, trying to mask his nervousness with feigned grumpiness.
“But Touyaaa!! Kyuushuu is famous for its ramen. This is like, Ramen Mecca. We have to try all the different styles while we're here so we can compare them. Besides, it's fun to eat at the outdoor stalls.” Shindou gestured dramatically with his hands as he argued his point.
“Okay, whatever.”
Shindou's face brightened, and Akira chewed at his lip nervously, dreading the subject he was about to broach with Shindou. Akira had chosen to trust that Shindou would keep his promise to tell him about s a i someday, so he had done his best to respect Shindou's wishes. Akira didn't want to breach Shindou's trust in him, not even for s a i. But Fujiwara-san needs help, Akira chided himself, fighting to push down the queasy premonition in his stomach. This wasn't about his rivalry and sort-of friendship with Shindou.
“Hey, um, before we go, there's something you need to look at.” Akira stood up and gestured for Shindou to take the seat at the laptop.
“Sure,” Shindou said, flopping casually into the chair. “What is it?”
“A kifu Ogata-san just sent me. He wanted you to look at it. He's playing Black,” Akira said, reaching over Shindou to maximize the window.
Shindou scowled. “That guy again? It's creepy how he's always hanging around you and texting you. Doesn't he have friends, like his own age?”
“I told you already! My mother asked him to look out for me. And Ogata-san is not creepy. He's actually very nice. Most of the time, anyway.”
Shindou snorted and turned his attention to the laptop screen. “Nice for a creepy old guy, I'm sure.” His eyes skimmed the kifu, and he leaned in closer. “Hey, this is actually a really good game. Ogata's getting his ass kicked all over the goban.” Shindou grinned rakishly. “But why would he want me to see that? He's always pretty sore about his losses at the Institute, especially if Kuwabara's involved. Still, White's amazing. I'd like to play him myself, it was really cool what he did right--”
Shindou went rigid, his expressive hands suddenly lifeless. He stared at the screen in complete silence, his green eyes glassy.
Akira felt his pulse slow to almost a crawl. He'd been right all along. Shindou knew s a i; he knew Fujiwara, the mysterious man Ogata had found in the canal. “Shindou?” he ventured.
“What is this?” Shindou said, his voice oddly flat.
A shiver worked its way down Akira's spine, but he forced himself to sound calm. “You recognize the style, don't you? It's s a i.”
Shindou gave no indication of having heard Akira but instead moved to maximize the picture. Don't, Akira wanted to say, but instead he watched as Shindou stared at the image for a long, long time, as if Shindou was searching for answers.
Then Shindou's lips started to tremble.
Akira reached out a tentative hand for Shindou's shoulder, but Shindou whirled around suddenly, his face contorted horribly, and Akira recoiled, stepping back several steps.
“What is that bastard up to?!” Shindou hissed, his voice full of venom. “How DARE he screw with Sai's memory like that!”
Shindou's hands were shaking, Akira noted numbly as the other boy continued ranting. He had never seen Shindou in such a state.
“He wanted to get revenge on me for not letting him play Sai, even though I actually did and he was just too wasted to appreciate it! He made this all up just to make me feel guilty. But I already feel guilty enough, you stupid old man.” Shindou let out a dry, ragged sob. “I already feel guilty. Why did he have to remind me?” Shindou buried his face in his hands and hunched over, his crying interspersed with mumbles. “Stupid fucking liar... that picture looks just like him. He was. Really young when he, you know. It wasn't fair. I wasn't fair either. That's why... he left. I deserved it.”
Shindou dissolved completely into tears then, and Akira watched blankly, his hands frozen by his sides.
After what seemed like forever, Shindou looked up with reddened eyes, his face blotchy with tears. “I hope you don't like Ogata too much, because I'm gonna kill him next time I see him. Like Sai would have ever hung out with a jerk like him. Fucking liar.”
Akira blinked at Shindou. He had expected Shindou to have a strong reaction at being confronted again about s a i, but not like this. But Shindou kept speaking of Sai in the past tense. Did he think that Fujiwara had been... dead? “Shindou, what's wrong? Why are you so angry?” Akira asked in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I'm sorry if you are angry with Ogata and me for asking about Fujiwara-san, but we're trying to help him. He's lost his memory.”
Shindou gave Akira a heated glare and he stood up abruptly. “You don't understand anything.” He started walking quickly for the door as if he couldn't stand to be in the same room any longer.
Hot anger flared in Akira's chest at the sight of Shindou distancing himself. He was only trying to help, so why did Shindou refuse to talk to him clearly? Didn't he even warrant an explanation? If not as Shindou's rival, then as his friend? “It's not my fault that I am obviously the stupidest person in the world and I don't understand anything, Shindou!” Akira heard himself snap as he clenched his fists at his sides.
Shindou stopped in the doorway to look over his shoulder, and his eyes seemed very old and tired. “No, you don't understand at all. Sai was dead, Touya. Sai was always dead. Then he left. I have to go now.”
Then Shindou was gone.
Akira sat down heavily on the bed, digging his fingers into the covers. How could Sai “always” have been dead? How could Shindou possibly know a dead man well enough to care about him like that? Shindou was also furious with Ogata because of the kifu and the picture. What were the odds that Ogata would have found a man who looked and played exactly like a dead man whom Shindou couldn't have possibly known? And who had apparently “left” Shindou?
Akira stared at the empty room, trying to make sense of the night's events, but he kept thinking of when Shindou had stopped coming to his pro games. Akira had gone so far as to track Shindou down in his school's library, but Shindou had just run from him, his face marked with a pain Akira did not understand.
Akira understood now. It had been s a i. Shindou had run from him because of s a i.
Again.
~ ~ ~
The door creaked open several hours later, and Shindou entered, still looking pale but more composed. He held out a plastic bag sheepishly, a peace offering. “Got you some sushi and onigiri at Family Mart, since I figured you haven't eaten yet.”
Akira accepted the bag with a frown. “You didn't take your cell phone.” He had discovered this after trying to text Shindou, only to hear the phone ringing in Shindou's backpack beside the bed.
“I'm sorry.” Shindou sat on the bed next to Akira, clutching his fan tightly. He stared at the fan and did not look at Akira. “Look, I said I would tell you about Sai someday. I guess it's going to have to be now.”
Akira's heart started to knock against his chest.
“I want you to know. He, uh, really liked playing you. You were the first person he played, you know. It's just... kinda hard. I've never told anyone. Why would anyone believe me? It's crazy.” Shindou took a deep, ragged breath then, and Akira wondered if he was going to cry again.
“Shindou.” Akira's own voice sounded foreign to his ears, low and intense. “I think you should know this first. I do trust Ogata-san, and I don't think he would try to deceive you. But I also want you to know that if he's done something wrong to you, I'll stand up for you. And I believe you. No matter what you say, I trust you. I know you better than anyone. You won't lie to me.” And you'll come back to me, just like before.
A tear streaked down Shindou's cheek. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.
Then, as if a flood wall had been breached, the words came pouring out. Akira listened like in a trance as Shindou told his story in broken, disjointed fragments, but Akira hung on every word and the pieces fell into place like patterns coalescing on the goban.
~ ~ ~
“Sai was my best friend for two and a half years. And I still really miss him,” Shindou finished, wiping at his eyes. “After he disappeared, I wished more than anything that he could come back. That's why I quit go, I thought it meant he could come back. But I know now it's not possible, so I have to play for him instead. To find the Hand of God.”
Akira stared at Shindou, amazed. It was an insane, crazy story, but it made sense. Shindou's wildly fluctuating abilities, the lies, the emergence of s a i on NetGo, Shindou quitting go, then his renewed determination to play, Shindou's hatred of Ko Yongha, the fan... it all made sense. “I'm sorry, Shindou. What happened tonight must have hurt you a lot,” Akira said quietly. He didn't understand how Fujiwara fit into all of this yet, but he knew that Shindou's pain at losing a friend was genuine.
“You actually believe me?” Shindou asked, fixating his eyes on his socks as if he were afraid to meet Akira's eyes. Shindou wriggled his toes, and Akira noticed that one of his bright yellow socks had a tiny hole.
“Yes.” Akira said this firmly, as if the possibility of another answer had never even existed.
A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of Shindou's lips. “I was afraid you wouldn't, or that maybe you would, and you'd be angry and not want to be my rival anymore. Or come to eat ramen with me on lunch break.”
Akira scowled, although he felt a warm sensation spreading in his stomach. Shindou cared a lot about what Akira thought, more than Akira had realized. Shindou valued him. “You're not getting rid of me that easily, you idiot.” Even if this Fujiwara was somehow Shindou's s a i, and a better player and a better all-around person than Akira, Akira was fully prepared to fight for his rival's attention if necessary. Shindou was his.
Shindou smirked, although it seemed weaker than usual. “Lucky me.”
“What about Fujiwara-san? Are you going to meet him?” Akira said. He didn't want to upset Shindou, but the matter had to be resolved.
“I dunno. I'm tired. I'll worry about it in the morning, 'kay? I don't want to talk about it right now,” Shindou mumbled, effectively halting all the questions Akira still desperately wanted to ask. Shindou grabbed at his pillow and buried his face in it. A few minutes later, his breathing evened out and his frame relaxed.
Akira let out a long breath and began to prepare himself for bed. He didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow, but somehow things were going to work out. Shindou trusted him, and that was enough.
~ ~ ~
Author's Notes:
I don't really have much to say, other than that Akira proved to be very difficult for me to write. At first I made him sound too much like Ogata. Then I had to trim down on the romance, because it was apparently too drippy and there wasn't enough build-up to it. XD;; Still, I wanted to have someone else's perspective on Shindou flipping out, and the logical choice was Akira. Luckily my betas put up with the numerous revisions, ehhehe.
We'll have some more Akira POV in the next chapter, although I'll probably switch back to Ogata soon. He's easier for me. ^^;;