Hikaru No Go Fic: Desynchronization (WIP) Part XV of XVI

[ontogenesis]

Title: desynchronization. Part XV of XVI
Main Characters: Ogata, Sai, Hikaru, Akira
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. Occasional cursing and mild sensuality. It's possible the rating will go up eventually.
Word Count: 10,092
Notes: Much thanks to my betas, aiwritingfic and harumi, whose advice was invaluable as usual. Betas who think critically and deeply about your story are a find indeed (you can't have mine, nyah nyah).

Summary: Hikaru finally has a long-delayed talk with Sai. How will Sai react? And what will Ogata's reaction be when he learns the truth about Sai's past?

Previous chapters can be found here.



* * *

The stones flowed across the goban as Fujiwara wordlessly replayed his game against Touya Kouyou for Shindou and Akira.

Akira was mildly surprised that none of the other customers had wandered over to the table to observe Fujiwara. He'd noticed a few pairs of old men scattered across the little salon's worn tables, but they had seemed engrossed in their own games, barely giving Shindou and Akira more than a cursory glance when they'd entered the salon earlier and greeted Fujiwara at the reception desk. Perhaps the other customers simply hadn't realized what an opportunity they were missing, Akira decided.

The Iwamoto salon was quiet except for the faint pachi pachi of the stones, and an occasional fit of a smoker's coughing. According to Shindou, Saturday evenings were usually slow, and Fujiwara didn't have many requests for shidougo then.

Hearing that had relieved Akira. He loved the competitive aspect of go, of course, but just being able to relax and discuss go in a place where people didn't seem to particularly care who he was... it was a nice change from the professional world he usually moved in, even his father's own salon. It wasn't that Akira didn't appreciate the support he received, but sometimes, being the focus of so much attention could be overwhelming. That attention had only intensified when his father had retired, as if people were expecting him to pick up Touyou Kouyou's mantle.

But Touya Akira was not his father, and the path he'd chosen was not the same.

Beautiful, complex exchanges flowed into shape under Fujiwara's hands. Akira marveled, and wondered how much more time would elapse before Fujiwara himself would be hard-pressed to enjoy an intimate moment of go. Even though Fujiwara hadn't entered the professional world, that kind of talent had a way of drawing attention to itself like a lightning rod. Akira had already had a taste of what it was like to live under that amount of scrutiny, but he suspected it was nothing compared to what Fujiwara would be subjected to if he were exposed as s a i. Akira didn't know how well Fujiwara would be able to cope, especially since Shindou still hadn't told Fujiwara the complete truth about Fujiwara's past.

Akira sneaked a glance at Shindou from the corner of his eye. Shindou wasn't watching the board as much as watching Fujiwara, his eyes anxiously flickering back and forth from the board to Fujiwara's face. Whatever had been bothering Shindou earlier was still upsetting him, Akira realized.

The game claimed Akira's attention again, and he shifted eagerly in his chair. It was almost at the point where Black had cut into the center of the board, a seemingly reckless move that had turned the entire game in Black's favor. Akira was terribly curious about the motives behind the hands that White had played after that: why had he chosen to respond with that move there? Why had he sacrificed territory at this particular moment? Why hadn't he played an atekomi here, and had he realized Black's trap at this hand? But interrupting Fujiwara now would be distasteful, especially when Fujiwara was wearing that fond, tender smile, as if he were retelling a favorite memory with the go stones.

So Akira forced himself to sip on his barley tea in lieu of peppering Fujiwara with questions. He'd been waiting ever since his father had replayed the game for him on Thursday night; he could surely wait a little longer. The commentary from the vanquished was no less enlightening than that of the victor, especially at such a high level, and learning the why behind the moves was the next best thing to actually getting to play those games himself. Akira's only regret was that he hadn't been able watch his father play Fujiwara in person; even the best commentary couldn't capture the heat and pressure of the battle.

Unfortunately, Akira had already had a game scheduled for that same Thursday, one that he had needed to win to qualify for the Kisei League. (He'd won, which had made missing the match slightly more bearable.) Shindou hadn't attended either, claiming he also had an official game scheduled.

But Akira hadn't seen Shindou at the Go Association on Thursday. Thinking that perhaps Shindou's match had been held earlier, Akira had glanced at the dry-erase board where all the day's matches were written down. Shindou's name hadn't been on the board.

Shindou had lied.

When Akira had confronted Shindou about his lie, Shindou's face had gone pale, and all he would say was, “Things can't be the same.”

Something was definitely wrong, and Akira suspected it involved Fujiwara, with the way that Shindou kept squirming and glancing at Fujiwara.

Fujiwara finished the game, and looked up at them cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Shindou's discomfort. “Now as you can see, Black won this game by half a moku, with the critical move in Black's favor being played at 113. I did my best to narrow the gap, but in the end, it proved to be too big of a difference to be overcome. I've been reconsidering my hand at 148. Perhaps attaching here instead might have been a better choice.”

Akira pushed his concern about Shindou aside for the moment, eager for the discussion. “Actually, Fujiwara-sensei, I have been curious about why you chose to not play an atekomi here, since you were trying to weaken Black as much as possible. Wouldn't the atekomi have forced a premature response from Black?”

Fujiwara beamed, as if he'd been hoping for that question, and Akira's cheeks went warm.

“I considered it, actually, but I suspected that Touya-sensei would recognize my motives. He would have probably ignored a direct response in favor of reinforcing his stones around here, which would have resulted in the opposite effect desired. By choosing to play a softer move, I was able to gain some territory, as opposed to no territory.”

Akira nodded. That certainly made sense; his father had an uncanny knack for figuring out when someone was trying to trick him into a less than optimal response. “When you played the pincer here, was Black's response the one you had hoped for?”

“Partially,” Fujiwara said, launching into an explanation of the possible outcomes.

Entranced, Akira listened attentively, only speaking occasionally. Fujiwara's perspective on go was exceptional, but he managed to keep his explanations concise despite the complicated topic. It wasn't common to see such talent paired with teaching ability. No wonder Fujiwara had been chosen to be one of the Emperor's tutors, Akira thought.

“Hikaru, did you have any questions?” Fujiwara asked suddenly.

Akira started. Caught up in the lengthy discussion and his own thoughts, he'd forgotten about Shindou.

“Errm, not really. I was just listening, about the uh, pincer. That was really interesting,” Shindou said.

“You aren't sick, are you?” Fujiwara said, reaching out a hand to touch Shindou's forehead. “It's not like you to be so quiet.”

“No, I'm fine!” Shindou protested, wriggling away. His eyes slid away from Fujiwara's gaze.

Fujiwara frowned, no doubt recognizing Shindou's behavior as classic Shindou-avoidance. Akira had noticed early on that Shindou tended to break eye contact when he was lying.

“Hikaru...”

Shindou hesitated, then suddenly blurted out: “You didn't win, so you need to keep playing Touya's dad, right?”

“Even if I had won, we still have a lot of games left to play together. And you know, go's not really just about winning, although winning's nice, of course. But yes, I would like another game. If Touya-sensei hadn't had to return to Beijing so soon, I would have asked him to play again. We're going to play online, but it's not the same.” Fujiwara's lower lip jutted out sulkily.

“Um, so... you still have a lot left to do here?” Shindou asked.

Fujiwara tilted his head quizzically. “'Here' in Tokyo? Well, there's my job, and of course there's teaching you, and playing Touya-sensei whenever he's not in Beijing, and practicing my Chinese, and feeding the fish. I haven't been planning to take a trip or anything, if that's what you're asking.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Shindou's ears reddened. “Ah. Have you been feeling okay lately? Nothing weird?”

Things can't be the same.

In a flash of clarity, Akira understood: Shindou was afraid Fujiwara would disappear again. That was why Shindou had avoided witnessing the match between Akira's father and Fujiwara --- he was afraid of recreating the same set of circumstances that had led to Fujiwara's disappearance. Shindou still blamed himself for what had happened, so by Shindou-logic, he thought that if he removed himself from the equation, he could prevent it from happening again.

Fujiwara's expression softened. “I'm fine, thank you. If anything changes, you know that I'll tell you.”

Shindou nodded, a slow, begrudging movement.

“Well, actually there is something. But I was going to wait until after we finished discussing the game, but since you weren't paying attention anyway... ” Fujiwara's lips curved teasingly, but then his expression grew serious. “I was wondering what you could tell me about Honinbou Shuusaku - about Torajirou. Touya-sensei asked me about him, and I started remembering... things.”

Honinbou Shuusaku. Fujiwara's first host, the Go Saint himself. According to Shindou, Shuusaku had recognized Fujiwara's genius immediately. Shuusaku had let Fujiwara play all his public games, content to play only in private, with Fujiwara as his only opponent.

But I was selfish and mean, so Sai had to leave.

Akira couldn't help glancing at Shindou. Shindou had gone very, very still.

“Ogata-sensei is convinced that I must have studied Torajirou's life very thoroughly before my amnesia, and I'm getting those details mixed up with memories of another person. But I've been reading Ogata's books and articles. They don't mention the things I know about Torajirou.” Fujiwara paused, threading his fingers through the tassels of his fan. “His favorite color was purple, and he liked to take walks. He admired artists, because they could make the world more beautiful. If he hadn't become a go player, perhaps he might have been a calligraphist - his handwriting was lovely. And he wasn't afraid of dying, just leaving behind the people he cared about.” Fujiwara let out a small, shaky breath. “He said 'I'm sorry,' when he died. How could I have possibly known that?”

Shindou said nothing.

With a rueful smile, Fujiwara shook his head. “Am I crazy, Hikaru? Was that my... 'condition' before, the reason I didn't have friends or family?” He looked down at the goban. “I know you don't want to hurt my feelings, but it's okay to tell me the truth.”

“'Crazy'? Don't be silly, Sai. You might act like a real go nerd, but you're not crazy,” Shindou said, his sudden smile bright enough that it might have fooled someone who didn't know Shindou well.

Akira had seen that brassy smile before. At the first Hokuto Cup, when Shindou had lost to Ko Yeongha. The smile hadn't lasted long.

“Are you sure?” Fujiwara said, his voice small. “It's not... normal to have such feelings about a dead person.”

“Yeah, look, just because it's not in Ogata's stupid books, doesn't mean your memories aren't real. Maybe you just need to remember more, and then it will make sense,” Shindou said, his tone nonchalant.

Shindou's knuckles were turning white. He was gripping the arm-rests too hard, Akira thought mechanically.

“Why is Torajirou important to me? Why him and not some other player?”

The smile didn't fade, but Akira saw the edges of desperation flickering in the corners of Shindou's eyes, that same desperation that surfaced whenever Shindou was confronted with the issue of revealing the truth to Fujiwara. Shindou was so very, very afraid that Fujiwara would hate him, enough that he was willing to keep hiding the truth, despite the horrible personal cost to himself.

Shindou opened his mouth -- to deliver some other not-quite half-truth, Akira was sure -- and Akira suddenly realized that he simply couldn't bear to hear one more word of it.

Akira found himself on his feet, one hand wrapped around Shindou's elbow tightly. “Forgive me, Fujiwara-sensei. I have something urgent I need to discuss with Shindou. Please excuse us for a moment.” He bowed stiffly, and jerked Shindou forward, not waiting for an answer.

“Touya! What are you doing?!” Shindou squawked, but Akira ignored him, heading straight for the salon's front door. He yanked Shindou through the door, then whirled around on his heel, glaring.

“This has to stop. Now.”

Shindou jerked his elbow free and stepped away quickly, pressing his back against the door as if he were warding off a rabid beast. “What are you talking about, you big psycho?” he demanded, breathing heavily.

“The lying, Shindou. Fujiwara-sensei needs to know the truth. He's asking you for it.”

Open alarm flashed across Shindou's face. “No! I can't tell him yet. It's still too soon -- he needs to do more stuff first. Play more games with your dad, get closer to the Hand of God, win a title, I dunno, just something that makes it so he doesn't have to leave again.”

Shindou was pleading. There was no other way to interpret that tone. Akira steeled himself, and shook his head. “Neither of us knows how or why Fujiwara-sensei came back. But I do know that your not telling him the truth isn't going to keep him here. He needs to know.”

“Sai deserves to be happy! He's happy now! Do you want me to take that away from him?” Shindou's shoulders began to shake. “He deserves it,” he repeated, like a mantra.

Akira felt his stomach wrench as a tear began to streak down Shindou's cheek, but he kept his tone even. “You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

Shindou blinked at him dumbly, like he was speaking a foreign language.

A flash of anger surged through Akira, and he clenched his fists in lieu of knocking some sense into Shindou's thick head. “I said you deserve to be happy too, you idiot! You're hurting yourself by keeping his secret, and do you really think Fujiwara-sensei's happy knowing that you're in pain?! And he can definitely tell, so stop thinking he doesn't notice.”

Shindou's chin fell to his chest, and he began to sob in earnest, his tears trickling down his nose.

“I don't know how to start,” Akira heard through the crying and sniffling.

Akira reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Gently, he started to dab at Shindou's wet cheeks, until Shindou looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and surprised.

Akira pressed the handkerchief into Shindou's palm, curling Shindou's fingers around the cloth before letting go. “Start at the beginning. Like you did for me.”

“The beginning?” Shindou echoed in confusion. Then a thoughtful expression eased onto his face. He sniffled loudly, and wiped the remaining tears off his face with the back of his hand. “He asked me before, about how we met. I didn't really tell him, because I didn't know how to say it without giving everything away. But maybe I can show him instead.”

“Show him?”

“Yeah, take him to Grandpa's. If he's there and he sees the goban, maybe he'll remember on his own. That's gotta be better than me saying it wrong or confusing him.” Shindou cleared his throat, a nervous sound. “If he doesn't remember, though, then I'm just gonna have to tell him straight-out.”

Akira nodded, a gesture he hoped was encouraging. “Maybe it will work. He's already started to remember Shuusaku, and the goban is a big part of that.”

“Yeah.” Shindou rubbed at his nose and eyes with the handkerchief. “I guess we should go back inside before Sai wonders what the hell we're doing. You did just drag me out here.”

“Only because you were being an idiot,” Akira shot back, but Shindou ignored him.

“Sorry to freak out on you,” Shindou said instead, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. He started to return the handkerchief, then made a face as if finally noticing its damp, wadded-up state. He shoved it into his jeans pocket abruptly. “Er, I'll give this back to you later. You know, you're not too bad sometimes.”

Shindou-speak for Thank you. “You're welcome,” Akira replied graciously.

As soon as they reentered the salon, Fujiwara stood up anxiously, looking like he was barely restraining himself from rushing across the room to Shindou.

Akira started to apologize again when they'd reached the table, but Fujiwara had eyes only for Shindou, biting at his bottom lip as he took in Shindou's slumped shoulders and raw expression.

“Are you alright?” Without waiting for an answer, Fujiwara pulled Shindou into an embrace. “What's wrong? You aren't sick, are you?”

“Saaiiii!! You're gonna make me sick if you choke me to death,” Shindou whined, but his struggles were only half-hearted, as if he'd long resigned himself to enduring Fujiwara's loving but evidently crushing embraces. “Do you have to squeeze that hard?”

Fujiwara sniffed loudly, and ruffled Shindou's hair. “I'm just concerned about you. You've seemed worried and upset lately.” He lowered his voice guiltily. “It's because of me, isn't it?”

“Geez, not everything is about you, you know! Maybe I just have a lot on my mind,” Shindou said defensively. “Anyway, isn't your salon closed this Monday, for the national holiday? We've got off from the Institute, no matches.”

“Yes,” Fujiwara said, blinking in surprise at the sudden topic shift. “Why?”

“There's someplace I need to take you.”

* * *

The house Shindou had brought them to was like the other houses surrounding it: old, but well maintained, sporting a respectable-sized lawn with a few bushes and potted plants, shingled roof, and paper sliding doors.

“That's where Grandpa and I play go,” Shindou said, pointing to the wooden slatted porch. “He's actually not half-bad, for an old guy. He won a bunch of awards for go like a million years ago, so he says I got my talent from him.” Shindou shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and slung it onto the porch.

Fujiwara frowned at the backpack, and straightened it before placing his own messenger bag beside it neatly. “Are you sure it's okay for us to be here now? Perhaps it would be more proper for us to return when they're back from their holiday. Also, I'd like to thank your grandfather for supporting you.”

“I told you already! This is the last day all three of us are going to have off for awhile, and I don't want Grandpa asking a bunch of weird questions about you. You can meet him another time,” Shindou said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, don't bother taking off your shoes. We're going into the storage shed over there.”

Shindou sounded like his usually cocky self; nothing like he'd been on Saturday. Akira wondered how he could project such calm, considering the purpose of their trip.

Shindou opened the storage shed with a small set of keys, and a musty odor wafted out. “Don't close the door,” he said, walking inside. “There's no lighting in here.”

As Akira's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could see that the storage shed was full of shelves that overflowed with dusty scrolls, cracked bowls and pots, hanging lamps, chests, and bundled books. It was an ideal location to meet a spirit, Akira thought, the hair on his skin raising. Ever since he'd learned that ghosts were actually real, he'd found himself just a tad more jumpy, especially late at night.

“Ah, your grandparents are collectors,” Fujiwara said, peering at the contents of one shelf. “I'd like to read some of these scrolls, but they seem quite old. I'm afraid they might get damaged if they were unrolled.”

Shindou shrugged and picked his way towards the ladder in the middle of the room. “Grandma did a lot of these. But she doesn't have enough room to hang them all in the house. If you want, she'll show you her best ones, if you don't mind getting your ear talked off. Anyway, let's go upstairs. Watch your step.”

It was darker upstairs, but Akira's attention was immediately drawn to the far end of the loft, to a sheet-covered object that seemed to be glowing in the shadows. It was also goban-shaped. A goban covered in a shroud.

Akira swallowed hard.

Shindou flung open the shutters on a small window, and sunlight poured in, illuminating dust motes that swirled lazily through the air. “Ugh, I hope neither of you is allergic to dust.”

“When you said that we met at your grandparents', I have to admit, this wasn't what I had in mind,” Fujiwara said, picking up a vase from a shelf. “Hmm, this is rather nice craftsmanship. Good detailing, strong use of color,” he murmured to himself, as he rotated it in his hands. “Was I here because of my interest in pottery?” Fujiwara said, his expression eager.

“No,” Shindou said, sounding noticeably strained for the first time. “Ah... does anything seem familiar to you yet?”

Akira knew he was trying not to look at the goban. They had agreed that it was best to wait and see how much Fujiwara remembered on his own, just from being in the storage shed again.

Fujiwara replaced the vase carefully on the shelf. “Not really, although it feels comfortable. I like being around old things.”

“Well, that explains O--”

Akira gave Shindou a dark glare.

“--a lot of your hobbies,” Shindou amended quickly, with a sheepish grin of apology for Akira.

Fujiwara wasn't listening. “What's this?” he said, kneeling on the floor at the far end.

Fujiwara had found the goban.

Akira and Shindou exchanged looks as Fujiwara removed the sheet. Akira wondered if Fujiwara had been drawn to the board because of his connection with it, or simply because it was the only covered object in the room, and he was curious.

“A goban!” Fujiwara exclaimed in delight. He ran his hands over it reverentially. “Oh, it's very well made. See, there are no signs of cracking or warping.” He tapped on the board experimentally, and nodded with satisfaction. “A good sound, definitely high-quality kaya. It's as nice as Ogata-sensei's or Touya-sensei's.” He turned it over. “Actually, it's even older than your father's.”

Much much older. Akira's heart thudded. “How can you tell?”

Fujiwara pursed his lips in consideration, and set the goban down. “The craftsmanship. The way they slot the legs into the board, the method for treating the wood, the coats of polish - all of that has changed throughout the history of go as new materials are discovered, and techniques are refined. But a new board isn't necessarily superior to an older one, if the older one has been cared for and loved. Like this one,” Fujiwara said, stroking the goban like a cherished pet. “I can't believe it's just sitting up here in the attic, unused. What a waste... Hikaru, doesn't your grandfather already have another goban that he plays on?”

“Yeah,” Shindou said weakly. He shifted sideways, and his shoulder bumped against Akira's.

Akira didn't protest. He knew that Shindou needed reassurance, a physical reminder that he wasn't alone.

Fujiwara brightened at the answer. “Maybe he'll sell this one to me. I really like it.”

“I don't think so,” Shindou managed to get out. “Do you remember the reason he keeps it in storage?”

“No.”

“He says it's cursed.”

Shindou was trembling. Akira let his hand brush against Shindou's, and Shindou responded by threading sweaty fingers through Akira's.

“Cursed?” Fujiwara echoed. He didn't laugh, but instead peered at the board more intently. “Why is it cursed?”

“Touya,” Shindou whispered hoarsely, and he squeezed Akira's hand so hard it hurt.

Akira understood what Shindou was asking of him. “The people who played on it always died young,” Akira replied in Shindou's place. Not the whole answer yet, but hopefully enough to trigger Fujiwara's memory, like his father's words had.

“How unfortunate!” Fujiwara said, and patted the goban consolingly. “Your owners died young. You must have been so lonely with no one to play on you for so long. It feels like a lonely board, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Akira said quietly, his throat constricting painfully. He squeezed Shindou's hand back.

Fujiwara sighed. “I'm a bit of an idiot. Even though I know it's cursed, I still want to take it home. It feels so familiar, like...”

Suddenly, Fujiwara froze.

“Did... he... did Torajirou play on this board?”

Akira nodded, unable to answer, but Fujiwara did not see, his widened eyes fixated on the goban. He reached out his hand towards the upper right quadrant, and touched it with trembling fingers. “There used to be blood stains here, weren't there? Torajirou's blood... he died playing go. He died because he was so kind, and he wouldn't stay away from the sick students.” A harsh, dry sob escaped from Fujiwara. “Is that what happened? I owned this board, and poor Torajirou haunted me?”

“Torajirou wasn't the ghost.”

Fujiwara looked up at Shindou, a tear dripping down his cheek. “What are you saying?”

Shindou squeezed Akira's hand once more, then let go.

Akira watched as Shindou made his way to Fujiwara, and crouched down by Fujiwara's side. “Torajirou and I were both your students. That board was yours first, a long time ago.”

A tremor ran through Fujiwara's body. “Then I...”

“It was you. You were the ghost, Sai!” Shindou cried. “You possessed Torajirou, and he knew how good you were, and he let you play all his games. You were Honinbou Shuusaku; all of his games are yours! You're the genius!” Shindou's face contorted in agony. “You possessed me too. You remember, don't you?”

“Yes,” Fujiwara said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I remember. You found my board, and I took over your mind. I forced you to play go despite your wishes. I'm so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around Shindou.

“No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't let you play enough, and you disappeared and it was all my fault!” Shindou choked out a sob, and hid his face behind his hands. “I'm so sorry, Sai. Please don't hate me. I didn't mean to be so selfish.”

“Hikaru. I could never hate you.” Fujiwara patted Shindou's back soothingly, but Akira could see that his hands were trembling. “What happened wasn't your fault. I was the selfish one who... drowned himself. Because of my selfish desires, I couldn't accept the serenity of the afterlife. I was so cruel, taking Torajirou's games, and trying to take yours too. I'm a horrible, selfish teacher. I should be the one to say sorry, for taking over your life, forcing you to play.”

Shindou shook his head. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Before, I didn't have a purpose or a goal. I didn't like school, and I wasn't serious about anything. Without you, I wouldn't have met Touya, or realized how much I like go. You were my ghost, but you were my best friend, too. I would have given anything to get you back.”

“Hikaru is too kind,” Fujiwara said, burying his face in the crook of Shindou's neck. He did not say anything else.

Akira wasn't sure how much time passed with the two of them huddled together, crying softly. He just watched, slightly surprised at himself for not feeling terribly awkward. Usually he felt like an unwelcome intruder whenever a situation became serious or intimate. But he was a part of this - had been, ever since that day Shindou challenged him to a game in his father's go salon.

“Sai, are you okay?” Shindou had disentangled himself from Fujiwara's embrace, and now he was shaking Fujiwara's shoulder. “Talk to me, Sai!”

Akira realized that Fujiwara was shivering, as if he were horribly cold. He walked across the room, and joined Shindou by Fujiwara's side. Akira put a hand on Fujiwara's forehand, and found that his skin was clammy.

“Shindou, look at his eyes,” Akira said. Fujiwara's pupils were blown and unfocused. He'd seen the expression before, on a dazed pedestrian who'd been struck by a motorbike. The injuries hadn't been serious, but the pedestrian had been so startled that he had gone into shock, and had needed treatment.

“What's wrong with him?” Shindou demanded.

“He's in shock. What he just remembered would be too much for anyone to handle,” Akira said.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Shindou said, patting his pockets frantically. “Damn, I left my cell in my backpack. Is this serious, or can he snap out of it on his own?”

“I'm not sure. I guess we should call to be on the safe side.”

“I'm okay,” Fujiwara mumbled, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to focus. “Please don't make me go to the hospital.” He clutched at Shindou's hand. “I don't want to be alone. I don't want to disappear again. You can still feel me, right? You can still hear me?”

“Yeah, Sai,” Shindou said, patting Fujiwara's hand. “You're real. You're not going anywhere, I swear. I won't let it happen.” Shindou's face scrunched up in resolve and pain, and he laced his fingers through Fujiwara's.

Akira felt his heart wrench. He had known it was going to be difficult when Fujiwara remembered, but he hadn't anticipated this. “We won't leave you alone, Fujiwara-sensei. You're going to be alright,” Akira said with false calmness, and took Fujiwara's other hand. Fujiwara's pulse was racing frantically, like he'd been running sprints.

“Thank you,” Fujiwara said. He leaned into Shindou's shoulder again, and shut his eyes.

After a few minutes, Fujiwara's breath evened out, his pulse slowing to a steady beat. Akira heaved a silent sigh of relief, and met Shindou's eyes across Fujiwara's back. We should take him out of here, Akira mouthed. Being away from the attic and that goban - Fujiwara's former prison, really - might prevent another panic attack.

Shindou nodded. “Sai, are you ready to go?” he asked, his tone softer than Akira had ever heard it.

“Yes,” Fujiwara said uncertainly, as if he'd been presented with a riddle.

“Where do you want to go?”

“...I want to go home.”

Shindou licked his lips nervously. “Do you mean my house or Ogata's place?”

“No, my home. Heian-kyou.”

Shindou swallowed hard, and Akira knew he was forcing back tears. “Sai, you can't go back there. It's Kyoto now. It's not the same anymore.”

With disjointed, halting moments nothing like his usual grace, Fujiwara pulled away from Shindou, staring at him with an expression of disbelief. Finally, the disbelief faded, replaced by a weary resignation. Fujiwara bowed his head. “I... understand. Then please, would you take me to Ogata-sensei's apartment?”

Hurt flashed across Shindou's face, but he didn't seem surprised. Instead, he just nodded, and helped Fujiwara to his unsteady feet.

Akira felt a pang of sympathy for Shindou, and wondered if Shindou understood Fujiwara's reasons. Even though Fujiwara had apparently regained his memories, and his memories of living with Shindou for over two years, he was afraid to return with Shindou.

Shindou's house was where he had disappeared.

* * *

Ogata tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the traffic light to change. He'd been at a social mixer at a Watami pub with some “very valued” sponsors for most of the afternoon. The sponsors were valued enough that the Go Association's Board of Directors had decided that at least one title-holder needed to give up part of his three-day holiday to stroke their egos. Ogata, as one of the youngest titled players, had been a logical sacrifice.

Ogata was aware, of course, that these sponsors were the same ones who funded the extravagant prize money for the titles - his included - but that didn't mean that he liked having to socialize with them for hours and pretend that their jokes were funny. Especially considering that alcohol did not improve everyone's personality, specifically the assistant editor for The Asahi Shimbun, who'd been seated next to Ogata. He'd become progressively friendlier with his hands the more beers he'd downed. The worst part was that Ogata couldn't just simply maim him in front of all the other guests, not when the assistant editor had the excuse of being “drunk.” It was expected that Ogata would simply shrug it off like any good-natured person.

Sometimes Ogata hated Japanese customs.

But then Ogata had discovered, to his immense delight, that the man had smoke allergies. Nothing serious, just enough of a reaction to make him cough and rub at his eyes. Naturally, Ogata had opted to puff away for the entire remainder of the mixer. Even better, the man couldn't complain, as several of his superiors had also decided to light up after Ogata had pulled out his cigarettes.

Sometimes Ogata rather enjoyed Japanese customs.

Ogata's mood had been thus improved, until he'd finally gotten out of the meeting to discover that he had a brief e-mail from Akira: Fujiwara-sensei is not feeling well, so Shindou and I brought him back to your apartment. I apologize for the intrusion.

Immediately, Ogata had called Akira. Akira had been vague about the details, only stating that Fujiwara was upset and not sick per se, and had tried to downplay the incident, but Ogata knew that Akira wouldn't have contacted him in the first place if Akira weren't seriously worried. Akira had always made a conscious effort not to be a bother. Then there was the fact that Akira and Shindou were still with Fujiwara -- “just to keep him company,” Akira had said on the phone, but Ogata could read between the lines. For some reason, they didn't want to leave Fujiwara alone.

Ogata could only imagine what had happened, and various scenarios - all unpleasant -- played through his mind as he sped down the expressway. At least it was Sunday. There were never many patrol cars on this stretch on Sunday.

Finally Ogata reached his apartment. He opened the door, noticing only two pairs of shoes in the entranceway. One large enough to be Fujiwara's, the other pair smaller and leather. Nothing bright and yellow and tacky, however, so Shindou was gone.

Akira padded up to the doorway in his socks and took Ogata's coat. “Shindou's mother wanted him home for dinner, so he left a little while ago,” Akira said in a low voice. “Fujiwara-sensei is sleeping on the couch.”

Ogata nodded sharply, and made a beeline for the living room.

Fujiwara was covered in a heavy blanket, even though it was still relatively warm outside. He didn't stir when Ogata approached.

Ogata's frown deepened. There was something pinched about Fujiwara's face, as if he were unable to relax even in sleep. Like he was in pain. Ogata touched the back of his palm to Fujiwara's forehead. His skin wasn't hot, despite the blanket, so he wasn't running a fever at least.

There was nothing else Ogata could check without disturbing Fujiwara. He'd have to wait until the other man woke up.

Akira was waiting at the kitchen table, his hands folded in his lap. “He's been sleeping mostly ever since we brought him back. Sometimes he wakes up with a start, but he doesn't stay awake for long.”

Ogata sat down heavily, letting a long breath out. “Akira. What exactly happened today? The three of you went to visit Shindou's grandparents, correct?”

Akira looked down at his hands, a gesture that struck Ogata as distinctly guilty. “Not quite. Shindou's grandparents are out of town. We went to visit the house... for Fujiwara-sensei's memories.”

Ogata edgily wondered what else he hadn't been told yet. “So visiting the house ended up making him upset. Enough that he had a breakdown and you had to bring him back here. A bad enough breakdown that you didn't want to leave him by himself.”

“Yes. He went into shock.”

“Why didn't you bring him to the hospital, then?” Ogata said, his jaw clenching.

Akira's chin raised, and his eyes flashed. “Because he didn't want to go. Forcing him would have only made him more upset.”

Ogata repressed the urge to sigh. He was going about this the wrong way. Seeing Fujiwara like that and not knowing what was wrong was making him snappish, but obviously offending Akira wasn't going to help matters. “I apologize, Akira-kun. You handled the situation as best as you could. May I ask exactly what is making him so upset, so I know what I'm dealing with?”

“He remembers now,” Akira said quietly.

Ogata froze, trying to process what he had just heard. “What... what exactly does he remember?” Ogata managed to ask.

Akira's gaze slid over to the living room. “Everything, it seems. At least, he remembers everything that Shindou already knew, as well as things that Shindou had no knowledge of.”

Fujiwara was cured? His amnesia was gone? No wonder Fujiwara had suffered a meltdown. Remembering so much at once would be enough to overwhelm just about anyone. “So he remembers where he comes from? His past life?” Ogata asked as evenly as he could manage with his blood pounding in his ears.

Akira nodded. “Yes. But it's...” Akira paused, searching for words. “...complicated.”

“'Complicated'?” Ogata arched an eyebrow. Obviously, Akira didn't want to breach whatever confidence Shindou was holding him to, something Ogata didn't actually hold against Akira. Akira was incapable of being rational when Shindou was involved. “That's rather vague.”

Akira bit at his lip, then said: “Fujiwara-sensei doesn't have a place to return to. Shindou told him as much before, but I think he must have been hoping all along that there was something or someone that Shindou didn't know about. Now that he remembers himself, he's having to try to accept it.”

So Fujiwara really was alone. There was no one else. A sense of relief washed over Ogata. Then he mentally scolded himself. It was hardly proper to feel good about such a tragic revelation.

“I told you that Fujiwara-sensei wakes up sometimes,” Akira continued. “He's... checking to make sure that we're still here. He's afraid. Afraid of being left alone.”

Ogata nodded, recalling Fujiwara's nightmare several months ago. He'd been afraid of being left alone then, too, something Ogata had attributed to his amnesia. “That's not surprising. He must feel vulnerable.”

“There's more, of course, but I don't think it's my place to tell you,” Akira said, a hint of apology in his tone.

“Don't worry about it. That's enough information for now. I'll discuss the rest with Fujiwara-san later, and see where he wants to go from here. Why don't you go home and get some rest? You look tired,” Ogata suggested, noticing Akira's sagging shoulders and drawn face. He was probably drained after dealing with such an emotional situation.

“Are you sure?” Akira said, hesitating.

Ogata felt himself soften at Akira's concern. Akira hadn't known Fujiwara for long, but he cared a lot for the other man's welfare. “Go home. He'll be fine. He's been through some rough patches already, and he's got a strong spirit.”

Akira nodded in agreement, and got up from his chair.

Ogata followed him to the entranceway. Akira put on his shoes, and then gave Ogata a measured look. “Ogata-sensei, Fujiwara-sensei's past is... unusual.”

“Fujiwara-san is unusual. It's probably a prerequisite to becoming a go player,” Ogata said dryly.

Akira shook his head. “It's more than that. His story isn't easy to believe. Please try to keep an open mind.”

Ogata frowned, wondering exactly what Akira thought he'd have a hard time believing about a man he'd found floating in a canal in the middle of the night. There was nothing normal about Fujiwara. Of course he'd have a strange past. “Alright, Akira-kun. I understand. And thank you, for taking care of Fujiwara-san.”

“I'm glad I could do something,” Akira said, but his troubled eyes didn't match the smile on his lips.

Ogata closed the door, pondering Akira's expression. He was probably still worried about Fujiwara. Akira had always possessed a tender side.

* * *

Ogata was puzzling over a kifu when a gasp broke his concentration.

Fujiwara was awake.

“Ogata-sensei?” Fujiwara whispered. “Are you there?” With sluggish movements, as if he were underwater, he pushed the blanket off, and struggled to right himself.

“I'm here,” Ogata said quickly, getting out of his chair. He sat down beside Fujiwara on the couch. The other man was shivering, Ogata realized with alarm.

Fujiwara squinted at him as if he were having trouble focusing. “Ogata-sensei?”

Ogata took Fujiwara's hand and squeezed it briefly. “I'm right here.”

The contact seemed to reassure Fujiwara. He gave a small sigh of relief, then smiled. “You can touch me.”

“Um, yes,” Ogata said, although he didn't know what Fujiwara meant. It didn't sound like he was giving permission to be touched as much as he were making a statement of fact, that Ogata was able to physically touch him. Which was a very strange thing to say, but Fujiwara was confused. “Are you cold?” Fujiwara hadn't stopped shivering.

“I... suppose.” Fujiwara blinked slowly, craning his neck as he looked side to side. “Where are Akira and Hikaru? How long have you been here?”

Ogata draped the blanket around Fujiwara's shoulders. “About an hour or so. Akira left when I got back. Hikaru left before that.”

Fujiwara fingered the tassels on the blanket idly. “Oh, yes. I told Hikaru to go home when his mother called. He argued with me, but I told him he shouldn't miss dinner with his family.”

He lowered his eyes, and Ogata knew that Fujiwara was thinking of the family that he didn't have. The home he now knew he could never return to.

“Is there something I can do for you? Do you need some aspirin?” Ogata offered, eager to quell the sensation of helplessness creeping over him. He liked problems with solutions. Perhaps that was why he found go fun, and maintaining relationships not nearly so much.

“No thank you,” Fujiwara said. “Well, actually there is something... if you wouldn't mind...”

Fujiwara's face had gone quite pink. “Yes?” Ogata prompted, striving not to notice how much a little coloring heightened Fujiwara's attractiveness. Considering Fujiwara's emotional condition, it was not appropriate.

“May I lean against you for awhile?” Fujiwara asked, staring at the blanket very fixedly.

Well damn. “Of course,” Ogata heard himself say nonchalantly. He shifted himself lower on the couch so that Fujiwara could rest his head on his shoulder comfortably.

Fujiwara scooted across the couch in increments until he was nearly pressed against Ogata's side, then he hesitated, evidently shy about breaching whatever he perceived to be Ogata's personal boundary space.

Ogata bit back a smile, and slid an arm around Fujiwara's shoulders, and tugged gently until the other man was tucked up against him, thighs and sides and shoulders aligning surprisingly well. They were almost exactly the same height, no more than a centimeter or two's difference, Ogata thought as Fujiwara put his head on his shoulder. Fujiwara had a smaller frame, though, so it wasn't difficult to balance his weight.

“Are you sure I'm not bothering you?”

“Not at all,” Ogata replied.

That answer seemed to do the trick: the tenseness left Fujiwara's muscles, and he let himself sag against Ogata, as if he'd finally been able to slip free of a heavy burden. His shivering gradually subsided, much to Ogata's relief. He'd been worried about Fujiwara succumbing to shock again.

“I'm sorry I'm always causing problems for you.”

“You aren't troublesome. You've held up remarkably well, considering what you've been through,” Ogata said. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“I made both Akira and Hikaru upset,” Fujiwara said in a small voice. “I don't want to drag you into it too.”

Ogata was about to disagree, but then Fujiwara shifted, and Ogata's mind completely blanked at the electric sensation of thigh sliding against thigh, and glossy hair rubbing against his cheek. Wholly innocent on Fujiwara's part, Ogata knew, but that didn't make it one iota less arousing. Ogata grit his teeth when Fujiwara's hand brushed against his side. If Ogata believed in a god, he was certain it was determined to foil his aspirations to be a better person.

Focus, idiot, Ogata scolded himself. He'd spent the entire summer striving in vain to unearth the truth about Fujiwara; now it was right in front of him. He just had to convince Fujiwara that it was safe to talk - that he needed to talk. “Akira and Shindou are good boys,” Ogata finally replied. “They have their hearts in the right place, but they're still very young. They lack experience. Not that I'm an expert, but I'm confident that I can offer you some solid advice. Or find you someone who can.”

“You've always given me good advice, Ogata-sensei,” Fujiwara said.

Ogata could hear a note of reserve in the praise, and Akira's troubled expression surfaced. Akira had been worried that he would find Fujiwara's story hard to believe. But Fujiwara had always been remarkably frank and open with him; Ogata knew he wouldn't lie about remembering his past, and he certainly wouldn't lie about the details of that past. Not to him.

Unless... did Fujiwara think he was protecting Ogata by withholding the truth? Before the match with Sensei, Fujiwara had been worrying about some old jealous rival, Ogata recalled, his pulse accelerating. If Fujiwara had reason to believe he was still threatened, there was a definite possibility that he'd hide it to protect Ogata.

“Are you in danger?” Ogata asked point-blank.

“Wha... what?” Fujiwara said, drawing his head away from Ogata's shoulder to stare at him, open-mouthed.

“That jealous rival you mentioned before, when you were worried about meeting Sensei. Is he after you?”

“Oh no. Not at all. He's... long passed on.” Fujiwara's head bowed.

Ogata resisted the very strong urge to retort Good riddance. “Is there anyone else who might cause you trouble?” Ogata said instead.

“No. There's no one else,” Fujiwara said quietly, looking away. “Ah... I'm a little thirsty. Do you want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, I'm fine.”

Fujiwara went to the kitchen, and Ogata took the opportunity to stretch and smooth out his clothing. There were warm spots on his body where Fujiwara had been resting. Ogata had never been inclined to snuggle, but whatever this was, it wasn't too bad.

Fujiwara came back with a glass of water, but instead of returning to the couch, he sat in the chair opposite the couch.

Ogata tried not to feel disappointed.

Fujiwara did not drink, but instead stared intently at the glass in his hands, as if he were expecting to find answers inside. “You deserve to know,” he said after a long moment of silence had passed.

A sense of foreboding crept over Ogata. There was definite reluctance in Fujiwara's tone, like he'd considered the issue from every angle and had still arrived at an unpleasant conclusion. Perhaps there were parts of Fujiwara's past that embarrassed him, and he was afraid Ogata would judge him. And Fujiwara had only just remembered, so whatever injuries he'd suffered would be fresh in his mind. “If it's difficult for you to talk about, I don't have to know right now. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't in any immediate danger. The rest can wait,” Ogata said, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees.

Fujiwara pressed his lips together, so hard that they turned white. “No, I can't. If I don't tell you now, I won't be able to.”

“You're afraid to,” Ogata said with delicacy.

Fujiwara nodded. “I want you to believe me. I... need you to believe me.” He sounded almost desperate. If he'd been sitting closer, Ogata would have taken his hand again.

“Why would you think that I wouldn't?”

Fujiwara swallowed, and closed his eyes. “Ogata-sensei... you're very logical. Rational. You believe in the facts, in things you can touch and analyze and figure out. This is not like that.”

Ogata thought of the odd conversation Fujiwara had shared with Sensei. Did this have something to do with the connection Fujiwara supposedly had with Shuusaku? Ogata frowned. He'd heard of people who claimed they were the reincarnation of Jesus Christ or Napoleon or Genghis Khan, but Ogata had always chalked it up to attention-seeking behavior by people bored with their mundane lives. But Fujiwara didn't fit that profile at all. “Please,” Ogata said, “give me the benefit of the doubt. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Fujiwara said, giving Ogata a shaky smile. He exhaled slowly. “I... used to teach go to the Emperor. I was one of two tutors to his Majesty.”

The Emperor?! Ogata was momentarily taken aback. He hadn't known that Emperor Akihito played go, or had go tutors, but the Imperial Household was infamously secretive. No wonder Ogata hadn't known of Fujiwara, or his rival. The royalty moved in completely different circles, aided by police and the government.

“But my rival - the other go tutor - was jealous of me. He framed me by pretending that I had... cheated at a game, and I was cast out of the court.” Fujiwara broke eye contact with Ogata. “I couldn't bear the shame. So I drowned myself.”

A cold chill ran over Ogata's body. No one had tried to murder Fujiwara. Fujiwara had tried and failed to kill himself, and Ogata had found him floating in the canal.

“But I still wanted to find the Hand of God, so my spirit was unable to ascend to heaven. My soul was trapped inside my goban - the same one that later passed into the hands of Torajirou and eventually into the hands of Hikaru's grandfather.” Fujiwara paused, and took a deep breath. “I spent... hundreds of years in that goban, just waiting for someone - anyone - who could hear my voice, so I could have another chance to play go again. All that time, and there were only two.”

Ogata's mind went numb. Fujiwara actually believed he'd committed suicide successfully -- and that he'd been dead for hundreds of years. Fujiwara hadn't been referring to the current Emperor at all.

“This is why I became so upset earlier. Hikaru showed me the goban in his grandfather's storage shed, and I remembered that it had been the prison for my soul,” Fujiwara said quietly. Fujiwara continued his story about how Torajirou had allowed him - or rather, Fujiwara's spirit -- to play all of Torajirou's games under the name Honinbou Shuusaku.

Ogata kept his face very still, but inwardly, his horror was increasing as he realized that Fujiwara believed every single word that he was saying about his existence as a spirit. There was no hint of a joke in Fujiwara's tone, no twitch to betray a lie, just the same sincerity that Fujiwara always exhibited. This was all quite real to Fujiwara.

Then Fujiwara began to explain the circumstances under which he'd met and possessed a certain Shindou Hikaru, persuaded him to take up go as a hobby, and sent the entire go community into a state of upheaval.

Despite Ogata's disbelief, he couldn't help noting how well the pieces of the story fit together, like patterns on a goban. Fujiwara's explanation meshed with the bits of the story Ogata already knew, like how Shindou's abilities fluctuated from brilliant to bad then better, and how extremely reluctant Shindou had been to divulge any information about s a i, and why Shindou possessed such an incongruous fixation with Honinbou Shuusaku (even to the point of accusing some washed-out pro of autograph forgery). The story worked startlingly well, even the part about Fujiwara's alleged past in the Heian court, which explained Fujiwara's hobbies and mannerisms.

“It was shortly after that game with Touya-sensei that I disappeared. I still don't know exactly why I disappeared. Neither does Hikaru. He told me that he quit playing go for several months because he thought it would bring me back.” Fujiwara's gaze turned inwards. “I think what scares me the most is that I don't know why I was allowed to come back with a body. Maybe I'll just disappear again,” he admitted in a tight voice.

Fujiwara did not speak again, and Ogata realized he was finished with his story. It was a story that explained Fujiwara's past perfectly, except for the minor fact that it was completely insane. Ogata was at an utter loss for words. What exactly what he supposed to say? Fujiwara clearly believed that he had told Ogata the truth, and he wanted Ogata's support. Actually, Ogata wished he could lie to Fujiwara; he wished he could pretend that he believed Fujiwara's story.

But Ogata had sworn to himself that he'd never lie to Fujiwara again, not after that initial lie of omission had almost destroyed their relationship. Nor could Ogata support Fujiwara in believing complete nonsense. That would only hurt Fujiwara's recovery in the long run. What Ogata needed to do was calm Fujiwara down first, and then help him think rationally about his situation. From there, Fujiwara could make informed decisions about his future.

“You aren't going anywhere,” Ogata said reassuringly, steepling his hands. “People just don't disappear. Spirits, maybe - I won't claim any knowledge of the occult or even its existence -- but obviously you're a real, tangible person.” Ogata took a deep breath, regarding Fujiwara carefully. “I think maybe you ought to consider visiting a psychiatrist. Remember Dr. Kiyohara? I'm sure she could recommend a good one, someone who is easy to talk to. You can discuss your fears about disappearing and your amnesia with the psychiatrist, and he or she can help you work through your issues.”

“You think I'm crazy. You don't believe me,” Fujiwara said, his eyes growing moist. He drew back in his chair, his water nearly sloshing out of his glass.

Ogata felt his stomach knotting at the sight of Fujiwara withdrawing from him like Ogata was repulsive. It would be so much easier to lie, and let Fujiwara lean against him again. “I believe that you believe your story is real. I don't think you're lying; I think you're confused, and I think you're still in recovery. There's nothing wrong with going to a doctor to work out your problems. I probably should have suggested this sooner, in truth, to help you deal with the stress and bad dreams.”

“Hikaru said I shouldn't tell other people because they would put me on drugs or lock me up, and I wouldn't be able to play go anymore. I don't want to,” Fujiwara said, setting his jaw stubbornly.

A flash of anger made Ogata's vision go white for an instant. So Shindou had warned Fujiwara to be afraid of the very same people who could help him. He'd abused Fujiwara's unwavering trust in him by engineering this crazy, elaborate story that gave Fujiwara the answers he needed, but for what purpose? Fujiwara was confused and sick, but Shindou had no such excuse.

Suddenly, Ogata had an epiphany: if Fujiwara believed he had a special, secret connection with Shindou that no one else could know about, then he'd be tied to Shindou. Shindou had convinced Fujiwara that there was no one else in his life, that Fujiwara was truly alone, and that only Shindou understood him, that Fujiwara had been his ghost, his constant companion for two and a half years. That was a powerfully binding story -- and horribly dishonest. Shindou had obviously known Fujiwara before his failed suicide, and he'd used Fujiwara's amnesia to manipulate the man for his own selfish reasons. He'd even gotten Akira to go along with the charade, probably by using Akira's infatuation with him.

Ogata was disgusted. He'd never suspected that Shindou could be capable of such a deed, or that Akira would let himself be duped into going along with it. “Don't you think it's a little unwise for Shindou to be advising you not to seek professional help? He's still a child, and ignorant about much of the world,” Ogata said, biting back the words he really wanted to say.

“I trust Hikaru. And Hikaru trusts me,” Fujiwara said pointedly.

Ogata's patience snapped. “Shindou is lying to you! He can't stand the thought you of regaining your independence from him, so he's using his position to encourage you to believe a ridiculous story - one that, might I add, conveniently makes you very dependent on him. And of course he told you not to talk to anyone else; they'd realize how wild the story is, and they'd try to talk you out of it.”

Fujiwara's lips trembled. “You're jealous. You're jealous of our relationship,” he said, his tone half-disbelieving. “Hikaru told me he thought you were, but I told him not to be childish. I suppose he was right.”

Ogata rubbed at his temples. He was developing a major headache. “I'm not jealous; I'm worried. You can't keep believing these lies. It's unhealthy.”

“I remembered most of these 'lies' on my own. And I remember things that Hikaru never knew, like the color of his Majesty's eyes, and the first song I learnt on my flute, and the smell of Heian-kyou after a hard rain. Hikaru didn't lie, and you're hardly in a place to be accusing anyone of dishonesty, Ogata-sensei,” Fujiwara whispered, tears slipping out of his eyes. “I'm sorry that I asked you to believe such a difficult story, but you're important to me, so I thought you should know what I am - what I was. I guess I was just being selfish again, because I knew that you don't believe in such things.”

“Please don't cry,” Ogata murmured. His head still hurt, and now he felt sick to his stomach, watching Fujiwara cry. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. Maybe there was nothing to say.

Fujiwara rubbed at his eyes. “I'm sorry. Please excuse me,” he said, abruptly standing up. He bowed quickly, and left for his room.

Ogata watched him go.

* * *
The next morning, Ogata wearily dragged himself out of bed after a restless night of sleep. He found a small suitcase by the entranceway, and Fujiwara sitting at the kitchen table, watching the steam curl off a cup of tea.

Fujiwara was leaving.

In all honesty, Ogata couldn't blame him. Fujiwara believed that story with all his heart, and Ogata had stomped all over it, and he'd placed the blame on Shindou to boot. Fujiwara probably despised him.

“Do you need a ride to the station?” Ogata didn't ask where Fujiwara was going. He didn't feel right demanding any more answers from Fujiwara.

“No thank you. It's not heavy.”

Ogata nodded mutely.

“Thank you for everything you've done for me. But I think it's time for me to leave.” Fujiwara stood up. He stared at Ogata hesitatingly for a moment, then stepped forward to give Ogata a quick hug. “Goodbye.”

Ogata watched him go.

* * *

Author's Notes:

As always, comments and criticism are welcomed! Thanks for reading! ♥

Wow, we're almost at the end of the journey here. Just one more chapter to go. It's been about two years since I first started writing this story, so it will be a little weird to finish up. Also, we've breached the 100K word mark with this chapter. It's definitely by far my longest piece as of yet.

Regarding the chapter, I consider it be one of the most climatic. There's a lot happening here -- Ai described it as being downright soap-operatic, and I can't argue with her! All I need is a house fire and for someone to turn up pregnant. ^_~ Still, I wanted to pace the dramatic reveal this way. Throughout the story, Fujiwara's regaining his memories has been very gradual and slow, but I always envisaged his "recovery" happening very fast, once he was exposed to the right trigger (in this case, the goban).

I hadn't originally planned to write Akira and Hikaru into this chapter directly (I did so because some readers were asking about it), but now I can't see why I thought it would work without them in it. (I had been planning to mention their actions happening off-stage). I hope that their growth as individuals is evident, and I see both of them becoming fine young men. In particular, I think having known Sai will help balance out that aspect of Hikaru which is prone to self-centeredness and insensitivity. (I'd like to see someone write a story in which Hikaru acts a bit less like a barbarian to his mother, actually. We see hints in the Hokuto Cup arc that he's trying...) And Akira has learned to take more emotional risks and put himself in situations that aren't naturally comfortable for him. He's done it because Hikaru needed him to, and that's reason enough for Akira.

Poor Ogata. Reading those character notes about him in the "Kanzenban" (the new Hikago release of the manga) reinforces some of my initial impressions of him. He can be incredibly oblivious to some things, especially his own emotions, but he doesn't realize it because he thinks he already has everything figured out.

Now the way Ogata reacted to Sai's revelation is actually not that far-off from how I would react, given a similar situation. Or how most adults would probably handle the situation -- therein lies the tragedy. We readers *know* that Sai is telling the truth, but Ogata can't possibly know that given his limited knowledge. And to add to the hurt, Ogata's resolution to treat Sai right results in him hurting Sai -- he can't just lie and pretend to believe the story because he thinks it's harmful to Sai.

The question is, of course, will they be reconciled to each other, or will they go their separate ways?

I won't tell you the answer. You'll have to wait for the last chapter.

* * *