The Tiger Shows Its Fangs
The WY Cup Amateur Tournament.
I lost.
I lost, miserably.
A defeat by half a point, at the pro handicap of eight stones.
Fewer points than any game that stayed razor-close until the endgame could ever justify.
Lee Jiah's hollow eyes drifted down to the floor.
Something had changed in her while playing against Ryu Seoa in the final. Her senses sharpened, her calculations grew clean and economical. Sequences she'd never been able to see before unfolded plainly before her, and she found herself playing with a boldness that surprised even her.
That was why she'd believed she had a chance. When she'd clawed her way back into the game with a single desperate move at the moment she was cornered, she'd been certain — yes, this is something I can do.
But it had been laughable.
Only when the puppy barked without fear did the tiger, at last, bare its true fangs.
The speed of her opponent's thought was different. The edge of her intuition was different.
Byo-yomi — a single one-minute period, nothing more. Short, if you wanted to call it short; long, if you wanted to call it long. Where Lee Jiah was perpetually slammed against the final ten seconds, the blonde girl never needed even one. As if she had finished her calculations in advance and was simply cashing in the time Lee Jiah spent thinking, Ryu Seoa laid stone after stone with no time on the clock, forcing her into brutal, unforgiving reading with no room to breathe.
Precise — or, to put it another way, despicable — attacks came again and again. The moment she tried to steady her balance, she was kicked over; the moment she squirmed, she was trampled.
Half a point. Half a point. A whole point.
Nibbled away like that, bit by bit, and by the time she came to her senses, nothing remained but the empty stretches of the board.
She had never felt this kind of solid, unyielding wall even against the male trainees.
Ryu Seoa defeating Hozumi Asana, then storming through to the final and taking the title — none of it had been coincidence. No, you could even call it inevitable.
You could drag every amateur in the country into this hall, and not one of them would take that child down.
A gulf of overwhelming talent that no amount of effort could ever cross.
Soaked in disillusionment, Lee Jiah could feel nothing but a vast, dizzying despair.
A modest closing ceremony and awards presentation, then the commemorative photographs.
The blonde girl who had seized the championship never once laughed. Not once did she smile.
After the game, Ryu Seoa had come to her with a contorted face and said, I'm sorry — and ever since, she hadn't met her eyes once, wearing that same expression drenched in guilt.
It couldn't simply be remorse for winning. Winning was no crime to begin with, and the stronger player winning was simply how the world worked.
There had to be some other reason behind the girl's apology.
Come to think of it, it was strange. The Go she'd shown in the game review with the junior she'd beaten on the tournament's first day was worlds apart from what she'd shown in the final.
With the kind of stamina she'd displayed in the endgame, there was no practical reason for her to overhaul her style.
But one thing was certain: from the moment that girl had changed her posture, Lee Jiah's own Go — which had been circling in place, stagnant, in the same exact spot — had moved forward, if only a single step.
What if the girl up ahead had identified her weaknesses and played teaching games against her on purpose? What if she had gone along feeding her teaching games, only to feel a flash of danger at an unexpected move and reveal her true strength?
No. Absurd speculation.
And yet — if it really had been so — then Lee Jiah was the only player in this entire tournament who had so much as grazed the heel of the monster called Ryu Seoa, and the girl had deemed her talent worth the trouble of doing something she'd never done for any other opponent.
"Heh. What an idiot I am."
Human psychological defenses really did work in the strangest ways — funny enough to amuse even herself.
But if that was what it took, she didn't want to deny her own potential.
She wanted to keep challenging, somehow, somehow — wanted to keep playing Go.
After long, long wandering, she had finally found a reason to move forward.
If she didn't hold on, this chance would evaporate into nothing.
The moment the awards ceremony ended, Lee Jiah watched from a distance as Ryu Seoa got cornered by a weekly magazine reporter who had come to cover the event.
"First of all, Ryu Seoa — congratulations on the win! You made headlines when you crushed Hozumi Asana, Japan's youngest-ever confirmed professional, in your very first match of the main bracket. Is there some secret to how you defeated Japan's future shrine, a girl who might well become your rival someday?"
"Hozumi Asana was nervous and couldn't play at her best, so I consider it a lucky win."
"…Ahaha, is that so. You've beaten one formidable opponent after another in this tournament and shown skill well worthy of turning professional — do you have any thought of challenging Korea's youngest-pro record, like Hozumi did in Japan?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any concrete plans at the moment."
A voice steeped in frost, a blade's edge of a tone that said plainly she was in no mood for interviews.
What part of that looked like an elementary schooler's interview?
Then again, maybe you had to be that much of an oddball to play Go that strong.
Having more or less convinced herself of this, Lee Jiah simply waited for the interview to end.
"Well now, daughter of mine, I'm telling you — a genius that comes along once in a century! You spent your tenth year rolling around in the dirt, but our Seoa has already pocketed several million won in prize money. There's no filial child in the whole world like our Seoa. Her father fell ill, you see, so she's been sharpening her knife to try and do something about it herself. Have you ever once in your life bought your old man a present? Aigoo, and poor thing, her mother passing so early. Never got to watch our Seoa grow up, pretty and kind as she is. If the daughter couldn't be there for her, then at least the grandmother should have gotten to receive it from her granddaughter."
All the tournament's schedule was over, and they were walking back to the parking lot. My grandfather, giddy over my win, had been laying out his boasts and laments for my mother on the phone for several minutes now. Why is it that I can picture her expression so clearly through the receiver?
"Phew."
I let out a small sigh, quiet enough that my grandfather wouldn't hear.
The championship.
I'd achieved what I set out to achieve, yet my mood was far from pleasant.
The final.
I had poked my nose in where it didn't belong, invited a crisis, then — having scraped together the courage to actually fight back — trampled the very opponent who'd dared to face me, leaving her in ruins.
I did something I should not have done.
What was I even trying to accomplish? It might have been far better to have simply left her alone.
Even with the prize money secured, the aftertaste was foul.
"Aigoo, and it's a shame you and her father couldn't be here to watch our Seoa play! Do you know how many kids burst into tears after losing to her? That Japanese girl — Hozumi, whatever her name was — was no match for our Seoa either! And that rapid-fire speed Go she played in the final — just watching it cleared the tubes right out of my chest!"
Utterly indifferent to my mood, my grandfather beamed and rattled on like a machine gun.
"Hmm?"
As I walked, listening to him, a strange presence registered at my back. I tilted my head back over my shoulder.
"Urk…."
The girl trailing after me at a cautious distance, shuffling hesitantly — our eyes met.
My final opponent.
After suffering what she'd suffered at my hands, could she possibly still have business with me?
"…Um, is there… something you wanted to say to me?"
In the awkward silence, I spoke first.
"Oh, uhm, yes… that is…."
Caught off guard by the sudden eye contact, the girl began to stammer.
"Ah, sorry to bother you — no, I mean, I'm sorry to bother you…."
"What is it?"
Was she asking for a game review, belatedly? Tedious, certainly — but if it would help the girl grow, I was more than willing.
"Well, you see…."
Trying to explain something, she found words inadequate, and her face clouded over with frustration.
"Ah…."
Then something flared at the corners of her eyes, and quite suddenly, tears began welling up in them.
"Hhhk — please, just once, help me — help me, please…."
Some emotion had surged up in her, and the girl sank down where she stood, sobbing, begging for help.
It is a tragic irony that the women I made weep in this life, day in and day out, far outnumber the women whose hearts I broke in my last one.
"Right, daughter. I'll call you back — it seems our Seoa has gone and made someone else cry again."
Hearing the girl's wails, my grandfather hung up in haste.
"Please calm down first."
"…Ahh, I know, but… I d-didn't m-mean to do thissss… sob."
The crying girl's words slurred past the point of comprehension.
"Hmm…."
My grandfather and I decided, for the time being, to load the girl into the car and let her compose herself.