A Second Wind
Ryu Seoa. Ten years old.
A mixed-race girl born to a Korean mother and a Welsh father.
It's hard to believe, but that's who I am now.
As it happens, time has also wound itself backward. I celebrated my tenth birthday not long ago, and the present I now inhabit is the very era when I was active as a professional. And, comically enough, the man named Shin Changmo has been wiped cleanly from this world.
I can't tell whether this is a second chance granted to me after I foolishly took my own life, or simply some bizarre fluke of chance.
What I do know for certain is that, as I grew, I slowly inherited the memories of a professional Go player.
At first it was confusing, and I couldn't even be sure whether I was Ryu Seoa, or the man named Shin Changmo who lived in those memories.
But no amount of agonizing produced an answer, so I decided to accept both of my identities as myself.
Still, the memories of living as a man stretch several times longer, and aside from a hazy, half-forgotten infancy, that gap only widens with age — so my identity as an adult man remains the firmer of the two. Firm enough that I can never bring myself to think of myself as a woman.
Which is why moments like this one — when the father of "Ryu Seoa," no, of me, comes to shower me with affection — put me in a rather awkward position.
"Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?"
A blonde man peels back my blanket and settles in beside me.
Even if he is my own father, receiving this sort of doting affection from a man still feels uncomfortable and vaguely off-putting.
But if I showed it, I knew Father's feelings would be badly hurt, and I couldn't bring myself to return his affection enthusiastically either — my sanity simply wouldn't survive it.
"Mmmngh... Good morning, Father."
And so I awkwardly lean into him and force a smile, which is the very best the current me can manage.
"Seoa. Couldn't you try calling me 'Daddy' just once instead of 'Father'?"
Around the time my past-life memories had recovered more or less completely — when I was about eight — I had switched to the formal word for father and stopped acting like a clingy little child. Apparently, Father harbors a quiet grievance about it.
"Mmm... I'm sorry."
But no. It's simply impossible. The mere thought of myself cooing "Daddy, Daddy" while clinging to the man before me is enough to make my stomach turn on instinct.
"Haah. Every other kid keeps saying 'Daddy' and 'Mommy' well into adulthood, and our Seoa — you're wonderful in every way, but you're just too grown-up for your own good. Honestly, who do you take after? It's certainly not your mother."
Father pats my head and lets out a light sigh.
"Well, lacking a bit of aegyo is fine. Our Seoa is cute anyway. And I'm not going in to work today, for once — so I think I'll stay right here and lounge around with you!"
With that declaration, Father burrows deep into my blanket. I attempt an escape toward the living room, where Mother should be, but his arms clamp tight around my waist.
It isn't long, however, before my reliable reinforcements arrive.
"Honey? What are you doing in Seoa's room? If you've got so much time on your hands, quit bothering her and go put in a load of laundry."
Unprompted, Mother — who could still pass for a woman in the blush of youth — plants herself in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at Father with a withering look.
"Ah, uh — I was just, just popping in to say good morning to Seoa, that's all."
Father, who lives in healthy terror of his wife's anger, slinks pale-faced out of the room, and at last I am liberated.
"Seoa, was Daddy giving you a hard time first thing in the morning? I haven't made breakfast yet, so you can rest a little longer."
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I slept really well."
"Good. Then go wash up first, dear."
"Yes, Mother."
I fold up my blanket, gather a change of clothes, and head into the bathroom.
When I close the door and face the mirror, a small, delicate girl with pale gold hair looks back at me. She's rosy-cheeked and brimming with health, so obviously cherished and well-loved that anyone could tell at a glance.
I meet the girl's gray eyes, tinged faintly with blue. The eyes, once full of life, soon take on a hollow light.
The crushing frustration and despair that tormented me so bitterly in my past life had found me again. And I still haven't shaken them off.
But just as I did in my previous life, I have no intention of surrendering to those dark feelings.
Which means I have absolutely no intention of playing Go again in this body. It would be a lie to say I feel no lingering attachment — but I never want to taste that failure and despair a second time.
Simply living an ordinary life and returning the love my parents have given me — that is the whole purpose of my life now.
I don't imagine that the man who once poured every ounce of his passion into Go could ever be genuinely satisfied and happy with an ordinary life. But if I can at least look all right on the outside, that's enough.
The unfilial sin of my last life — a life that amounted to suicide — must not be repeated.
If you never try, you can never succeed. But you never fail, either.
My resolve, however, does not last long.
The moment I step out of the shower, I hear Father coughing violently.
"Honey, are you okay?"
"Ha ha, I'm fine. I'm fine. Don't worry."
Following Mother's voice, thick with worry, I run to the kitchen — and there is Father, forcing a smile, his hand soaked through with blood.
Father kept insisting he was fine, but pressed by Mother and me, he finally gave in and went to the emergency room. When the doctor finished the examination, he called for Mother alone, his face grave.
It wasn't difficult to guess that something serious was wrong with Father.
He was admitted to the hospital immediately, and I, eavesdropping on whatever fragments of conversation I could catch, learned the name of his illness.
Leukemia — a deadly disease also known as cancer of the blood. By a stroke of luck, Father's case was caught at a stage with a fairly high chance of treatment. But the costs would be anything but trivial, and he would have to endure a long stretch of life in a hospital bed.
"I'm sorry, Seoa. Mommy needs to stay with Daddy for a while. The doctors say they'll have him better in no time, so don't you worry. Grandpa's coming to pick you up soon, so you be good and listen to him, okay?"
Mother does her best to hide the darkness in her face as she speaks to me.
"...Yes, Mother."
Part of me wants to stay behind and help care for him. But I know that my presence would only make it harder for Father to face his treatment with any peace of mind.
I sit quietly in the hospital lobby, and before I know it Grandpa has arrived. He exchanges a few words with Mother, then comes to sit beside me.
"Our Seoa. You've grown so much, haven't you."
"Grandpa, it's been a while. You've gotten younger yourself."
I force down my feelings and manage a smile for him.
"Is that so? Thank you, even if it's just flattery."
Grandpa chuckles warmly and strokes my hair.
"Dad. I know Seoa's sensible and won't give you any trouble, but please take good care of her. Summer break's only got a few weeks left, so give her a hand with her homework now and then, too."
"Yes, yes. Don't you worry about a thing."
"Seoa. We'll all see each other again soon — you and Daddy both."
Mother waves and fades into the distance, and Grandpa leads me by the hand toward the parking lot where his car is waiting.
It had been morning when we left the house, but after the whirlwind day at the hospital, the sun is already drooping low toward the horizon.
Sunk in gloom, I stare blankly out the back-seat window until fatigue comes crashing down on me.
Having dragged this little body of mine all over the place, eavesdropping on this conversation and that, perhaps it's only natural.
I try to stay awake until we reach Grandpa's house, but my eyelids grow heavier bit by bit, and little by little I surrender to sleep.
"Huh..."
When I come to, I'm lying in an unfamiliar bed. Faint sunlight leaks through a small window — it's already morning.
How long did I sleep?
"Grandpa?"
I get up and walk through the house, but there's no sign of anyone. Instead, on the living room table sits a covered plate of fried rice and a memo.
Stepping out for a bit to buy some side dishes. Make sure you eat a proper breakfast. — Grandpa
Grandpa must have gone out to the market early in the morning. Ever since Grandma passed away, he's lived alone, so no doubt the refrigerator had run empty.
"Dang it."
He can't have been gone long — the grains of rice still hold a trace of warmth. I chew them slowly and carefully, clean the bowl to the last bite, and fill my stomach. And then the helplessness rolls over me.
I don't even know whether Father will recover — and there is nothing, nothing at all, that I can do.
Even if he pulls through safely, my parents will be facing dire financial straits.
Father will have to stop working indefinitely, and Mother, busy caring for him, won't be able to work for the time being either.
And the treatment costs alone will be anything but light. My parents aren't wealthy enough to absorb the expenses that lie ahead.
But what, exactly, could I possibly do?
Even with knowledge of the future, all I carry is a thin layer of surface-level information.
I know the names of a few companies that will do well — but even if I wanted to invest in their stocks, I'd have no way of knowing at what point their prices would climb. Scraping together trickle dividends on some unknowable schedule wouldn't help much anyway, and besides, I have no capital to begin with. No one is going to readily hand over investment money to a mere ten-year-old.
If I can't rely on passive income, is there nothing else I can do?
As I wander the house turning the problem over, my feet come to a stop in the study — before a monitor that has been left on.
On the screen glows the lobby of an online Go server. Grandpa, after all, has always played Go often as a hobby.
As if in a trance, I sit down in front of the monitor and take hold of the mouse.