The Dagger Unsheathe
The Huaihe Cup World Women's Go Championship. Game one of the finals. It was over….
Hui Yun 5-dan slumped back against her chair, drowning in the roar of the crowd. She thought she had won. No — she had won. The Chinese journalists in the gallery were celebrating, so that had to be it. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat, and her parched mouth begged for water. Could this really be called a victory? She had been beaten flat-out in a position she could have handed to a 5-kyu amateur and still won. Impossible. It was simply impossible. Before her, she could feel the blonde girl's gaze. Hui Yun 5-dan forced her eyes away.
She had woken the monster. A quietly sleeping thing, roused from its slumber by a pointless provocation. Two games remained, but Hui Yun's spirit had already broken.
"You played well."
Pale complexion, bloodshot eyes. A twisted, haggard smear at the corner of her mouth. There was nothing left of the sickly, wide-eyed innocent girl from before. Only a beguiling, maddened smile — something fearsome, like standing face to face with a demon.
Hui Yun 5-dan took her hand in a daze.
"Let's have a great game tomorrow, too."
The girl whispered at her ear in a northern dialect, low and bitter as frost. Hui Yun 5-dan shuddered and squeezed out a few thin tears.
Brushing past her, Ryu Seoa 1-dan declined the post-game interview on grounds of conditioning, leaving Hui Yun 5-dan, her composure gathered back together, to face the questions alone. The journalists hailed game one as a masterpiece, praising how Hui Yun had deployed her influence masterfully to consolidate a winning position.
They knew nothing. They could not even begin to imagine what Ryu Seoa 1-dan was.
'She' was a being that had no business existing in women's Go. The gap between them — one that no amount of struggling could ever close — had been seared into her bones. Even facing Lee Na-ye 9-dan, one of Korea's strongest female players, at her very best, Hui Yun had never once felt this vertiginous distance. Untouchable. Not days, not weeks — years would not be enough. Game two of the finals was tomorrow. Closing that gap was impossible unless a literal ghost guided her hand. How, exactly, was she supposed to beat an opponent who had been grinding her teeth at her from the very first move? Hui Yun 5-dan conducted the interview passively, talking up her opponent and belittling herself. It would be packaged as humility, but for Hui Yun 5-dan it amounted to a declaration of surrender. All she could cling to was the hope that the girl's condition might worsen. She stammered her way through the rest of the interview.
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"Cough… cough, cough." Once the emotions settled, exhaustion crashed over her — the price of pushing herself too far. Still, having vented the frustration, something hard knotted in her chest seemed to have come loose. Her fever had come down a little, and whether the medicine had eased the symptoms, the swelling in her throat had subsided somewhat.
"…." Lee Na-ye 9-dan, supporting me by the arm, was staring at me with wide, glittering eyes.
"What is it?"
"Seoa, you were so badass…."
I glanced over at her, and she gave some unreadable reaction.
"Sorry?"
Her face muscles went rigid. I couldn't help frowning.
"Hk…."
Lee Na-ye 9-dan flinched. Probably because of the state I was in right now.
"I'm sorry…."
"No, I loved it. So cool…. Still, what a shame…."
A suffocating comeback to the very end. I just hadn't managed to seize the win.
"There are still chances left, so it's fine." Two games still to come. I didn't want to lose. Even if it meant leaning on Shin Changmo's Go once again. Recovering my condition would be the key to winning tomorrow. The moment I reached the hotel, I collapsed into sleep.
A deep, restful night. A cold shower. Hotel breakfast. I spent the rest of the morning refining my opening strategy with Lee Na-ye 9-dan.
Ten-thirty. We left a little early and headed to the finals venue. Lee Na-ye 9-dan bought a coffee, I bought green tea, and we passed the time in the waiting room. As I sat there, Hui Yun 5-dan came in. She took a seat far away from us. Had she prepared well, I wondered. I had sharpened my dagger — what on earth had she brought to the table? Would she be her same cocky self today, the one so confident she'd waste moves just to taunt me? I gazed absently at Hui Yun's back, nursing a quiet anticipation.
Game time. Following the officials' guidance, we took our seats in the match hall. I took a sip of completely cooled green tea. In my past life I'd preferred coffee brewed from high-acid beans… but flooding this young body with caffeine was asking too much. My condition wasn't bad. Just like yesterday, Hui Yun 5-dan held White and I held Black. My first move was the komoku — the 3-4 point. Hui Yun 5-dan took hoshi, the star point. I claimed both komoku corners for territory, while Hui Yun took both star points in pursuit of development. From the upper-right komoku I extended two spaces, firming up my corner territory. Against Hui Yun's lower-right komoku she played a high approach; I attached in a diagonal shape, securing the corner's profit. Standard joseki play. White stretched along the right side while I broadened my influence along the bottom. The initiative was mine. I invaded the 3-3 point on the upper-left side. In this era, the move was considered taboo. The reason: the influence you surrendered was far too great for the territory you gained. But artificial intelligence had exposed that as nothing more than vague superstition. Influence means nothing if it cannot be converted into expansion. If you block the opponent's expansion with an invasion, there isn't even a loss to speak of — in the vast majority of cases, you come out ahead. A trade of territory for influence. I pressed the attack into the upper-left corner next. Three corners and the left side. And the bottom. Territory: taken. All that remained was to pierce White's enormous central framework. I slid my stones in, smooth as silk. Air superiority over the center belonged to White. A deep penetration of enemy airspace. Swift and tight as a strike fighter closing on a high-value target, hugging the terrain to get within range of the enemy's critical infrastructure. High enough to hide among the clouds. A flight path skimming the outermost edge where surface-to-air missile systems could barely reach. Targets. The mission assignments for each target, ranked by value, had been burned into memory long before takeoff. Clean, simultaneous target elimination. Rapidly stripping away the threats to friendly forces. Once the groundwork was laid, the special forces infiltrated as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A small detachment, digging in swiftly at the vital points. White could not afford to move rashly. Every time White tried to lift its foot from the front line and shift to the rear, Black's main force pinned it in place. While time bled away, a linkup operation unfolded. A force that had broken through on another front joined up with the special forces, securing a supply line. Now it was White's main body that found itself encircled. A finite window of opportunity to turn the situation around. White panicked and made a direction error — choosing, of its own accord, to fight on a losing battlefield. The final battle upon which its fate hung ended with dispiriting ease, given the forces committed. A massacre. A gap in territory so overwhelming it was almost embarrassing to call it a crushing defeat. I returned yesterday's humiliation with interest. It wasn't that I was still nursing a grudge over yesterday — but what needs settling, you settle.
Unexpectedly, Hui Yun 5-dan submitted quietly, picking up two stones and placing them on the board in resignation. A stillness entirely unlike yesterday. I turned toward the cameras and photojournalists of the Chinese broadcast stations and gave a small smile.