The Demon Blade's Second Victim
Winning-Streak Match — Round Two, Day Four.
Today's opponent: Xian Liu 7-dan of China.
Like Fujisawa Natsuyo 9-dan, whom I faced yesterday, these are players who would hold their own even against ordinary male professionals.
Xian Liu 7-dan. A female player whose face appears regularly even in the main draws of the open tournaments, the ones dominated by men.
Which meant that perhaps, today, not a single mistake would be forgiven.
I took Black and placed a star point on the right side; Xian Liu answered with a 3-3 invasion. At move 5, I extended two spaces to reinforce the upper right corner, and she struck at the lower right with a one-space pincer.
Move 7. A high pincer, two spaces up. Move 8. White plays the neck attachment.
The opening of the Demon Slayer joseki — a sequence so labyrinthine and treacherous that even professional players flinch at it, one that can sprawl into avalanches and grand trade-off variations.
If she had sharpened this wicked blade to hand it to me with that unsettling smile of hers, then I had better be prepared to take the blow.
Black 9. A one-space extension on the third line.
If White pressed from above, I would take profit while Xian Liu built thickness — an exchange neither side could complain about, all things considered.
But if she slid down to the third line to block, there would be nothing polite about my retreat.
"…"
Xian Liu 7-dan blocked exactly where I had hoped she wouldn't.
Yesterday's game had descended into such a savage brawl that I was driven into byo-yomi; apparently she had no intention of making today easy either.
A perfectly sound strategy.
Winning as an individual would be ideal, but this tournament was, in the end, a team affair. I was the last runner left for Korea, while China still had three players and Japan two.
If you could grind your opponent down physically, the runners who came after you would inherit the advantage.
I unscrewed the cap of the tumbler I'd brought and took a sip of lukewarm green tea.
In truth, I'd bought it planning to take protein supplements, but the gym director had scolded me — you can't even do ten push-ups and you want supplements? Just eat your meals properly — and I'd been so deflated, standing there mid-research with my heart full of hopeful expectations, that I'd nearly shed a tear or two… Still, I had no leisure for stray thoughts right now.
I cleared my head and glanced back at the board.
A position I had researched thoroughly.
If I could drag this into a free-for-all and seize the win, I could make White pay the price for choosing adventure over the easy road.
But my opponent hadn't plunged in this aggressively without preparation either.
She had surely replayed this position countless times with the other Chinese players on the trip.
The moment I pushed up with Black 11, Xian Liu blocked. When I cut with Black 13, White 14 went searching for a way out.
I sealed in the isolated white stone.
White responded by driving into the vulnerable corner.
If I blocked White's advance preemptively before it reached the right side, the corner would be more than half surrendered. A black stone stranded in the corner — a shape that could never live on its own. If I captured the surrounding white stones, I could salvage part of the group, but I would have to hand over the corner entirely.
Still, with my positions on the bottom and right sides solidified, the trade left us on even footing.
I abandoned the corner without hesitation and pincered the lower left.
Every phase of the game, she answered me head-on. No concessions, no retreat — the standoff simply continued. Even through the endless carnage, her concentration never wavered. As the exchanges piled up, so did the fatigue.
If my fundamentals hadn't been a step ahead, I would have been backed into a corner long ago.
We had each played the best move available. What separated us, in the end, was a razor-thin difference in understanding.
A small difference — but more than enough to decide a game.
A half-point victory.
Two straight wins.
And yet the road ahead remained pitch dark.
I needed three wins for the tournament title, and every player left on the slate was formidable. Worse still — while I had to grind through the schedule without a single day's rest, I would be facing elite women's professionals who enjoyed generous gaps between their games.
The game had begun at two in the afternoon. After trading brief bows with Xian Liu 7-dan and fielding a handful of reporters' questions, it was already past five.
By the time I'd finished dinner with my mother — who had come to cheer me on at the venue using a coupon the hotel provided — at the hotel's upscale Korean restaurant, and driven the hour-plus back home, it was nearly eight.
The moment I walked through the door, drowsiness crashed over me. With no time to prepare for tomorrow's game, I did nothing but brush my teeth before collapsing face-down onto the bed.
My mother shook me awake. I rose groggily, freshened up quickly, and came out to find a kitten circling around my feet.
"Yonnie. Did you sleep well?"
I lifted Aine up and rubbed my cheek against hers, savoring the soft, downy texture of her fur.
Carrying her to the kitchen, I scooped out some canned food for her.
"Eat up, you little rascal. Hehe."
I stroked the kitten fondly as she fell upon the salmon treats with reckless abandon.
Leaving Aine to her private moment of bliss, I went to change. Ever since my public activities began, my mother had stuffed my closet full. If I threw on any old thing and looked slovenly, she would throw another one of her fits, so I had to dress the part properly.
A white blouse trimmed with frills that I could never have brought myself to wear sober, and a layered black skirt. I tied the blouse with a ribbon and stepped out to the living room, where my mother's eyes lit up.
"Seoa, let me do your hair!"
There was no point objecting. I was older than her in real years, so whining about it felt absurd — and I had let go of so many things, in so many ways, a long time ago.
"Your opponent today is a Japanese player, I heard?"
"Yes. Megumi Yuzu 8-dan. The Honorary Women's Honinbo."
A title granted only to those who won Japan's richest women's tournament five years running. This lifelong honor belonged, at present, to one player alone: Megumi Yuzu 8-dan.
The queen who had reigned over Japanese women's Go for the better part of an era.
She might well prove an even more difficult opponent than Fujisawa Natsuyo 9-dan.
"She sounds like quite the remarkable person."
"She is. A genuinely tough opponent."
"No need to push yourself. You've already won two, haven't you? No one's going to say a word if you lose."
"I know. I won't overdo it."
Difficult, yes — but not unwinnable.
In my days as an active pro, I had met monsters far worse than her, again and again. Quite a few of their faces were still familiar even now. I was ignorant of the women's scene, having paid it little attention, but the open tournaments were full of players I'd crossed blades with more than once.
Opponents against whom I couldn't even promise a fifty percent win rate. If a wall like this was enough to stop me, then all that remained was a string of frustrations.
Telling my mother I wouldn't push myself, I steeled my resolve anyway — out of sheer stubbornness, if nothing else.
"There. All done, hehe."
With my braided hair swept up and pinned, I looked, altogether, like a noble lady out of the Middle Ages.
"Wow, I'm pretty."
"Aren't you, though?"
I responded mechanically, without inflection, and my mother beamed as if she were the one being complimented. If it made her happy, that was enough for me.
"I do worry I'm taking up too much of your time. Should we leave around ten again today?"
"You can take a taxi today, Mom!"
A minimum of two hours round trip — and then she'd have to wait around until the game ended. It was no small burden.
"Honestly, Seoa. You're carrying Korean Go on your back, fighting all alone out there — how could I possibly send my own daughter off in a taxi like some stranger?"
But my mother would not bend, and I knew from experience that arguing further would change nothing.
"All right, I understand. Thank you, Mother."
It seemed that if I wanted to compete without burdening anyone, I might need to hire a manager after all. That would, of course, be a question of money… but if I added this tournament's prize money to the pot, it might just work out.
Apparently, I had found yet another reason to win.