The Qualifiers
"Has she been possessed by a ghost, or what?"
Shim Ho-jun 9-dan rubbed his eyes as he replayed the footage of the qualifier match, again and again.
He had scaled one enormous mountain in Han Jaemin 9-dan, only to be told there was a jungle waiting on the other side.
He had assumed the opponent rising from the opposite bracket would be Park Seong-yoon 8-dan, without a doubt. Instead, the one who emerged was Ryu Seoa 2-dan.
With Park Seong-yoon, he'd crossed swords often enough to know exactly how strong the man was. Which made the uncertainty all the more unsettling.
Ryu Seoa 2-dan's true level was impossible to gauge.
He didn't make a habit of poring over female players' game records, but Ryu Seoa 2-dan was such an anomaly that he had checked her match history a few times.
It was hard to put into words, but her rhythm had felt like a complete mess.
Wildly uneven. Nothing steady about it.
The hallmark of an unpolished beginner. No periodic patterns born of long experience.
Under those conditions, mistakes multiply, consistency erodes, and the momentum needed to steer the board as a whole grows feeble.
No matter how devastating a player's individual moves, no matter how expertly they strike at an opponent's weak points, without the consistent vision and strength to command the flow of the entire game, they lose.
It's the same as how brilliant tactics mean nothing without a strategy behind them — a Pyrrhic victory, a local win with no clear purpose, can do more harm than good.
Common traits of a player who still lacks experience.
And yet, because Ryu Seoa 2-dan possessed fundamentals so impeccable they overwhelmed even seasoned male professionals, those weaknesses of hers stood out all the more starkly.
Normally, anyone who laid foundations that solid would have perfected their own tempo and rhythm long ago.
Perhaps it was that chaotic rhythm again, but there was no fixed mold to her Go, either.
Players who reach a certain level always carry a definitive color of their own.
But with her, every game felt different — like a child smearing whatever paint came to hand onto a blank canvas.
Naturally, the fluctuations would only get worse.
"Haah. Seriously, has a ghost taken up residence in her or something?"
But the Go on the screen was different.
The seasoned breathing of a master. Follow the graceful path of her stones and they blend together, playing a languorous harmony.
A fight along the upper side.
A gentle, unhurried opening that refused to be swept up in her opponent's pace — a soft, patient defense.
It drifted like the shimmering haze of a spring day, airy and faint, giving off a dreamlike warmth.
And just as one grew intoxicated by that softness, that mildness, the rhythm would shift in an instant.
A storm of passion that sent the ear, drenched in the mellifluous tones, ringing to its depths.
Bright chords at a breakneck tempo, and the echo of their reverberations.
As the stones wove together in beautiful concert, he found himself gasping in admiration again and again.
This was not a performance that an unskilled player could ever improvise.
Either she had been hiding her strength all this time, or she'd simply never needed to show it in full. One of the two.
To think an eleven-year-old had strength worth hiding.
What is this, a comic book?
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
While he was muttering frantically to himself, the alarm on his clock went off.
The Round 3 match at eleven o'clock was fast approaching.
It was the most critical game of all, the one that would decide who advanced to the main tournament — yet what filled his chest was not dread but a flutter of excitement.
He had studied her at the expense of his sleep, and in the end, had prepared nothing.
Though he doubted more time would have changed that.
How do you build a counter-strategy against a monster lurking in the abyss, one that hasn't even fully shown its face yet?
"This is going to be fun."
The 'monster' wearing the mask of a young girl had only stretched a single hand toward the surface.
Just how strong was the 'complete' Ryu Seoa 2-dan?
When the monster crawled up from the abyss and thrust its wicked, fearsome maw toward him — could he stand before it unbowed?
Shim Ho-jun 9-dan felt a spirit of adventure stir in him for the first time in ages. He switched off the monitor, went to the kitchen, and brewed his coffee slowly, without hurry.
Round 3. The final round of Group A.
Between Shim Ho-jun 9-dan and me, only one of us will earn the right to advance to the main draw of twenty-four.
Yesterday's match had run from morning until evening.
Before I'd started training my body, I would have been worn out — but with the conditioning I've built up, I can still hold my own. I slept well, too, and ate a proper breakfast, so my stomach's in fine shape.
An opponent who fought Yu Jeon-hun 9-dan to a standstill.
Unless I'm in perfect form, beating him won't come easy.
Worried my blood sugar might be running low, I pop a chocolate bar into my mouth ahead of time.
I'm still busily chewing the chocolate in my small mouth when Shim Ho-jun 9-dan appears.
True to his reputation as a handsome young Go pro in his early twenties, he cuts a striking figure. He was a player ranked above me in my past life, too, but looking up at him from my shorter height, he seems even more imposing than he did back then.
"I look forward to our game, Teacher Ryu."
"Mmf! Yes! I'll be learning a great deal from you, Teacher Shim."
"Haha. The honor is mine."
We exchange greetings, and a silence follows.
There's no reason to chat before a match and scatter your focus.
Ten minutes to start. The nigiri has decided it — I take Black.
I close my eyes quietly and warm up my mind.
Yesterday's victory.
Shim Ho-jun 9-dan won't probe and feel me out the way Park Seong-yoon 8-dan did.
He'll come at me with full force from the very first stone.
Which suits me fine.
Being underestimated because of the way I look is just everyday life at this point. I don't need a handicap like that — I never wanted one to begin with.
On the hour.
The referee announces the start, and the clock on the board begins to run.
I draw a deep breath and pick up a stone.
The final game of the qualifiers.
I reach for a fuseki I studied for years but never once brought out into the open.
An opening dismissed in this era as lacking substance and discarded from professional play long ago — then reevaluated in the future and refined into a cutting-edge, eminently practical framework.
Faced with a fuseki he's never seen before, how well will Shim Ho-jun 9-dan be able to respond?
It isn't fair, but today, I intend to win no matter what it takes.
Feeling a twinge of guilt, I watch for his response.