The Meijin
Kimura, the official recorder, held his breath as he observed the great match.
Even facing the strongest player in Japan, the girl's aura remained unnaturally serene, her fingers moving the stones with a graceful, dignified poise. Impeccable etiquette, flawlessly measured in every respect. There was not a single thing he could fault.
Click.
A calm resonance rang out, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He wanted to lose himself in the lingering sound for a moment longer, but Kimura did not forget his duty as recorder. Swallowing his regret, he jotted down by hand the position of the move and the time remaining.
His first impression of Ryu Seoa, 2-dan, had been nothing remarkable at all.
Simply a pure, adorable girl whose innocent charm brought a fond smile to anyone watching her. But there had been nothing in her appearance that suggested she was anything out of the ordinary.
Yet the moment the second hand on the clock began to move, the sparkle in the girl's eyes sank into a dull, murky shade.
A friendly exhibition match — an event game between opponents of starkly unequal skill, played in a light, casual atmosphere. That, it turned out, had been his mistake.
A crushing weight and pressure hung over the board, reminiscent of the final match of a major title tournament.
The Meijin's fighting spirit was ferocious as well. Like a gladiator in the arena, he burned with the will to destroy his opponent — as though failing to kill meant dying himself.
But for all the intensity of both players, the opening was purely profit-driven. Neither the Meijin nor Ryu Seoa 2-dan employed aggressive tactics; the moves flowed out softly, one after another.
It began on the right side — a subtle, layered contest of wills, rich with implication.
A fierce psychological battle concealing an immense depth of intent.
On the surface it appeared utterly tranquil, yet at any moment either of them might produce the dagger hidden at their breast and strike for the other's vitals.
After a tangle of intricate calculations and psychological warfare, the Meijin, holding White, was the first to throw the decisive punch.
The battleground was the sky — the center of the board.
Unlike the sides and corners, where stones could quickly plant their feet on solid ground, a stone in the center stands isolated with nothing to lean on. Open in every direction, it offers countless possibilities, while the established theory underpinning it remains far thinner than for the edges or corners.
It is a place that demands both expertise and seasoned intuition. The smallest mistake leads directly to collapse, and collapse, in turn, to death.
It might not be quite as difficult as building a space station, but in Go as well, constructing a stronghold in the center is a comparatively daunting undertaking.
Pouring in large numbers of stones there is inefficient — yet if you neglect it, you hand your opponent the freedom to extend outward in whichever direction they please.
A dazzling struggle for command of the skies.
Ryu Seoa 2-dan unleashed maneuvers that brought an air show to mind — slipping free as if about to be captured, then vanishing gracefully beyond reach before one's eyes could refocus.
The Meijin was not outdone. He assembled a powerful fleet and hurled it forward. Befitting the strongest player in Japan, the formation of his white-stone squadron was beautiful enough to captivate the gaze of anyone who saw it — and ruthlessly efficient besides.
Watching the black and white flight formations, their contrasting hues entangling in midair, Kimura found himself swept away in rapture.
The Meijin drew a slow breath.
He had misjudged the girl. She was pouring everything she had into this match, every bit as much as he was.
His anger toward her had, at some point, transformed into respect and reverence. He could count on one hand the opponents who had stirred such feelings in him — perhaps only his late teacher, and Yu Jeon-hun 9-dan, the strongest knight of Korea.
There were many professional players stronger than Ryu Seoa 2-dan. Her reading ability and concentration were, at best, upper-mid-tier; among female players she would rank respectably high, but she was by no means exceptional. A glance at the clock confirmed it easily enough. Forty minutes to ten — she had barely a quarter of his remaining time.
And yet he respected her all the same, for one reason: she was still standing.
The entanglement on the right side in the opening had been so fiendishly complex that the two of them had burned through two of their allotted three hours on it alone. But the girl had unfolded that knotted skein with astonishing insight and intuition, unpicking it with practiced ease.
Even he, a grown man, had felt his head would burst — yet this girl, weighing less than half of what he did, had overcome the brutal physical toll through sheer force of will.
Then came the aerial battle in the center. Teetering on the edge as she must have been, she never let it show — sitting ramrod straight, she wove out moves of startling concentration, each one dense with meaning and contemplation.
There was not a single move born of hope for luck. A perfect balance of attack and defense — a straight, unskewed purgation of the board.
Even as he pressed her time shortage against her, forcing complex variations upon her, he caught himself wishing her body were stronger.
She was a player who overcame her physical limitations through exceptional insight, mental fortitude, and the seasoned craft of hard-won experience. And unlike so many female professionals who carried a somewhat emotional streak, no feeling ever showed in her play.
Had he not seen her face, he would have taken her for a veteran senior player long past his prime.
To call her merely a Korean prodigy among women would be an insult.
This was Go that could only come from someone who had studied game records until they coughed blood, day and night without rest.
For a player so young to possess this depth of life-or-death resolve and such fundamentals — it was proof that she had lived more fiercely than anyone alive.
Her achievements were not something she had been born with. They were something she had seized.
And watching the girl still unmoved, detached, contemplating the board with serene clarity, he knew that what she held in her hands now would never be enough for her.
With reverence in his heart, the Meijin cheered Ryu Seoa 2-dan's challenge from the depths of his being — and stoked his fighting spirit higher still.