A Sharp Retort
“But, Mr. Byun Woo-bin.”
I let my expression soften.
My lips stayed firm, my tone cool.
“Why? You think I lost? As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.”
Byun Woo-bin’s eyes flickered with surprise for a split second.
“No… I was going to say go?”
“Yes.”
A short answer.
Yet beneath it lay steel.
Realizing I was being serious, Byun Woo-bin said,
“…I’m sorry. I was careless.”
The apology was formal, but sincerity was absent.
His face was strained.
His jaw was set.
His pride was unmistakable.
“It’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes.”
I answered calmly.
Byun Woo-bin forced a smile.
“…I hope you reach the finals of the qualifiers. I was curious about your strength, since you played a teaching game with Yuzuha.”
What was this?
This childish provocation.
Why was it aimed at me with such hostility?
There was no reason to sit still and endure it.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
I paused, then mirrored his words.
“I wanted to gauge how strong the top Korean professionals really are.”
A brief silence fell between us.
No one was conceding an inch.
It wasn’t even a fight, yet the atmosphere felt heavy.
He must be annoyed.
Byun Woo-bin’s brows furrowed sharply.
An amateur.
Receiving words like that from a domestic top-ranked player.
It would sting his pride and amuse him at the same time.
He pressed his lips together, gave a slight bow, and turned on his heel.
I had no desire to continue the sparring either.
I returned the gesture with a light nod.
At that moment,
“Inha-oppa!”
I turned my head and saw Yuzuha descending the stairs with Kim Min-ho.
Yuzuha waved brightly and hurried toward me.
“Did we keep you waiting? We just finished too!”
“No, I just wrapped up. Min-ho’s here too?”
“Yes, oppa. We ran into each other on the way.”
Kim Min-ho bowed neatly.
We had only recently met through the study group, yet he was always polite.
Unlike the awkward figure standing off to the side.
“Huh? Woo-bin-ah?”
Yuzuha spotted Byun Woo-bin belatedly and waved.
Byun Woo-bin’s expression changed instantly.
He approached Yuzuha with a gentle smile.
“Hello. Did you win at Go?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Me? Nothing. I won easily.”
Byun Woo-bin smiled relaxedly.
“As expected, Byun Woo-bin.”
“You must have overcome your slump.”
“Yeah.”
Yuzuha smiled brightly and turned to me.
“It’s all thanks to Inha-oppa.”
At that instant,
I noticed Byun Woo-bin’s face stiffen for a moment.
It was fleeting, but I caught it.
“Really? That’s good to hear.”
Byun Woo-bin tried to smile casually.
“I have something to do, so I’ll head out first. Let’s meet after the qualifiers.”
“Okay, be careful.”
Byun Woo-bin raised his hand in farewell and hurried away.
His retreating figure disappeared unusually fast.
Yuzuha, turning back, approached with a clear smile.
“Let’s go too. There’s a really delicious tteokbokki place right around the corner.”
“Tteokbokki?”
I asked, and Yuzuha nodded with sparkling eyes.
“Yes, it’s the spicy tteokbokki cooked in a sauce. It’s really delicious.”
“You should try it too, oppa. I’ve been eating it since my study group days, and I guarantee it’s good.”
“Really?”
Listening to their descriptions, I felt my curiosity rise.
Spicy tteokbokki with sauce?
An unlikely combination.
Yet somehow the taste was already vivid in my mouth.
Somehow, it sounded appealing.
Personally I wasn’t a big fan of tteokbokki, but today I was looking forward to it.
“Shall we go?”
We turned in the same direction.
At that moment Yuzuha exclaimed cheerfully.
“Today I’ll treat! I’m a senior in the pro league, after all!”
“Then I should treat, right?”
Kim Min-ho laughed and chimed in.
I chuckled softly and walked alongside them.
The clear afternoon sky matched my mood perfectly.
***
Korea Baduk Association first-floor lobby.
Next to the souvenir shop.
A man emerged from the corridor leading to the Baduk TV Studio.
Early forties.
His hair was permed to hide thinning.
Wearing a black shirt and black slacks.
A worn crossbody bag slung over his shoulder.
He was Koo, a reporter from Baduk Tongsin, one of Korea’s leading Go publications.
“Hmm.”
His gaze was fixed beyond the entrance on the three people exiting the building.
Kim Min-ho 8-dan.
Yuzuha 3-dan.
And
“Amateur Kim In-ha….”
Koo could not tear his eyes from In-ha’s back in the center.
At first he had simply thought of him as an amateur.
At the Presidential Cup,
he had beaten top amateur No. 1 Park Jun-soo
and the likely study group entrant Kim Tae-ho,
yet he had not paid much attention.
To be precise,
he had not even been interested from the beginning.
The reason was simple.
He was an amateur.
And more importantly, he was too old.
In the AI era, professionals over thirty sometimes still had their prime.
But for most pros, “thirty” was
a death sentence.
Yet
“Just defeated Kim Dong-gyu 7-dan yesterday and Lin Sui 8-dan today?”
That was the latest rumor he had heard from a Korea Baduk Association staff member.
Of course, amateurs occasionally cause upsets in pro tournaments.
But
someone who was neither a study group graduate
nor a typical office worker
beating two professionals?
Unprecedented.
At the age of twenty-nine, no less.
“…He played a teaching game with Yuzuha? An amateur?”
Koo muttered and shook his head.
Yuzuha 3-dan.
Even before her pro debut, she had been hailed as a prodigy female player across Korea and Japan.
Even if she was in a slump,
would she accept a teaching game from an amateur?
Absurd.
In the past he would have laughed it off.
Yet
“If it was Byun Woo-bin who said that….”
The words changed everything.
Byun Woo-bin 5-dan.
The future of Korean Go.
After winning the Open Rookie King this year, he had climbed the ranks relentlessly.
A player whose tomorrow was more anticipated than today.
Yet he had engaged in a strange spar with Kim In-ha today.
He had overheard parts of it,
but it was clearly no ordinary exchange.
His attitude.
His tone.
And even the expression that flashed by.
He was on guard.
Koo felt his heart race with inexplicable anticipation.
He had graduated from a Go department and entered this field decades ago.
Those who were talented kept succeeding.
Those who weren’t kept disappearing.
It was cruel, but that was the reality of the Go world.
The size of one’s talent.
But recently,
cracks in that system had begun appearing.
Mumyeong.
One day he appeared like a comet on Samgukji Baduk,
defeating Chinese players ranked in the top 100 one after another.
With the instinct of a reporter, he declared:
He was not one of the famous players we knew.
Meaning
he was very likely an overlooked rookie.
And
Kim In-ha.
Just like Mumyeong, he suddenly stood out
following a similar trajectory.
All those coincidences no longer seemed coincidental.
Koo slowly lifted the corner of his mouth.
“…I should dig into this a bit, Kim In-ha.”
Where to start?
Ah.
The amateur tournament where Kim In-ha first won.
The 7th Cheongbuk Construction Cup Baduk Tournament would be a good place to begin.
***
Soft classical music played.
Comfortable seats.
A Mercedes S-Class that could almost be called a moving hotel.
Instead of the usual subway,
today he was riding the branch manager’s car to the Korea Baduk Association.
“You must be busy, but I made you come all this way for me….”
“Don’t say that. I do it because I want to. Why are you apologizing, Mr. Kim?”
At those words, I had nothing more to say.
Just
grateful and apologetic at the same time.
The branch manager had taken annual leave to match my qualifier schedule.
He had picked me up in front of my house in the morning
and personally driven me through Seoul.
Is this even a normal workplace situation?
I was genuinely grateful.
“Here, drink this. It’s yuja tea. It’ll replenish your energy and clear your head.”
A warm cup rested in the cup holder.
His thoughtful care made my heart flutter.
“Branch Manager.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you… every time.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t do this because I want to hear thanks.”
The branch manager smiled and shook his head.
Then, suddenly,
he changed his expression and looked at me with serious eyes.
“Mr. Kim, don’t forget me.”
“Yes?”
“If you succeed later, you must say it was thanks to me.”
Instantly, a chuckle escaped me.
“Sorry. I should have mentioned it when I won the Presidential Cup.”
“No, no. Mr. Kim has class. If you’re going to do it, do it after winning a tournament. That way I’ll have something to be proud of too.”
Those words sank deep into my heart.
The feeling of being relied upon.
An emotion I had never experienced in my life.
“By the way, Mr. Kim.”
The branch manager continued cautiously.
“No rush. When Mr. Kim has time….”
“Yes.”
“Could you come to our Go gathering once?”
“A Go gathering?”
“Yeah. It’s called the Gi-woo-hoe. A place where people who like Go gather. You’d know a lot of good people if you join—doctors, professors, wealthy people, that sort of thing.”
“……”
I was at a loss for words.
High-income bracket.
Privileged class.
People I had never met or mingled with in my life.
Meeting them through Go and building relationships.
It was both bewildering and strangely fascinating.
“What do you think? Could you come?”
“Yes. It’s a request. I’ll definitely go.”
“Haha. Thank you, Mr. Kim. Thanks to you, my face will be saved.”
While we laughed and chatted,
we had arrived near the Korea Baduk Association.
“Get off here.”
“No. There’s a public parking lot nearby. Let’s park there and walk together.”
…Together?
The nuance was a bit odd, but I let it pass.
After parking,
we headed toward the Korea Baduk Association building together.
“Here… this is the Korea Baduk Association.”
As we approached the entrance, the branch manager’s face flushed red.
His expression was as excited as a child seeing a favorite celebrity.
“Mr. Kim. Is that the Hongik-hyeon Sabeom-nim?”
A middle-aged pro passing by on the stairs.
The branch manager held his breath and stared at him.
As if he were face-to-face with his favorite idol.
His eyes were filled with anticipation.
“Shouldn’t we get his autograph now?”
“Yes. Everyone will be on edge right now.”
“Right. Probably.”
His voice was genuinely regretful.
The branch manager quietly pressed his lips together.
Now I understood why he had come all this way with me.
Perhaps this place
was a “holy ground” where the branch manager could see his favorite people to his heart’s content.
“Inha-hyung.”
A familiar voice.
I turned around.
“Oh, Min-ho-ya.”
I raised my hand in greeting.
The branch manager beside me looked at me with a startled expression.
As if asking Do you know Kim Min-ho 8-dan?
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Me too. By the way, who’s the person next to you?”
“Ah, the branch manager of the company where I work.”
As soon as I introduced him,
the branch manager, as if he had been waiting, extended his hand.
“Are you Kim Min-ho Sabeom-nim?”
“Ah, yes.”
“I’m a fan. I was deeply moved by last year’s Cheongpung Construction Cup finals.”
“Eh… t-thank you.”
Kim Min-ho looked flustered.
I was surprised too.
I knew the branch manager liked Go,
but I didn’t know he followed domestic tournaments down to the finals.
“Hey, Min-ho-ya.”
“Yes?”
“Could you give me an autograph?”
I asked cautiously.
“An autograph? Sure. I’ll get paper and a pen from inside.”
Just as Kim Min-ho turned to leave,
as if by magic,
the branch manager held a fountain pen and a hanji fan.
“Please sign here.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
The branch manager had come here intending to get an autograph.
After carefully taking the commemorative photo,
a smile of someone who had everything spread across the branch manager’s face.
He looked genuinely happy.
Seeing that, my mood lifted for no reason.
“Mr. Kim, then good luck. Win and see you next week!”
Waving as he walked away.
I bowed in greeting and climbed the stairs with Kim Min-ho.
Third floor.
Corridor in front of the qualifier match room.
There
stood Lu Yuan 6-dan,
the opponent for today’s match.
The moment our eyes met,
a brief but intense tension sliced through the air.
Rematch.
Ranked 92nd in the current Chinese Weiqi Association.
The player I had defeated once as “Mumyeong” on Jang Yu-na 2-dan’s broadcast.
And this time too,
I win.
Kim In-ha.