The Dasa Baekbyeon Gambit
The sun had risen.
A clear ray of sunlight slipped through the curtains and warmed the room.
I stretched my arms overhead, rose from the bed, and flung open the windows.
A cool breeze swept pleasantly through the space.
“If I win today… the hotel life will finally end.”
A mere bank security guard.
A salary so small it barely covered the basics, and being ignored as routine.
I had lived a life far from any five-star hotel.
Yet.
My life now had flipped 180 degrees.
The money that had piled up in my account was enough to make even a lifetime of saving my salary seem insufficient.
A CF model for the bank?
It had once been a fantasy I could never have imagined just a few months ago, and now it was reality.
Mentioning my name in media outlets and on YouTube no longer felt like a novelty.
“Yesterday it even appeared on the national news.”
National-level interest.
At this point, I had lived the kind of life others might envy.
But.
“Ah… why doesn’t it satisfy me?”
I turned my head and looked at the table.
The laptop displaying DeepStone.
Beside it lay the old joseki book.
Last night, the traces of my research for the match against Lu Quanyi remained.
Over the past three weeks,
I had studied specific joseki variations and run hundreds of simulations.
Memories of the talent “Go.”
AI changes.
Old joseki.
I had combined those three elements to research every possible variation that could appear on the board.
I had no desire to lose.
I wanted to win.
Of course I wanted to win the championship, but I had grown even hungrier for more.
The desire and ambition hidden in my chest had kept whipping me onward.
The more greedy I became, the hungrier I grew.
“I suppose it’s time to prepare.”
I ate breakfast, showered, and changed into the same shirt and pants from yesterday.
I straightened my appearance, combed my hair neatly, and swapped my shoes.
Standing before the mirror, I steadied my mind.
Then I descended to the first-floor lobby.
The elevator doors opened and reporters surged forward in a wave.
Shutter clicks.
Camera flashes.
The press’s gaze.
It was now familiar.
I naturally positioned myself in front of the photo wall.
I had given advance notice that I would only grant three pre-match interview questions.
The moderator began the interview.
“Player Kim In-ha, if you win the second game, the championship will be decided. Please share your resolve or one sentence about your feelings as you approach today’s match.”
“I will play a game that does not lose.”
The expected response.
It flowed directly into the next question.
“…Some have criticized your play for interfering with the opponent’s rhythm and disturbing the match. What is your stance on this?”
I lifted my head slightly.
Everyone held their breath.
I spoke calmly and briefly.
Yet I delivered the words with direct force.
“Not some. It’s the Chinese media, isn’t it?”
The impact was powerful.
The reporters’ surprise turned to shock.
Rapid typing sounds.
And the flushed faces of the Chinese journalists.
The moderator, sensing the shift, threw out her final question.
“Then will you accompany us again this time?”
I met her gaze squarely.
“Yes.”
A short, resolute answer.
“Ten times or a hundred times… I won’t let you go alone today.”
A murmur rippled through the reporters.
The domestic journalists looked somewhat satisfied.
The Chinese journalists glared as if they wanted to tear me apart.
A stark contrast in temperature between Korean and Chinese reporters.
The atmosphere grew heavy.
At that moment.
*Ding!*
The lobby elevator doors opened.
Lu Quanyi, 9-dan.
Dressed in the same white shirt and black slacks as yesterday.
With an expressionless face, he stepped out slowly.
In that instant, one Chinese reporter quickly approached and whispered something in his ear.
*Surely about my interview content.*
No, not quite.
Lu Quanyi’s eyebrows twitched faintly.
A momentary flicker, unmistakable.
Yet he quickly composed himself.
Then he glanced at me.
Fierce emotion burned in his eyes.
I did not meet his gaze.
Instead, I gave the moderator a subtle signal.
“Ah. That will be all for now. Player Kim In-ha, thank you.”
I bowed my head briefly.
I exited the photo wall and walked slowly toward the tournament hall.
Hot stares burned into my back, but I paid them no mind.
*My purpose has been achieved.*
A disgraced rival suspected of cheating.
A means to psychologically bind Lu Quanyi, 9-dan, during the match.
No stronger pressure card than the interview.
I headed to the studio.
I sat in the designated seat before the neatly arranged board.
Suddenly, Park Ji-man’s words came to mind.
“Professionals don’t say they’re ‘shaking’ when discussing the championship. It means something that looks like it might be taken but isn’t, and vice versa. You have to know how to take it.”
Especially for newcomers, failing to overcome the pressure of the finals often leads to collapse.
I accepted that as a sign that the opportunity had arrived.
*I will win.*
I steadied my mind once more.
A trace of tension.
A pleasant thrill.
The pressure had transformed into focus.
It was even more terrifyingly quiet.
Beyond composure, I felt strangely alien to myself.
*…This state is new to me.*
A faint unease stirred.
If this continued, I might make a mistake on the board.
At that moment.
*Tap-tap-tap.*
Faint footsteps and the subtle presence behind me.
I did not turn. I repeated my breathing to maintain peak concentration.
Pulling the chair, Lu Quanyi, 9-dan sat opposite me.
The pre-match check concluded.
The referee signaled the start.
I held the white stones from the first game, while Lu Quanyi, 9-dan held the black.
We bowed to each other.
*Tap.*
The second game of the Ciel Bank Cup Finals.
First move.
Upper right corner stone.
I placed a stone in the lower left corner.
Black occupied the lower right.
*Tap.*
I removed my hand and placed a diagonal stone on the upper right.
An early intention to complicate the board.
Lu Quanyi, 9-dan did not respond.
He took the upper left corner stone.
*Tap.*
I did not stop.
I placed another diagonal on the stone.
This time, black removed his hand and responded with a garlic shape.
Tactically sound, yet solid and thick.
In such positions, the AI’s recommended next move was usually the triple approach.
It balanced black and white.
Normally, one would prefer that balance.
Early equilibrium was merely preparation for middle-game fighting Go.
But today was different.
I did not play the triple approach.
Instead, I quickly handled the upper left.
I gained a little on the stones but built influence toward the right side.
*Up to this point, according to plan.*
I focused on the upper right.
Black had removed his hand from the diagonal.
Normally, one would press the black stone on the diagonal to build influence.
But I…
*Cannot play it plainly.*
I rejected the obvious move.
I rejected the obvious flow.
*Tap.*
I placed an eye-point diagonal on the opposite side.
At first glance, it resembled a double approach.
It widened the entire board in a slanted manner.
It also induced black to cut off my eye-point.
A retro joseki that rarely appears in modern Go, where AI opening theory dominates.
Yet I had brought out this joseki.
The reason was simple.
*A joseki without compromise.*
The moment one retreated, one side would clearly suffer.
One would gain, the other would lose.
…Today, I had no intention of compromising.
* * *
“In-ha. What is this? Dasa Baekbyeon, no, Dasa Cheonbyeon!”
Park Ji-man could not hide his excitement.
He ruffled his hair and raised his voice.
“Baduk fans, this is what we call a Dasa Baekbyeon. It’s a joseki that opens the entire board widely.”
He gesticulated wildly, spittle flying.
Since the arrival of AI, the joseki that modern Go rarely uses had captivated him.
“Too many variations. Even reading them out is impossible. That’s why it’s called Dasa Baekbyeon and Dasa Cheonbyeon.”
Dasa Baekbyeon.
A representative of past influence-based Go.
It widened the board slantedly to control space, pressuring the opponent or inducing invasion.
Yet because the joseki itself was so complex, proper compromise between black and white was difficult.
“First, the joseki itself is insanely difficult. One mistake and it collapses. Even at pro level, the whole group can die.”
Ten years since he retired from the scene and became a YouTube commentator.
It had been a long time since he last saw the Dasa Baekbyeon, and his emotions surged.
“…In the AI era, influence Go is the mainstream, but Dasa Baekbyeon is a battle for space. It becomes complicated and uncertain.”
Today’s pros evaluated the Dasa Baekbyeon this way.
Romantic, but risky.
That was why few openly employed it.
“But In-ha brought it out?”
The live stream captured Lu Quanyi, 9-dan, deep in thought.
“Because the opponent is playing the AI-expected Go…”
Park Ji-man added slowly.
“He has confidence. Refusing standardization and the self-belief that he can break Lu Quanyi’s Go with irregular moves.”
In fact, Kim In-ha’s trap had succeeded.
Lu Quanyi, 9-dan had thought for a long time from the start.
Rebellion against losing the initiative.
The Dasa Baekbyeon variations that followed.
And more thinking.
It continued in an endless loop.
Park Ji-man marveled.
“Hey, In-ha, you really… do you see it, everyone? Lu Quanyi can’t play the next move easily. Too many variations. Too much to think about. But In-ha doesn’t even hesitate. The Dasa Baekbyeon research is finished.”
The viewers of the YouTube channel ‘Park Ji-man’s Baduk in’ were in a festival atmosphere.
-This might be a game that will carve a mark in the Go world.
-Heartfelt. I thought romance had vanished from Go, but seeing the Dasa Baekbyeon again…
-I’m working hard on the commentary. I’ll sponsor a little, so buy me coffee.
-If I win today, I want to know how the Chinese will react.
*Tap.*
Lu Quanyi, 9-dan played after repeating the long think.
“Eh? What is this? A bad move? Even if compromising, so loose?”
A mistake at the end of the long think.
A choice to narrow the space and follow the stones.
This made In-ha’s Dasa Baekbyeon an overwhelmingly successful choice.
Park Ji-man could not hide his excitement.
“Then In-ha is much ahead? Early middle game, but AI says it’s like home or ahead. And the white stones on the upper side? This must be cut. If not cut, you can’t win. Then what? In-ha’s shaking is fierce.”
The commentator Park Ji-man was also reading the situation.
He could not have been unaware that Lu Quanyi, 9-dan knew it.
Yet Lu Quanyi, 9-dan could not play the next move easily and was lost in thought.
Dasa Baekbyeon.
The variations spread wide and long.
The slanted influence did not stabilize.
Invasion, fighting, and variation were unavoidable.
That meant the Go Kim In-ha wanted had to be followed.
“Lu Quanyi is thinking again? Of course. If loose, you can’t close the gap. If you rush, you’ll be attacked immediately. Your head must hurt.”
Park Ji-man and the viewers enjoyed the moment leisurely.
“So, what will you do? Going to the bathroom? Ah, no, you can’t. In-ha will chase you, right?”
The next move.
A decisive point.
At such critical moments, Lu Quanyi, 9-dan would leave the seat.
And each time he returned, he would place the 100% Blue Spot.
Each time, he would gradually reduce the gap with the opponent.
But this time was different.
Kim In-ha had declared in multiple interviews that he would not let anyone go alone.
That was why, even as the early middle game ended, he had not gone to the bathroom even once.
At that moment.
“Eh? Eh? He’s going. He’s going. Lu Quanyi is up!”
Park Ji-man shouted in surprise.
The image of Lu Quanyi, 9-dan leaving the studio screen.
“In-ha, hurry and chase! Go stop him from cheating!”
Park Ji-man was triumphant.
As if daring someone to try.
Yet.
In the studio camera, Kim In-ha did not move even one step.
He sat still, quietly watching the board.
Confusion crossed Park Ji-man’s face.
“W-what, In-ha? What are you doing? Go already.”
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds…
The time away from the seat grew longer.
Finally, after one full minute, In-ha still did not chase.
Only then did Park Ji-man realize.
Kim In-ha had no intention of following.
Shocked, he muttered blankly.
“You… what are you thinking?”