Chapter 6: WY Cup Amateur Championship

The first day of the WY Cup National Women’s Amateur Go Championship main draw.

“Ha…”

Lee Jia, ranked second among research students, lets out a deep sigh.

Once called a genius girl, a prodigy, she’s now 17.
Hardly an age to still be called a girl.

When she first ranked high among research students, becoming a pro seemed just within reach.
But this year marks her fourth year stuck in the same spot.

With the 19-year-old age limit, only two years remain.

Since this isn’t an international tournament that awards pro entry points, performing well or not won’t affect her pro aspirations, but the prize money is tempting.

Plus, getting knocked out early in a tournament with no pros would be a cold wake-up call that her talent only goes so far.
It’d help her come to terms with reality.
She’s made excuses—nerves, bad condition, bad luck—but if her skill was enough, she’d have become a pro by now.

“I’ve got to do well…”

Lee Jia mutters to herself, sighing softly and checking the time.

9:18 a.m. About 30 minutes until the round of 32 begins.

Sipping a strawberry latte she bought on the way, she fuels her brain with sugar.

“Hey, Jia unnie, have you heard of Ryu Seo?”

Savoring the sweetness and a fleeting moment of happiness, she’s interrupted by a junior, ranked third among female research students, two years younger, asking about an unfamiliar name.

“Hm? Ryu Seo? No.”

“They say she got a sponsor’s seed straight to the main draw. Not a research student, so who is she…?”

A sponsor’s seed.
If Lee Jia had fought through qualifiers, she’d be furious just knowing such a thing existed, but having earned her main draw spot through recent wins, she’s not too annoyed.

“Eh, probably some amateur master? Maybe a tournament prizewinner.”

Lee Jia mumbles through her straw, unfazed.

“It says she’s 5-kyu…”

But her junior’s stunned words, after checking the bracket, nearly make Lee Jia drop her drink.
5-kyu. Decent for a casual player, but nowhere near the level to compete in a main draw.

“What? Are the entry rules that lax!?”

“Well, anyone below dan rank gets weeded out anyway. No need for strict rank limits…”

Top female research students and elite amateurs can’t be judged by amateur dan ranks.
Breaking through the narrow gate of the main draw, with hundreds of amateur masters in the qualifiers, is nearly impossible for anyone below amateur 1-dan.

“Hm, true. But 5-kyu is ridiculous… This isn’t a local kids’ tournament…”

Puffing out her cheeks in frustration, Lee Jia checks the bracket.
Ryu Seo is on the opposite side, so they won’t meet until the final, if at all.
No chance to gain from facing her.
No matter how she thinks about it, shoving a 5-kyu into the main draw feels like the sponsor’s stunt.

“Whoever faces her is lucky… Oh, her opponent is Hozumi Asana.”

“That Japanese prodigy everyone’s talking about? The Japan Go Association rushed her pro entry, but she’s still an amateur until it’s official. Pretty obvious who’ll win.”

A 5-kyu would need about a five-stone handicap against an amateur 1-dan.
Considering an amateur 1-dan needs six or seven stones against a pro, the gap is massive.

“Yeah. If I make it to the round of 16, I’ll probably face that Japanese girl… I’ll show her how scary Korean Go is. Heh.”

Her junior, brimming with confidence, flashes a grin.

“Yep, you’ve got this, Hyunjoo. Let’s meet in the final.”

It’s unwise to predict outcomes, but their confidence isn’t arrogance—they’re practically pre-pros.

As the round of 32 start time nears, Lee Jia takes her assigned seat and scans the room.

Having seen her in photos, she easily spots Hozumi Asana, whose cute appearance draws attention.

Across from her sits a blonde girl of similar height.

So small and pretty, Lee Jia first mistakes her for a doll, but her blinking, innocent eyes confirm she’s real.

“Wow…”

Lee Jia lets out an involuntary gasp.

That must be Ryu Seo, the sponsor’s seed.

If she’s that adorable, it makes sense they’d push her into the tournament, even if her Go is weak.

“Please begin the match when ready.”

A referee’s voice snaps her out of staring at the fairy-like girl.

Time limit: 10 minutes each, with three 20-second countdowns.

With such tight time constraints, there’s no room for distraction.

After nigiri, Lee Jia’s side plays Black.
Her opponent is an amateur 6-dan in their 40s.

Bowing politely, she places a black stone in the upper-right corner and quickly presses the clock.

Even top pros make frequent mistakes in speed Go.

Avoiding fatal errors is the priority, and minimizing mistakes is key to victory.

Ultimately, time is the solution.
Playing well isn’t enough—time management is critical.
Amateur Go is full of erratic, unpredictable moves, making it even more so.

Saving even a second to invest in battles is her plan.

To minimize opening time, Lee Jia plays as simply and clearly as possible.

Her condition feels good.
Her opponent mixes in tricky moves, but the best responses are clear.

To overcome the skill gap, her opponent aggressively starts a fight on the right side before the opening ends.
A seasoned, sharp attack fitting the main draw, but they chose the wrong opponent.

Using her saved time, Lee Jia gradually gains the upper hand in the fight.
Her opponent tries to compromise and retreat, but she clings on, preventing escape.
Left with no choice, they continue a hopeless battle.

To end the match early, Lee Jia cuts off her opponent’s main group’s liberties, and the game is over.

“Well played, kid. Ugh, my first main draw, and it’s over.”

Her opponent gives a bitter smile, gathering their stones.

“You played well too. I’m sure you’ll do great next time.”

“Thanks. Good luck winning it all!”

“You too! Thank you.”

Exchanging pleasantries, Lee Jia turns from her departing opponent to scan the venue.

The sound of stones being placed is still lively.
Her match must have ended the fastest.

“…”

She glances again at the table where Hozumi Asana and Ryu Seo sit.

Hozumi Asana’s eyes are red, tears streaming down her face.

“What…?”

The only confirmed pro in the venue, crying against a mere 5-kyu—it’s incomprehensible.

Avoiding tournament staff, Lee Jia heads toward their table.

But before she arrives, Japan’s prodigy, head bowed, rubs her tear-soaked eyes and resigns.

Hozumi Asana rushes out of the venue, passing Lee Jia.

“Good grief…”

Did she lose absurdly due to a rule violation?

Even if she played poorly early on, the skill gap between a pro and a 5-kyu is enough to recover.

Anything but a violation is hard to imagine.
If Ryu Seo beat her on skill, even Lee Jia’s junior, confidently expecting to face Hozumi Asana in the round of 16, isn’t safe.

Lee Jia reaches their table late, but Ryu Seo is already gone, and the board is disturbed, likely from Hozumi Asana’s exit, with stones misaligned.

“Hoo…”

With no choice, Lee Jia leaves the venue to find the restroom.
Sipping her drink to pass the time, she hears the signal for the end of the round of 32, and players start emerging for a break.

“Unnie! How’d it go!?”

Her junior, looking pleased with a win, approaches and asks.

“I won.”

“Then why the lukewarm face?”

Her junior asks, puzzled.

“Did you see Hozumi Asana lost?”

“Hozumi Asana… lost? To a 5-kyu newbie?”

“Yeah, she ran out crying.”

“Heh, serves her right. Must’ve been careless and violated a rule. She’ll be humiliated for this. Maybe her pro entry will get canceled?”

Her junior laughs, unconcerned by Lee Jia’s words.

“Still, be careful. She could be someone’s secret weapon.”

If Ryu Seo truly beat Hozumi Asana on skill, she must be a disciple secretly trained by a top pro.

“Come on, if she’s a disciple, she’d at least have a dan certificate by now. Would a master not get their student certified? It’s a shame I can’t crush Hozumi Asana myself, but I’ll win easily. Let’s grab lunch after the round of 16!”

Her junior brushes off Lee Jia’s concern with a laugh and suggests.

But in the round of 16 that followed shortly after the break, Lee Jia finds her junior, looking even more distraught than Hozumi Asana, on the verge of tears.