Chapter 7: WY Cup Amateur Championship

The second day of the WY Cup main draw.

The semifinals in the morning.
After lunch, the final begins.

I’ve reached the semifinals, but I’m not in a great mood.

Even if I’m a has-been, I was once a pro 9-dan.

It’s like an Olympic athlete competing in an amateur track meet.

If I held back to go easy, it’d feel like insulting them, so I played at full strength.
Even if their skill seemed low, it’s only polite to face them with my best.

But my overwhelming victories must have been a shock.
I made two talented young girls cry.

“Haa.”

I’m like an unfair, rule-breaking existence that shouldn’t be here.
That’s who I am now.

I might have done something cruel to kids who came with high hopes.

But just as they joined with clear goals, I have reasons I can’t compromise on.

“Get it together.”

Facing the bathroom mirror, I lightly slap my cheeks.

Getting smug after a few wins and worrying about others’ feelings? Pathetic.

Those talented kids will surely bounce back.
I just need to focus on the next match.
My semifinal opponent is Lee Yoonhye, an amateur 7-dan.

She’s a big name in the women’s amateur scene, sweeping prize money from tournaments.
They say she earns more than some underperforming female pros, so her presence here is significant.

I wash my face to clear my mind and head to the venue.

Reflecting the weight of the semifinals, recorders and timekeepers are seated, laptops open, chatting.
A large camera is set up, likely for a broadcast.

Having lived the pro life, this scene doesn’t faze me.

I exchange light greetings with tournament staff and take my seat.

There’s still plenty of time before the match starts.
Arriving early to center myself is an old habit.

“Player Ryu Seo?”

Someone calls out to me.
A tall man in glasses.

“Yes? That’s me…”

“Congratulations on defeating tough opponents to reach the semifinals! If you have a moment, could we do a quick interview before the match? Just a few minutes.”

A reporter. Honestly, I don’t want this much attention already.

“Sorry, I’d like to clear my mind… Maybe after today’s matches, if that’s okay?”

I politely decline.

“Whoops, sorry for distracting you! Then let’s do a winner’s interview after you win. Promise you’ll keep it!”

The reporter, brimming with enthusiasm, shakes my hand and disappears.

“Hoo…”

With that much energy, even if I tried to escape after the tournament, he’d probably catch me.

Interviews are a hassle, but I can handle them.
Besides, Go tournament articles don’t get many readers anyway.

I push the reporter out of my mind and check the clock.
About 20 minutes left.

Enough time for a mental game.

I close my eyes and start meditating.

*

Lee Yoonhye, 7-dan, sitting across from the blonde girl, leans back and takes a deep breath.

What makes strength in Go?

Fuseki? Maneuvering? Fighting? Endgame?

All are important, but Go isn’t just about pure skill.

The mind. An unshakable spirit.

Mental strength is paramount.

Humans aren’t cold, precise machines.
A slight waver in the mind leads to impulsive, inconsistent actions.

Anxiety, tension, impatience, obsession, despair.

These affect physical sports like golf or soccer, so how much more in Go, a battle of the mind?

Placing an unnecessary move to shake off unease or recklessly invading a solid enemy position out of impatience can lead to defeat.

Lee Yoonhye has seen countless opponents crumble this way.
Never formally trained, she’s beaten highly talented research students and won titles because of her mental toughness.

She looks up at her opponent.
At best, innocent; at worst, a bit clueless-looking.

But now, it’s as if she’s switched to a different personality.

Despite early minor mistakes putting her behind, she remains detached, unhurried.
No trace of impatience or anxiety in her mechanical moves.

Cold and unyielding as iron.

The girl shows no small habits of tension or deliberation.
She sits upright, her unwavering gaze fixed on the board.

The game is nearing the end of the middlegame.

She’s winning.

By a slight margin, but still ahead.

Lee Yoonhye repeats this to herself, but she can’t shake the feeling of being chased.

If her opponent were a loud, aggressive thug, it’d be fine.
They’re human, with limits, and would tire eventually.
Keeping her pace would shake them off.

But now, it feels like a relentless killing machine with gears is closing in, just slightly faster than her.

Despite trying not to notice, her steps quicken unconsciously.

To regain composure, Lee Yoonhye shifts her focus to the lower-side skirmish.

The initiative is hers.

Pressing the central weakness and resolving the lower side would limit variables.
With Black’s center thin, they’d have to respond to her moves, like it or not.

“…”

But the girl doesn’t reinforce the weakness and faces her head-on.

On the lower side, White’s shape is much thicker.
In a life-or-death fight, it’s overwhelmingly advantageous.

Feeling uneasy at the girl’s bold confidence, Lee Yoonhye decides to engage.

Two groups of unalive stones entangle.
She blocks Black’s retreat first.

Black responds, cutting off the lower-side White, and a full-scale reading battle begins.

If you don’t kill, you die.

The one who kills first wins.

By Lee Yoonhye’s reading, she’s one move ahead.
Black’s moves follow her predictions.

“Ugh…”

As possibilities narrow, she notices a Black stone in an odd position.

A move she thought was a mistake.

The girl, still calm and unfazed, places another stone.

A double atari.

White’s escape routes are split.

But either choice leads to self-destruction.

With a brilliant move, the girl reverses the one-move gap, her expression unchanged.

No triumph or joy, just counting points and considering the next sequence.

The lower side is lost, putting Lee Yoonhye at a disadvantage, but against another opponent, she’d fight to the end.

With a flawed opponent, she could force a move in the late game or endgame.

But against this girl, overturning the game feels impossible.

She’s infuriatingly humble despite her towering presence.

Having faced many opponents in countless tournaments, Lee Yoonhye has never met someone she’d rather never face again.

“You played a good game. Good work.”

Sighing inwardly, Lee Yoonhye gathers her stones.

“Oh, well played! Thank you!”

Only then does the blonde girl, previously motionless, flash innocent eyes and bow cutely.

The chilling thought that it might all be a mask makes Lee Yoonhye shudder as she heads to the bathroom.