Chapter 9: WY Cup Amateur Championship

I lost.

Utterly crushed.

An eight-and-a-half house defeat.

For a game that felt neck-and-neck until the endgame, the gap is absurd.

Lee Jia stares at the floor with hollow eyes.

During the final, something changed while playing against Ryu Seoa.

My senses sharpened, my calculations became clearer. Moves I couldn’t see before came into view, and I found myself bold in ways that surprised even me.

I thought I had a chance.

When I turned the game around with a desperate move in a critical moment, I was certain I could win.

But I was gravely mistaken.

When the pup barked fearlessly, the tiger finally bared its true fangs.

Her speed of thought was different. Her intuition’s sharpness was unmatched.

One minute—the single countdown period.

Short if you call it short, long if you call it long.

While I was always pushed to the last ten seconds, the blonde girl didn’t need even one. As if she’d calculated everything in advance, using my thinking time against me, Ryu Seoa placed stones without pause, forcing me into relentless, brutal calculations.

Meticulous—or rather, vicious—attacks came repeatedly. When I tried to regain balance, I was kicked down; when I squirmed, I was trampled.

Half a house, half a house, one house.

Bit by bit, I was chipped away until nothing but an empty board remained.

Even against male research students, I never felt like I was crashing into such an impenetrable wall.

Ryu Seoa’s victory over Hozumi Asana, her charge to the final, and her clinching the championship weren’t flukes. No, they were almost inevitable.

Even if every amateur in the country faced her, none could match that girl.

An overwhelming talent gap, unbridgeable by mere effort.

Lee Jia sinks into doubt, feeling only distant despair.

A simple closing ceremony, awards, and commemorative photos.

The blonde girl who claimed victory doesn’t smile once.

After the match, Ryu Seoa, with a contorted expression, said ‘I’m sorry’ to me. Since then, she’s avoided eye contact, her face heavy with guilt.

It’s not just about feeling bad for winning. Winning isn’t a crime, and the stronger player prevailing is only natural.

There must be another reason behind her apology.

Come to think of it, something’s odd. Reviewing her game with a junior who lost to Ryu Seoa on the first day, her Go felt vastly different from what I saw in the final.

With the strength she showed in the endgame, there was no practical reason to shift her style so drastically.

But one thing is clear: when she changed her approach, my stagnant, aimless Go took a step forward.

What if that girl saw my flaws and played a guiding game? What if, while casually guiding me, she felt threatened by an unexpected move and revealed her true skill?

No. That’s a ridiculous guess.

But if it were true, it’d mean I was the only one in this tournament to even touch the toes of the monster named Ryu Seoa. It might mean she recognized my talent enough to do something she didn’t bother with against others.

“Hah, how stupid.”

Even I find it laughable how the human mind’s defense mechanisms work in strange ways.

But thinking like this keeps me from denying my own potential.

I want to keep challenging, to keep playing Go.

After long wandering, I’ve found a spark to move forward.

If I don’t seize it, this chance will vanish into nothing.

As the ceremony ends, Lee Jia watches Ryu Seoa from a distance, caught by a weekly magazine reporter for an interview.

“First, congratulations on your victory, Ryu Seoa. You made headlines by defeating Hozumi Asana, Japan’s youngest pro, in the first round. Any secrets to beating a potential future rival?”

“I think Hozumi Asana was nervous and couldn’t play her best, so I got lucky.”

“…Haha, I see. You’ve shown pro-level skill by defeating strong opponents in this tournament. Like Hozumi, do you plan to challenge Korea’s youngest pro record?”

“Sorry, I don’t have any concrete plans yet.”

Her voice is cold, almost icy, as if she’s not in the mood for interviews.

How is that the voice of an elementary schooler?

Then again, maybe you need to be that eccentric to play Go that strongly.

Lee Jia nods to herself, waiting for Ryu Seoa’s interview to end.

*

“Well, daughter, I’m telling you, she’s a once-in-a-century genius! At ten, you were playing in the dirt, but our Seoa’s already won millions in prize money. There’s no better daughter than our Seoa. When her dad fell on hard times, she sharpened her blade to do something about it. Have you ever bought your dad a gift at that age? Oh, your poor mom, gone too soon. She didn’t get to see our pretty, kind Seoa grow up. If she couldn’t be filial to her daughter, she should’ve at least gotten it from her granddaughter.”

After the tournament, on the way to the parking lot, Grandpa, thrilled by my victory, has been boasting and lamenting to Mom for minutes over the phone. Why can I picture Mom’s expression on the other end?

“Hoo.”

I let out a small sigh, quiet enough so Grandpa doesn’t hear.

Victory.

I achieved my goal, but I’m not exactly thrilled.

The final.

I meddled needlessly, faced a crisis, and crushed an opponent who’d mustered the courage to challenge me.

I did something cruel.

What did I even want? Maybe it would’ve been better to leave her alone.

Even with the prize money secured, it leaves a bitter taste.

“Oh, if only you and your dad had come to see Seoa play. You know how many kids cried after losing to our Seoa? Even that Japanese Hozumi or whatever couldn’t match her! And that lightning-fast speed in the final—watching it just cleared my head.”

Despite my mood, Grandpa’s beaming, rattling off words like a machine gun.

“Hm?”

As I walk, listening to Grandpa, I sense a strange presence behind me. I tilt my head back.

“Ugh…”

My eyes meet those of a girl hesitantly trailing me from a distance.

My opponent from the final.

After what I did to her, does she still have some business with me?

“…Um, is there something you want to say?”

In the awkward silence, I speak first.

“Oh, uh… well…”

Caught off guard by my gaze, the girl stammers.

“I-I’m sorry for bothering you, I mean, sorry…”

“What’s wrong?”

Does she want to review the game? It’s a hassle, but if it helps her grow, I’m willing.

“Well, I mean…”

Struggling to explain, the girl’s face twists with frustration.

“Ah…”

Her eyes suddenly redden, and tears begin to well up.

“Hic, please, just help me once, please…”

Overwhelmed with emotion, she collapses, sobbing and pleading for help.

It’s a tragic irony that I’ve made more girls cry in the past two days than in my past life’s romantic entanglements.

“Hey, daughter, I’ll call you back. Looks like our Seoa’s made another one cry.”

Hearing the girl’s sobs, Grandpa hurriedly ends the call.

“Calm down first.”

“…Ugh, I didn’t mean to… hic, not like this…”

Her words, choked with sobs, become increasingly unintelligible.

“Hm…”

Grandpa and I decide to take her to the car to calm her down.