Chapter 0: Prologue

My mind is clouded.
The countdown timer ticks down slowly, steadily tightening its grip on my sanity.

The final countdown.
If I don’t make a move, a time-out loss will be declared.

With no other choice, I play a move just to buy time.
But my opponent, already ahead in reading the board, places their stone the moment I do, as if they’d been waiting.

The 40-second countdown begins again.
Yet, no matter how I think, I can’t see any sequence to turn the tide.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.”

The final ten-second countdown.
With no options left, I compromise and play another time-buying move.

“Ugh…”

But once the pressure of time lifts and I look at the board, I realize my move exposed a fatal weakness in the crucial upper-right corner—a terrible blunder.

The stone has already left my hand, and there’s no taking it back.

“Ha.”

My opponent lets out a mocking chuckle at my pathetic move.

Korea’s rank 6.
A prodigy with devilish talent.

He leans back leisurely, not placing his next stone, as if he already knows the obvious sequence ahead.

His smug gesture seems to say, “I’ll give you time to flail.”

I grit my teeth and search for possibilities.

But I see nothing.

No way to bring down this genius, no chance to recover from my mistake.

“Yawn…”

After wasting three minutes, my opponent, seeing me sink into despair, yawns and places a stone in an obvious spot even a grade-schooler who’s barely studied Go would recognize.

Yet, in all that time, I couldn’t find a single sequence to break through.

“….”

Anger surges.

Not just at my opponent’s mockery, but at my own lacking talent.
No matter how I struggle, the insurmountable gap fills me with deep despair.

I feel reason slipping away, consumed by negative emotions, and throw the stone aside.

[After 213 moves, Black wins by resignation. Shin Changmo, 9th Dan, fought hard but collapsed in the final countdown, making a futile mistake and exiting in the round of 16. Having been eliminated in the preliminaries of other recent tournaments, the disappointment must be immense.]

[Indeed. Just three years ago, Shin Changmo, 9th Dan, won an international tournament and held two domestic titles. But since then, he’s been in a clear decline. He even seemed unable to control his emotions after today’s loss.]

[That’s right. Shin Changmo, 9th Dan, once enjoyed a short but brilliant peak. What do you think is the cause of his recent slump?]

[Compared to other top players, Shin Changmo’s board reading and intuition are relatively weak. He’s a player who overcame those weaknesses through immense effort and passion. In standard positions, he’s as strong as anyone, but he’s vulnerable to unconventional moves. During his prime, he punished opponents who deviated from standard play with unshakable solidity. But since AlphaGo’s emergence, he’s struggled to adapt to the new trends and fallen into a slump.]

[Absolutely. With Go players now actively using AI programs for research, opening strategies have changed significantly. For Shin Changmo, it must feel like his honed weapons have become obsolete.]

[Still, he’s a player who once reached the top through sheer grit, so I believe he’ll overcome this crisis and show his resolute Go again someday. Well then…]

In a room filled with cigarette smoke, I replay the broadcast of my match over and over.

I used to enjoy getting stronger, reviewing my losses until I was satisfied.
Now, I feel only despair, no joy.

My strength was always gaining an edge in the opening and entering the midgame with an advantage.
But since AI’s dominance, the standardized and leveled-up opening strategies have stripped me of that edge.

In Go, a mere half-point can decide victory.
Losing my early advantage, my downfall was swift.

My strategy was to hold onto the time and gains I secured early, tenaciously enduring.
But lately, I run out of time in the endgame, self-destructing countless times.

I’ve come to acceptਸ

System: accept losing as natural.
My confidence, passion, and interest in Go are gradually slipping away.

Playing matches and studying game records are no longer enjoyable.

But if I take Go out of my life, what’s left?

Since childhood, I gave up studying, pouring everything into Go.
I have no decent hobbies, can’t cook, and can barely handle basic chores.

To others, it might just be a game.
But in my narrow world, Go is my entire life.

Yet decades of building my craft collapsed simply because trends changed.
Everything I’ve done feels meaningless, fleeting.

No matter how I struggle, I’ll likely be remembered as a fluke who shone for a year before fading into obscurity.

It might be a pathetic excuse, but past thirty, can I really absorb new concepts as quickly as young prodigies?

I used to believe effort could overcome anything, but now I’m just too exhausted.

I pour the antidepressants I’ve been prescribed since last year into my mouth.
I was told they don’t work instantly but require steady doses for gradual effect.
Still, without relying on them, I feel I can’t endure.

The doctor strictly warned against drinking while on them, but I chug soju straight from the bottle, forcing alcohol into my stomach.

As long as I can get drunk, I don’t care.

“Ugh…”

By the time I finish the second bottle, a strong dizziness hits me along with the buzz.

I clutch my head and collapse, but the dizziness only worsens.

I don’t know if it’s a side effect of the antidepressants or mixing them with alcohol.

With a crushing pressure that feels like it’ll burst my heart, I collapse completely.