Aishuu Offers:
Illumination
mbsilvana@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Hotta and Obata. 
Summary: Spoilers through 18-3. 




When Shindou Hikaru passed me by, I knew it was time
to quit.

I've always had a talent for Go, and I loved the game.
There was something about the patterns the stones
formed on the board, watching it take shape that I
fascinated me. It was logical, and I could see it
emerging beneath my fingertips. There was a thrill to
knowing I created the mosaic, and with my opponent, I
could create a shape that would declare me superior.

I began playing I was six. It wasn't particularly
because I enjoyed the game, but because my father
adored it. My father had been an insei in his day, but
he had never quite been good enough. There is a
difference between someone who is �quite good� and
someone who is exceptional.

I learned that the hard way.

>From the beginning, I was better than my father had
ever been. I was strong, strong enough to win the
Young Meijin Tournament at nine, and then become an
insei at eleven. Go became my world, and I learned to
love it. It made sense in a crazy world, something I
could control. I may have lost games occasionally, but
at least I could accept the blame for my own actions.

Becoming an insei was a natural step. I could see the
road before me; I would spend a few years honing my
skills, then past the pro exams. I knew better than to
dream of taking a title, since I recognized that I
didn't have the sheer genius of the true masters, but
I was better than most. I could see myself becoming a
6 or 7-dan and making a comfortable living. I was a
realist - I would never be a player of legend.

I clawed my way through the second class, defeating
some of my opponents but taking losses as well. The
students were more talented than the old men I had
played in the salons, and it was hard to earn a place.
I bounced around the top ten slots, not quite managing
to enter the first class, but I knew it was only a
matter of time. Shinoda-sensei never discouraged me,
the way he did other insei who would never amount to
anything, so I continued to plod along.

At fourteen I was moved into the first class. 

Entering it was like plunging into a bath filled with
ice-cold water, because wins were fought for with a
tenacity that was frightening. Still, I made friends.
That year, a girl named Nase Asumi joined the classes.
She wasn�t as good as I was, but she shared the same
dogged determination I possessed and I liked her.

Nase knew how to laugh, and while she was as serious
as I was while playing, she had the ability to live
outside of Go, something I has never had learned how
to do. She was a teenager and knew how to enjoy life,
and I was a geek. Being around her made me nervous,
but I camouflaged this by discussing the one thing we
had in common: Go. But Go was the central focus in our
lives, so that was okay. We would laugh, and she would
listen to me. It was nice to have the attention of a
pretty girl.

I didn�t qualify for the pro exam until I was fifteen.
I had taken the qualifiers each year, and each year I
had been unable to achieve the requisite three wins.
It was frustrating, but I think a small part of me was
relieved. I would have more time to prepare, more time
to get stronger before I entered the world of the
pros.

Still, the actual pro exam was another shock to my
system. I had known it would be an arduous road, but I
hadn't realized what it would be like. That year, 29
people had made it through the preliminaries, and I
watched with curious eyes as outsiders verging on
thirty played with a desperation that frightened me.
They were not good enough, I knew. They were strong,
stronger than most players, but they did not have that
�certain something� that would elevate them into the
world of the pros. After I defeated a few of them, I
almost felt bad. But only almost. I suffered more
losses than I was comfortable with, too nervous at the
pressure to play my best. 

I finished with eleven wins. My father didn�t speak to
me for nearly two weeks.

That was the year Isumi entered our class, and I knew
that he would inevitably pass before I would. Even
though he was a year older than I was, he flew through
the levels, unhindered by the fact that he was
starting late. Isumi had a brilliance about him, and
his game was deceptively forward. I played him
methodically, trying and trying to get a win, but he
always overcame me, seeing through my mathematical
precision with a sheer insight I couldn�t match.

Some will rise to the top, always.

But Isumi added a dimension to our class which had
been lacking. He seemed to blunt the competition and
calm the troubles, simply with his calm presence. He
didn�t lack the will to win - no, he had the same goal
as the rest of us - he just had a humanity that
sometimes the top players forgot about. When he
claimed the top spot, the dynamics changed, and though
we remained just as strong, we seemed to become more
willing to support each other, because he led us.
The only one who didn�t like Isumi was Mashiba.
Mashiba was hard to like, and it would be just like
him not to like Isumi. Mashiba was an insect,
determined to blight what was pure, and Isumi�s quiet
radiance was just that.

For some reason, he tried to recruit me as an ally. 

It was about six months after Isumi had entered, and I
had just lost again to him. Mashiba waited for Isumi
to rise to record his win before making his way over
to me. We had cleared the board after discussing it,
but I was still reviewing the game in my head, trying
to figure out where I had gone wrong.

Mashiba came over, smiling at me. There was something
about it that was unpleasant, but I was still lost in
thoughts of Go. �It�s annoying, isn�t it?� he said to
me. He sank down across from me, leaning forward to
stare at the empty goban. �Sometimes you just really
want to see some people shaken up...�

I wasn't really paying attention to Mashiba. �Hmmm...�

�You�re pretty good, Iijima-kun. I bet you�ll be one
of the top qualifiers this year.�

That grabbed my attention. I wavered in the top ranks
constantly, and for him to say that to me was
flattering, but made my suspicions rise. 

He wanted something.

�Thanks,� I said cautiously. He was lying through his
teeth; I was barely holding onto the twelfth place. 

�You know, some people seem to always be coming in
first, though. Isn�t it a bit unfair?�

I just looked at him, waiting for more information.

�Well, sometimes I think it would be fun to see them
shaken, don�t you? You�re good at watching people... I
bet you know what shakes a lot of people up.�

It came to me then. Mashiba wanted me to let him know
what I thought Isumi�s weakness was. I knew, of
course. Isumi was bright and talented, but he was too
nice for his own good. He played games more gently
than he should have, often times only winning by a few
moku when he should have forced them to resign through
sheer domination.

I wasn�t about to tell Mashiba that, though. �What
shakes you up is losing. You lose once, and you fall
into a slump,� I told him. Partially true; Mashiba was
also an amazing egotist, which could be taken
advantage of... if I became strong enough.

Mashiba turned beat red, rose to his feet, and stomped
off. I watched him go, knowing I had just made an
enemy.

�What was that about?� Nase said, coming up to take
the place where Mashiba had just sat.

�Nothing,� I told her.

�IIijima...� she said, and the warning was implied. I
had better tell her, or else.

�He wanted to pick my brain about Isumi,� I said,
heaving a bit of a sigh. Denying Nase when she wanted
something was an impossible task.

Nase frowned at that, obviously not approving. �Did
you tell him anything?�

�Of course not,� I said. �He�s a rival, and I�m not
going to help him take down another Go player,� I let
her know.

She laughed. �Like Mashiba can beat Isumi!�

I smiled at her and agreed, but I wondered. Isumi was
too kind, and that kindness made him vulnerable to
people like Mashiba, who were utterly ruthless. 

Not long after we faced the insei exams again, and I
finally understood what genius was. 

That was the year Touya Akira took the exams, and the
way he blew through them was almost insulting. He
missed the very first day, but seemed utterly
unconcerned at taking the loss. I played him in the
seventh game, and he totally dominating, obliterating
anything I tried with ease.

That morning, I was nervous. I had won three games,
but lost three as well. I knew I couldn�t afford to
drop many more, but facing Touya was almost a
guaranteed loss. It was something I wasn�t looking
forward to... but in a weird way, I wanted to play
him. If nothing else, I would be able to see for
myself what made the much-vaunted Meijin�s son so
special.

It was raining outside that day, not so unusual, but
it seemed like a portent. The foul weather seem to
match my luck - he won black, and statistical
probabilities indicate black wins more often that
white, even with komi.
My luck did not change from there.

I studied him after he placed the first move on the
upper left star, amazed at his composure. I had
decided to begin with a basic fuseki, something I
could do in my sleep. I wanted to have a good
influence on the board, knowing that if I didn�t, I
would have to play aggressively, and that Touya Akira
would probably block me at every turn.

It was short, too short. He only waited for us to get
twenty hands into the game before he began to attack
my shape. I wasn�t expecting it so soon.

Touya�s face was intent as he took the upper left with
a well-played hand. I fought valiantly to keep him
from encroaching on the right side, but he easily cut
through my weak attempts at making eyes as though he
was swatting aside a fly.

Sixty hands into the game, I knew I was going to lose,
and lose badly. My shape was poor, and his was
beautiful. I hadn�t played terribly, but he had played
on a plane far beyond anything I could hope to grasp.

�I resign,� I told him, bowing my head as I tried to
swallow the bile in my throat.

�Thanks for the game,� he replied.

I wonder if he meant it. I hadn�t even challenged him.
As I watched him rise to record the win, I stared at
my hands, realizing that this year, I would not be
passing the pro exams.

Playing Touya is why I think Isumi failed the pro
exams that year. It was the tenth game when they met,
and Isumi was still unbeaten - and then they played.

He broke.

Touya forced him to resign, and while I know that
Isumi was probably intellectually prepared for the
loss, it was hard for him emotionally to be pulverized
by a boy who was twelve years old. Isumi didn�t have
that time to recover - in the eleventh game, he played
the other strong outsider, while the thirteenth was
Mashiba.

There are some hurdles that are placed before us, as
players, and some people use those to get stronger.
Shindou and Waya are like that; Isumi is not. He needs
space to curl up and lick his wounds before he can
grow.

Isumi just wasn�t able to put his losses behind him,
and after losing against Mashiba, he completely fell
apart. He finished with a respectable twenty wins and
six losses, but he should have done much better. Maybe
he was realizing the same thing I was - that some
people simply shine far brighter than we can ever hope
to. 

We went back to classes, and all seemed to return to
normal. Without Mashiba�s presence, things seemed
calmer, but I still wasn�t playing my best. I was
losing games I shouldn�t, and it was starting to
threaten my position as a member of the first class.

I knew it was because I was trying to do too much.
Cram school, on top of Go, was taking up amazing
amounts of time, and I was sleeping barely five hours
a night. In my mind, a vague shadow of doubt was
beginning to form - what would happen to me if I never
passed the pro exam?

And then Shindou Hikaru entered our lives - and he
didn�t do so quietly.

Shindou is a very strange child, and that�s saying
something when you consider I spend my time hanging
around people whose passion is a board game. He was
loud and brash, and he wasn�t cowed by anything - and
as soon as he was accepted into class, he casually
mentioned that Touya Akira had wanted to play him. 

He considered himself Touya Akira�s rival. That just
wasn�t DONE. Touya Akira was far, far above us.

His arrogance was astounding - especially considering
that he could barely play. Most of us quickly
dismissed him as a threat, and continued to focus on
the ones we had already deemed the ones most likely to
pass - Isumi, Waya, Ochi and Honda. That was a
mistake.

Slowly, so that very few of us paid him serious
attention, he inched up, and before we knew it, he was
in first class - and his first game was against me.

Shindou�s face was resolute as he took his place
across from me, and I knew that I had to take this
win. My record hadn�t been the best lately, and I was
in danger of slipping back into the second class,
something which I would rather kill than allow to
happen. I had two more years of high school, and my
parents were starting to wonder if maybe Go wasn�t the
right choice for me.

I was, deep inside, becoming afraid.

Shindou was younger than I was, and burdened by none
of those concerns. How different being fourteen was
from being seventeen. I didn�t pay much attention to
him, though, aside from thinking on his exceptional
ego, until he sat across the goban from me.

Shindou seemed a bit nervous as he took his seat, but
as we were given the cue to begin, he straightened a
bit, and his eyes grew resolute. 

Pa-chi!

He moved with surety, and only later would I know that
was the bell heralding the end of my Go career. I
replied after a moment, and then we began to form the
game.

Shindou�s game was unlike anything I�ve ever seen as
an insei. Some of his moves had incredible depth,
while others were near-mistakes. He was strong, and as
the seconds beat down on me, I felt sweat forming on
the back of my neck. I should have won, after the two
incredibly dumb mistakes he made, but I wasn�t able to
bring a strong attack to bear before he managed to
recover.

�I resign,� I said after nearly all my time was gone.
It felt like chewing glass, but I didn�t see how I
could turn the game around. Shindou had me by about
five moku, and he had more time left on the clock. I
didn�t want to end up playing byo-yomi, since I tended
to fall apart when forced to play faster.

It was a weakness, I knew. I had a horrible tendency
to psych myself out.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and a beatific
smile sprung to life on his face. His eyes were alight
with delight, and I knew that he was only going to get
stronger. He had come into first class in a matter of
months - there would be nothing stopping him.

Nase came up to me during lunch, handing me a can of
my favorite tea. Her eyes were gentle as she looked at
me. �You okay?� she asked.

I almost said I was fine, and brushed her off, but
Nase deserved the truth. �He�s good, Nase,� I said.
�He makes some dumb mistakes, but he�s strong enough
to make up for it.�

�Fukui�s level?� she asked.

�Around there,� I agreed. �If he gets his head on
straight. He keep glancing at his side, which was a
bit rude... his focus needs work. He�s going to get
better.�

�So will we!� she said with determination, and the
light in her eyes said that nothing was going to stand
in her way. I nodded, but inside I wondered if I
hadn�t already peaked. �Shindou�s a bit obsessed with
the Young Lion�s Tournament at the moment, so I think
that�s where his determination is coming from.�

�Young Lion�s Tournament?� I echoed. �I haven�t
thought on that lately...�

�You need to. Only the top sixteen go.� She spoke
quietly, and I knew she was aware at how my rank had
been dangerously wavering.

�We�ll make it,� I assured her. �We went last year.�

�That�s no guarantee.�

No, it wasn�t, I knew. There were no guarantees
whatsoever when you were a Go player.

We both made it to the Young Lion Tournament, but it
did me little good, because I managed to get knocked
out in the first round to a low-level player who I
knew most people considered mediocre. I knew I
shouldn�t have been bothered, but of course I was. It
was my nature to be bothered by things.

Classes continued, and my ranking remained about the
same. My game was getting better, but so was
everyone�s . The person who was rising was Shindou,
and he rose with a speed, which while not unheard of,
was certainly worth remarking on. There was something
about him, something that made people step back and
pay attention to him.

A part of me wondered if he hadn�t been lying, when he
claimed that he was Touya Akira�s rival. And then the
preliminaries for the Qualifiers came, and Shindou
completely bombed, barely making it through.

I pointed out that the brightest stars often fall,
burning out from blazing too brightly too soon. I
thought he was finally self-destructing, but he
managed to come through.

Nase asked me about that, wondering if he was a
genius.

I wondered.

I wondered even more, when I was forced to face him at
the first day of the Pro Exams. It was destined to be
a repeat of the that day in first class, a weird form
of deja vu. 

There was a shift in his eyes, those green eyes which
shift to a deep hazel as he stared at the board. His
calm radiated from him, but I couldn�t grasp it - and
I wound myself up tighter, especially when I
discovered he had studied with Isumi and Waya over the
break.

The game wasn�t masterful, but it was good. Maybe I
can take some pride in the fact that I was his first
stepping stone on the road to the pros. I had been
wrong, to dismiss Nase�s question if Shindou was a
genius.

Shindou was a genius - and I was honored to be allowed
to play him.

Though it didn�t feel like it, then.

Those exams were torturous. I knew, deep inside my
heart, that each game I played was one closer to my
last as an insei... one closer to the end of my dream.
For as Shindou rose, seemingly unstoppable, as Isumi
and the others tumbled before him, so too did I fall.

I resign, his opponents would say to Shindou, the
prodigy, and I would whisper it in my soul, knowing
that it would be inevitable. I would resign myself to
fate, resign myself to the fact that mediocre wouldn�t
be good enough, resign myself to the fact that Go
wasn�t in my future.

Thank you for the game, I could hear them telling me
in return as they moved onto better opponents. 

It was one of the hardest things I�ve ever done,
arranging to see Shinoda. I�d lingered over the
decision for a few months, but after my disappointing
performance, I knew the time had come.

It was January when I finally lingered after class.
Shinoda, who was always the last to leave, didn�t seem
surprised to see me kneeling in the room where he
tested the insei. Instead, he merely settled across
from me, and waited for what I had to say.

I looked at Shinoda, and spoke frankly, hoping that if
I got the words out quickly, it wouldn�t hurt. �When
you filled positions at the insei test, you�ll have to
fill mine,� I told him.

�Are you sure you want to do that, Iijima-kun?� His
voice was quiet, and I saw the gentle concern in his
face.

It hurt, it hurt more than I could bear to admit, but
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.
�Shinoda-sensei, it�s been fun, but I need to start
studying for college and preparing for the rest of my
life. I�m never going to pass the pro exam... so I
need to make other plans.�

He studied my face, and I saw the regret in his eyes
before he offered me a bow of his head. �No, you
won�t,� he said after a long moment, and even though I
knew it was coming, my breath caught slightly. �Good
luck, Iijima Ryu,� he told me. �I hope you take the
lessons you�ve learned here and carry them throughout
your life.�

I returned his bow. �I will,� I promised. �It�s been
an honor to have you for a teacher.�

He gave me one of those smiles which I had learned to
expect from him over the years, the one he shared when
he was about to say something profound. �It�s been an
honor having you as a student, Iijima-kun. Just
remember, nothing we do in this life is ever wasted.
There is always a reason behind every move that is
played, and though we may not see the pattern that is
evolving now, there is one.�

I looked at him for a moment longer before I had to
leave the room, unable to bear the gaze of his wise
sight.

I didn�t tell anyone for a while, wanting to enjoy my
last few weeks as an insei. There was something
comforting about being an insei, a security there.
Knowing my record didn't matter anymore enabled me to
relax, and for some reason I started to do even
better. Maybe it was the lack of stress. I can carry a
losing streak to previously unrecorded heights,
because of how agitated I get - perhaps removing the
agony of competition finally soothed something in me
that let me play better than I ever had before.

Irony is life�s most bitter spice.

The hardest thing, was telling Nase the truth, that I
was through.

If there was one bond I was truly reluctant to break,
it was my tie to her. She was a pretty girl, the kind
I would never meet, had it not been for Go. I was more
than half in love with her, and it would be bitter
indeed not to have her in my life.

I told her in February and her response made me angry.
She blew it off, and mentioned that she might quit
herself - like all the years we put in had meant
nothing.

The next week, she was gone from class, and Shinoda
had no clue when I asked where she was. I didn�t have
the courage to call her - we never had spoken outside
of Go - and so I had to wait until our next class to
find out she�d just played hooky... for a date.

I�d never been so jealous.

She didn�t even realize it. She didn�t even seem to
care that we would only have another month together
before the courses of our lives would separate
forever. I was proud that she was continuing, because
while she was strong enough to play in the women�s
league already, it was her determination to be one of
the few female players in the main league that I truly
admired about her.

It hurt, to realize she didn�t care enough about me to
notice I would soon be gone. A small injury, on top of
the massive wound I was about to sustain from cutting
Go out of my life, but it bled, just the same.

How I misjudged her.

Two weeks into March, when the weather was starting to
warm, she grabbed my hand when I was on the way out
the door. Her fingers nipped into my skin, and I was
forced to turn around, even though I was still bitter.
�What do you want, Nase?�

�Are you doing anything right now?� she asked.

�Going home?�

She had laughed. �You�re coming with me.�

It was strange, to actually take the same train as
her. My hands were hot and sweaty as she chatted about
her school and how her mother was driving her crazy.
She talked about spring, and other things which flowed
through me, and I had no clue where we were heading.

After about ten stops, she yanked me to my feet, and I
followed curiously, feeling a bit like Alice chasing
the white rabbit.

I couldn�t believe it when she led me to an adult
playground. �Nase!� I protested, feeling a rise of
panic. A rough crowd hung around these kind of places,
and it was already heading for 6 p.m. 

She grinned. �I have friends here!� she chirped
cheerfully. �They�re expecting me.�

�Nase... this isn�t terribly smart...� I began, but my
stupid feet kept moving even as she led me into one of
the shadiest Go parlors I�ve ever seen. We were the
youngest there by at least ten years, and all my
instincts screamed for me to grab Nase and high-tail
it out of there.

The crowd, whose eyes swung around at the sound of the
bell on the door, seemed to perk up at the sight of
Nase. �Look, cutie�s back!� one of them said happily.
�Ieyesu, go get her a soda... Tomakazu, get out of
that chair so she can sit there!� said the biggest
one, who looked like he�d spent more than his fair
share of time in fistfights.

His eyes shifted over to me. �Cutie, another
boyfriend? Is this one gonna run?� he asked, and there
was a hint of threat in his tone, directed at me, if I
bothered Nase.

It came to me then that this was the Go parlor Nase
had ended up in during her date. I almost strangled
her for her sheer stupidity. 

She, though, was answering him. �He�s gonna play!� she
said happily. �He�s as good as I am!�

I gave her a dubiously look. Our levels were about
even, but I wasn�t sure it was such a good idea to
beat them... they might beat back - physically. �Um,
Nase...�

�It�s okay, Iijima! This is fun!� she said, and
grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a table.

To my surprise, we had a blast. The customers were a
rough-and-tumble bunch, but completely enchanted with
Nase, and willing to tolerate me because I was with
her. We played for three hours, and then two of them
escorted us back to the train station.

�Wasn�t that fun?� she said happily. Her eyes were
glowing.

I nodded. Most of the players had required handicaps,
but the sheer love of the game had filled the room.
�Yes. But... couldn�t you have found a safer go
parlor? One not in an adult playground?�

�It just kinda happened,� she said, shrugging. �And I
promised I�d go back, and I wanted to make sure you
knew where it was, so we could meet there.� Her eyes
lowered. �I�m going to be studying Go a lot, and I
need to stay serious about it, but that doesn�t mean
it can�t be fun...�

�You... want to see me, after I�m gone?�

Her fingers laced through mine, and but she didn�t
look at my face as she spoke. �I can�t imagine my life
without you.�

It wasn�t a declaration of love, but of potential. I
squeezed her hand in return, and we held hands for the
ride home.

The last two weeks were the most bittersweet, those
last four lessons. Nase and I spent as much time
together as possible, but I knew that those games
meant completely different things to us. I wasn�t
competing for rank anymore - she was. I was merely
competing to find out where I would finish.

And in the end, I wound up retiring as ninth in the
first class. I had moved up five ranks since my
decision to quit Go. It was so tempting to renege, but
I knew that I had burned that bridge, and there was no
going back.

On that last day, I won both of my games. My final
match as an insei was against Fukui - and I beat him.

�I resign,� he told me.

�Thank you for the game.�

I left the room before Nase could follow, wanting to
be alone. I needed time to think, but someone
intercepted me in the lobby downstairs.

�Iijima-kun?� I turned to see someone I recognized -
Amano-san, from Weekly Go. 

�Yes?� For my very life, I couldn�t think what he
would want. I was a nobody now, just a high school
student with mediocre grades who was better than
average at Go. 

The man, overweight and courting cancer and heart
disease with the cigar he was freely waving, gave me a
warm smile. His eyes danced behind his glasses as he
looked me up and down, before seeming to come to a
decision. �I�m glad I caught you. It�s your last day,
isn�t it?�

Why would that concern him? �Yes.�

The smoke from his cigar, a intoxicating and fragrant
mix of unusual herbs, wrapped around us. My nose
twitched in irritation, but the manners which my
parents had spent so long drilling into me kept me
from dismissing him as rudely as I would have liked. I
was bleeding, ripped opened from having to bid
farewell to my unreachable dream, and not in any mood
to deal with him. "I'll walk you to your station.
There's something I want to talk to you about."

Through my haze of despair, I felt my curiosity
twinge. I'd never had anything to do with the man
before, and it was odd that he would be interested in
me now that I would never be one of the players he
would be covering. "Do as you like," I said brusquely.

He wasn't offended. "Did you know that Shinoda and I
were insei together?" he asked.

"No, sir." I hadn't realized that Amano had ever been
an insei at all.

"We were. We're still good friends - but there came a
point when I reached a wall, when I knew that I would
never become good enough to pass the final hurdle of
the pro exams. So I quit, and it was the right choice
for me - but it was the hardest thing I ever did. I
sometimes wonder if I'd given up too soon, if I might
have been able to break through if I had only tried a
bit harder... intellectually, I know I lack that
"certain something" pros have, but the heart doesn't
always believe that."

His words echoed in me, as his situation sounded
frighteningly familiar, but I didn't want to hear it.
I clenched my fists, and concentrated on keeping my
feet moving forward. "I don't need any sympathy,
Amano-san. Or advise."

"I'm not offering it. What I want from you is
something different." I paused, and he used my
hesitation to rest a comforting hand on my shoulder.
�Shinoda�s had his eye on you, and he says that you
love Go.�

Yes, yes.... and that was why it was so hard to leave.
�Do you think this is easy?� I bit out.

�I know it isn�t... and that�s why I�m offering you an
alternative.�

My breath caught. �I�m not good enough...�

�To play professionally. No, you�re not. But Shinoda
says you�re perceptive, and you understand what�s
going on around you. He says you�re smart - and you
love the game. You�re a rare type, Iijima Ryu.�

Tears started to burn at the back of my eyes, but I
refused to shed them. �But I�m no Shindou Hikaru.�
Those losses against Shindou, which had flashed like a
brilliant light the difference between �good� and
�great.�

Amano sighed. �In all my time, I�ve never seen
anything like him - he�s going to be a wonderful story
to follow for me. Maybe for us?� His voice lilted
upward in question.

It was a sign of how upset I was that I didn�t catch
onto what he was asking. �Amano-san...�

It�s true, that when one door closes, another opens.
We�re never left in a dark room, all alone, because
there�s always someone waiting to turn the lights on
for us - we just have to find that person. And as soon
as Amano asked me his next question, I knew that the
final stone in my fuseki had been placed at last, and
my shape was as perfect as I could have wished.

�Have you ever considered a career in journalism?�

END



=====
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep."
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