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The Sakawa Royal Golf Club, overlooking Fuji, catered to the rich and to the obsessive, those who played because they could and those who played because they had to. Kuwabara played because the game amused him, and because it was fun to watch the course attendants squirm when he lit his cigarette in front of the discrete 'No Smoking' sign.
The reason he tried on Akira was "a healthy body is required for a healthy spirit; stamina is important for a pro player."
Akira nodded with inscrutable politeness. He was dressed with a conservative formality perfectly suited to the game room and almost aggressively out of place on a golf course. Kuwabara's own clothes gave the impression of being, perhaps, held onto long after they should have been discarded, worn smooth and comfortable by repeated wear. Hikaru was wearing a yellow Go T-shirt, faded blue jeans and sneakers, trailing three-hundred yards behind them and yelling:
"Hey! Old man! Wait up!"
He was also puffing and bent under the weight of Kuwabara's golf clubs.
"Shindo!" snapped Akira.
Hikaru completely ignored the familiar yell and dropped the clubs. He'd intended fling them dramatically at the man, but the bag was extremely heavy. Panting, Hikaru glared. Kuwabara smirked and asked for a three iron.
"You are pushing your luck, old man," Hikaru grumbled, pulling the club out. While Kuwabara carefully measured his swing, Akira grabbed Hikaru's arm, pulling him aside.
"Shindo, I realise the obvious often escapes you, but even you should grasp that Kuwabara-sensei deserves respect." Hikaru gave him a blank look. Akira sighed faintly. "Stop calling him 'old man'. Why you volunteered to caddy..."
"I didn't volunteer," said Hikaru, loud and indignant. "He tricked me!"
Akira stared. "...please tell me you weren't betting on your game." Hikaru stopped meeting Akira's eyes, scratching his head in a distracted manner. "Shindo!"
"I think this calls for a two-iron," said Kuwabara, completely failing not to grin at them. Fortunately, Akira hadn't taken his hand off Hikaru and so was able to hold him back. Kuwabara cackled and took his shot, a clean drive, falling to the right of a distant bunker.
Akira picked a club from his own caddy cart, only letting go of Hikaru at the moment he stepped up to tee. Hikaru returned Kuwabara's club to man's big without complaint or, at least, with quietly muttered complaint.
"I hear your parents are off to Korea again," Kuwabara said to Akira.
"They leave on Friday," Akira placidly lined up his shot.
"Another amateur tournament?" Kuwabara prompted.
"Yes," said Akira. His club whistled as it cut through the air, thud-crack echoing as his ball went flying.
When it was clear that nothing more was forthcoming, Kuwabara tried, "Korea, China, America. He's getting around a lot."
"He's still playing less than he did as a pro, though," said Hikaru. "It's probably restful, right? I mean, with his heart and, well." He glanced at Akira. "He's okay, right?"
"My father is quite well," agreed Akira, shouldering his club. "Shall we?"
They walked, Akira pulling his caddy cart, Hikaru sighing and hefting Kuwabara's golf-bag behind them.
"One might think Touya Kouyo was searching for something," mused Kuwabara and, when Akira didn't comment, gave in and asked outright, "What is he up to?"
"He's playing Go," said Akira calmly.
Kuwabara gave him a sharp look, not phasing Akira in the slightest, and then grinned, barked laughter. "He is indeed."
"When I die," gasped Hikaru behind them, "I'd like to be buried by Shuusaku's tomb please."
"Which one?" asked Akira. Hikaru gaped at him.
"You're building strength!" Kuwabara said. "Good work!" They reached the bunker, Kuwabara's ball to its right, Akira's further past it. Kuwabara surveyed the land. "The five wood, now."
"Oh, joy," muttered Hikaru, searching for it.
"It must be lonely not having anyone around at home," Kuwabara said to Akira. "I hope it isn't affecting your game."
"Players visit regularly," said Akira, in a tone that managed to imply not even having his hands chopped off would affect his game.
"And I bring ramen," Hikaru put in, handing the club over.
Akira smiled thinly. "Yes. Instant noodles."
"You don't miss your father?" asked Kuwabara. "With him gone all the time?"
"He is..." Akira frowned slightly. "When people come around, we play go in his room, on his goban, with his stones, just as we always have. Even when he's away, he's still... He is..."
"He's in your go," Hikaru supplied quietly, resting on the golf bag, eyes dark and fixed on Akira.
"Yes," said Akira quietly, gazing back, thoughtful. "He is in my go."
Neither looked away, eyes locked, and Hikaru seemed on the verge of saying something, when Kuwabara cut in with a loud, "Hey! Stop sitting on my clubs! You'll bend them with your weight!"
"I'm not heavy!" Hikaru snapped back.
"All that ramen," said Kuwabara. "You need to work out! You'll have to caddy for me more often! Every time you lose a game, yes? I can afford to play golf weekly."
"Every-- Weekly--" Hikaru spluttered, glaring. "Oh, I am so taking that title from you next year, old man!"
"Shindo!"
Hikaru swung back to Akira. "He started it!"
"You didn't have to take the bet. Besides, if you hadn't come in so deep, so early, you wouldn't have lost the game. Maybe if you--"
"There was nothing wrong with that! I should've just taken diagonal earlier and--"
"He would have come down the left and cut you in two!"
"I had the better shape on--"
"In two!"
"He--! You--! ...I'll play you! Right now!"
"What?" Akira stared, thrown. "Shindo, we don't have a board--"
"Save your excuses!" Hikaru grabbed a club and stormed over to the bunker where he started drawing a grid in the sand. "Come on then!"
"...you are so stupid!" Akira dropped his club and followed. "What about stones?"
Kuwabara watched them arguing for a moment, then cackled to himself, lit a fresh cigarette, and hurried over to watch.