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The room was silent save for the sounds of their breathing and the occasional rattle of stones as one of them dipped their hand into their bowl to pick out a piece. Sara liked the sound. It reminded her of heavy rainfall and the lightning that often followed, but she knew that fidgeting with one’s unplayed stones was considered poor manners, and Go was a game of etiquette as much as it was strategy.
Miss Kamisato Ayaka had yet to falter in either aspect. She sat straight-backed with her hands folded primly in her lap, eyes darting across the grid like she was considering countermeasures for the next five moves. Between her skill with the sword, dance, poetry, and various other arts, Sara had to wonder where Miss Kamisato found the time to practice playing Go.
Apparently, she was also proficient in the game of shogi—?
A resonant clack shook Sara out of her thoughts like a clap of thunder directly overhead. She blinked in surprise. While she had been watching Miss Kamisato, the game had been swept out from under her in a single, decisive move.
There were too many captures for her to make a comeback; Sara had been on the defensive for nearly the entire match.
“Well played, Miss Kamisato. I yield this victory.” The admission came easily the more games they played, but Sara found that she minded it less and less. The reason why became evident when Miss Kamisato looked up from the board with bright eyes and a pleased smile.
Miss Kamisato never gloated over the victory. Win or lose, she was simply happy to be playing, even if Sara wasn’t the most entertaining opponent or exciting company. “Could I interest you in another match?” Miss Kamisato asked as she began to sort through the pieces, collecting all the white stones on her side. “We can swap colors.”
Sara was about to suggest a change of pace by playing shogi but decided against it. Better to focus on one thing at a time and practice until she could hold her own. “I appreciate the offer, but I would rather not give you sente from the first move,” Sara said dryly as she scooped the black stones back into her bowl.
Miss Kamisato smiled but said nothing as they slipped back into a comfortable silence. Sara placed her first piece, picking an opening move that was elementary but familiar to her. Ayaka responded in kind. The quiet taps of stone on wood and the rattle of pieces shifting in their bowls turned into a rhythmic back-and-forth until they established a balanced territory with Sara securing a corner of the board.
From here, Miss Kamisato could do anything. She was hardly ever cruel, but Sara noticed that Miss Kamisato liked to raise the bar and test her limits, and that sometimes came at Sara’s expense. Miss Kamisato had won a match once by metaphorically shoving Sara on her back foot as soon as she could, leaving Sara scrambling to keep up for the rest of the game.
She apologized for her forceful tactics afterward, but Sara found it fascinating. “Why not?” Sara had said when Miss Kamisato promised not to play so aggressively in the future.
Perhaps that was the answer to Sara’s earlier question—how Miss Kamisato came to be so skilled at swordplay, dancing, and Go. She put her everything into everything.
Sara voiced her thoughts aloud when it was her turn. “Do you find yourself well-versed in anything you try?” Sara asked distractedly as she deliberated over her next move. Miss Kamisato appeared to be making a conservative play, but her strategies were difficult to predict and near-impossible to prevent.
“Should there be an opportunity to try, I would certainly give it my all,” Miss Kamisato answered after Sara placed her stone. She only took a few moments before it was Sara’s turn again, which made her pause and reconsider her next move.
“Are you implying that you find yourself inadequate in certain disciplines because of a lack of opportunity?” Sara looked up from the grid, curious. When Miss Kamisato gave her a quick nod, Sara couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of things are they? Surely you could find the time.”
Too late, Sara realized that her question sounded like she was prying into Miss Kamisato’s personal life. She’d let their regular games of Go lull her into a false sense of familiarity and had just opened her mouth to apologize for overstepping when Miss Kamisato said, “Time permitting, yes.” She gestured at their game with a wave of her open hand.
“But some things, like Go, also require a willing partner,” Miss Kamisato continued, staring at the board. Sara couldn’t tell if she was contemplating her next move or if her mind was elsewhere. “Miss Kujou, if I may ask, how familiar are you with the topic of romance?”
Sara dropped her stone back into the bowl, taken aback by the swerve in their conversation and unable to follow. “Not very,” she said slowly, “but what do you mean by that question?”
Miss Kamisato tilted her head, considering. She had the same look on her face—the narrowed eyes and pursed lips—that she would wear before dealing a devastating blow to Sara’s strategy, and it made Sara trepidatious. She tensed like she was bracing for impact. “So you would also benefit from the practice,” Miss Kamisato said quietly, almost like she was speaking to herself.
“Practice is valuable in any avenue of life. The journey to mastering the bow starts with a single arrow,” Sara agreed with a nod. That was why she kept playing Go even though she got thrashed half the time and strung along for the other.
“We should practice, then.”
Sara picked up a stone but broke her attention away from her next placement when she noticed how Miss Kamisato was staring at her. “You . . . did not mean Go,” Sara guessed blindly.
Miss Kamisato shook her head, causing her hair to flutter behind her. “Kissing,” she said in such a matter-of-fact tone that Sara froze with her hand over the board. It was considered bad etiquette to keep her arm there because she was blocking her opponent’s view, but Miss Kamisato wasn’t looking at the game; she was watching Sara—very closely, at that—and gauging her reaction.
Sara wasn’t sure what Miss Kamisato saw, but she quickly added, “Although, if you’re not amenable, then we can forget about it.” Her eyes dropped to the board.
“I am,” Sara replied before her mind could catch up. “Amenable. But”—she lowered her arm slowly, all her mental faculties preoccupied with processing—“two novices can’t expect to master a brand-new skill set with zero guidance. As a master of the Kamisato Art, you must understand.” Sara frowned, more confused than anything.
“Whoever said anything about mastery?” Miss Kamisato slid around the Go board until they were no longer seated across from one another but adjacent. Somehow, she managed to make crawling look elegant. “It’s fine to be good at something without being the absolute best, isn’t it?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Sara said slowly.
Miss Kamisato pulled herself up on her knees with both hands flat on the ground. “And even mediocre experience is better than none,” she murmured as she moved closer than she’d ever been before.
Sara brought her hand up between them. “Wait a moment.” Miss Kamisato sat back on her heels. “We’re talking about kissing,” Sara clarified.
“Yes.”
“Why would you-” It was distracting having Miss Kamisato sitting so close. Her hair practically sparkled like the sun on unmelted snow. “Are you sure you’d want to have that mediocre experience with- with me ?” Sara’s voice came out incredulous, but underneath she was surprised, unsure, and still more than a little confused.
Miss Kamisato straightened and lifted her head. “You spoke of practicing the bow, but my experience is with the sword. And through my training, I’ve learned that there can be—will be—hundreds and thousands of failed sword techniques before a single perfect strike.” She looked down at her fingers, long and delicate but calloused from hard training. “I do not expect perfection from the first.”
Sara swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and nodded. She had no further objections, so why not? Practice was important; this was an indisputable fact agreed upon by both of them. “Very well,” Sara said, ignoring the burst of fluttering in her stomach. As the General of the Tenryou Commission, her voice never wavered, even if her breath caught when she turned her body to mirror Miss Kamisato’s position.
They spent a moment simply staring at the other. “What’s next?” Miss Kamisato’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
“I’m not sure,” Sara whispered back. The bowl of black stones rattled when she shifted it out of her way. Sente, it muttered to her in the voice of rainfall. Take the first move.
Sara leaned forward and pressed her mouth against Miss Kamisato’s, a closed-lipped, barely-there pressure, then drew back as quickly as she’d moved in. Miss Kamisato blinked at her, eyes wide and perfectly blue. “I think you’re supposed to close your eyes,” she said as one of her hands moved up to touch her lips in a seemingly unconscious gesture.
“My apolo-” Sara began until the realization hit her. “How could you know! You had your eyes open too!” she said accusingly, heat suffusing her face and all too aware that the faux pas made her inexperience obvious.
Miss Kamisato tried to hide a smile behind her hand but she started to giggle uncontrollably, and Sara could only watch in shocked silence as Miss Kamisato Ayaka descended into full, bright laughter. Sara found herself smiling too by the time Miss Kamisato managed to pull herself back together.
“‘Novices’ was what you called us earlier?” Miss Kamisato mused with a contemplative expression. She shook her head slightly, the tied sections of the front of her hair swaying with the motion. “I believe we may be too tense. It’s not organic.”
A disbelieving scoff escaped Sara. “Organic?” she repeated, “We’re kissing. How could it ever be a natural thing between us?”
Miss Kamisato’s eyes seemed to brighten at the challenge. “Like this,” she said as she rose up on her knees. Sara barely had the time to gape up at her before she placed a hand on Sara’s shoulder and leaned in.
Her hand is shaking, Sara noted. She’s nervous. Miss Kamisato’s eyes were closed this time, too, so Sara did the only thing she could: she met Miss Kamisato halfway.
Sara still forgot to close her eyes, though. Miss Kamisato was a bit firmer with her kiss, the hand on Sara’s shoulder holding the both of them steady as she pressed her soft lips against Sara’s. Sara was almost glad she didn’t close her eyes because she got to watch the way Miss Kamisato’s long, dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks when her eyes opened.
Miss Kamisato made a low humming sound when she pulled away. Her thinking face was back. Sara’s eyes were drawn to the pout of her lips, and she didn’t know if it spelled success or disaster for her in this new context.
“Your thoughts?” Sara asked.
“It’s pleasant. I can see why people enjoy this.” Miss Kamisato nodded to herself like she’d just reported her opinion on a new sample of tea. “Thank you for the experience, Miss Kujou. It was far from mediocre.”
Sara’s gaze lingered on Miss Kamisato’s lips then traced her jawline down to her neck, half-shadowed by the high collar of her shirt. She wondered how Miss Kamisato would react if Sara pulled her in again by the golden tassel around her throat. Would she like it? Or, more dangerously, what would Sara do next if she did?
Belatedly, Sara realized that Miss Kamisato had asked her a question. Her answer was a shot in the dark. “It was nice. We could certainly use more practice, however.”
Miss Kamisato nodded sagely like she’d come to the same conclusion after very serious consideration, though only a mere matter of seconds had passed. “I agree.”