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The first time I ever saw Shindou Hikaru, I liked him.
That seems like a strange way to begin, I know, and if you’re familiar with our history, you may think it quite odd. It is true, however. There was an openness and honesty about him that I found refreshing. After being surounded by people who can be so cold and calculating, not necessarily because they want to be but because those traits come with their job description, meeting him gave me an immediate sense of comfort. Here, I thought, was just a boy who had somehow found his way into my father’s Go salon and wanted to try his luck. I know I surprised Ichikawa-san by offering to play him. After all, I rarely played anyone my own age unless it was a request from one of my father’s friends to tutor a child or other relative. But something about Shindou drew me to him. Maybe I’m making too big a deal of it now. At the time, perhaps I just wanted a break from regular matches and tutoring sessions.
Or maybe it really was fate.
In any event, whatever preconceptions I had about Shindou all turned out to be false, so anything I had hoped to gain from the match became moot. I don’t regret the game at all, not by a long shot, but it sure as hell took me by surprise.
I often think back to that first encounter and wonder what would have happened if Shindou had been what I thought he was, if he had been allowed to be a pure beginner. The way he said he thought he was strong when he obviously had no clue what he was talking about, the clumsy way he placed his stones, the way he had to count each crosshair to make sure the stone went in the right place…all these things still bring a smile to my face. If he had shown true interest in the game, and perhaps a tiny bit of potential, I could have trained him. To this day I have never molded someone from beginning to end, from the first time they picked up a Go stone to the day they won their first pro title.
Is that how my father felt with me, I wonder?
Anyway, I could have done that with Shindou, and I would have, gladly. I think I needed a project at that point. I was getting bored. I knew I should just take the advice of those around me and become pro, but something inside was holding me back. I was ready, more than ready, in terms of skill, but mentally…I was still waiting for something. Maybe Shindou. If he had been a true beginner and had agreed, I would have latched onto him and taught him. It would have been…fun, I think. He’s the same age as me, so I shouldn’t think of him as a child, and I certainly don’t anymore, but for those first few minutes of our acquaintance, I felt a surge of almost paternal protectiveness. Here, perhaps, was a boy I could turn into a man.
Of course, it didn’t work out that way at all, but the more and more I think about it, the more and more I realize our relationship would have been different had Shindou been almost anything other than what he was. He could have been anything from a beginner to an Insei, and I wouldn’t have been overwhelmed. In fact, had he been an Insei, even one of the stronger ones, I would have still been thrilled. If that had been the case, we perhaps could have played often together, learning from one another. I would have been the stronger one, of course, but I would have finally met someone my age who at least had the courage to stand up to me. I think that’s what I needed more than anything, really. Everyone who knew my name cowered in fear, unless they were pro. I was tired of it. I wanted a challenge!
I wanted a rival.
I remember once telling Ashiwara-san that I considered everyone to be my rival, up to and including my father, but that was a joke, said more to assuage his worries than in truth. I looked up to my father and I was grateful for his teaching, and I knew that one day, if I was lucky, I would become as strong as he was then. I even have his Meijin title now, making me his true successor. But I was never his rival, and he and I both know it. A rival is someone you have to at least have a hope of beating, and by that I mean more than once. A rival is someone you can laugh with and cry with and scream with. That’s what I wanted, needed. And that’s what I got…eventually.
Shindou and I could have been so many things had he been someone else. We could have been teacher and student, we could have been teammates, we could have been…simple friends.
But no. I had to pick the only boy in a hundred years to be possessed by a Heian ghost, a ghost who, I might add, was the brains behind Honinbou Shuusaku, arguably the greatest Go player in the history of the world.
It figures. My life has always been complicated.
I shouldn’t be thinking about all this right now. I’m in the middle of a game with Shindou, and he’s having one of his “good days,” as he calls them. I still win against him more than half the time, but on days like this, I have to fight for each moku. It’s not a real match or anything, just one of our games we play in the Go salon a few times a week when neither of us have matches, but that doesn’t matter. I play these matches more intensely than I have some of my title games. I tend to get more out of them, too. I once told my father that allowing myself to become even slightly distracted during my games with him inevitably led to a dismal defeat, and that was the truth. While the same is not always true against Shindou, the consequences can often be worse.
While my father is quicker to take advantage of a less than perfectly placed stone, Shindou will simply never let me hear the end of it during the post-game “discussion.”
I use the term discussion lightly, of course. Every now and then we have a true evaluation of one another’s strengths and weaknesses. More often than not, however….
“What the hell was that???”
My mouth curved into a ghost of a smile at the indignant scream. Is it bad that I enjoy the arguments so much?
“What was what?” I asked calmly.
Shindou stabbed his finger angrily at the stone I had just played. “That!” he snapped. “That move allowed me to kill the entire cluster of white on the upper left. What in the world were you thinking???”
Arching an eyebrow, I considered his words and saw that he was right. Apparently I had been distracted by my musings a bit more than I thought. However, I had my own trump card to play.
Pointing at the largest cluster of black on the board, I tapped the next space in which I was about to move. “And what happens when I go here?”
Shindou’s sea-green eyes, still dark from his annoyance at my move, shoved my hand away and stared hard at the board. What he saw apparently surprised him, because his mouth tightened considerably.
“Due to your lack of defense, those stones die and I still win the game.” I allowed myself a small yet triumphant smile. It was careless of me to have messed up in the corner, but the mistake was not a fatal one. The same could not be said of Shindou’s.
His eyes scrunched up as he tried to think of a comeback, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He had sounded so smug, so certain he was ahead, but in the end…
“MOU!!” Shindou swiped a hand across the board, scattering the stones from their places. “Fine! We’re playing again!”
Wordlessly I nodded, knowing that if I opened my mouth I would burst out laughing, and that would make him even more agitated. As I helped clear the board, I thought back to all our past arguments. Most took place at the end of the game, but some, like this one, would come the moment after one of us made a bad move. If often amazed me that we got so annoyed over one another’s mistakes. After all, it was such a challenge to win, it seems like we would be lauding our victories instead of screaming over the mistakes the other had made to give us said victory.
But I guess that’s what makes us unique.
When I look at Shindou, I often see a mirror of myself. Not in looks, of course, and not even in personality, but in something much deeper. We’re both Go players to the very marrow of our bones. I had been born and bred for it, and Shindou…well, he had come by his vocation in a totally different way, but the end result was the same. Shindou was my rival, my equal. I knew him better than anyone, and I had a feeling it worked both ways. When I see him fail, a part of me feels like I failed as well.
It goes far deeper than that, though. I am a perfectionist in all things, but especially in Go. When I make a mistake, I expect to pay for it. I do my best to learn from my errors, and I try to never make the same ones twice. Mistakes made from carelessness or stupidity are simply unforgivable. Until I met Shindou, I never forced my perfectionism on anyone else whom I trained. It’s expected that I be harder on myself than anyone else, after all. It might seem hypocritical to pass over a mistake one of my students make when I know I would berate myself for it had it been mine, but I’ve always felt it was wrong to expect the same from others as I do from myself.
With Shindou, it’s different. I hold him to my standards, and I expect the same level of perfectionism and dedication from him as I do from myself. Sometimes I think I should go easier on him, that I shouldn’t scream at him as much as I do after the game is over, but I can’t bring myself to stop. He is an incredible player, and the only way someone like that can grow is by learning from mistakes.
Besides, as I said before, I like the arguments.
Playing Go against Shindou Hikaru gives me a rush I’ve never experienced from playing anyone else. Even the match where I won my Meijin title wasn’t as intense. Something about Shindou’s style of play draws me in deeper than anyone else. I can feel his spirit inside the stones, see his very soul reflected in the pattern of his moves. When he plays, he gives all of himself. Very few other players do that, at least so visibly.
Looking across the board to my rival, who was placing his first stone of the new game, I couldn’t help but smile. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and his mouth was set in the thin, determined line that I know so well. He was angry about the last game and was not going to make another careless error.
Very well, then. Neither was I.
I know I should focus fully on the game. After our last match, Shindou is going to be even tougher to beat than usual. He has improved immensely in the last three years, and I am proud to know that at least some of that is due to playing me. I think a lot of it, though, came from finally putting his own personal ghosts aside.
Literally.
Fujiwarano Sai is still a tangible presence whenever I play Shindou. I often feel like he’s still there, that if I squint a certain way looking over Shindou’s left shoulder I can see a thin, pale man with a tall black hat, smiling behind a fan. Shindou insists that Sai is gone, however, and the only remnants of his former existence in this century are found in the patterns of Shindou’s black and white Go stones. Every now and then I get a chill running down my spine when Shindou makes one of Sai’s moves. The Heian spirit truly left a part of his soul on Earth, and I know Shindou is proud to be his avatar for as long as possible. He still closes up whenever I ask him about Sai, and I can see that his departure still stings, but at least I know the truth now.
Shindou told me about a year ago, when I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I had come up with so many ideas, most of them ludicrous, about how Shindou was connected with Sai, and he finally took pity on me and told me the whole story. Of course I thought he was insane and denied every word, but he just sat there, his pale green eyes steady, and, in a moment of pure seriousness, quietly asked me for a better explanation.
I had to admit, all the pieces fit perfectly.
I wanted to demand why he hadn’t told me sooner, but I realized later the answer was as clear as day. As hard as I was chasing after Sai, Shindou was chasing after me. He wanted me to see him as a rival, and he was afraid that if I knew another man had played the games that first interested me, I might turn my back on him now that Sai was gone.
What Shindou failed to see is that I would never have considered Sai a rival. He was on the same level as my father, and such a man would always be my superior, never an equal. Had I known that a thousand-year old spirit, the man who had truly been Honinbou Shuusaku, was playing for Shindou in those first two games, I never would have pursued him like I did. I would have asked him to train me, and I would have greedily watched every one of his games that I could, but I would never have been able to chase him as a rival.
It wasn’t Sai who made me cry, beg, and scream. It wasn’t for Sai that I endured the humiliation of the Kaiou Go Club. I didn’t go through what I did for a Heian ghost. I did it for a boy whose innocent eyes and clumsy placement of stones showed a level of genius unparalleled by anyone else I knew. It may have been Sai’s moves that drew me to Shindou, but it was Shindou I followed. He need not have worried that I would go looking for Sai’s shadow. It would always be Shindou Hikaru.
And now, of course, there is no need to separate Shindou and Sai. Sai’s moves are as much a part of Shindou’s game as they were of his own, and while I can see the spirit of another reflected in the pattern of the stones, it does not change anything. Shindou is my rival, my eternal rival, and he always has been. Sai never could have been.
I never told that to Shindou. I wonder if I should someday…
The game is progressing well for both of us. As I expected, Shindou’s play is even more solid than usual, and he is forcing me to act cautiously. We’re about even now, but sooner or later one of us will find an opening to attack. I must be ready.
A part of me is still somewhat surprised that Shindou plays as well as he does. I don’t mean to question either his skill or his training, but rather his concentration. He can’t sit still for anything else, and his interests seem to change daily. I had it on good authority that he was something of a flake before our worlds collided, that he took almost nothing but comic books seriously and had no life goals or ambitions. Sai must have truly been an amazing man to take someone like that and turn him into what he is today.
Is it wrong of me to be jealous of Sai? I have to admit that I often feel that way. While I am infinitely grateful to him for bringing Shindou into my world, the thought of his bond with Shindou causes a strange ache in my heart. The few times that Shindou spoke to me of Sai, there was a reverence in his voice that I’ve never heard him use while discussing anything or anyone else. The pain he felt when Sai finally passed on must have been horribly acute, something I would have guessed on my own anyway. Only something extremely traumatic would have made him threaten to quit Go. I guess what I’m trying to say is that Sai brings out a passion in Shindou that eclipses everything else in his life, even his love for Go. Sai was his friend, his mentor. They shared the same soul for almost three years. Shindou was willing to give up everything to bring his ghost back. Sai was closer to Shindou than I will ever be…and that hurts, for a reason I have yet to truly understand.
Sai gave Shindou a reason to play Go and the passion to continue it. Whatever motivates Shindou to play, to grow, to love the game…it all came from Sai.
Why couldn’t it have been from me?
I know I have no right to think like that. Sai was obviously an amazing person, and I wish I had been able to meet him, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wish I had been more influential in Shindou’s growth. It’s my own fault, I suppose. After all, I turned my back on him after the third board match between Kaiou and Haze. I watched him from the shadows, but I never allowed anyone, least of all Shindou, to know it. I wanted him to think he was dirt under my feet, until I could figure out exactly what he was. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so stubborn, so prideful, I might have been able to play a larger part in his development. What I did to him during those two years, how I treated him and used his fellow Insei against him, still sickens me. It’s not like me to be so cold, so uncaring, so full of darker emotions. But Shindou has always brought out a different, more intense side of me. He still does. I wouldn’t think of shouting at anyone else for their mistakes, nor would I chase after them through a busy street. When I’m with him, it’s almost like I’m a different person.
Shindou changed me. I can admit that now with no reservations. When he waltzed into my father’s Go salon, I was at a standstill. I knew exactly what I wanted and how to get it, but I was unwilling, or perhaps even unable, to take that final step. People called me a genius, a protégé, but in reality, I was just a child searching for answers, for meaning. I knew I should be grateful. My way had always been paved in gold before me from the moment I lifted my first Go stone. Not many sixth graders could say they knew exactly what they wanted out of life and had the talent to actually do it. I did. I had a living…but I realize now I didn’t have a life.
Shindou was my spark. His fire ignited mine. Without him, I might still be sitting in the Go salon…waiting for the unknown. He forced my hand and made me act. He challenged all my preconceptions and made me fight for what I’d always thought was my birthright. If you want to be the best, he seemed to say, if you truly want this, then you can’t just sit around and wait, or you’ll lose it.
Shindou forced me to live. I’ll never be able to repay him for that.
Is it any wonder, then, that a part of me is so jealous of Sai? All those things that Shindou gave to me – passion, fire, determination – he received from Sai, not me. I pushed him forward, yes, but I know he always played for Sai. It may be arrogant, I know, but I wanted to at least share that place in Shindou’s soul. Is that so wrong?
The game is over halfway done now, and I have a marginal advantage. Shindou’s concentration is unwavering, however, and I can see from his eyes that he doesn’t consider this match over by a long shot. A faint smile touched my lips. I know he wears that expression only for me. Perhaps…perhaps I do have something of my own in his soul, after all.
A white stone was in my hand, and I prepared to move. Halfway to the board, I stopped.
“Shindou,” I said softly, raising my eyes to meet his. “We are…friends, aren’t we?”
He lifted his eyes from the Go board, his expression betraying his surprise at the question, as well as the timing. He can see I’m serious, and a part of me wonders if he can hear my uncertainty. All these thoughts of the past have led me to this one point. I do share something with him, don’t I? Something…divine, perhaps?
Shindou was silent for almost a full minute, and then he laughed. “You ask the stupidest questions,” he retorted lightly, leaning back in his seat. “Come on, it’s your turn. Let’s play.”
This time, I allowed a full smile to touch my lips. His words were flippant, but I can still read him like a book. He would never say it out loud, but he did feel for me that thing, that transcendent entity that defied reason and classification, and he always would. I understand, Shindou. I understand you better than anyone else. Thank you for giving me this.
I placed my stone and waited for him to respond.
My relationship with Shindou has changed so much since we first met. From a tentative friendship that quickly turned challenging, from blind passion to a cold shoulder, and from rage to respect. Shindou has been many things to me, as I know I have been to him. I don’t know how I managed to live the first years of my life without him, just as I don’t know where I would have found the strength to continue Go had he truly stopped when Sai disappeared. Those were the darkest days I can recall, and when he appeared before me that evening at the Institute to tell me he was returning to challenge me again, my happiness was beyond definition. Yes, our relationship has changed often, and changed much.
But through it all, he has always remained one thing.
“Whether we’re friends or not, it doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you, you know,” I told him quietly, as he placed his next stone.
My eyes flicked up to meet his, and I saw a wide smile curving across his face.
“You’re so full of yourself, Touya,” he retorted, that foolish grin making him resemble the child I once knew. “Bring it on.”
I considered the board, then drew a stone.
I’m coming for you, Shindou.
My eternal rival sat serenely before me, waiting for my inevitable attack.
I smiled again. We were friends, yes, and perhaps something beyond…but rivals, always rivals, above and before anything else.
Perhaps I do share something unique with Shindou after all…
I placed my next stone, bringing a group of his stones into atari.
Our game was just getting started.