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“Hey,” she says, out of the blue. “You ever heard of a game called go?”
Brittani (with a little heart over the ‘i’) glances up from painting her toenails a brilliant pink and levels her with a blank stare.
“Go…? What’s that, some kinda card game? ‘Cause I suck ass at those, sorry to say. You’re better off asking Anita – she’s always playing poker with drunk guys at the bar and winning all their cash.”
“… Nah, that’s okay,” Fukiko says, and looks away pointedly, back to the TV screen where some vapid reality show is blaring. “It’s not important anyway.”
.
.
Felt the weirdest urge to play go today. What the actual fuck.
She presses send and flops down on her bed, staring at the ceiling, tracing the lines in the cracked plaster. Of all the things she had expected to be homesick over – her mom’s cooking and the view from their balcony at sunset and the smell of that one laundry detergent they’d been using for years and years – go had not been one of them. And yet here she is, jonesing desperately for a game. Dad would be so proud.
Her tablet pings, and she picks it up to read her brother’s response.
FROM: Tatsuya @ 22:13:07, 4/26/35
you have got to be shitting me. please trade places w/ me then. dad has been obnox since you left, nobody will play w/ him on his days off. he keeps inviting his pro buddies over but they’re all “too busy” LOL. i really don’t get it. playing go is his fucking job, why the hell does he want to play more on his off days?? do something else for a change, god damn
Fukiko laughs quietly and begins to tap out a reply.
Why don’t you play with him?? I know you hate it but it’d be nice to humor him once in a while.
This time, the response is almost instantaneous.
oh fuck no. i know the way he works - if i play once he’ll always expect me to. and then before you know it he’ll be shipping me off to insei school or some shit. you and him can keep your boring ass geezer game thank you very much
Fukiko frowns, and begins to type it’s not boring before realization sets in. They’ve had this argument fifteen hundred times before; once more is not going to change Tatsuya’s mind. He’s got too many bad memories of the game to ever love it – memories of Dad being absent for days at a time, missing graduations and birthdays, soccer matches and school festivals. Memories of Mom shouting, asking which he loved more – his family or the game. Fukiko supposes she’s fortunate. She took an interest in go from the start, and so Dad, in turn, took an interest in her. But Tatsuya… Tatsuya was not so lucky.
And so she hits the backspace button.
Sorry, she types, gotta go study. Talk to you later.
It’s not necessarily a lie. There’s an in-class essay in Medical Ethics tomorrow, and she really ought to go over her notes one last time. But instead she finds herself sinking back against the pillows with a yawn, trying and failing to blink away her tiredness.
(She dreams of playing go, but when she wakes she cannot remember her opponent’s face, only the elegant placement of their white stones, laid upon the board with loving tenderness.)
.
.
Her friend Natsuki sends her a list of sites where you can play online, and Fukiko trawls through it with a frown. She wants something small and straightforward – no downloading 56gb clients or updating Adobe Pulse or dealing with haughty Korean guys with “7-dan” next to their usernames. And finally at the end of the list she finds it: fuseki.org, browser-based and in operation since 1999!
Fukiko whistles appreciatively. She can’t even fathom a website being online since ’99. And sure enough, the site ends up looking a hot mess on her tablet, outdated layout causing text boxes and links to jumble together in the center of the page. And is that a hit counter at the bottom? Geezus.
“Hey Brittani,” she calls. “You’ve got a really shitty old laptop, right?”
The blonde girl sticks her head out the kitchen door, eyes already in mid-roll.
“Ugh, yes! It is seriously the most ridiculous piece of crap ever. It weighs like fifteen pounds and has like… a week of battery life. Tops. Oh and get this: it still has Microsoft Word. And not even 2028 edition. I’m talking ’23 edition, with no voice dictation or anything. I mean, I can still write papers on it and shit but that’s like… the extent. It fucking sucks.”
“Can I borrow it for a few hours?” Fukiko asks. “I’m trying to get on this one site, but it’s literally too outdated for my tablet to handle, if you can believe that.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Brittani says with a wave of her hand. “Feel free to ‘accidentally’ download a bunch of weird shit and get some viruses. Then my parents will have to buy me an actual computer…”
Fukiko boots up Brittani’s laptop (wow, she wasn’t kidding about MS Word ’23) and goes back to fuseki.org, where she sets up an account and logs in to the game server. Just as she predicted – there’s only four other people online. Someone from Germany named khava, a Chinese player named yun12, and two people from Japan with the usernames… link and zelda? Fukiko raises a bemused eyebrow.
Hello, she types into the chat box in Japanese.
It doesn’t take the other players long to respond.
link >> Oh my, a new person? That’s pretty rare. Welcome, fukiko!
zelda >> Yeah, welcome. Nice to see someone new dropping by.
fukiko >> Thanks. I’m guessing you don’t see a whole lot of traffic on this site?
link >> Haha, no. Not so much. Nowadays it’s mostly just used by zelda and I, and occasionally some of our RL acquaintances. The players from other countries are left over from the old days as well. I suppose none of us could ever get used to the newfangled NetGo sites, so we just stayed here.
zelda >> You’re making us sound like crotchety old men, link.
link >> We’re not crotchety old men? That’s news to me! Weren’t you the one complaining about “kids these days” just last week? Something about how they’re all so irresponsible and have no motivation, etc. etc. ad nauseam?
zelda >> Oh, shut up.
Fukiko smiles. Looks like she’s stumbled upon an internet refuge for middle-aged go players reminiscing about the Good Old Days. She imagines that if her father were to play NetGo, he’d probably end up somewhere like this.
zelda >> Enough pointless rambling, geez. You want to play a quick game, fukiko? How good are you?
fukiko >> Umm… I’m about insei level, I suppose? A low-level insei, mind you.
link >> Wow, very impressive! In that case, I’d recommend putting down eight stones or so against zelda. Less if you’re looking for a teaching game, of course.
zelda >> Eight stones sounds about right, yeah.
She blinks at the computer screen. Eight stones? That’s about the number she’d put down in her last game against Dad. Could these people be… pros?
Nah, she thinks. No fucking way.
fukiko >> How about we start with an even game? If you’re as good as you claim to be, then next time I’ll accept the handicap.
There is a long pause, and Fukiko watches her cursor blinking, anticipating the reply.
And then:
zelda >> Haha! I like you already, fukiko. You don’t back down from a challenge. Alright, even game it is. But at the very least I must insist that you take black.
She says yes hurriedly, wondering if perhaps she will find those white stones from her dream, their pattern imprinted like a red-hot brand upon her mind.
.
.
She is defeated.
Utterly.
It only takes a few moves for her to realize that she is severely outmatched by this mysterious person, this zelda, but she hangs on as long as she can despite, playing her most aggressive hand in a last-ditch attempt to gain some territory. In the end she loses by 12 moku, and she’s pretty sure zelda wasn’t even trying.
zelda >> Good game! I’d say you were underestimating yourself before. In an insei class you would definitely be in the top fifteen rank-wise. You’ve got potential, that’s for sure.
link >> Yes, you did remarkably, fukiko, all things considered. I’m afraid we have to go, but I hope to play you as well, so come back another day, yes? If we’re not here, one of our friends might be.
fukiko >> Wait, are you guys pros?? zelda, you are too good to be an amateur…
zelda >> See you around, fukiko. :)
{link has logged off}
{zelda has logged off}
She stares at the computer screen for a long moment and then huffs out a sigh.
Just you wait, she thinks. I’ll wheedle the truth out of you eventually.
.
.
Over the course of the next few days she plays khava, and yun12, and some person from Taiwan who calls himself “flyboy.” She plays link and the so-called “RL friends,” ryu and momo and mrwhite. She even plays joejj from Finland, who apparently “only shows up once every other month, and sometimes not even.” By Friday Fukiko has played all the regulars on the fuseki.org server… and lost miserably to every single one of them.
link >> Don’t worry about it, fukiko. We’ve all got several decades on you.
zelda >> Yeah, we’ve got wisdom and experience on our side. Once you get to be our age, you’ll be beating uppity young kids left and right, mark my words.
link >> Indeed. You know, someone once asked me to describe you, zelda. And the words “wise and experienced” immediately came unbidden to my mind, as if whispered to me by the gods themselves.
zelda >> Oh, shut up.
Fukiko has to stifle her laughter. With each passing day link and zelda seem more and more like an old married couple. Their bickering is rather adorable.
fukiko >> Still, not being able to beat anyone here is a little disheartening. You can’t /all/ be pros. That would just be ridiculous.
zelda >> Hey, you keep playing with me and you’ll be pro-level soon too. ;)
link >> Goodness, such modesty. He’s somewhat correct though. Practice and dedication are all one needs to become better!
fukiko >> Yeah, I guess so.
They chat for a few more minutes, until Fukiko glances at the clock and sees, with a start, that it’s past midnight.
fukiko >> Shit, I gotta go. Have to get up at six tomorrow, so I really need to go to sleep. Good… whatever time of day it is over there. Can never keep my timezones straight.
link >> It’s about two in the afternoon here. Now that you mention it, we really ought to get off as well. We have somewhere to be in half an hour. Good night, fukiko!
zelda >> G’night!
{link has logged off}
{zelda has logged off}
She is about to log out herself when she sees it – a notification flashing in the corner; a game challenge awaiting her approval. She frowns, perplexed, and checks the list of players online.
There is no one. She is alone on the server.
Maybe it’s a glitch, she thinks. The site is very old, after all. It wouldn’t be surprising for it to have a few bugs.
But when she clicks on the notification, her frown only deepens. The player’s name is one she’s never seen before, nor has she ever heard it from link or zelda. She clicks on to their profile and finds it barren – no bio or avatar or even location, which she could’ve sworn was filled in automatically based on IP.
Hello, she types into the chat box. Are you new here as well?
sai does not reply.
.
.
(That night she dreams of go again, of those pale hands placing their white stones in a pattern so beautiful it makes her want to cry.
Her opponent is still shrouded in darkness, but she can see the faint curve of their smile as they reach up and press an elegant finger to their lips.
“Shh,” a voice whispers, and Fukiko wakes with a jolt.)
.
.
link >> Hello again, fukiko!
zelda >> What’s up with you today?
Do you guys know a user called “sai”? she types. I played them last night and it was like… I don’t know. It was like staring into the face of God or something, haha. I think they might be the best player ever, no joke.
Her hand hovers over the Enter button.
She feels something, then. A presence that she can’t explain. Like someone is peering over her shoulder, watching her every move. Like someone is holding her back, their fingers – long and tapered and cold as ice – curled delicately around her own. In her mind’s eye she can almost see them, her opponent all hidden in shadow, and they shake their head as if to say no, no, this is a secret between you and I alone.
A shiver travels down her spine.
fukiko >> Not much. How about you?
.
.
It’s late (or maybe early, at this point), and she can’t sleep. Her mind is restless, preoccupied with minutia, and she keeps staring deep into the shadowy corners of her room, as if she expects to see something there. A wisp of silken black hair, perhaps, or the corner of a long sleeve fluttering bright in the darkness.
Eventually she gives up and gets out of bed; goes to the kitchen and cracks open one of the shitty beers that Anita was saving for the mixer this weekend. Fukiko’s not usually one for drinking solo, and definitely not on a random-ass Tuesday at 2:47 AM, but right now she needs something, anything, to make her less jittery and wired.
She glances over at the table, where Britanni’s left her laptop with a half-empty glass of orange juice sitting on the touchpad. Maybe someone’s on fuseki, she thinks hopefully, and reaches over to press the power button.
There is someone on the server, surprisingly enough, a player she’s never seen before, and their username alone is enough to give her pause.
At first she laughs – yeah okay bro, real funny, using that name. What a hilarious joke. But as the seconds tick by she begins to think. link and zelda are both pros, no doubt about it. High-ranked ones to boot. Their “friends” could technically be highly-skilled amateurs but she’s guessing pro for them too – in momo and ryu she can almost physically see the meticulous insei training, slowly improved and built upon over decades. Fuseki.org is a veritable treasure trove of astonishing go talent, the likes of which she’s rarely seen gathered in one place.
So maybe, just maybe… It’s the real deal.
Fukiko’s mouth feels strangely dry, and she takes another hurried swig of her beer. Her pulse is quick as she clicks on to the player’s profile.
1 game in progress, says the tab at the top of the screen.
“But there’s no one else online,” she whispers aloud as realization sets in.
Hands trembling just a bit, she enters the game as a spectator. There are no moves yet – the board is empty and yet brimming with promise, endless potential written in the untouched lines. Anticipation settles down upon her shoulders like a weight, and she wonders how it’s possible, to feel such a thing through a computer screen. She cannot see the players, and the goban is merely pixels, and yet the tension is palpable, coiled tight in her chest like a wound spring.
A message appears in the chat box then, drawing her eye.
touya kouyo >> I’ve been waiting a very long time.
But once again, sai does not answer.
.
.
The next day, link and zelda are not online.
I need to talk to you guys, she writes in the comment box on zelda’s profile. Last night I saw something amazing, and I think you’re the only ones who might understand… Dunno why I think that, I just do. Hit me up whenever you get on, okay?
But a day passes, and then three, and still there is no sign of them.
By the time a week has passed she gives up. She feels jumpy from the strain of keeping this… thing to herself, and begins tapping out a message to Natsuki, desperate for someone, anyone to tell.
Hey, remember that list of NetGo sites you sent me? I started playing on this really old one, right? And this place is legit ridiculous. Everyone there is pro-level, no joke. Like 5-dan and up, and not the fake internet kind either. Anyways so like a week ago I watched a game between these two INCREDIBLE players, and one of their usernames was “touya kouyo.” And I think… it might’ve actually been the real deal. How fucking crazy is that??
The few minutes it takes Natsuki to respond feel like an eternity.
FROM: Natsuki @ 14:39:12, 5/13/35
Lol yeah ok girl. is this gonna be a joke or a ~spooky~ story or what…??? I gotta get to work in like 10 mins
Fukiko frowns.
What?? I’m being serious, Natsuki! I’ve studied Touya Kouyo’s kifu, you know. I know what his go looks like. I seriously think it was him!!
The next reply is much quicker.
… wait are you being sincere rn? You actually think it was touya kouyo on your little netgo site?? Haha wow girl are you just delusional or have you really not heard yet…?
Heard what? Fukiko types, a faint feeling of unease tugging at the corners of her mind.
Touya Kouyo died, Fukiko. on the 5th, I think? guy was like 89 or something. Had been in hospice for a month or so from what I recall. I mean I guess he could’ve been playing netgo on his deathbed, lolol. (shit, probably shouldn’t laugh about stuff like that, he’ll come back & haunt me)
(Fukiko inhales sharply then, remembering in vivid detail the layout of the board, the intricacies of the game she’ll never forget. It was black’s victory in the end, by a mere half moku. “Thank you,” the user called touya kouyo had said, and these two simple words had felt somehow more.)
No, she types back to Natsuki in reply. No, I don’t think he will.
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