Chapter 17: Chaos on the Board

“….”

I wasn’t rational. I wasn’t calm.

I provoked and insulted Jia Lee’s master as if I were someone important.

Was I anxious because ‘Changmo Shin’ has no memory of a female pro named ‘Jia Lee’?

Or did I mock and belittle a man running a Go school, having given up his dreams, to feel superior?

Two stones for black. About fifteen points in expected value.

Heavy. Even heavier since I don’t know his exact strength.

But it’s my mistake, no one else’s to blame. A burden I alone must bear.

He sits smugly, eyes full of hostility, waiting for my first move.

Even if he’s rusty from not competing, a pro is a pro. He’s already thinking about how to toy with me, confident I can’t win.

“Sigh…”

I don’t care much about what he’s thinking, but I got involved because I’m worried about Jia.

No matter what it takes, I have to win to achieve my goal.

In a handicap game, black has an advantage in the opening, so white must approach differently.

It’s not an equal fight.

Like a regular army versus guerrillas. A modern-equipped government force against rebels handed rifles, barely trained.

A large-scale battle in an open plain would be a massacre.

Guerrilla warfare in mountains and dense areas offers a chance. Keep the battlefield wide and scattered, hard to pinpoint friend from foe, deep and covert.

Go isn’t exactly like reality, but the principle holds.

If black stabilizes its potential territory, it becomes harder to penetrate.

In an orderly society, rebels struggle to disrupt.

Conflict, division, chaos, disorder. To sow rebellion, you must first tear society apart.

The flames of revolution grow with societal strife as fuel.

Black already controls the upper-right and lower-left corners.

I place my first move on the lower-right star point.

Black fills the last corner.

Third move.

Before black can claim the top side, I extend straight into the upper-left.

Instead of attacking, black extends to the left side.

I extend straight into the upper-right. Black reaches for the right side.

Normally, stabilizing the top side with a central move is standard.

But I don’t. I pull back and invade the lower-left corner.

If black cuts my top-side stones here, both will have to find their own way to live.

My intent was to create chaos, but it could be read differently.

“…Ha, interesting.”

Yunsul Kim, the master, lets out a hollow laugh, his face twisted with anger as he faces me.

He must see it as a blatant challenge: confident I can save both stones, daring him to cut.

The fire is lit.

Will he take the bait to protect his pride, risking complications, or ignore it, leveraging the two-stone advantage safely?

“….”

After pondering, Yunsul Kim doesn’t bite. He likely decided there’s no need to take risks when he can win safely.

But he’s clearly riled up, his moves turning aggressive. Starting with an invasion into my lower-right star point, he launches into full combat.

He attacks my left-side stone, forming a seemingly solid encirclement.

With bold, confident moves, Yunsul Kim relentlessly pressures my weak group.

If that group dies while I’m already behind, it’s over.

Its shape is bad, making two eyes difficult.

The only way out is to poke at his isolated stones to create a path.

I tighten the loose encirclement, applying pressure.

Yunsul Kim searches for an escape while closing my exits.

To the eye, white is in dire straits. No way out is visible.

He sees it too, pushing aggressively to end it, pouring everything in, certain of victory.

“….”

I feel a smile creep up as I pick up a stone.

I never intended to save the weak group.

Ignoring Yunsul Kim’s rush to finish it, I abandon the local fight and take profit elsewhere.

Realizing something’s off, he reexamines the entangled stones.

“Wha… what…”

My weak group is dead. No way to live. But if black goes to kill it, it becomes a self-damaging move that kills black instead. The same for white—attacking black’s eyeless group would be suicidal.

Whoever moves first dies.

So neither can kill.

Called a “seki” in short, a mutual standoff. A complex, subtle shape, but it worked as intended.

A gun’s at his head, but he can’t pull the trigger.

Because the moment he does, the mine under his feet explodes first.

This is the ideal mutual assured destruction.

He poured everything in but must return empty-handed. I, however, lose nothing while pulling back leisurely.

The two-stone advantage remains. The seki gave me some profit, but black still leads overall.

But I didn’t just gain numerically.

“Ugh…”

I seized the momentum and shook his confidence.

Yunsul Kim, once brimming with confidence, starts playing thickly.

Even if it costs a point or two, he aims to secure enough to win safely.

“….”

It’s tempting, but I won’t take the small bait and retreat.

From the start, I decided to forsake compromise or stability.

All I crave is blood and destruction.

Smiling atop ruins and piles of bodies.

The still-inexperienced ‘Seoa Ryu’ might get lost in extreme chaos, but what about ‘Changmo Shin’?

Following familiar instincts, I pick up a stone.

*

Jia Lee watches the game, now in its endgame.

It’s a mess.

Everywhere is a battlefield, turned to ruins.

She’s been watching, but she lost track long ago. Just following what’s happening on the board is overwhelming.

“….”

Jia glances at the girl facing Yunsul Kim across the board.

It’s definitely Seoa Ryu holding white.

But the Go on the board feels strangely alien, as if played by someone else.

The WY Cup final, the NJ Fire Insurance Cup preliminary, and today at the academy—she’s seen Seoa Ryu’s Go multiple times.

The girl was incredibly strong but not perfect.

Her play was slightly rough, sometimes clumsy.

She made unconventional moves and willingly took risks.

But now?

A refined, polished Go with no trace of roughness. Conservative moves chasing only the orthodox.

The kind of Go only a seasoned mid-tier pro could play.

Yunsul Kim, her master, looks like a wilted flower.

If he’d made a mistake, his expression might not be so grim, but as far as she knows, he hasn’t made a single major error.

The game is close, but the two-stone gap has narrowed, meaning Seoa Ryu is overpowering Yunsul Kim with skill.

“….”

Jia owes Yunsul Kim a lot since childhood. She doesn’t know how it would’ve been with another teacher, but the trainee Jia is today exists because of him.

He’s hot-tempered and domineering, but without fearing him, she couldn’t have handled the intense study and matches. Verbal abuse and punishment are common for those training to go pro.

Still, learning every detail from Yunsul Kim, a pro, she grew quickly and stood out.

Until hitting a wall two or three years ago.

She didn’t blame external factors. Nothing’s uglier than shifting responsibility.

She worked harder, consoling herself that she lacked effort or luck.

But her skills stagnated despite her efforts.

The breakthrough came after meeting Seoa Ryu at an amateur tournament she entered casually.

Her wild guess that Seoa intentionally played a teaching game is becoming reality as she watches this match.

The Go world was shaken by a girl who stood toe-to-toe with Pilgyu Park, 9-dan, despite losing.

But she’s still hiding something.

Jia doesn’t know how many secrets Seoa Ryu holds, but one thing is clear.

Seoa can give her something Yunsul Kim cannot.

Lingering for gratitude or old ties is foolish.

Jia decides to move forward.

All that’s left is to see how the match ends.

The stones are tangled chaotically, making the outcome unpredictable.

Jia holds her breath, following the hands filling the remaining spaces.