Chapter 25:Blood and Resolve: The Final Clash

My sharp teeth tear into my lip before reason can catch up.

The metallic taste of blood and piercing pain jolt my mind awake.

I want to rip apart that smug face. I want to wipe that grin off her.

With my current strength, I can’t change the outcome.

Knowing that cuts me to the bone, fueling my rage.

What angers me more is that they see Go as just a tool.

Their ugly greed, craving victory’s fruits without the fight, disgusts me.

Fine, take today’s win.

But I’ll make you feel the pain you must endure for victory.

My emotional brain seizes the wheel, slamming the accelerator.

At this rate, I’ll crash and burn before the turn.

But emotion is a powerful fuel. Especially this intense.

Don’t fight it.

Don’t try to control it.

Just guide it to move forward.

Think.

What cards do I hold?

My emotions don’t care about means right now.

Time for thinking is limited, and my body’s a wreck.

What’s the best course of action?

I have two ingrained styles.

One is second nature, deeply familiar.

Comfortable and efficient, but stagnant. No growth.

So I forced myself to break free, rejecting inertia.

I sought discomfort over efficiency.

Changmo Shin’s Go was wrong. Seoa Ryu’s will be too.

But if it’s less wrong, that’s enough.

There’s no perfect answer in Go.

Even AI, reaching godlike heights, may never find it. The Go world must keep evolving, striving to be less wrong.

So, Seoa Ryu’s Go seeks novelty by finding a compromise in Changmo Shin’s title-worthy style.

Innovation doesn’t always lead to progress. It takes more time and mental energy to find that balance.

Unfamiliar, my reactions are slow, sometimes inconsistent. Not optimized, full of gaps and small movements.

Yet, despite these flaws, I embrace them to forge Seoa Ryu’s style, because discomfort and pain are the only paths to growth.

But with limited focus and thinking power now,

There’s no reason to cling to what I’ve done before.

I steel my resolve and grip the sword I’d let go.

I think of the least effort to strike the hardest.

Changmo Shin’s Go was once the strongest.

In today’s less-evolved Go world, it’s even stronger.

59 minutes left. Five one-minute byoyomi.

Plenty. More than enough.

Time is precious for a pro. More is better, but excess isn’t necessary.

A pro’s reading is faster than most can imagine.

Reading 90% of possibilities in 5 minutes versus 95% in 10, or converging to 100% over hours.

The difference isn’t meaningful.

What matters is decision.

Choosing among many promising options.

Quick decisions need less time; slow ones need more.

‘Changmo Shin’ has a firm value system.

Swift and bold, yet usually ‘correct.’

Physical limits.

Part of my mind screams to stop and rest, but fierce anger,

A pure emotion burning through my head, keeps my body upright.

No brilliant moves. No energy or focus to find them.

Changmo Shin doesn’t rely on clever tricks. Victory doesn’t need them.

Honest, straightforward moves.

Boringly correct, stacked relentlessly to seize victory.

I think by instinct and habit. My fingers sharpen with time, chasing Changmo Shin’s conviction.

My opponent wavers, but I stay steady.

She shrinks, but I remain constant.

She sways with every move, but I’m detached.

A sword dance, repeated to exhaustion.

Fluid and calm, yet precise.

The sharp blade inches closer to her throat.

Yun Hui 5-dan looks at the girl before her.

Blood drips along her jawline, falling in beads.

But the girl doesn’t care, her gaze fixed on the board.

The smallest person in the room.

Yet radiating the strongest presence.

Her gray eyes, long impossible to meet, hold a sharp abyss that feels like it could tear the mind apart.

“Ugh…”

Breathing is hard. It’s suffocating.

How did it come to this?

The move that benefits the opponent.

Right after Yun Hui 5-dan played it.

Seoa Ryu, a mere 1-dan, stealing more attention than her despite being just over 10 years old, grated on her nerves.

Unlike Yun Hui, who defeated the tournament’s strongest contender, Inaye Lee 9-dan, Seoa Ryu climbed by beating an amateur from Europe and the inconsistent Meiliang Cheng 4-dan.

Her only real opponent was Nonoha Tsugaru 5-dan.

Seoa Ryu’s Go was shoddy, proving she got lucky.

So, Yun Hui played a taunting move to provoke the girl.

The sound of grinding teeth and the smell of blood.

It worked—she’s clearly furious.

Already in poor condition, if she loses her composure, victory is assured.

Watching the puffed-up kid self-destruct would be a bonus.

Yun Hui 5-dan smirks, facing the girl.

What now?

Yun Hui used just 30 minutes, with 1.5 hours and five one-minute byoyomi left.

The girl has already burned through twice that.

Yun Hui hopes she’ll struggle hard—make it more pitiful, expose the skill gap.

After 10 minutes of thought, the girl plays an ordinary move. Not aggressive, despite her fierce glare.

Yun Hui examines it with interest, responding with a fitting move.

The moment she lifts her hand, Seoa Ryu places her stone.

Ordinary again. But perfectly balanced, flawless.

With the game in hand, no need to get caught in the girl’s no-time pace.

Yun Hui takes her time to respond.

Seoa Ryu’s turn.

No-time again.

As this repeats, their remaining time evens out.

Seoa Ryu’s Go is distinctly different now.

No gaps. No flaws. Consistent. No flair, but quietly efficient upon closer look.

Seoa Ryu stops playing no-time and starts using her time.

Each move hits like a heavy hammer.

Yun Hui still holds the advantage, but her ease is slipping away.

Her reading was overtaken long ago.

She’s spending twice as long to respond.

Yet still losing ground.

Even against a peak Inaye Lee 9-dan, she never felt this. Not even against male pros.

It’s something beyond what she’s faced—something higher.

But it must be an illusion. Focus, and the moves will make sense again.

“Ugh…”

Seoa Ryu’s hammering doesn’t stop.

Not too strong, not too weak. Steady.

But at a terrifyingly fast tempo.

Breathing trouble started then. To win, she can’t stop.

Keep thinking.

But it’s so painful.

It should’ve been an easy win… How did it come to this?

Clack*

Seoa Ryu doesn’t even allow room for stray thoughts.

Suffocating.

Yun Hui breathes heavily, chasing Seoa Ryu’s intent.

Fully understanding within the time limit is impossible.

But she must minimize losses.

She holds an overwhelming advantage.

Just keep thinking, and victory is certain.

“One, two, three…”

She’s pushed into byoyomi.

Nauseating pressure.

Seoa Ryu’s moves aren’t solvable in one minute.

How many moves left?

How long until the game ends?

Yun Hui now longs for the game’s end over victory.

Hyperventilation sets in. Her vision blurs.

Her last shred of pride keeps her going.

Tears form from the agony; she can’t judge the position or tell who’s winning.

The endgame concludes.