Chapter 31: Chasing Shadows: The National Stage

The Women’s National Conference.

One of the two major domestic title tournaments, alongside the Women’s Kiseong.

For some women pros, just reaching the main round is a major achievement.

Though less prestigious and with smaller prizes than the Huaihe Cup, it’s a weighty tournament where Korea’s top women players clash.

My appearance and age always led to being underestimated in past tournaments, but as a legitimate women’s international titleholder, things are different now.

No one can take me lightly anymore.

The advantages I enjoyed from my youthful look are gone.

“…”

I sit before the board, alternating black and white stones alone.

Repeating ‘Changmo Shin’ versus ‘Seoa Ryu’ to refine my style.

Seoa Ryu’s Go has clearly improved. Out of ten games, I can win about two now.

Repeated real matches and exchanges with my first student.

Endless reviews through meditation at school.

Regular exercise to boost focus and stamina.

Before I knew it, Go dominates my daily life.

It’s only natural to pour passion into something I started with firm resolve.

Yet, an unshakable unease lingers.

This month, I’m competing in two tournaments.

The Women’s National Conference, where I’ve been seeded directly into the main round.

And the Janggo Cup World Women’s Go Championship, a Korea-China-Japan team event, where I passed the four-day qualifiers last week to join the final five.

Both are prestigious, but they’re women-only tournaments, barring male pros.

Winning a few more titles in rookie or women’s events won’t surpass the old Changmo Shin.

There’s no good in feeling rushed, but as a half-baked women’s pro and a cheater-like ghost of my past, can I be content with my current achievements?

“Seoa, take a break.”

A warm hand wraps around my neck from behind.

The scratchy stubble brushes my shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll rest for a bit.”

My father, discharged after his first chemotherapy, looks gaunt but seems happy to be home.

“I tried learning go-chess, I mean Go, but it’s way harder than chess. Can my pro player teach me the basics while resting?”

He asks in a sing-songy English tone.

If I were still Changmo Shin, who spoke rustic Korean-style English and avoided Westerners, I’d be horrified. But growing up with my father’s English, I can speak it near-natively.

I haven’t traveled to English-speaking countries yet, so talking with him is my main practice, but I’m sure it’ll be useful someday.

“Sure!”

I place a few stones and start explaining life-and-death problems.

My father listens eagerly, head stretched forward like a curious child.

Right.

Women’s or rookie tournaments don’t matter.

I restarted Go partly for my own desires, but the main goal was to cover my father’s medical bills and ensure a stable life for my family.

For now, I should focus on producing results.

*

The Women’s National Conference Round of 16.

Women’s supernova, Huaihe Cup champion, Seoa Ryu 2-dan.

Youngest, fastest, first.

A mixed-race girl with an exotic look, breaking all records.

“Phew…”

Dasom Yoo 1-dan lets out a deep sigh.

Her first major tournament main round since becoming a pro.

A maiden voyage into a vast ocean.

But right after leaving port, she hits a massive reef.

Since the matchups were set—no, even before—she’s been studying Seoa Ryu 2-dan’s game records.

Chaos. Disorder.

To those deeply versed in Go, her records are unsettling.

Full of moves defying established order.

Unpredictable, causing discomfort and pain to those analyzing them.

But there’s one exception.

The Huaihe Cup final, Game 1.

The conspiracy that Seoa Ryu 2-dan is ‘tlsckdah1021’ briefly spread because of that game.

‘tlsckdah1021’s Go is the opposite of Seoa Ryu’s.

The pinnacle of order and discipline.

‘tlsckdah1021’ isn’t famous just for an undefeated record.

Their Go is something everyone aspires to.

Clear and intuitive.

Predictable, yet meticulously crafted like a master’s work.

A ray of light in the uncertain world of Go.

Countless players refresh the online Go lobby daily, hoping to catch a glimpse of that brilliance.

Yet, Seoa Ryu, a reckless revolutionary, ‘mimicked’ the orderly ‘tlsckdah1021’ in the Huaihe Cup final’s first game.

Her first 50 moves were a shoddy mess.

But what followed was a textbook of perfect, honest moves.

A flawless recreation of ‘tlsckdah1021.’

How it was possible is unknown, but one thing is clear: Seoa Ryu 2-dan’s disorder isn’t born of childish ignorance or whimsy.

It’s grounded in exceptional fundamentals and a perfect grasp of standard moves.

Why she seeks adventure despite knowing the proper path is unclear, but one fact stands out.

Go isn’t played alone—it’s a two-player game.

You’re involuntarily dragged into her wild adventure.

A battlefield in an unclear abyss.

Terrifying, dreadful, and vulnerable.

If the opponent were in the same boat, it’d be fair, but Seoa Ryu 2-dan is like a monster submerged deep in that abyss.

Its size in the dark depths is still impossible to gauge.

A stifling feeling.

“Haa…”

Dasom Yoo 1-dan stretches her stiff body, reviewing ‘tlsckdah1021’s game records.

Unlike the heavy, murky records of Seoa Ryu 2-dan, ‘tlsckdah1021’s games feel like gazing over a vast, open plain, refreshing and liberating.

Unlike a dark forest where predators lurk, it’s a stable, comforting expanse.

Her dream is to one day play refined Go like ‘tlsckdah1021.’

A realm hard to reach with ordinary effort.

But knowing such a realm exists fuels her passion.

It’s painful, but persistent effort might one day get her there.

Match time approaches.

Main round participants begin warming up and standing.

A small blonde girl, calmly meditating despite her age, is visible in the distance.

Unlike Dasom Yoo 1-dan, who has no achievements, this girl has already conquered the world women’s Go scene.

But this is a hard-earned chance.

She won’t go down easily.