Prologue – Serious
The sharp sound rang in the tatami mat room.
“Check.”
He looked down at the 9 x 9 wooden board and the person in front of him.
The wrinkled old face of his grandfather was smiling happily.
He sat calmly, cross-legged and wearing the dark blue kimono that he always wore during matches.
“Unless, you have something?”
“…No.”
He admitted defeat, and the old man broke into an even bigger smile.
“Ahaha! You may be undefeated amongst juniors, but you’re still a baby bird when facing me!”
What had been the mistake?
Were the attacks too aggressive?
Or maybe…from the beginning…
“Don’t do that. Reading into it too much. You’re not ready yet.”
“…”
“Hating to lose is a good thing. Don’t forget it. But…sometimes there is a gap that just can’t be filled.”
His grandfather took a sip of tea and then pulled out a paper fan.
“You wanted this, eh? Here, you can have it.”
He passed it over like a batton.
“But…this is…”
“It’s just a fan. Though, it is soaked with all my regrets up until now.”
His grandfather suddenly had a far away look in his eyes as he smiled sadly.
“Regrets?”
“Various regrets. What I should have done. And not done.”
He looked down at the board.
Even though he was biased, as a grandchild, he knew that his grandfather was no amateur player. If anything, he had the skill of a professional.
“Why…”
He couldn’t help but say.
The question that he had wanted to ask.
“Why didn’t you become a pro, grandpa?”
“…Indeed.”
His grandfather closed his eyes and pondered.
Perhaps he was going to be evasive…
But then with furrowed brows, he opened his eyes.
“There are different reasons. But if I was to tell you one of them, it would be because I was very ‘shinken’ (serious).”
“So…you’re saying that professionals aren’t serious?”
He looked surprised for a moment, and then laughed.
“Haha. Perhaps so. Ah, you youngsters don’t understand the meaning of the word these days…”
His grandfather paused and pulled his right hand out of his pocket.
His index finger was cut off at the halfway point.
“Long ago, there were fellows known as Shinkenshi. A crazy type of person. Ah, there were many of us. I am…one of the last ones who survived.”
“Shinkenshi?”
“We fought on the boards. For the honor of our masters, and with gold and lives on the line. It was because I lived like that, that I ended up this way.”
Normally, his grandfather would never show others his right hand.
Even during a match, he would only use his left hand.
“So…it was cut off.”
“As compensation, yes. It hurt so bad at first. Ahahahaha!”
He laughed and then put his hand away again.
“When is the competition?”
“Next month.”
“Ah, so this is the last time we play against each other.”
He smiled sadly.
“Shinken do not play like professionals. They make a mess of the place, manipulate the opponents, and turn it into a fight outside…they will even cheat if they have to. It’s a rough life…”
“But…grandpa. You aren’t like…”
“No. Besides, I washed my hands clean of that. In exchange for a finger.
The pieces were taken away, and the board was empty.
The polished wood somehow looked faded.
“After today, you must forget my playstyle. Also, do not speak about me to anyone.”
“Why…”
“If others knew you were related to someone like me, the people in the association would not be happy.”
He stood up and turned away.
“Yasuharu.”
“…What?”
“Do you know…who you received your name from?”
“I think so… You told me before.”
His grandfather nodded with satisfaction and walked away.
“Become stronger… So that you are worthy of that name.”
He turned back just once and smiled mischievously.
“Want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“I’ve beaten him just once.”
As if forbidding any more questions, his grandfather disappeared behind the door.
—
When he opened his eyes, he was in a cold room with stone walls.
The Japanese room of wood, paper and tatami mats faded from his mind. The office chair must have been comfortable, as he had fallen asleep in front of his desk.
The tablet on the desk was glowing. Yasuharu tapped the screen and looked at the current situation.
How long had it been since he last dreamed of his grandfather?
After that day, his grandfather never spoke of shogi again.
No matter how many times Yasuharu asked him, he would not play.
And then he died a few years later.
Without telling him the truth of those words.
About beating a master.
“Sir Hero.”
There was a knock and then the messenger entered.
“A messenger just arrived from Temeria.”
“…I see. I’ll go at once.”
He stood up as the man bowed and left.
Outside the window, he saw the line of people from Temeria coming through the gate towards the castle.
Knights with banners, and a decorated carriage.
But it all seemed so cheap.
He was so used to the worlds in video games and films. In comparison, this felt dirty and barbaric.
“I can’t stay here.”
Things were finally moving.
He was getting closer to his goal.
Now that he was far away, he realized what he was starving for.
He wanted shogi.
He wanted it back.
And this was a necessary step.
He walked away from the window and pulled his blue cape over his shoulders.
And then Yasuharu walked out of the room without looking back.