Chapter 10: WY Cup Amateur Championship

It’s lunchtime, and at Grandpa’s suggestion, we head to a pizza place.

The high school girl, her eyes red from crying so hard, nibbles on a slice of pizza while stealing glances at me.

Grandpa stepped away briefly, saying he’s going to the restroom.

Lee Jia, was it?

I don’t personally think there’s any rush, but at her age, she must feel the pressure.

It’s a bit late to consider other paths, and focusing solely on Go might feel uncertain.

Doubts about her talent and potential are probably creeping in.

And those doubts aren’t easily dismissed. Statistically, players who become pros before sixteen tend to reach higher peaks in skill.

There are two main reasons: first, naturally gifted players are more likely to stand out early; second, younger players absorb knowledge faster and are exposed to more high-level games in competitive environments.

Of course, nothing is absolute.

Some shine early and fade quickly, while others ignite later and leave a lasting mark.

In my case, I earned my pro license at twenty-six. Without money for a Go academy, I worked for years and served in the military, so time slipped by.

That’s why I poured extra passion and effort into catching up with younger players. Even so, without the upheaval of changing times, I might’ve burned out and fallen behind.

Ultimately, with some exceptions, the sooner you become a pro, the better, if circumstances allow.

The girl in front of me desperately asked for my help.

I’d love to take her hand and guide her to climb higher, faster.

But I’m still lost myself, wandering without a path. What if I end up dragging her along in my drift?

Yet she set aside pride and emotions, mustering the courage to ask me.

Not even trying would be utterly wrong.

“You said you needed help, right?”

I break the silence, addressing Lee Jia.

“Yeah, um… when I played you, I felt something different. I was just going to ask for your number to play again sometime. But I got scared that just exchanging numbers might mean we’d never meet, and I hesitated until I ended up crying like an idiot. I’m really sorry.”

Her voice, now calmer, carries an apology.

“If that’s the case, I’ll play you as many times as you need until you’re satisfied, as long as it helps you grow.”

“…Really? Thank you so much!”

Relief washes over Lee Jia’s face as she smiles.

“But for one week, erase Go from your mind.”

“What?”

She looks at me, confused by my next words.

“Is there a research student league next week? Or any tournaments you’re entering?”

“No, nothing…”

She shakes her head.

“Then it’s simple.”

“Yeah, but… why?”

“You asked for help, right? Trust me and follow my advice.”

Explaining would only complicate things. I ask for her trust instead.

Her rigid, passive Go stems from anxiety and obsession.

No matter how desperate you are, sometimes stepping back is the answer.

“But the pro entry tournament is soon…”

Lee Jia whispers, unable to shake her unease.

“How long have you been playing Go?”

“Since I was six, so about eleven years?”

“If you’ve played for eleven years, do you think a short break will ruin you? Think of it as a recovery and recharge period. Rest well!”

“But… when I played you, something changed. I just want to try a bit more now…”

The more desperately you chase something, the further it slips away. If you approach it recklessly, driven by urgency, you’ll lose it.

“If you don’t want to, forget it.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll do what you say!”

I cut off her hesitant words firmly, and she nods reluctantly.

“So, if I really take a week off from Go, you’ll play me as many times as I want?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then give me your number.”

She hands me her phone, brimming with determination.

“Here you go.”

“You won’t ignore me, right? You’ll answer if I call?”

“Don’t worry. Let’s eat before the pizza gets cold.”

I reassure her, easing the anxious look in her eyes, and pick up a still-warm slice of pizza.

*

Winning the amateur tournament confirmed I’ve regained some of my old skill, though not perfectly. Six million won is enough to put out immediate fires.

There’s no reason to enter another amateur tournament.

A ghost like me, an anomaly, shouldn’t linger in a place where I don’t belong.

I’ve already decided on my next tournament.

The NJ Fire Cup World Championship. A global event with a two-hundred-million-won prize.

Winning the WY Cup earned me a direct entry to the integrated qualifiers.

My goal is reaching the main tournament.

Realistically, aiming higher is impractical for me now. Even reaching the main tournament feels ambitious.

The general division qualifiers are this weekend. Excluding seeded players, there are twenty-two main tournament spots: sixteen for the general division, three each for the women’s and senior divisions.

I could apply for the women’s division, but I want to face stronger opponents, so I chose the general division. Besides, the women’s division is stacked with top female players, so it’s not necessarily easier to qualify.

About three hundred players are vying for the sixteen general division spots, a roughly twenty-to-one competition rate.

Most are pros. The amateurs include a few top research students and about ten who passed the amateur qualifiers—players close to pro level. You might as well call them all pros.

Making it to the main tournament is like plucking a star from the sky.

That’s why even qualifying as an amateur for an international main tournament earns special pro-entry points.

I can’t enter the annual pro-entry tournament and take spots from research students like Lee Jia, so this is the hardest but most honest path. Still…

“Ugh, d*mn it.”

I look down at my body.

Everything is small and delicate.

Aside from bathroom moments, I haven’t consciously noticed being female. My chest hasn’t developed, and my body still has its childish softness.

Growing up, I didn’t have memories of Shin Changmo, so I adapted naturally without feeling out of place.

But now, restarting Go, this small, fragile body feels so restrictive.

Even without physical changes, I’m keenly aware of being female.

In Go, women are weaker than men.

The main reason is that the female Go population is significantly smaller than the male population, proportionally.

Even if the populations were equal, a gap would likely persist.

I don’t believe women’s mental abilities are inferior to men’s. But through humanity’s long history, men and women evolved differently for distinct roles, resulting in women being physically weaker—an undeniable fact.

Physical and stamina issues. You might think physical condition doesn’t matter in a mental sport, but sitting still and maintaining focus demands significant endurance.

Mistakes are more frequent in women’s Go, likely because physical disadvantages lead to faster loss of focus.

“Hoo.”

A half-baked opportunity.

I’m not in a position to complain, having thrown away my life foolishly, but if I was to get a second chance, I wish it had been a complete one.

In the women’s amateur tournament, with no pros, I didn’t feel limited by gender or age.

But in the NJ Fire Cup integrated qualifiers, I’m already worried about facing insurmountable physical limits.

No. Stop.

I haven’t even tried yet.

Deciding it’s impossible before even attempting is just a pathetic excuse.

I force my gaze away from my tiny hands and arms.

–Bzzz

Lost in my troubled thoughts, my phone, which rarely rings, buzzes.

Reflecting my sparse social life at school, my contacts are just Dad, Mom, and Grandpa.

Assuming it’s a spam text, I check the phone.

[Seoa, what’re you up to?]

A message from Lee Jia. Bored from not playing Go?

[At home~~~~~]

Having lived somewhat detached from electronics even in my past life, it takes me a while to type a short message.

[Oh? If you’re free, can I come over and hang out like today?]

School starts soon.

I’m a bit worried about piled-up summer homework, but I don’t have much else to do.

[Sure~ lol,,, sounds good~~!!]

To guide Lee Jia properly as promised, we should get closer, so I decide to put off my homework.

[Okay! But, Seoa, is this how you usually text?]

Did I send something weird?

[Why,, is something off~~? lol,,,]

[No, it’s fine ㅠㅠ Just send me your address!]

I type out the address, thinking back, but even scrolling up to reread my texts, I can’t figure out what was strange.