Chapter 2: Resurgence (2)
Despite a decade-long hiatus, the 19×19 Go board doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar.
Perhaps the knowledge and memories built over decades of patience, pain, sweat, and passion haven’t evaporated so easily.
Grandfather’s logged-in account shows a rank of 7-dan.
While online Go rankings aren’t a precise measure of skill, it’s clear he plays at a considerably high level for an amateur.
His record stands at 1047 wins and 1089 losses.
A win rate slightly below 50 percent.
With such a high number of games, playing a few more won’t make much of a difference.
I accept a match request from a Chinese user.
A mutual game assuming equal skill, with three countdowns for a speed rule.
In Go, the advantage of playing first as Black is acknowledged, so typically 6.5 points are deducted from Black’s score.
Depending on the country or tournament, the komi ranges between 5.5 and 7.5 points.
In a handicap game where there’s a one-rank difference, the weaker player takes Black without komi.
In games with an even greater rank gap, the weaker player places additional stones before starting.
Go is a game where you win by securing more empty territory, or “houses,” than your opponent.
Houses are secured by surrounding spaces with your living stones.
Since I’m playing as Black, I’ll win if I secure at least 7 more houses than White, and lose if I don’t.
My first move is a small knight’s move in the upper-right corner.
It’s one space away from the “star point” on the 4th line, settling on the 3rd line, at coordinates (3,4), one of the eight such points.
In Go, the 4th line is often called the influence line, while the 3rd line is the territory line.
Stones on the 4th line are good for expansion but less stable, while those on the 3rd line secure territory more reliably but are less expandable.
Thus, the small knight’s move is considered a balanced position, pursuing both influence and territory.
My opponent responds by placing a stone on the star point in the lower-left corner.
I play my third move as a small knight in the lower-right corner, and my opponent counters by filling the last corner’s star point.
I didn’t have any grand strategy in mind.
Star-point openings lead to simpler, less variable patterns, while small knight openings are relatively complex and full of possibilities.
A professional, seasoned by countless battles and daily study, can handle even the most complex sequences with ease, but an amateur is different.
Even if they’ve studied standard patterns diligently, a slight deviation can easily throw them off.
Standard patterns, or joseki, are optimized sequences refined over Go’s history, agreed upon as balanced for both Black and White.
They’re the result of each side playing their best moves.
Knowing them saves time and effort.
Pioneering a new path isn’t forbidden, but it’s mentally and temporally taxing.
If you can find a good move through your own thinking, that’s great, but more often than not, players end up with what’s called a “blunder.”
In real games with many variables, play rarely follows joseki exactly, but that’s why memorizing them is worthwhile.
Of course, since the advent of AI, even the “best” joseki have evolved, proving they’re not ultimate answers, so they should be referenced but not relied upon.
By the 30th and 40th moves, my opponent predictably starts making clumsy plays.
The opening phase, or fuseki, is like deploying troops in a war.
It’s about sketching a rough plan—where to fight, on what terrain, in what formation, and how.
It’s not yet the stage for active combat, so the outcome isn’t certain until the fighting begins, but if the commander’s skill gap is large, the difference can become evident even before the battle starts.
Even with equal numbers, a force well-positioned on high ground will easily outmatch a disorganized one.
If a tactical genius commands the disadvantaged side, they might overcome the odds, but what if the opposite is true?
Before even reaching the 100th move, a sound effect signals my opponent’s resignation.
The moment I bare my fangs, their flimsy formation collapses spectacularly.
Even at 70% or less of my professional peak, this is what I can do against an online amateur.
Perhaps because I’ve let go of my obsession with Go after tasting deep despair.
Even playing someone a few ranks below me, I feel no fatigue or boredom—just pure enjoyment.
When was the last time I enjoyed Go this purely? I can’t even remember.
Since I don’t know when Grandfather will return, I should probably stop soon, but maybe one more game won’t hurt.
Succumbing to impulse and compromising with myself, I leave the game room and search the lobby for strong players to challenge.
—
Chapter 2
Ryu Sangho, who turned 68 this year, opens the front door with bags full of side dishes in both hands.
It’s about time for his granddaughter, who fell asleep in the car yesterday, to wake up, but the house is eerily quiet.
His beloved granddaughter, who inherited his daughter’s surname instead of her father’s English one, must have been exhausted yesterday to sleep this long.
He himself was shocked by the news about his son-in-law, so how much more must his young granddaughter have been affected?
Waiting at the hospital all day without rest must have been tough.
It’s a tragic situation.
His heart aches at the sudden misfortune, but to care for his granddaughter, he can’t dwell on his son-in-law’s illness.
He can only hope for a swift recovery and focus on looking after her so he can heal without worry.
Ryu Sangho takes a deep breath to clear his mind and carefully opens the door to the bedroom where he laid his granddaughter, making sure not to wake her.
But his granddaughter is nowhere to be seen.
“Seoa?”
The last place he checks is his study, where he reads and spends his leisure time.
A small blonde girl is fixated on the monitor, clicking the mouse.
His granddaughter is so engrossed she doesn’t even notice him standing behind her.
Curious about what has her so absorbed, he quietly approaches and sees a Go game on the screen.
She must have gotten bored while he was out, wandered around the house, and found the computer he forgot to turn off.
He enjoys online Go but doesn’t care much about wins or losses, so it doesn’t matter if she lost a few games on his account.
Still, curious about what kind of cute Go she’s playing, he peers over her shoulder at the game.
…
Contrary to his expectations, the arrangement of stones is far from cute.
It’s complex, intricate, and blindingly beautiful.
Thinking it might be a spectator view, he rubs his eyes, but a stone is placed where she clicks.
About a dozen spectators are in the game room, enthusiastically chatting about the spectacle unfolding before them.
Her opponent is a somewhat well-known user he’s watched a few times to learn from.
The position is so clearly tilted that he doesn’t need to analyze it closely to know.
Somehow, defying logical explanation, his granddaughter is utterly dominating an online master.
Her opponent, stubbornly holding on, makes desperate attempts to create variables, but they’re all cleanly thwarted, leading to their inevitable surrender.
“Phew.”
Having stared at the screen, his granddaughter finally relaxes and stretches as the game ends.
With a cute yawn, she stretches, then locks eyes with him.
“G-Grandfather?”
The girl looks at him with startled eyes, but he’s the one truly shocked.
“Seoa, let’s go somewhere together for a bit.”
He has many questions, but first, he wants to confirm if what he witnessed is real.
If so, the destination is already decided.
He gently takes the hand of his granddaughter, who watches him cautiously.