Chapter 3: Betting Baduk
The local Go club is lined with Go boards.
It’s a place like an internet café where people pay to play Go or chess.
Though online Go has made such places less common, the game’s popularity hasn’t faded entirely, and there are quite a few people playing.
After watching my game, Grandfather asked where I learned to play Go.
I brushed it off, saying I got interested after learning at school and studied through TV and books.
He said if that’s true, I have remarkable talent and wanted to see my skills with his own eyes.
That’s how we ended up here at the Go club.
Things have escalated unexpectedly, but Go is my only talent, and for my family’s sake, I’m ready to take it up again.
To regain my touch, playing a lot is the only way, and facing an opponent in person should help my instincts return faster.
“Welcome! Ryu Sabum, it’s been a while. Is this the granddaughter you’ve been bragging about?”
A man who seems to be the club’s owner greets Grandfather warmly before turning to me.
“Yes, this is my granddaughter, Seo. Quite something, isn’t she?”
“Haha, absolutely. What a lovely little lady. Since it’s been a while, just three thousand won. And for our young miss, it’s on the house.”
“I came today to let my granddaughter play. Is there a suitable opponent?”
Grandfather asks the owner while paying the fee.
“So, your granddaughter’s learned some Go? What’s her rank?”
“At least 3-kyu. I’m not sure of her exact level yet.”
“3-kyu at her age? She must’ve studied hard.”
The owner gives a light nod of admiration and scans the club.
Go ratings vary across the internet, tournaments, and local clubs, so here, ranks are roughly divided from 1-kyu to 18-kyu, with 1-kyu being the strongest in the club.
A 3-kyu is considered a high-level player.
“Then let her play me.”
A man who’d been listening nearby chimes in.
“Alright. Seo, don’t feel pressured, just give it a try.”
“Haha, I don’t want to scare a kid, but it’s no fun without a wager, right? Let’s make it twenty thousand won.”
Seeing me, an easy-looking target, he must think I’m easy prey.
His rough, sleazy appearance suggests he’s planning to win easily and treat himself to a free lunch and drinks.
“No, that’s—”
“I’ll do it, Grandfather.”
I cut off Grandfather, who was about to look for another opponent, and approach the man.
Someone eager to bet must be confident in their skill.
“This kid’s got some spunk! Alright, you said she’s around 3-kyu? I’m 4-kyu, but since I’m older, let’s play even.”
The man sits at the board and grabs a handful of white stones.
Nigiri.
The senior or stronger player grabs a handful of white stones, and the other indicates odd or even with black stones to determine who plays Black or White.
I place one black stone to indicate odd, and he counts the stones on the board.
“Looks like I’m Black. Let’s have a good game, kid.”
Either he really wanted Black, or he’s trying to rattle me, but I faintly catch him slipping a few white stones into his sleeve with practiced sleight-of-hand, making an even number.
It’s a trick that could let him add stones to dead groups later if the game turns against him.
Pointing it out would only cause a scene, so I say nothing.
Black or White, the stronger player wins.
“Sure. I look forward to it.”
Clack!
As soon as we exchange greetings, he places a stone with a startlingly loud snap.
Upper-right corner, large knight’s move.
It feels deliberately intimidating, meant to scare me.
Grandfather, watching from the side, frowns and glares at the man.
But reacting emotionally would only play into his hands.
Unfazed, I pick up a stone.
The smooth feel of the Go stone, touched for the first time in ten years, sends a strange thrill through me.
Click
I place my stone with a crisp, clear sound.
Lower-left corner, star point.
No matter how much meaning you attach to it, Go is just a game, and I don’t mind a wager for fun.
But I won’t overlook someone who treats Go as a mere tool for greed, resorting to cheap tricks.
I fix my gaze and thoughts solely on the board.
After about 40 moves, I can gauge his skill.
Despite his attitude, he’s quite strong.
His claim of being 4-kyu was likely a lie; he’s probably around 2-kyu.
That makes his behavior even more despicable.
“Hey, kid, Seo, was it? You’re pretty good for a little one. Must’ve studied hard under a good teacher, huh?”
At move 51, he lays a clever trap while talking to distract me.
It’s a well-set trap that could trip up even skilled amateurs if they’re careless.
Falling for it would mean a devastating loss.
Instead of replying, I place a stone without long deliberation.
It’s not a standard response. If anything, it could be considered a bad move.
“Haha, kid, you should answer when an adult talks. Did your foreign parent not teach you manners?”
Barely hiding his emotions, he smirks broadly and places a stone where he expected me to.
He thinks he’s gained a big advantage, but I’ve merely accepted a small loss to counter his deception with my own.
And he’s fallen right into my plan.
I continue with moves that lead him to ruin.
It’s not a flawless strategy by any means.
But it’s intricate and precise enough that an overconfident, careless opponent won’t notice.
“Sorry, kid. You should’ve listened to your grandfather.”
If you walk carelessly, you might not notice you’re at the edge of a cliff until it’s too late.
I give the opponent, now standing at the cliff’s edge, a gentle push.
“W-What!?”
He finally realizes as I place my move.
Only when staring into the abyss below does he sense the danger.
Clinging to the cliff’s edge with just his hands, he scrambles to climb back up.
A light step on his weakening hands would send him plummeting.
But I don’t do that.
At a point where one move could end it, I place a stone elsewhere.
I have no intention of granting an easy death with a single fatal blow.
I’ll make it as humiliating and painful as possible, slow and thorough.
“Ugh, ugh…”
Spared by a mercy that’s hardly merciful, he flushes with shame.
Fuming, he glares at me fiercely and plays his next move aggressively.
In swordsmanship, a strong attack leaves your stance vulnerable.
It might cut through an armored opponent if it lands, but if it misses, you’re exposed.
Go is the same.
Attacks always carry risk.
They must be calculated and precise.
Expecting an impulsive punch to land is foolish.
When I counter his attack effortlessly, his offensive crumbles, and my chance for a counterattack arrives.
But I don’t rush.
His weaknesses are many, so there’s no need to force my way in.
Just stepping closer to his vulnerabilities makes him tremble with fear.
As if he was never aggressive, his play turns passive and defensive.
Once the balance tips and the advantage is set, the trailing side can only play their best moves and hope for a mistake.
But someone with the composure, patience, and mental fortitude for that wouldn’t resort to cheap tricks like hiding stones.
As his mind wavers, his game falls apart miserably.
Instead of finishing off the staggering opponent, I toy with him thoroughly.
His shoulders slump further, and his gaze drops to the floor.
“…”
Head bowed, he silently pulls out his wallet, tosses two crumpled ten-thousand-won bills onto the board, and flees the club.
A win for me as White by resignation.
As I relax from the game’s intensity, feeling a slight dizziness and fatigue, I look around.
The people in the club, who were playing their own games, are now gathered around me, watching.