a/n: For the Dormouse's friend, whoever she may be.

Part 25. Understanding the Opponent

A weekend had turned into a week, and Touya had cancelled classes and matches alike to invest the time in his future wife. Sakamoto-san had been surprised but pleased when he called her cell to invite her for this impromptu meeting. She had then arranged time off with a speed that surprised her fiance, returning his call less than fifteen minutes later.

"There is an inn near Tennoji park that my coworker recommends, and I have booked you a room, if you'll pardon my presumption. I thought perhaps you might like to revisit the sites here?" Sakamoto-san had sounded happier than he had ever heard her. He'd toyed with the thought that perhaps she was finally free of familial influence. The difference was interesting.

"That sounds fine," he'd replied, taking down directions on a scrap of paper held against his steering wheel.

"This will be a lovely vacation for us both, Touya-san. We'll visit the castle and gardens and perhaps a museum? I will not think of files or cases at all, and you won't have to consider go and it will be perfectly relaxing..." She seemed to remember herself and her voice quieted. "Or I could arrange for you to meet with my extended family."

The thought of a week in which he did not "have to consider go" had been unsettling enough, without the added threat of meeting a horde of approving or at the very least nosy relatives. He'd tried to think of way to refuse such a meeting tactfully, but had finally given up.

"I'd rather just see you, Sakamoto-san. There are things we should discuss." He'd winced at how businesslike it sounded, but forced his hands not to clench on the wheel. This was more or less a business transaction, after all, and it wouldn't do any good to pretend otherwise. Simple politeness was the best choice, and clarity better than the circuity of traditional courtesies.

"Of course, Touya-san." Her voice had sounded politely cheerful - office appropriate even - and he remembered feeling relieved. Perhaps she understood.

---

Or perhaps not.

It was beginning to sink into Touya's mind that he was not always the best judge of his fellow man; particularly when that "man" was a woman. Sakamoto-san was beautiful, polite and witty. She had a broad knowledge of Osakan history and Japanese culture with an understanding of traditions that rivaled his own. Outside of the sheltering - which is to say stifling - observation of her relatives, the paralegal revealed a subtly humorous streak and a joie de vivre her fiance would never have suspected. While she did enjoy classical music, she confessed an unexpected fondness for jazz as well - playing endless selections from her collection in the CD player of his car. Even her dress was different - eschewing the suits and dresses that likely constituted her work attire for tastefully short skirts and stylish blouses.

They did go for walks in the artfully sculpted gardens of Osaka castle. They spent an entire afternoon viewing the tea bowls and sculptures in the nationally renowned ceramics museum. Their evenings had a decidedly younger feel to them, however, being filled with movies and trendy restaurants and once with miniature golf. Sakamoto-san was everything a traditional family could hope for within the walls of her home, but once let out, she was clearly a woman of the twenty-first century. She seemed to enjoy showing him around her city and its night life. But true to her word, she did not mention go even once.

It was a unique and highly enlightening week, but the absence of the reassuring familiarity of his favorite game was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. He considered asking her to play - even an amateur could sometimes provide an entertaining game - but she did seem to be rather intently avoiding the subject and likely would simply refuse. Possibly she thought it was an old man's game. He was ten years her senior, after all. Probably she thought she was doing him a favor, keeping his thoughts off 'work' as she saw it.

Certainly she exhibited a very appropriately Japanese ability to segregate and subdivide the aspects of her own life. Her work as a paralegal in her father's firm had not been mentioned once. Neither had she spoken any more about her family than to answer any questions he posed; not that there had been many. They had discussed her education a little, comparing contrasted memories of very different childhoods. They had exchanged anecdotes of life and friends.

Sakamoto had quite a circle of the latter, and shared a number of colorful, happy memories. Touya found himself talking mostly about Kinume, his mother, and once or twice of Ishikawa - everyone else in his life was inseperable from the games he'd played against them. He considered telling her of Hikaru, whose antics certainly qualified as entertaining as often as not, but found every tale punctuated with go stones and ghosts in his mind. If Sakamoto's own life had such an overwhelming theme, he'd yet to discover it.

Would it be fair of him to drag such a multi-faceted woman into the one-sided obsession that characterized his life? They both enjoyed the tranquility of koi ponds and the beauty of traditional art, but it seemed a rather small point of agreement in the sea of differences. He wondered whether she would like Tokyo; whether she would be able to make new friends easily, when he knew of almost no one to whom he might introduce her. Would Sakamoto truly be able to establish the sort of comfortably separate existence his mother had seemed to have? He wondered whether Kinume was right about yose.

On this, the last evening of their "vacation of discovery," the betrothed pair had returned to Touya's suite and were sipping sake on the balcony, overlooking the city lights.

The pattern of lit windows and dark ones in one of the high rises reminded Touya of the last game he'd played against Shindou. In his mind, he could almost imagine the window on the third story, three places in, switching on to make the next move. Which of them would win, he wondered, if he could only reach out with his mind; if Shindou were waiting in that building? Would his rival even play? Touya's fingers moved on the armrest of his chair, unconsciously reaching for a go ke that was not there. The contact with fabric instead of stone brought his attention to the fact that the room was silent.

"I'm sorry, did you ask me something?" Sakamoto was looking at him strangely, head turned sideways to watch his profile instead of the view.

"It wasn't important," she answered, sipping delicately from her tiny sake cup. She had been talking and drinking fairly steadily, and had clearly had rather more than her host. The faint flush to her cheeks matched the demure shine in her dark eyes. "Akira-san, may I ask a personal question?"

He felt himself blush slightly at her tone and the use of his given name, but was at a loss to think up any good reason to refuse her. Instead, he nodded, before hiding behind his sake cup. It was empty, and he pantomimed the sip while she watched his lips. She set her own cup down, to lean closer.

"Do you find me attractive?" Her breath was warm against his cheek, the inches between them shrunk to little more than a hands breadth. Touya backed away slightly, to get a sufficient vantage from which to make an assessment, uncomfortably aware that that wasn't really what she was asking at all.

"You have a pleasant face, and an elegant figure," he offered, as both were certainly true. She frowned slightly, as though momentarily confused by what he hoped was a compliment, and Touya wondered whether he should telephone a taxi to take her home. "Your hair is quite nice," he added, watching the ebony wisps that had escaped their intricate arrangement to lie in artful contrast to the white of her neck. Then Sakamoto-san was smiling again, looking demurely away with a vulnerability almost more unsettling than her proximity.

"I'm glad. I've been hoping that you actually liked me, that perhaps our marriage could be for love instead of simply to please our parents." She reached out as though to steady herself, fingers coming to rest gently, deliberately, on his wrist. "I find you very attractive, you see." She looked up into his eyes, almost imploring.

Her fiancé swallowed hard as his heart sped up with something unsettlingly like fear. He reminded himself that it was advantageous to be considered attractive by one's fiancé. He reminded himself that Sakamoto-san was slightly drunk, and in any case that she had been an enjoyable enough companion for the past week. He reminded himself that there was nothing at all un-natural about her wanting to touch the man she planned to marry, wanting him to tell her she was beautiful... He gently extricated his hand from hers, and stood.

"Shall I call for someone to take you home? I'm afraid I may have had too much to drive you myself," he explained, opening the glass door back into the hotel room. He turned to hear her answer, only to discover the woman herself standing inches away. For a moment, her eyes showed a mixture of shyness and determination and sake, and then her lips were pressed to his. She held the kiss a moment, then pulled away, searching his face for a reaction. He took a deep breath. "Sakamoto-san?"

"Akira..." Her face admonished him with a decisiveness he wished he could share.

"Haruki-san," he corrected. "Do you-?" She looked up, holding his gaze like a hard fought eyelet on the tengen.

"I would like to spend the night with you." Her cheeks colored, but her voice was calm, certain. While her resolve clearly had a good deal to do with sake, there was a sizeable portion of ernest feeling behind it. She waited for his answer.

A thousand possibilities spun through his head, but far too many of them were black and white, and no contest for the shades of grey this particular game required. He thought of excuses, but realized they were only that. And this was the woman he meant to make his wife. There were traditions he could point out. There were practicalities he could site. But in the end, she was an adult who knew what she wanted, and he owed it to her not to hide from the issue.

He lifted his arms to wrap her in an awkward embrace.

---

The voice on the other end of the line was muffled and confused, faint "hello," blurred under a weight of sleep. It was almost amazing he had answered at all, considering the time indicated by the lobby's clock.

"Shindou. I'd like to play a game." Surprisingly, his own voice sounded almost normal.

"Huh?" He could picture his rival sitting up slightly in bed, looking at his alarm clock, rubbing his eyes.

"A GAME, Shindou! You haven't come to the salon or met me in a match for a month. I want to play a game. Right NOW." And that time, his voice did not sound at all normal, but it was four o'clock in the morning and his world was turning inside out and his stomach felt queasy and his mind was spinning with worries and regrets and his heart... He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to play go, just go, against someone to whom that would be enough, say enough, not require explanations or apologies. He scowled into his phone. "Or have you finally decided to give up on the hand of God all together?" Which was unfair, but he could not allow Shindou to hang up.

"Touya?" The voice was a bit more concerned, "is that you?" Touya had almost decided on a response to yell when the voice continued, "Nevermind. Who else would it be?" There was a faint rustling. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just cannot tolerate the way you've been avoiding our practices and ignoring our study sessions. I'll take white. Play something." Admittedly, he didn't have a goban, but at the moment, the grid in his mind was crystal clear - the only thing that was, if truth be told. Shindou's groan sounded loud in the receiver.

"I'm not playing you over the phone at 4:17 a.m., Touya. That's the kind of crazy shit Kinume and Piotr do." In Osaka, the sleepless professional sat heavily on one of the lobby's plush armchairs, frustration at the refusal nearly overwhelming him. He needed a game. He had to have one, before the rest of his life fell apart. He opened his mouth, but was once again cut off.

"If you really want to play me, come over."

"I'm in Osaka," he whispered, not trusting his voice for anything else.

"Then you'd better start driving," Shindou answered. It was not a request, but it was precisely the sort of demand Touya would accept only from his rival. That fact alone anchored his jumbled thoughts, and he nodded, forgetting Shindou couldn't see. "You still there?"

"I'm leaving now, and you had better be ready to play when I arrive." His voice was challenging and rude, but he heard the familiar snort in response.

"You're the one who had better be ready," Shindou answered, boldly. Then his voice softened a little, and the strange intuition that Touya had learned to respect on the goban colored his rival's voice. "And hey, if you want to talk on your way over, that would be okay too," a pause, "are you sure you're all right?"

"I'll be there in six hours," he replied, then hung up. He visited the front desk to make a few arrangements, then went back upstairs to retrieve his things. Minutes later, in the car, his shoulders relaxed for the first time all week.