Disclaimer:

This is a work of fan fiction, for fans, by a fan.

I (the author) do not own Hikaru no Go or any related trademarks or copyrights. I am not profiting monetarily from the writing or publishing of this story. Hikaru no Go and all indicia remain the property of their respective owners.

Sixteen going on Twelve

Half a moku.

All that separated Hikaru from Ko Yeong-ha was half a moku.

It might as well be a hundred.

After grandstanding; begging Kurata to move him to first seat, Hikaru had been unable to defend Sai's Go—Shusaku's Go. That final stone announced not just the end of the game; but proved that his Go, shown in front of an audience come to see the pride of Japanese youth in action, just wasn't strong enough.

He had accomplished nothing; defended nothing; proved nothing.

Hikaru curled around his pillow, squeezing it with all his might as he fought back bitter tears. If Sai was still here HE would have won. If Sai was here Ko Yeong-ha would never have gotten away with bad-mouthing Shusaku. Sai would have been furious! Outraged! There's no way he would have let that jerk get away with—

Hikaru flopped backwards onto his bed, eyes covered by the crook of his elbow, and laughed despairingly. I thought I was done missing Sai. Apparently not. His thoughts still inevitably turned towards his missing companion: that Sai-shaped hole carved into the back of his consciousness; that piece of himself that wasn't himself but just as good as.

The MC in the closing awards ceremony had made everyone feel good about themselves. They spoke of Japanese courage, Korean aggression, and Chinese skill. Even the press only had nice things to say about his own failure to win on the first board. They muttered words like 'potential' and 'good signs', and showed him nothing but kind smiles. But Hikaru could still hear what they left unsaid; accusing thoughts flickered in the depths of their heavy gazes. Japan was last. Toya Akira was the only Japanese player to win. You may have played well, but you still lost.

When Kurata finally allowed them to leave, Hikaru had done so feeling wrung-out and empty. He felt Sai's absence keenly every second of the train ride home; his own words bringing only the emptiest sort of comfort. "I play Go to connect the past with the future." A half-truth. He played Go because it was the only thing that connected him to Sai.

When he arrived home there had been gruff congratulations from his grandfather, who actually understood; confused but relieved words from his mother and father, who hadn't a clue but meant well nevertheless. In no real mood to listen, he begged off using his exhaustion as an excuse to barricade himself inside his room and mope.

His life enshrined events he regretted or wished he had done differently: his treatment of Sai being the most prominent. Hikaru had resented Sai for wanting to play Go; scolded Sai when he wanted others to take notice of his existence; became irritated beyond measure with every unreasonable (as he saw it) request Sai had made until it was no wonder Sai had disappeared. Hikaru had all but decided to never let Sai play again, arrogantly confident that the ghost could just…latch onto some other poor victim after Hikaru died. But then Sai vanished. Sai disappeared and it was only then that he realized how much the Heian ghost had meant to him; how much he relied on that voice inside his head for company, comfort, and advice. Hikaru had wrung every drop of kindness Sai had offered until the poor ghost had nothing left. Until…until he had just faded quietly away one night without even a proper goodbye.

Was he cursing my name as he left? Hikaru found himself wondering. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. It was yet another regret he could never atone for; another regret only made clear in retrospect.

His selfishness cheated Akira out of a rival; forced Touya-Meijin into retirement then left him longing for the rematch that would never happen. He strung Ogata along just so his own life wouldn't be inconvenienced. He helped create the mythical online God of Go, and then left the entire world hanging – users online still maintained sites devoted to Sai's kifu, holding vain hopes of the mysterious online persona's reappearance.

All those unfulfilled hopes—the blame—could all be laid at Hikaru's feet; because he couldn't be bothered to take responsibility for bearing the burden of Sai's talent—Sai's Go.

I should have worked something out. Something so we both could have played.

How hard could it have been?

Hard. Very hard. Of course it was! he thought hysterically. He had taken on the burden too young to understand all the implications of his actions. He had been too young to work things out with the logic, patience, or maturity they required. In the frantic rush to chase Akira…he'd forgotten all about his irreplaceable interloper.

I called him selfish, Hikaru though, and maybe he was. But so was I. We were both selfish, immature, caught up in our own problems, unwilling to compromise... Hikaru would have to live with that particular knowledge for the rest of his life.

In Go, there were no take-backs or do-overs. Just ask Isumi.

Shadows lengthened and thickened as night fell. Downstairs was quiet: Grandpa had finally taken his leave after a rowdy dinner. The goban, set in the middle of his floor and cast in the dim rays of the full moon, still displayed one of Ko Yeong-ha's games that Hikaru had been replaying before he had left for the Hokuto Cup finals, courtesy of Amano-san.

Amano-san was probably disappointed he couldn't write something more positive about our final matches, Hikaru mused gloomily. Another debt. Another disappointment.

Hikaru let out a long, frustrated breath of air held too long inside his lungs. He levered himself off the bed and plunked himself down in front of the goban. After a moment of study, he began clearing the stones. When the glass stones were back in their respective containers, he started placing them once more onto the goban.

Ten…twenty…thirty stones, and the game began to take shape. Hikaru remembered every game with his infallible memory, but this one would ever remain his most precious possession. Sai's last gift to the world of Go: a masterful game against Touya Kouyou.

Sai had taken an early lead with a clever hand, but Touya-san had come right back…here! Hikaru slapped a stone down, causing Sai's first hand to lose its purpose, nullifying his advantage and dooming his largest group to a futile struggle for survival. No matter how many times he replayed the game, the thrill of playing that hand remained undiminished.

Touya Kouyou had played Sai masterfully.

Of course, Sai helped. He played right into that trap. And speaking from his own efforts to use traps against Sai, Hikaru knew exactly how hard it was to pull the wool over the ghost's eyes. Sai's board-reading skills bordered on precognitive (or so it seemed, at times). To a normal Go-pro, this type of play would have been incredibly demoralizing. But to Sai, it was only the impetus that drove him to raise his game to an even higher plane. His stones reformed and dashed themselves against enemy formations: a swelling and endless tide that slowly wore away at Touya-sensei's lead. Until…

Pa-chi.

This move: the crux – the linchpin, quoin, cornerstone, whatever you want to call it – of the entire match. Two paths: one, the traditional approach inside, had led Sai to victory. The other: the unorthodox, the circuitous outside path would have delivered Touya Kouyou from Sai's relentless pursuit. Only Hikaru had conceptualized the importance of that single stone – only he had seen both paths.

If that isn't a Divine-Hand, then there's no such thing. It was the hand that decided the outcome of the match; the hand where he had risen above the two fierce opponents clashing upon the goban, watching from some inestimable height…if only for a moment.

Hikaru fumbled to remove that stone from the board, fingers clumsy no thanks to fresh tears blurring his sight. It was silly, he knew, to resent this game and that move. Their problems had begun far before Sai played Touya Kouyou. If anything, this game was only Sai's last desperate gasp of life before he passed from this world to the next. This game—that move—wasn't the origin of his disappearance. Their problems went back further; all the way to their first meeting, perhaps. The furious demand for a game in Touya-meijin's salon: the game Hikaru had run from. That, was where it started. The day that Hikaru started to want to play himself. The day he wanted to be a part of something that days before hadn't meant anything to him, and now suddenly he could not live without.

It was this desire that brought about the end.

Hikaru rolled the cheap glass stone between his fingers, eyeing the board as exhaustion crept up on him.

If I had the chance to replay the hands of my own life, Hikaru thought idly as moonlight caught the glass in hand and shone, I'd play it differently. I'd use all my experience, all my patience and intellect, and I'd find a way for both colours to coexist.

Hikaru slammed the stone down in a completely different part of the board.

"If you'd played here, both groups would have survived," Hikaru muttered. White and black would have survived that encounter. Maybe Kouyou-sensei would never have retired. Maybe Sai would eagerly anticipate the rematch, thrilled to once again have a chance to grow even stronger. The third path. The one he should have followed, if only he had had the ability to see it.

Hikaru flopped backwards, letting his arms rest on the floor above his head, and closed his eyes with a long, tired sigh.

Once a stone is placed on the board, it can't be taken back or moved. That was a failing of humans like Hikaru. He could only see God-Hands in retrospect. The important junctions only became apparent once they were already played. So even knowing about them was fruitless. Just as there were no take-backs or do-overs in Go, so it was with life.

Spirits, Hikaru thought, sleepily, if you can give a hyperactive suicidal ghost a second and third chance, couldn't you give ME a second chance?

He drifted off with this ludicrous question plaguing his mind as exhaustion finally claimed him. And it was too bad, really; because if he had stayed awake a moment longer, perhaps Hikaru would have heard the Spirits answer.