Yeongha spared Hikaru a sharp, calculating glance from the corner of his eye.

She must have seen it, but she made no move to acknowledge him. At the moment, she was more occupied with their dinner.

"This is…" She trailed off, making a face.

After a beat he averted his eyes, following her gaze. Then Yeongha made a grunt of agreement.

Turns out the takeout Pho had to be added together. Hikaru plucked a thin piece of raw meat with her chopsticks, grimacing. Sai, by her side, peered up at it curiously. "Can I eat that?" He asked excitedly, poking it.

"Absolutely not." Hikaru put it down into the plastic container full of raw meat, shutting it with finality. There was also a large plastic carton of soup broth, that supposedly they were meant to cook it in. There were also dozens of containers full of questionable vegetables. After a beat of simply staring down at it, Hikaru sighed, deciding she had zero energy to attempt to figure out how to cook this.

"Why don't we just go out and get pizza?" She suggested instead, much to Sai's utter delight.

He looked to Yeongha with wide eyes. "Please?" He begged, jumping up and down.

Yeongha let out a long breath.

At this point did he have any other choice?

This was how Yeongha found himself trying to wipe grease and cheese off of Sai's face as the ecstatic boy tried to fend him off, Hikaru a resigned presence by his side. Quite frankly, he was surprised she was even eating it. Hikaru could be very picky about food, especially when it came to the debatable healthiness of it. Sai had bound up right to the counter and rattled off enough food to fill the entire house, before Yeongha had the presence of mind to drag him back by the collar and order something less prolific. It didn't escape his notice that Hikaru had yet to break the silence she'd maintained since they had left the house. For the life of him, he couldn't tell if she was upset or not.

He'd made a point not to say anything, but it seemed that had been entirely in vain. Hikaru was doing and excellent job of making the situation awkward enough for the both of them.

He was almost getting to the point where he was just going to address the subject to spare them both the pain, before ultimately deciding that the conversation he'd been more or less waiting to have since he met the girl was not going to be started in this run down pizza joint.

"Hey," he found himself saying.

Hikaru looked up.

He frowned. "Are you… okay?" It felt silly to ask, even to bring it up in this roundabout way, but he felt he should at least make an effort to clear the air.

Hikaru sighed, picking away at her salad. "I'm fine." She returned, and then, to his incredulous face, "Really. It's fine."

Was that supposed to be reassuring in any sense of the word? Because it wasn't.

Fortunately, Sai ended up doing what Sai did best—distracting the both of them. He'd been fiddling with an ipad all dinner, caught up in some word game with dancing bears now that he'd finished his pokemon. But it began to make dial tone noises, much to the surprise of both his parents.

"Who are you calling?" Hikaru asked, perplexed. Sai knew how to do that?

"No one!" Sai replied. "Someone's calling me, I think."

"How is someone calling you off that?" Yeongha squinted at it, flabbergasted. "That doesn't have a phone plan, does it?" He sent an accusatory glance Hikaru's way. They both knew who the tech savvy one was in the family.

Sai rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'm using wifi." His tone carried a heavy 'duh'.

Yeongha turned to Hikaru again. "This doesn't cost anything, right?"

Hikaru shook her head, still bemused. She wasn't all to surprised to see one of Sai's friends pop up onto the screen—although she was thrown for a loop to find it was one of Sai's friends from Seoul. Not that this was strange in principle or anything, Sai tended to make friends with everyone from the mean-spirited lady at the corner store to the shy girl in his gym class. But Hikaru hadn't heard the familiar, high-pitched chatter of Sai's Korean outside of occasional conversations in their home since they moved. It had been a frequent occurrence at first, to find Sai hogging the bandwidth playing pokemon or Mario kart with his friends from Korea, but as he settled in some more here in Tokyo he'd started making new friends too.

It appeared the time had not done much to stave off their indelible love of fake pocket monsters, as Sai and Minjun prattled on and on about their favorites all dinner, and Hikaru was so pleased to have anything at all to fill the silence that she didn't bother to reprimand him. Whatever, they were the only ones in here, she could get away with being that parent every once in a while. It was a relieving break from her own tumultuous thoughts, actually.

It appeared it had not had the same effect on Yeongha. The man stood up after it was evident they had all finished, an impatient air to him as he told Sai to say goodbye to his friend.

"Bye Minjun," Sai moped dramatically, waving to the other boy.

He waved back. "Bye Sehyeon—we can play tomorrow after school, okay?" It'd been a while since she'd heard anyone call Sai that, too.

"Okay!"

Hikaru found herself lost in thought again as they trekked back to the car. It was only the other day that she'd found herself surprised by Sai's maudlin, nostalgic mood in the car. Was he missing his friends more than he let on? He played with them all the time through his various electronics, and he appeared to be adjusting to Japan perfectly fine. He already had a gaggle of school friends and even friends who played Go, something Hikaru knew a lot of her Go playing acquaintances struggled with—Touya, Ochi, Yeongha, Suyon, even Waya and Isumi to an extent had never found people who shared their passion until much later in life. She wasn't sure if it was simply because Sai was lucky, or because he had a magnetic way of getting all his friends excited about whatever he was excited about.

She frowned deeper—was there something more going on than just homesickness? Sai wasn't getting bullied, was he? He'd never had a problem with that sort of thing, being friendly and sporty had made him the guileless favorite of all his friends, and he certainly had a lot of those. Was it because he was Korean? But he had a Japanese name, and spoke fluently—it certainly wasn't the same as Hikaru's situation had been, moving to Korea without knowing a lick of the language, without any family, making her way through an unfriendly country alone. But he'd been quieter as of late, as sure sign of something going on if she ever knew one.

By the time Yeongha had pulled in to their driveway at a horribly crooked angle (why had she let him drive again?) Hikaru had scarcely realized they were even home. Her worries about Sai were pushed to the side as Sai had already begun to fuss with his car seat, and she found herself leaping out to unbind him on autopilot.

Her thoughts kept bouncing around with a razor sharp concentration, from worrying about Sai, to work, to her and Yeongha, to Go, and back again.

Yeongha unlocked the door and Sai tumbled his way in with all the noise of a small herd of children, Hikaru following them both demurely. She found herself migrating to the kitchen, scraping off the piss poor attempt at takeout Pho without really thinking on that, either.

"Hikaru, seriously." Yeongha came up behind her. "What's going on?"

"I've just got a lot to think on." She replied, shrugging.

He eyed her steadily. "We don't have to talk about it." He said, at length. "I understand that it's… well, anyway, my point stands. If you don't want to say anything, I'm not going to push the issue."

They both knew what he was referring to.

"That's…" Hikaru found herself at a loss. A part of her was relieved; the other part thought they were both making a big deal out of this for no reason. And then there was the part of her that argued this was a big deal, for a reason. And yet another was there to remind the rest of her that she had at least fifty emails in her inbox right now that she should probably start going over.

She didn't have to get anything else out. Yeongha had wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You don't have to say anything." He assured her.

Hikaru nodded, wordlessly.

Yeongha didn't say anything else either, for a long time. Neither of them moved until there was a tell tale thump of either Sai tripping on his own socks or causing some serious property damage. It was enough for Yeongha to detach himself from Hikaru with a quick kiss to the top of her head, moving around her to shove the last of the containers in the trash, before making to take the whole thing out to the bin outside.

This was by far the strangest night they'd had since they'd arrived in Japan.

There had certainly been times when both of them were quiet, but nothing like this. That silence was borne from the both of them lost in their own thoughts, organizing through the day, reenergizing, enjoying some peace and calm with someone they liked to be around. It was an easy silence, a reassuring one.

As for tonight, the tangible quiet between them was the last thing from reassuring.

Hikaru didn't really say anything as she wiped off her makeup and brushed her teeth. Yeongha was in the shower; normally at this point they would be arguing over basketball scores, the sordid lives of pop stars, or gossiping about Hikaru's nosey coworkers, but there was nothing but the sound of running water from the spray, and the tap turning on and off. Hikaru eyed herself in the mirror. Playing that game with Sai had given her the visceral feeling of being all of fourteen again, feeling the exhilarating rush lift her spirits as she placed stone after stone down. The actual contents of the game couldn't be any further from any game she'd ever played with the real Sai, but the feeling had remained. The quiet comfort of playing with someone she loved—someone who loved her back wholeheartedly, who had no expectations for her to live up to.

But by the end of it all she could remember was how it felt like when that all disappeared.

Her thoughts continued to swirl in an unending whirlpool, dragging her deeper and deeper into her own head. Occasionally surface thoughts would float to the forefront; had Sai brushed his teeth yet? Changed into his pajamas? Had she remembered to charge her phone? What did she have to do when she got to the office tomorrow? Should she come in late to work so she could have time in the morning to talk to Sai's teacher, gauge how he's fitting in? But those would drift off, leaving the bare and raw feelings beneath. And then her thoughts would return to the fact that she had actually played a game of Go, after all these years.

How could something be so painful and relieving at the same time?

Meanwhile, Yeongha had come to an epiphany or two of his own. Well, not exactly anything as clear as an epiphany, but he knew one thing was for certain; he was not going to press this issue.

It was in Yeongha's nature to push and press and fight. That perseverance and tenacity was what made him such a phenomenal Go player—his ability to find weakness in his opponent was absolutely unparalleled. There was no defense insurmountable to Yeongha.

Suffice to say it was taking a lot not to press in and fight right now.

But he had realized this was a lot more than some selfish wish to get Hikaru to play Go again. Whatever haunted her, there was a reason she had shut it in the dark and never looked at it again. It was clear that it was the kind of wound that could never heal properly; it was the reason Hikaru had stopped playing Go, forfeited all her matches, packed up all her bags and left the whole goddamn country. In hindsight, he knew that no one did something so drastic without a reason.

Maybe… dragging it back out like this was a bad idea.

Hikaru had moved on—Hikaru was happy. Was Go really worth sacrificing that?

He turned off the shower, stepping out and grabbing a towel to dry off his hair. Afterwards he tied it around his waist, careful to stay on the mat. Hikaru would raise hell if she stepped in a cold wet puddle tonight as she scrabbled through the bathroom in the dark. She was applying cream onto her face, verdant eyes narrowed in thought. She caught his gaze through the steam in the mirror, saying nothing.

He leaned against the stall, casually. "Let's go to the zoo." He found himself saying. It was the most inane and unassuming thing he could think to say.

This was enough for her to pause and take stock. She stopped scrubbing. "…You remember the last time we went to the zoo, right?"

Yeongha scowled. It was not an event he was likely to forget any time soon.

"It'll be different this time." He assured—although he wasn't entirely sure whom he was attempting to reassure here.

Hikaru spared him a baleful look, before snorting. "I'm buying him a backpack leash." She warned.

He would have argued the point, if only because he thought those things distasteful, but he had to admit there were some days he wished he could keep Sai on a leash. In normal doses his general excitement for life made him happy and smiley and altogether pleasant to be around—but when presented with something as fun as the zoo, it tended to skyrocket into uncontrollable proportions.

"Fair." He shrugged.

He'd worry more about the actual logistics of getting Sai to wear a thing like that, if he didn't already know they came in pokemon versions. Sai would be ecstatic at the idea of getting to wear a squirtle backpack—even if it did come with a leash.

This at least brought forth a smug smile to Hikaru's reflection.

"Where were you today, anyway?"

They were back to normal territory, and it would have relieved Yeongha had it been any other question, on any other day. He stilled. Should he tell her the truth? Or would that only make it all the worse?

He decided to be honest but evasive. "I was going over some old games." He hedged.

"Your games?" She wandered out of the bathroom after him, grabbing a shirt to sleep in—that was totally stolen from him, dammit—as she climbed into bed.

"No." He replied as he moved into the closet, thankful she couldn't see his face. He wasn't sure he could put up with any kind of scrutiny, even if the line of questioning seemed innocently innocuous.

Hikaru snorted. "Wait, there's actually someone in Japan you hold in high enough regard to go over their old games?"

"Of course there is." It was his turn to snort.

"Like who?" She guffawed.

"Uh, let's see, Ogata, Kuwabara Honinbo, " You, he wisely did not add. "Nogi Gosei…"

"Ogata, really?" Hikaru laughed.

"He's a very good player." Yeongha found himself defending, much to his own bewilderment. Of course that was true—in the years since Hikaru had known him he'd won, lost, and held almost all of the titles. There were even a few years when after he'd trounced Touya Akira for the Kisei title that he held almost as many titles at the same time as Touya Meijin. He'd been Juudan for almost the entirety of it, although Touya Akira had recently strangled that title out of him with his bare hands.

"Oh, I'm sure." Hikaru enthused, shaking her head. "It's just… Ogata-sensei is Ogata-sensei."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He asked drily as he left the closet, flicking off the light.

"I don't know, I just always remember him nagging me and calling me a brat." Hikaru huffed. "I could never quite tell if he liked me or thought I was annoying."

Privately Yeongha thought Ogata had appreciated Hikaru far more than most. It was funny, actually—most of the pros around her age had nothing to say about her, aside from a passing remark about her string of forfeits before she officially told the Go Institute she no longer wanted to play Go. Quite a few people were irked by that, but it was so long ago at this point there was no one truly angered by it anymore. For the most part, that indignation had simmered out into a genuine confusion, curiosity, and for the people who knew her, quite a bit of regret. And even from some who didn't.

Yeongha had certainly not been expecting that. So many of Japan's top players held Hikaru in high esteem. They spoke regretfully of her decision to stop playing, considering it such an unfortunate course of events. Morishita Oza had nothing but gruff praise for the girl, who had apparently even been in his study group for a time or two. Kuwabara Honinbo as well, calling her a 'wily, curious thing', which was as much of a compliment as anyone ever got from the old bat; and Ogata had been genuinely sorry to hear she didn't even play games for leisure anymore; Shirakawa 9-dan had actually revealed that Hikaru had first started to learn at his community Go lessons, and had admitted to being very impressed by that level of potential. This of course was to say nothing of Touya, who sometimes looked like he couldn't even bear the thought of Hikaru. She swore up and down that there was nothing like that between them, but sometimes Yeongha could find that really hard to believe. Maybe not for her.

At any rate, none of them could be considered her friends—not like Waya, Isumi, Nase, or even Ochi could. They were under no obligation to throw flowery remarks about her Yeongha's way.

He found his gaze focusing in on the girl in question—woman now, really. She pursed her lips, perching her laptop on the slope of her thighs as she pecked away at the keyboard, nothing but the sound of her fingers flying over the keys to break the silence. But, for once since he'd gotten home from recreating her games with Touya, the silence was not tense and discomfiting.

Great. Here he was, vowing to leave the topic of Go alone, and not even a few hours after promising himself he was already thinking of broaching the subject again. He rolled onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes as he gave a disgruntled sigh.

"Everything okay?" Hikaru asked absently, above the typing.

"Fine." He grumbled. "Just really tired."

Hikaru sat up a bit, looking from him, to her computer, to the darkened room. "Ah, sorry, I can leave—

Yeongha immediately threw out an arm to stop her. "Don't."

Hikaru stilled under his hand, as if sensing that there was something deeper to that command then just a plea not to leave for the couch downstairs.

He could tell she was eying him, but he didn't return the gaze. "Sure, okay." She complied easily enough.

Hikaru wasn't going anywhere; she was right here.

.

.

.

"Oh, hey." Waya said when we walked in. "You look tan."

Yeongha grunted. Yes he did, and wasn't that unfortunate. It was only a matter of time before it would start to peel away—unlike both Sai and Hikaru, who tanned quickly and without much fanfare, Yeongha tended to burn, tan, and then find it gone within a week.

"Go somewhere?" The Japanese pro asked politely, returning his attention to the television.

"The zoo." He replied, taking a seat beside the other Go player. On the TV, the Yugen no Ma was a commotion of people, getting themselves situated for the latest Shinshodan match. Some shrimpy little kid with the fashion sense of a fifty year old man scurried in after a slightly better dressed Touya Akira—the charcoal gray suit was perfectly fine, but why must he wear the lavender tie? Yeongha despaired for the guy sometimes.

Waya gave him a horrified look. "I've sworn never to take Noboru to the zoo again." He shuddered.

Yeongha nodded sagely. "Amen to that."

It wasn't that it had been a bad idea; in hindsight, the outing accomplished exactly what he had wanted it to. Hikaru cheered up, Sai enjoyed every single miserably hot second of it, a lot of photos were taken. Sai had lit up like it was Christmas when Yeongha had revealed their plans for next weekend, drawing animals on everything the whole week long.

The week had passed by haphazardly, without much time to rehash the subject of Hikaru's latest game. Yeongha had been lucky that Sai hadn't cleaned the game off when he'd come into the boy's room the next morning to wake him up for school. He didn't know what he had expected—it was a game of Shidou go. It was hard to say what her skill level was when she had probably spent the majority of it stopping and starting play, moving stones around, and talking to Sai. All the same, it was proof that Hikaru had, in fact, voluntarily played a game.

The door opened a second later, revealing the short stature of Ochi Kousuke, wearing his typical unimpressed expression. Hikaru had said he used to be even shorter back in the day, which was saying something. The Japanese pro only spared him a dark look, before taking a seat on the other side of Waya. He didn't look all that excited to see Waya either, and to that end, Waya didn't seem all that excited to see him.

By the time Touya and the frightened rabbit of a Shodan had gotten into their seats, the door had opened yet again, this time with Ogata and Kuwabara.

"No smoking everywhere," Ogata grumbled as he strode past them to the window. "It's a fucking travesty."

Kuwabara Honinbo cackled behind him, pulling out a pack from inside his blazer. "It's bad for the lungs, don't you know, Seiji-kun?"

"What do I care." The blonde pro groused, lighting up.

Waya laughed. "Good morning Kuwabara-sensei, Ogata-sensei."

Kuwabara grinned; Ogata grunted, turning away.

"Oh, well isn't this a familiar sight." The Honinbo commented with a chuckle. "Ochi-kun, Waya-kun—Ko-san is a new addition this time, though. What brings you here?"

He shrugged. Truthfully his game had ended and he figured it couldn't hurt to drop by.

"I thought I'd watch for a bit."

Ogata made a face, blowing smoke out the window. "What for?"

"Seemed interesting." He hedged. No one else in the room appeared to share the sentiment. "Why are you here?" He turned around, genuinely confused. If they all didn't really care about watching, what was the point in watching?

"It's tradition." Waya answered for him. "We've all watched the Shinshodan matches since…" He hesitated briefly. "Since Shindou's match, actually."

"Now there was a match," Kuwabara wheezed.

Ochi's gaze flickered away from the TV. "She lost." He replied, blandly. "Pretty badly."

Yeongha blinked—this was all news to him. He'd never heard of Hikaru's Shinshodan match. He knew she played one, and there was a possibility he'd even seen it briefly if the Go Institute still had the kifu on file, but it had slipped his mind. "Who did she play?" He asked, curiously.

"Touya Meijin." Ogata replied.

He blinked. No wonder Ochi was not all that impressed by the reminder; it must have been a brutal game. "Oh, I see."

Waya sighed. "Yeah, what a match. It got… kinda hard to watch after a while."

"That bad, huh?"

"Her worst." Ochi sneered.

Yeongha returned his attention to Kuwabara, who did not appear to agree. To that end, neither did Ogata. "You should look it up," The Honinbo told him, mischievously. "I'd like to hear what you think."

"What do you mean?"

Ogata snorted, but said nothing. Waya and Ochi looked confused. "You might just find something interesting." The Honinbo's eyes twinkled.

At the very least, it appeared to be an interestingly polarizing match. He returned his attention to the actual Shinshodan match going on; predictably, Touya was wasting no time capitalizing on the fearful, hesitant play of his opponent. Handicap or no, it was obvious that this kid was in way over his head. In the boy's defense though, that was fairly par for the course—he was playing with the former Kisei, current Juudan. And it was Touya Akira; the guy had a reputation that sometimes preceded him, but was mostly totally warranted.

Yeongha lost interest in the game soon after that; a sentiment shared with everyone else who had come to watch. It seemed it was tradition more than anything that tied this strange group of people together; every year since Hikaru's match they all gathered to watch the beginner series, even if the matches themselves were cringe-worthy.

By the time it was over he made the decision to stick around after, try and find his way to the kifu room. He wondered if they would have it there—or if they would even give it to him. He stayed to chat with the other pros in the room, making vague congratulatory noises about Sasaki, who lost miserably but put up a better fight than most, and hedging off any attempts to recreate the game.

There was a very familiar sounding voice going about a thousand words a second out in the hall, making the Go player pause. He knew that voice, of course he did, but why was it here?

His suspicions were confirmed when he pried the door open to find his son babbling on cheerfully with Touya Akira, who looked relieved to have gotten away from the after-match interviews.

Touya was crouched down at Sai's level. "So what's his name?" He was in the middle of saying, as he reached out to gently shake the paw of the teddy bear.

Sai stared at him blankly. "Bear's name is Bear."

He'd thought long and hard on that one.

Touya stifled a laugh. "I see." He seemed to remember himself then, straightening up. "Did you just get him?"

The newly minted Juudan noticed his presence then, turning slightly. "Yeongha-san." He bowed his head a bit.

"We went to the zoo this weekend." Yeongha explained, because it was true, but also because he wanted Touya to know why he hadn't been at the salon the other day. "Great game, Touya-san." He added, by way of greeting, giving him a nod as well."

"Thank you." He intoned politely. Then Touya's expression looked like it was attempting pleasant, but fell just short of sympathetic. "That sounds fun."

Yeongha snorted. "Well, that's certainly one way of looking at it." Yeongha looked down at Sai. "When did you get here, Sai-chan?"

"Just now!" He chirped. "Mom dropped me off."

Oh that's right, she had an event tonight. Yeongha got on pretty well with all of her coworkers in Korea, but he'd begged off tonight, not quite sure if he was up to socializing with a whole new crowd now that she'd switched offices.

"How was school?"

Sai pulled a face. "Fine." Highly unusual, considering the boy. Usually Sai was bursting at the seams with ridiculous stories about his day.

"Do anything fun?"

He shrugged, burying his face into his new stuffed bear from the zoo that he refused to put down. "Not really." He murmured.

Yeongha frowned, but decided to press the issue at a later date.

Sai turned back to Touya. "Ne, ne, Touya-sensei, who was the boy you were playing with?"

Touya looked down at him. "That was Sasaki 1-dan." He answered.

"He looked like he was my age!" Sai cried. Yeongha wasn't sure if he was intentionally meaning to be insulting or simply making an observation. Sasaki 1-dan was quite small, even for whatever diminutive age he was. And also so scared Sai probably could have played better—or at the very least, played a game worthy of entertainment.

"Not quite." Touya smiled slightly. "He's a couple years older than you."

"Really? What grade is he in? Is he in junior high? High school?" Sai pressed onwards.

Touya blinked, clearly taken off guard. "I'm not sure." He admitted. "I hadn't asked."

Sai scowled, clutching his new toy even harder, to the point it looked like he was strangling it. "No fair," he whined. "I want to play a game like that too."

Fortunately, Touya found Sai's complaining endearing rather than annoying.

"You'd have to pass the pro test first, buddy." Yeongha reminded him, amused. And he had a long way to go before that.

Sai did not find this amusing at all. He scowled deeply. "I'll be a pro in no time at all." He swore, surprisingly vehement.

Yeongha found himself taken aback. He knew Sai liked Go—he'd cultivated the boy's interests in it intentionally, of course, playing games with him, showing him how to play when he was young. It wasn't really until they came to Japan though that Sai started to show real interest in the game. Back in Korea he had a gaggle of friends, sports, and video games that pried his attention away, but for the first few days in Japan all he had was video games and Go, and even for Sai there was only so long pokemon could entertain him before he grew bored of it. And then Hikaru had went to her grandfather's and came back with a Goban so stupidly expensive that even Yeongha would never dream of owning one, that was apparently for Sai.

Truthfully, Yeongha was excited at the thought. Was this how Touya Koyo had felt? Yeongha could privately admit he had never pushed the boy to play Go, and that was equally as intentional on his part as showing him the game in the first place had been. He could have easily enrolled the boy in classes, gotten him tutors, taken him to watch his matches and attend conventions, but there was a small part of him that worried Sai would end up just like… well, just like Touya Akira. Just like him. Isolated and alone in an impenetrable bubble of solitude, too strong to share his passion with his friends, too burdened by the game to ever branch out into other things.

Maybe his fears were unfounded. Sai had no trouble making friends, and his love of Go hadn't heeded his social development at all. In this moment, he could identify so deeply with the former Meijin; there was something so beautiful about the idea. Something so wonderful it made his heart constrict painfully. Sai wanted to play Go. One day, they would be play together, as equals.

Yeongha shook his head ruefully, grinning so hard it made his cheeks hurt. He crouched down to re-tie Bear's lopsided bow. "A pro, huh?"

Sai nodded furiously, looking adorably determined. "Yes." He said, and there was no denying the drive in his eyes.

Yeongha couldn't help but reach out and fluff his hair. "I'll be waiting for you, then." He promised, softly.

"I won't keep you waiting long, Daddy, promise." Sai replied, with the utmost surety. It was said with so much promise and honesty it was enough to make the back of his eyes water.

Then he added, "And then I'll take all your titles!"

At some point the rest of the inhabitants of the waiting room must have exited, because he could hear someone snort in amusement behind him, a few chuckles passing around; it appeared they had attracted quite a crowd with this display.

Yeongha smirked, rolling his eyes as he recovered himself. It wouldn't do to get emotional in a hallway like this, even if Sai's words had greatly affected him. "Gee thanks buddy, that's really kind of you."

Sai beamed at him, hugging Bear tighter.

He stood up then, resting a hand on Sai's head. "Would you mind waiting for me in the lobby? I have to go look up something really quickly."

Sai just blinked his wide eyes at him. Fortunately he didn't fuss and insist Yeongha bring him alone—instead he turned his full, excited attention to Touya. "Okay! Touya-sensei and I can play a game then, right Touya-sensei?"

The Juudan looked at a loss for words.

Yeongha decided to spare mercy on him. "He just finished a game, Sai-chan." He reminded his son. "Give him a break, huh?" Two games of such trying shidougo would be draining on anyone.

To his surprise, Touya waved him off. "Its quite alright." He assured. "I wanted to play a game with you, Sai-chan."

Sai looked utterly besotted. "Really?" Sai gasped with delight. "Me too, I like playing games with Touya-sensei."

The little boy paused then, taking stock of their new company. "Hi Ogata-sensei! I'm playing Touya-sensei today, 'cause he's better at teaching me than you are."

Yeongha felt like he should reprimand the boy for that, but instead he found himself stifling a laugh at Ogata's expression. To his lack of surprise, so was everyone else. Ogata was a notoriously bad teacher.

Then his attention diverted to the person beside Ogata. If possible, Sai's eyes got even wider. "Hi Waya-sensei, is Noboru-kun here?" Ah. Nothing could excite Sai quite like his new best friend.

Waya laughed. "Unfortunately not, Sai-chan. But I'll let him know you asked about him—maybe next time I'll bring him."

The Honinbo shuffled closer, peering down at the young newcomer. "Hello there, little one. You must be Ko Yeongha-san's son, then?"

Sai peered up at him as well, finally looking slightly skittish as the attention of someone he didn't know. He buried most of his face in Bear again, nodding. "Uh-huh. I'm Ko Sai. Who are you, Oji-san?"

"This is Kuwabara Honinbo-sensei," Waya said, introducing the man now wedged between him and Ogata.

"You're the Honinbo?" His eyes had grown wide again, as he lowered Bear a bit.

Kuwabara nodded. "That I am."

Sai sucked in a long breath. "No way." He marveled, eyes lighting up. Kuwabara looked nothing short of pleased at the attention, cackling lightly.

"Oi," Yeongha cut in, annoyed. "Why do you look so awestruck, huh? You know we've got titles too."

"Yeah, but not Honinbo." Sai retorted with emphasis.

"So?" Yeongha felt affronted for all of them. He hadn't even made this much of a fuss over Touya-sensei, his new favorite person ever.

"Shusaku was the Honinbo, daddy." Sai told him patiently.

"Shusaku," Touya repeated, surprised. "Are you a Shusaku fan, Sai-chan?"

"He's my favorite!" Sai beamed. Actually, this was news to Yeongha as well.

Waya shook his head with a sigh. "What is it with Shindou's and Shusaku?" He wondered aloud, drily.

"Shindou?" Kuwabara repeated, confused.

He realized then that Kuwabara-sensei probably hadn't been part of the latest gossip grapevine. "Shindou Hikaru is my wife," he explained.

A spark of recognition swept through the old man's shrewd, sharp eyes. "Is that so?" He asked softly, his expression melting from humor to austere consideration as he returned his attention to the boy in front of him, as if regarding him in a whole new light.

Fortunately it all went over Sai's head.

"Anyway, I better get going before the office closes." Yeongha segued. "Touya-san, if you could…?"

"Right, of course." Touya nodded, smiling down at Sai. "Come on, Sai-chan, let's go find somewhere to sit."

"Okay." Sai nodded, following him down the all before bouncing back around to wave at everyone. "Bye everyone, I'll see you when I take all your titles!"

Instead of being insulted, they all laughed.

This was why Sai never had any trouble with anyone, Yeongha thought with both exasperation and fondness. He was always so honest and innocently endearing, to the point it was impossible not to like him. It already appeared as if he had most of the Go Institute around his little finger. And to be fair, no one was going to take an adorable little six-year old boy seriously when he said he was going to usurp them all, even if he was the progeny of Shindou Hikaru and Ko Yeongha.

.

.

.

"Shindou Hikaru… married Ko Yeongha?" Ochi repeated, blankly, when both the son and the father had left the hall. He'd stayed silent through the whole affair, mostly out of pure shock.

Waya blinked. "You didn't know?" He paused then. "Ah, I guess it's true he doesn't say much about it."

"But," Ochi sputtered. "When did this happen?" He asked, perplexed.

In his defense, it was hard to reconcile the two. To him they were in two entirely separate worlds. Shindou Hikaru was the incredible insei who passed the pro test with he and Waya; Ko Yeongha was first board for Korea in the Hokuto cup, the one who had soundly defeated Touya Akira at the time. Ochi had been part of the cup as well, and remembered how deeply annoyed he'd been at the Korean professional; the other go player was just so… impenetrable. He reminded him a lot of Touya—aloof as he totally disregarded everyone he saw as beneath him, never bothering to look anywhere but at the pros above him. Ochi had always wanted so badly to make the both of them stop and recognize him. Actually, he'd thought the same about Shindou as well.

Still, by the time he'd encountered Ko Yeongha Shindou had disappeared from the world of the pros for months. No one quite new what happened to her, other than that she no longer played.

Waya shrugged. "She moved to Korea at some point. I guess they must have met there."

Still, it seemed so strange to think that two people he used to know were married now, and had a child. Granted Isumi and Nase were married with children as well, and Waya had a kid of his own, but it was just… Shindou? Really? He couldn't imagine.

"So she plays Go again?"

"No." Both Waya and Ogata answered in unison.

How odd. Ko Yeongha was a renowned title holder and considered one of the best of their generation, the kind of player who would go down in the history books as a shining emperor of twenty-first century Go. And apparently his son was proving to be making his way down that same path—but Hikaru seemed to have turned away from it completely.

Kuwabara-sensei made a thoughtful noise, the eccentric and cagey illusion of a playful old man disappearing for a moment to reveal the penetrating and severe disposition of the Honinbo who mercilessly executed anyone who attempted to challenge him. However, he didn't say anything.

"Not at all?" Ochi asked, befuddled. He understood that Shindou had left, but still the idea of her not playing Go was an odd one. Shindou loved Go, anyone who knew her could say that with certainty. She had the same passion and love for the game that they all did.

Waya looked just this side of uncomfortable. "Maybe she still plays with Sai-chan and Yeongha-san… but I don't think she'll ever play professionally again."

Ogata scowled. "Doubtful. Both of them have made comments that lead me to believe she hasn't touched a stone in years."

"But that's ridiculous!" Ochi retorted, eyes widening.

Waya sighed. "It's odd, to say the least. But it seems, I don't know... She seems happy." He wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to play devil's advocate on this—maybe because he'd seen it for himself. His lunch with Shindou was both enlightening and yet not particularly illuminating at all. He hadn't figured out why she stopped playing Go, but he could see it wasn't a subject he needed to bring up with her. She seemed to have moved on.

"Happy," Ochi repeated, blankly, as if he couldn't fathom a Shindou Hikaru who was perfectly happy not playing Go. To be fair, Waya had a hard time of it too, as would anyone who had known the girl in her youth.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to get into her affairs." Waya hedged.

Ochi looked like he still had some choice words on the subject; considering their history, he supposed the other pro's reaction wasn't surprising. Ochi had liked Shindou as much as he had hated her. He probably still resented her on some level, because no matter how much he tried Touya would never consider him his rival. Because Touya had had a rival once, and it didn't seem like he'd ever be able to get over the pain of losing that.

Waya shook his head. At any rate, he stood by his words. This was not a mess he wanted to get into.

.

.

.

"Ne, Touya-sensei," Sai started, in a lull in their teaching game, "How do you know Daddy?"

Touya wasn't exactly all that comfortable with all these questions from the son of Shindou Hikaru, but he had acknowledged a while ago that if he wanted to get to know the boy these sort of questions were going to be inevitable. He swallowed down his discomfort long enough to reply, "I've know your father for a while; we played each other in a tournament when we were kids."

"Really?" Sai blinked. "That was so long ago!"

He wanted to protest that he and Yeongha weren't actually that old, but to Sai they probably were. "It was." He agreed instead, smiling slightly.

"What about mommy?" Sai pressed.

"I," he paused, considering. His smile faded. "I've known your mother since we were small—not much older than you, really."

"Really," Sai looked interested, leaning closer. "When she lived in Japan?"

"Yes."

"Were you friends?"

"…Yes." Touya found himself hesitating before that answer; he would never personally consider Shindou a friend, but it was hard to explain their relationship so succinctly.

"She had a lot of friends who played Go." Sai observed, surprisingly insightful for someone his age.

Touya knew even less how to respond to that.

"Did you miss her when she left?"

"I did." He confirmed, and it was far more painful saying it aloud than he could have ever imagined it to be, especially when staring into her eyes like this. Her eyes, on a different face.

It was strange, he thought then, when staring into those familiar green eyes, looking into them felt like looking into the future. His rivalry with Shindou Hikaru had ended the day she decided she would never pick up a Go stone again—something had torn them apart, something that had nothing to do with him or Hikaru. It still upset him to remember how horrible he had felt, wondering if he had been the one to push her away. His mother had not been pleased to find out the Shindou Hikaru he'd always been prattling on about had actually been a girl; apparently his treatment of her would have been fine if she'd been a twelve year old boy, but as a twelve year old girl he had been way far too demanding and insensitive. Akira had thought that total bullshit—Hikaru was not emotionally sensitive or even remotely incapable of handling pressure. All the same it had always been a silent fear in the back of his mind; had he pushed Hikaru away, by being too cruel, too hard, too insistent? If he had been nicer to her, treated her more like a friend, would she still be playing Go? Would she have actually listened to him that day he found her in her school's library and yelled at her to play Go again? However he had realized at some point that it probably had nothing to do with him; Hikaru had started to play Go for some reason, in the same way she had decided to stop. If he hadn't known what motivated her in the first place, how was he to know how to change her mind?

He and Hikaru had never been friends, just like—contrary to popular belief—they had never been in love, either. She was his rival, his enemy in a way, someone who was always there to push and pull at him and make him stronger, as much of a goal to strive towards as much as she was an equal. He never found someone like that again.

And yet, in front of him were those same eyes; the burning emerald that had pushed him forward, driven him towards both insanity and success, that had promised him the world and more than that, the hand of god. Now they were asking something else of him. There was a daunting but familiar brilliance to them, now.

Teach me, they were saying. Because I will learn, and one day, I will surpass you.

Touya tore his eyes away from that overwhelming gaze, picking up the stones on the board. "Would you like another game, Sai-chan?"

"Yes." The boy said, fervently. "I want another game, Touya-sensei."