10:00 AM — On the Dot
Tokyo Shogi Association, Ryuou Tournament Hall
A hushed anticipation clung to the air like static before a storm.
The digital clock ticked over to 10:00 exactly.
And at that moment—
Click.
The door opened.
And Yukima Azuma stepped into the venue.
The quiet ripple of murmurs grew into a wave of noise. Whispers surged through the audience like wind over tall grass.
"It's him!"
"He really made it just in time…"
"That's the prodigy—Yukima 7-dan!"
In this year's Ryuou tournament, no one drew more attention than him.
He was a storm cloaked in calm, the undefeated genius who had swept through the official tournaments like a blade through silk. At only seventeen, he had already risen to 7-dan, the youngest in the modern era.
And now, the question on everyone's mind wasn't if he'd win—
It was when he would fall.
Would his legend continue, crowned with the Ryuou title?
Or would his momentum crash against the immovable wall that awaited all geniuses eventually?
Azuma walked past the onlookers, his steps light, unhurried.
He reached the board, sat down, and glanced at his opponent across the table.
"Hm? Oh—an acquaintance! Kawai Kenichi 1-dan, right?"
He smiled warmly, as if greeting an old friend.
Across from him, the young man in question jolted upright in his chair, hands trembling as he scrambled into a deep bow.
"Y-You remember someone like me…? I'm honored, truly!"
His voice cracked.
Azuma blinked in surprise.
Was he always this jumpy?
He remembered the name well. Kawai Kenichi had been his opponent during the opening round of the last official tournament.
That game had lasted less than fifty moves.
Azuma had gone aggressive from the start—seizing tempo, crushing defenses, and ending the match so quickly that it was almost embarrassing.
And yet, even then, Azuma could sense Kawai had potential. His reads were sharp, but his nerves unstable.
Azuma had planned to find him after the tournament and offer guidance.
But the poor kid had been eliminated immediately after, vanishing from the bracket like a ghost.
What Azuma didn't know—
Was that Kawai Kenichi had taken that loss personally. Deeply.
His shogi spirit had crumbled. He had floundered through his remaining matches, unable to recover. After his early elimination, he locked himself at home, pouring over match records obsessively, seeking stability.
Only days ago had he mustered the courage to re-enter a tournament.
He hadn't come to win.
He'd come to heal.
To reclaim his rhythm. To prove to himself that he could play solid shogi again.
But then fate played a cruel joke.
Your opponent? Yukima Azuma, 7-dan. Again.
"The heavens… hate me…"
Now, facing that very same genius across the board, Kawai's nerves returned with a vengeance.
"P-Please, take your seat!"
"You first, it's fine."
"N-No, no! I insist!"
"…Do I really look that scary?" Azuma asked.
"Not at all! Just… getting to play you is already an honor!"
Azuma gave a helpless smile and finally sat. Kawai followed suit like a nervous junior awaiting his instructor's approval.
The Match Begins
Clack.
The referee placed the game timer on the table.
"Now that both players are present, the match will begin. Please start."
"Please guide me!" Kawai bowed deeply.
"…Please guide me." Azuma replied casually, mirroring the gesture.
Kawai went first.
And immediately hesitated.
Opening theory in professional shogi is often automatic—each player executing well-rehearsed sequences, not unlike chess.
But Kawai froze on the first move.
His hand hovered over the pieces, trembling slightly.
Aigakari… should I?
In their last match, he had used Aigakari and been destroyed.
It was his best strategy—his comfort zone.
But now, even looking at the pattern made his palms sweat.
If I don't use it, I'll lose worse. But if I do…
After an agonizing pause, he pushed forward his bishop pawn.
Clack.
He had chosen Aigakari again.
Azuma saw it.
And smiled faintly.
Still clinging to what hurt you most, huh? That takes guts.
Then, with zero hesitation, he transitioned into Furibisha.
The audience immediately sat up.
"Oh, Furibisha?" Hinatsuru Ai chirped, eyes wide as she watched the projection screen above the board. "Shishou never plays Furibisha with me!"
Sora Ginko, seated beside her, raised an eyebrow. Her expression was thoughtful.
"It's not unheard of. But lately, he rarely repeats the same style twice."
Indeed, Yukima Azuma had become increasingly eclectic with his openings. Every match was different, as if he were exploring the entire shogi universe in real-time.
He rarely repeated formations.
And no one could catch up.
Even Ginko, with all her skill, could feel the distance between them widening—no matter how hard she chased.
Back at the board—
Azuma's Furibisha was fluid, balanced, and brutally precise.
His strategy tore through the Aigakari defenses like a master sculptor carving through stone.
And yet—
He deliberately held back.
If I go too hard, I'll destroy this kid's confidence again.
He recalled the Meijin from a previous tournament—a veteran player who collapsed after facing Azuma. It had taken months for him to recover his footing.
Azuma didn't want that to happen again.
So he gave up subtle advantages, added unnecessary exchanges, and extended the middle game.
Even with this handicap—
The tide was inevitable.
By the 200th move, Kawai's defenses were in tatters.
Finally, after a long pause, he smiled weakly and lowered his piece.
"I lost."
Azuma rose with a calm, almost warm air.
"That was an excellent match."
"Eh? R-Really?!"
Azuma nodded and placed a firm hand on the younger player's shoulder.
"Stand proud. You're strong. I will remember you. The future is yours."
Motivational fraudkuna mode: activated.
Kawai froze in place, stunned by the unexpected praise.
He… said it was excellent?
He remembered me?
The room faded. All the humiliation, the old doubts, the pressure of expectations—everything faded under those simple words.
"The future is mine," Kawai whispered.
Then louder, with fire in his voice:
"Yes! I lasted two hundred moves this time! Last time was barely forty!"
"I'm not done! I'm not retreating! I'm getting stronger—one step at a time!"
"Yukima-senpai… just you wait. One day, I'll return and challenge you again—with pride!"
In the distance, Yukima Azuma had already vanished down the corridor, unaware of the spark he'd just reignited.
Spectator Seats
Azuma casually snuck into the audience section and plopped down beside Sora Ginko and Hinatsuru Ai.
"Shishou! That was so cool!" Ai beamed and latched onto his arm without hesitation.
"Once you win this tournament, I can officially become your disciple!"
Sora Ginko's gaze remained fixed on the screen.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
"Your middle game was unusually long. You could've transitioned to the endgame by move ninety."
Azuma grinned.
"Ginko-senpai, you'll definitely defend your Queen title this year. You're closer to Eternal Queen than anyone."
She blinked.
"What does that have to do with—?"
Azuma gestured back toward the stage.
"I held back in that match. Kawai was so polite I couldn't just steamroll him."
"Even a 4-dan pro might not have noticed my restraint."
"But you did."
"That means your reading strength has already surpassed that level."
Ginko's lips parted.
Something warm bloomed quietly in her chest.
He… still notices me.
For a moment, the doubt weighing on her from last night's loss to Shakando Rina faded.
Maybe I really can become a professional…
Maybe I can stand beside him.
But then—
She remembered why she lost that match in the first place.
Her cheeks turned pink.
Ah. Right. I threw the match… because… maid outfit…
She groaned and buried her face in her hands.
I'm hopeless.
"Shishou~" Ai suddenly piped up again, poking him in the side. "Are you a maid uniform maniac or what?"
Azuma blinked.
"…I don't think I have a preference?"
Ai tilted her head. "Oba-san wore one this morning, and you couldn't take your eyes off her!"
Busted.
"Y-You brat! Shut up!" Ginko shouted, yanking on Ai's ahoge.
"Ow—Ow—Shishou! Help! Maid-senpai's gone berserk!"
Azuma sighed, smiling.
The match was over, but the games between hearts were still in full swing.