After spending a few minutes casually chatting with the enthusiastic maid girl and the mischievous little kid who had been hanging around the venue—
The second round of the preliminaries began.
Yukima Azuma took his seat.
His opponent this round: a professional 4-dan shogi player.
But to him, that meant nothing.
To Yukima Azuma, the world of shogi consisted of only two kinds of players.
Those who held the title of Meijin—
And everyone else.
If you weren't a Meijin, then you were just another piece to be taken off the board.
No exceptions.
With his level 9 shogi ability, Yukima didn't just possess instinct or talent—he held complete technical mastery. From yose and tsume techniques to the most obscure joseki formations, from hypermodern defensive play to sacrificial chaos styles, he had them all. His knowledge was encyclopedic. His instincts honed. His playstyle was a hybrid of deep AI-like precision and godlike intuition.
If this were another kind of story, Yukima Azuma would be the legendary ghost of a long-dead grandmaster, sealed inside a cursed board, training a young boy who dreamed of discovering the Hand of God.
But this was real life.
And in real life, Yukima Azuma dismantled his opponents cleanly, methodically, and without mercy.
He advanced through the second round.
Then the third.
And just like that—
He qualified for the main tournament of the Ryuou Championship.
The Ryuou Championship followed a traditional single-elimination bracket.
Thirty-two players.
Six rounds.
Lose once, and you were out.
Win all the way to the end—and the Ryuou title was yours.
Simple in design. Brutal in practice.
This title wasn't just a matter of pride—it was the most coveted championship in Japan's shogi world. Not only because of its prestige, but also because of the prize pool: this year, bolstered by a surge in sponsorships and corporate backing, the total reward had soared past 300 million yen.
It was no longer just a shogi match.
It was a national event.
With every victory, Yukima Azuma moved closer to that final throne.
Yet what surprised him most—
Was not the opponents.
But the attention.
Immediately after his third-round win, reporters surrounded him.
He gave a brief, clipped interview—standard pleasantries, generic sound bites.
But as he stepped outside the Shogi Association building, the setting sun casting long shadows across the concrete steps—
He saw them.
A middle-aged man in a sharply tailored suit.
And beside him, a striking woman in an impeccably crafted deep blue kimono, her hair pinned in a style both graceful and commanding.
They stood perfectly still, radiating presence.
And behind Yukima—
Hinatsuru Ai froze.
Her eyes widened.
Even her ahoge drooped.
"…Dad. Mom…"
She sounded much smaller than usual. She didn't move, didn't run, didn't smile.
She simply stood there—rigid and quiet.
The older man stepped forward first, bowing politely.
"I am Hinatsuru Takashi," he said with a practiced warmth. "Ai's father."
The woman followed a second later. Her tone was measured, but icy.
"I am Hinatsuru Akina."
There was no need to raise her voice.
Her presence was enough.
Her mere gaze felt like a silent reprimand.
They did not speak further on the street.
Shortly after, the group relocated to a private tea house nearby—one clearly not open to the general public.
The kind of place where deals worth billions were negotiated over matcha and wagashi.
The kind of place with no menu, no prices, and no walk-ins.
Yukima had never been here before.
But the Hinatsuru family clearly had a membership.
They ascended to a private room on the second floor—tatami floors, soft lighting, a lacquered table set low with calligraphy scrolls decorating the alcove.
Junmai daiginjo sake was poured, but no one touched it.
The atmosphere was already heavy enough.
"Our daughter has been troubling you," said Hinatsuru Takashi with a bow. "We're deeply sorry for the inconvenience."
He was gentle. Diplomatic. Careful.
But Yukima noticed how he occasionally glanced sideways, seeking approval.
Because the one truly in charge—
Was the woman sitting opposite.
Hinatsuru Akina.
Her every movement, from how she folded her hands to the faint tilt of her chin, signaled elegance and control. She didn't need to raise her voice to command the room.
Ai sat beside Yukima, tense and anxious.
Yukima didn't need to be told to understand what kind of battlefield he was now on.
"I understand Ai has entered an apprenticeship under you," Akina began, her tone even. "We are aware of this… but we must confess we harbor significant doubts."
"Mom!" Ai burst out. "I told you I chose this myself!"
She looked pleadingly at her mother.
But Akina did not respond.
Her face remained blank—serene like a pond with no ripples.
"I am not finished."
Ai immediately fell silent.
Akina turned her gaze to Yukima Azuma.
"You are, what—still a second-year high school student?"
"Yes," Yukima answered calmly.
"And you have no formal teaching credentials, no previous disciples, and no organizational standing."
"Correct."
"And you are suggesting we entrust our daughter—an heiress—to someone with no proven record as a mentor, in a field where not a single female player has ever reached the professional rank?"
Ai winced at every word.
Takashi cleared his throat nervously. "Dear, perhaps you're being a little—"
"Silence," Akina said flatly.
He immediately bowed his head.
Yukima said nothing for a moment.
The room was silent except for the soft rustling of the garden outside.
Ai had lowered her head now, biting her lip, puffing her cheeks in silent frustration.
Yukima gently reached over and patted her head.
There was no resentment in his eyes.
No defiance.
Just quiet understanding.
To the outside world, Akina's words might seem harsh—even cruel.
But to Yukima Azuma, they were simply reasonable.
Ai wasn't just a girl who wanted to play shogi.
She was the sole heir to the Hinatsuru Ryokan empire.
A national chain of luxury inns, generations old. A family with weight in Japan's elite circles.
Letting her gamble everything on a shogi career—
Was like the heir to a trillion-yen conglomerate saying they wanted to drop out of college to become a YouTuber with no manager, no network, and no guarantee of success.
Akina wasn't being cruel.
She was protecting an asset.
A daughter.
A legacy.
Originally, Yukima had planned to meet Ai's parents only after winning the Ryuou title.
After he'd earned the credibility.
After his name alone could answer any doubt.
But life doesn't always follow the order of plans.
Still, that didn't mean he'd show up unarmed.
"I understand your concerns," Yukima said, his voice firm but respectful. "That's why I am willing to make a corresponding guarantee."
Akina raised a single eyebrow. "A guarantee?"
He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a golden business card.
He placed it in front of her with quiet dignity.
Akina picked it up.
On the front was a single stylized sigil.
When she flipped it over—
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Laplace Corporation.
The name alone carried weight.
But she read the fine print—and tucked the card into her sleeve without another word.
"If Ai does not achieve professional status," Yukima continued, "and her shogi career bears no fruit, I will guarantee her future—financially, socially, and otherwise."
There was a pause.
Then she asked, softly:
"May I ask a direct question?"
"Please."
"What is your company's revenue this year?"
Takashi's eyes widened. "Akina, that's—"
She didn't even turn her head this time.
"Silence."
He closed his mouth.
Yukima didn't blink.
"Laplace Corporation was founded this spring. In the last six months, our total revenue is approximately—"
He listed the number.
Then calmly added:
"Our current stock and cash reserves are—"
He listed those too.
The silence that followed was dense.
Hinatsuru Akina finally exhaled slowly.
"…I see."
Her voice was a shade warmer now. Barely. But it was there.
"If you are willing to go this far for Ai… then it would be improper of me to reject your request outright."
She met Yukima's gaze directly.
"However."
"She is still our daughter. We will observe her progress. This is not blind trust—it is a conditional delegation."
"I understand," Yukima replied.
Akina nodded once.
The matter was—for now—settled.
Outside, the wind stirred the garden trees.
Ai sat motionless, eyes still wide.
But Yukima gently patted her head again and whispered:
"You're still my disciple."
And that—
Was enough.