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Balance	By : sailormac Category: +G to L > Hikaru no Go Views: 10858 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hikaru no Go, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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BALANCE
A Hikaru no Go Sekkushiaru Roman Series
By Sailor Mac

PART THREE: SOCIAL (2/4)

“Hey, have you noticed more reporters around over the past couple of days?” Waya said, peeling the wrapper away from his Quarter Pounder. They’d decided on McDonald's for lunch yet again after their usual argument -- Hikaru wanted ramen, Waya wanted sushi, and Isumi just wanted some peace and quiet.

Across from him, Hikaru and Isumi exchanged a look. “We always have reporters in the building,” Isumi said. “Every one of the big newspapers has a Go correspondent.”

“I mean other than those guys,” Waya replied, jabbing a straw into the top of his soda. “There’s been a lot of people that I don’t recognize roaming around with cameras and notebooks.”

“Well, somebody *did* stop me this morning and start asking me questions,” Hikaru said, tearing open a packet of ketchup. “I thought he might just be some new guy from Weekly Go.”

“Have you ever known Weekly Go to hire anyone new the whole time we’ve been there?” said Waya around a mouthful of burger. He swallowed, then added, “I think those guys have put down roots in that office. You never see any of them leave the building, let alone quit the paper.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised to see people wanting to interview Touya,” Isumi said, putting his soda down. “He *is* expected to win the Young Stars Tournament.”

“Is there anything he *isn’t* expected to win?” Waya grumbled, adding salt to his fries.

“Touya isn’t at the Institute today,” Hikaru said.

Waya knew full well that Akira wasn’t there -- Hikaru’s very presence was testament to that. Every time he and Touya were at the Institute the same day, they had lunch together. It bugged him that Hikaru had become good friends with his rival. It certainly wasn’t up to him to say who Hikaru could spend his time with -- especially since Waya spent so much of his own time nowadays with his girlfriend -- but he figured Hikaru could do better than some stuck-up snob.

“Yeah, well, if they’re outside press, maybe *they* don’t know he’s not here today,” Waya said, before taking another bite of his burger.

“They could be interested in Shindou as well,” said Isumi, picking up his own Quarter Pounder. “He *was* in the Hokuto Cup.”

Hikaru frowned to himself. He didn’t know if he liked the idea of being the object of press attention. He certainly wasn’t in Go for fame and glory. He was in it because of Sai, and because the game felt like a part of his very soul.

*And because of Touya*, he thought. *I still feel like I’m chasing after him. . . like I’ll always be chasing after hiBR> BR>
“Just one guy talked to me,” he said, quietly.

“You know, it could be a good thing if Go is getting more attention from the press,” Isumi said. “The number of insei we have here compared to what they have in China . . .”

“Eh, that kind of stuff isn’t what gets kids into Go,” Waya said, picking up a fry and dunking it in a puddle of ketchup on a napkin in the corner of a tray. “Most of the people we were insei with either picked it up from their parents or at school.”

“Well, it’s the *parents* who read the newspapers,” Isumi replied. “Maybe if they played Go as kids, and had forgotten how much fun it was . . .”

“Maybe the Institute should just try to convince more schools to have Go clubs,” Hikaru said, picking up a French fry.
“Well, that’s an idea,” Waya said. “Hey, that’s where I learned Go. Isn’t that where you did too, Isumi-san?”

Isumi shook his head. “My neighbor was in the Nine Stars Club. She’d baby-sit me sometimes, and she’d take me to the place with her.” He looked at Hikaru. “What about you, Shindou? You never told us how you got started.”

Hikaru looked down at his food. He knew he couldn’t tell the truth. That was a secret shared with Akira, and Akira only -- it was one of the strongest bonds between them.

Sometimes he wished he could open up to anyone who would listen about Sai and watch their reactions as he detailed the games on the Internet . . . the beginner dan game against Touya Meijin . . . the horrible period when Sai left and he quit playing . . .

But he knew he couldn’t. They’d laugh and think he was kidding at best, call him crazy at worst.

“I found a goban at my grandfather’s house,” hed. Wd. Well, it certainly wasn’t a *lie*.

“Your grandfather played?” Waya asked, wondering if he was finally going to get a clue as to the mystery surrounding Shindou’s baffling talent.

Hikaru just nodded and said, “He had a lot of local-tournament trophies.” He then made a point of taking a big bite out of his hamburger.

Waya and Isumi exchanged looks. They’d gotten the message. Their friend was going to be as close-mouthed about his past as ever. And sure enough, when Hikaru swallowed the burger, he changed the subject.

“So . . . who are you guys playing in the first round of the tournament?”

* * *

Ishii was coming out of the Weekly Go offices as he saw Shindou rounding the corner. The boy had just come out of the playing rooms, clutching the fan that was always at his side during games.

A number of people had noted that Shindou’s fan wasn’t just the something-to-do-with-your-hands-when-not-holding-a-stone it was for most players. No, it was something of a battle standard for him.

“He tends to open and close it right before he goes on the attack,” one of Shindou’s opponents had told him. “When you see him do that, you’re pretty much screwed.”

*Good,* Ishii thought. *It gives him more personality -- more for us to work with.*

He figured he might as well introduce himself to the boy, if they were going to be a big part of each other’s lives in the near future.

Hikaru was about halfway to the elevator when a guy in a severe business suit suddenly blocked his path, causing him to almost crash into him. He let out a small yelp and stopped in his tracks so abruptly that he almost fell over.

“Hey!” he said. “Watch where you’re going!”

The man smiled at him a bit. “Shindou Hikaru, right?”

Hikaru folded his arms and frowned a bit. “Yeah. And you are?”

&#IshiIshii Kazuya of Sato and Nishoka.” The man gave a low, formal bow. “I’m very pleased to be meeting you, Shindou Hikaru, since I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From who?”

“From the Go Institute.” Ishii reached up and began running his fingers along his tie, which was black with a dark gray pattern on it that perfectly matched the color of his suit. “They hired me because of you, Shindou. You and Touya. You have a great future ahead of you.”

“What do you mean?” Hikaru stole a look at his watch. He still had about an hour before he was to meet Akira at the Go salon.

“I mean, you and Touya are the future of Go. And my job is to promote that to the general public.”

Hikaru narrowed his eyes. “Promote?”

“Oh, nothing to trivialize you and the game. Just a few well-placed, respectful articles in the right magazines and newspapers -- ones that the potential Go players of tomorrow read.” He leaned over and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m going to let you in on a secret, and don’t go blabbing it to everyone. I’ve set up an interview with Young Sunday. It’s just about a done deal.”

Hikaru blinked. Young Sunday was a general-interest youth magazine read by a sizable chunk of the Japanese under-21 population. Its usual subject matters were rock stars, professional jocks and actors. “Why would Young Sunday care about Go?”

“Why wouldn’t they? We’re going to make Go hip and hot. Once kids read about you, they’re going to know that you don’t have to be an old fuddy-duddy to play it.”

*So this explains all the reporters Waya was talking about,* Hikaru thought. His first reaction was disgust -- how dare the Go Institute cheapen the game like this? He could just imagine what Sai would have thought of it.

“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” Hikaru said, brushing past the man and starting to head toward the elevator.

Ishii rushed around to block his path again. “Look . . . I know you may be reluctant for publicity, but think of it as publicity for *the game*, not you. I read an article about you that was written after the Hokuto Cup . . . you said in it that you play Go to connect the past and the future. Well, that’s what you’d be doing here! You’d be reaching out to the future by helping to bring in the next generation of Go players. Think of all the kids who’ll be picking up their first Go stones because of *you*!”

Hikaru was going to protest . . . and then remembered a day, a seeming eternity ago, when he and Sai visited the fateful children’s Go tournament when he called out the answer to a problem -- the day when he first met Ogata and Touya Meijin.

He remembered Sai looking around at all the children playing, and his joy at seeing so many young people interested in his game, at knowing that Go would continue on and on in the current day, just as it did in Sai’s own time.

*Sai would want me to do this,* Hikaru thought. *He’d want me to bring more people into his game.*

He looked squarely at the publicist -- who he still didn’t feel he could completely trust -- and said, “All right, I’ll do your article. I can’t guarantee you that Touya will do it, but I will.”

“Splendid!” Ishii clapped Hikaru on the back. “We’ll have a meeting about this after the tournament. And for now, I’ll bid you good day.”

Hikaru rushed to the elevator and pushed the button. *Articles,* he thought. *What have I gotten myself into? Okay, I want to be a major titleholder someday, and you *have* to do publicity when you have one of those, but -- do I want the publicity now? Would being famous get in the way of my game?*

He shook his head, vigorously. No. Nothing was going to interfere with his game, with his efforts to reach the Hand of God. Not even connecting the past and the future was as important as that.

And he knew Sai would have felt the same way.

* * *

Akira gently lifted a piece of tuna sushi from the plate in front of him. He couldn’t believe he actually got Shindou to agree to come to something besides a ramen joint for lunch. Hikaru was liberally applying wasabi to his own food -- too liberally, as far as Akira was concerned.

*He’s going to burn his lips off,* he thought. He made a mental note *not* to have sushi with Shindou on a night they were going to be alone together. He didn’t want to kiss a mouth that would burn his like acid. Not to mention having said mouth on *other* parts of him.

Akira coughed delicately and lowered the food, taking a quick sip of tea, hoping his face wasn’t flushing. He and Hikaru hadn’t slept together since the night of Hikaru’s “soap boy” stunt. It wasn’t so much because of lack of available time, it was because both of them wanted as much time as possible to study before the Young Stars Tournament.

*I can’t think about doing *that* now,* Akira thought. *I have to stay focused on the game. I must win this tournament. If I let my guard down even a little, Shindou could catch me.*

“So who are you playing in the first round?” Hikaru said, after swallowing his mouthful of over-wasabi’ed sushi.

“Kadowaki,” Akira replied. “And you?”

“Matsushita,” Hikaru said. “I heard Isumi-san and Ochi are going to be playing each other in the first round. They haven’t played each other since the pro exam.”

“Amano-san was talking to me this morning,” Akira said, picking up another piece of fish and rice and gently dunking it in the little dish of soy sauce. “He said I should expect a lot more reporters than usual at the tournament.”

Hikaru looked up. All through their game last night, and earlier today, he’d been wondering if he should tell Akira about Ishii and his publicity campaign. This made the decision for him.

“The Go Institute has hired a publicist,” Hikaru said.

Akira’s eyebrows shot up. “Publicist?”

“Some guy who wants to push magazine articles on us and that kind of thing. He thinks it’ll bring more people in to the game.”

Akira dropped his chopsticks. “What *kind* of articles?”

Hikaru shrugged. “He said something about Young Sunday.”

Akira leaned across the table. “That’s a pop star magazine!”

Hikaru leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’m surprised you even know about it, Touya. You’re not exactly the Young Sunday type.”

“You can’t avoid it when it’s all around you on the subway,” Akira said, picking up his teacup. “Why on earth would the Go Institute want to put us in something like that?”

“Maybe because kids who might be interested in Go would read it?”

“The kids who read that magazine aren’t interested in any game that isn’t played on a PlayStation!” Akira was beginning to get a “game face” -- his eyes were burning, his mouth turning down in a scowl.

“Hey, I didn’t pick it!” Hikaru said. “Look, I’m not completely crazy about the idea either, but if it’ll help the game . . .”

Akira picked up another piece of sushi, his “game face” diminishing just a little. “They can’t compromise the integrity of the game just for a little publicity! Go isn’t just any game. Go has a *soul*. And that soul isn’t for sale.”

Hikaru didn’t say it out loud, but that had been his biggest fear ever since he first encountered Ishii. He knew all too well what show business publicity campaigns were like -- after all, he *did* have a pro musician as a cousin. He didn’t want to see the game of Go reduced to a three-ring circus.

He just replied, “We won’t let them.”

And he meant it. He knew he had a duty to Sai, and to the game he loved, to make sure its dignity was preserved. *And no tabloid journalist will change that,* he thought.

* * *

Okasoto Satoshi was bored.

The young reporter was sitting in a bank of other reporters who seemed to be happy about what was going on in front of them that night. There were excited whispers, people pointing at the main playing area, comparing of notes.

Okasoto certainly wasn’t happy. He didn’t know how he’d got stuck covering Go tonight, of all thingasn&asn’t he supposed to be a rookie entertainment reporter? Well, at least he fancied himself one.

He took whatever meager entertainment assignments his editors could throw his way -- and the rest of the time got sent to cover things the senior reporters didn’t want to touch. Things like grand openings, civic group fundraisers, high school sports *other* than soccer . . . and now, Go. Which he didn’t know the first thing about.

The drab, brown suit he was wearing definitely matched his mood tonight.

The Young Stars Tournament had been moved out of the Go Institute to a nearby medium-sized arena that was usually used for martial arts tournaments. The gobans were set up on the playing floor, and next to each was a large magnetic standup board that was a mockup of a professional playing grid. Each board was manned by an insei volunteer who, as each move was made, put a large, round white or black magnet on the board at the place where a stone was just laid.

It was the two boards in the center that the other reporters seemed to all be buzzing about, because the games involved what were supposedly the two hottest young players around -- Shindou and Touya.

*Well, they’re good-looking, at least,* Okasoto thought. *Unlike that mushroom-headed guy over there with the big, round glasses. Or the one at the t nex next to him, with the bad complexion and the thick lips.*

When he was in school, most of the cool kids had called the ones who played Go geeks. These two were living proof *why*.

Okasoto stuck his pen in his shock of red hair and examined the notes he’d taken so far. There were more doodles than words. *Shows how much I’ve been able to get out of this,* he thought. He knew he was going to at least have to fake something if he wanted the kind of stories he *really* wanted to write.

*I’ll get some shots, anyway,* he thought, aiming his digital camera at Shindou as he was placing a stone and clicking away.

*Why couldn’t they have sent me to cover the *other* Shindou, the J-pop star?* he thought. *He’s a hell of a lot more interesting to watch than this guy. All he does is glare, play with a fan and slam stones onto the board.*

When he turned to take pictures of Touya, he thought, *This one is even worse. He doesn’t even have a prop to play with. He just sits there trying to look like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. But with that ugly purple suit and that ridiculous Prince Valiant hair? Puh-leez.*

He couldn’t stand being in that place anymore. The clank of stones, the lack of air, the sheer boredom were getting to him. He got up, pushed his way out of his aisle past another clutch of people whispering and pointing, and headed outdoors.

As he pushed open the door to the courtyard, he could hear a collective yelp cop frp from the audience. Something must have happened. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have known what it was, anyway.

He sat on the step, stretching his legs and wishing a bit that he smoked. He’d have a valid reason for being out here.

*Maybe I can go to the backstage area before their games are over*, he thought. *Then I can grab them before the other reporters do, snatch some quotes, hightail it out of here and fake a story from that.*

He walked around to the back of the building. Sure enough, there was a back entrance to the locker room area, which someone had propped open with a cinderblock, probably to let fresh air in. *If it was as stifling as the main area, I don’t blame them,* he thought.

He pushed the door wide enough to allow himself to slip in. He found himself in a cavernous hall of industrial gray stone, lined with several doors that he assumed led to various locker rooms. There were the sounds of a few people moving around back here, and some voices talking quietly.

*Yep,* he thought, *I’ll just wander around until I find someone, then ambush them and throw some questions at them. That Shindou and Touya have to come here eventually. And when I’m done with this, no more Go assignments. Ever.*

* * *

Hikaru yanked open the door of one of the locker rooms and threw himself onto a bench, leaning over with his head down and his hands dangling between his legs.

He’d won his match, but just barely. And he’d made some stupid mistakes. Not they-just-look-like-mistakes-they’re-really-strategy -- *real* stupid mistakes.

When he heard the door creak, then close and latch, he didn’t have to look up to know who it was. He almost wished he hadn’t followed him here.

“Shindou . . .”

“I need to be alone for a couple of minutes.” Hikaru didn’t budge.

But Akira walked toward him anyway. “I saw the end of your match. Do you want to discuss it at all?”

“What, so you can tell me my strategy was lousy, my attacks were too weak and I don’t know when to cut someone off?”

Akira sat opposite him. “You said it, Shindou. I didn’t.”

“Well, maybe they were!” Hikaru leapt to his feet. “I thought I’d be able to handle it, playing in a judo hall, having reporters everywhere, but . . .” He paced to the other end of the room, rubbing the back of his head. “It didn’t feel like *real Go.*”

Akira stayed where he was, idly fiddling with his right cuff. “As far as these people were concerned, it wasn’t. I got a good look at those reporters. Very few of them are people who cover a Go beat on even a semi-regular basis.”

“I thought it would be good for the game.” Hikaru began to pace a bit. “But . . . with this kind of thing going on . . .”

“I think we need to have a talk with the other players,” Akira said, continuing to fiddle with his cuff. “Find out if anyone else thinks it threw their game off, too. And if that’s the case, we need to sit down and have a serious talk with this Ishii. We’ll agree to his publicity campaign on *our terms*. And that means *not* turning our games into circuses.”

aru aru leaned back against the wall. “Why the hell did I agree to it in the first place?”

Akira got up and started to walk over to him. “Well, you *do* have a tendency to talk before you think, Shindou.”

Hikaru was going to snap at him -- until he remembered blurting out the answer at the children’s Go tournament, and telling everyone on his first day as an insei that he was Touya Akira’s rival, and numerous times when he challenged someone to a match, then realized he could be in over his head. (Not that it stopped him from playing the match anyway).

Instead, he looked up at the ceiling, leaned against the wall further, and said, “Oh, man, I don’t know how I’m going to get through my next match.”

“Focus on the board,” Akira replied, stepping just in front of Hikaru. “Pretend nothing else is there but it. Imagine you’re playing against me at the salon. That’s what I did.”

“How did your match go, anyway?”

“My opponent resigned. No matter what he did, he would have lost by at least seven moku.

*Figures,* Hikaru thought. *He destroyed his opponent, and I just squeaked by.* Aloud, he said, “Are you trying to make me chase you again?”

Akira leaned over toward him and said, “I never want you to stop chasing me. Ever.”

And then, they were in each other’s arms, their mouths coming together in a soft kiss, which rapidly deepened.

* * *

Okasoto was beginning to think he was out of luck. Apparently, very few of the players had come back here during the break between rounds.

*They must have all gone outside, or in the lobby,* he thought. *Meaning everyone else is grabbing the interviews. Meaning I have to wait through the second round of this thing before I can talk to anyone.”

Oh, he wasn’t going to sit through the second round. No way. He’d had as much Go as he could stand.

He was headed back to the main arena when he heard conversation coming from one of the locker rooms. *Maybe I’m still in luck*, he thought. He headed over there, rapidly . . . he saw the door to the room was unlatched, so he figured he’d have no problems knocking on it and requesting quotes.

As he got closer, he could see the occupants of the room, standing close together in the far corner of the room. *I really *am* in luck*, he thought. *It’s Shindou and Touya.*

But before he could knock, he saw Touya close the distance between himself and Shindou, pull the other boy into his arms and kiss him full on the lips.

His first instinct was to freeze in place. *It has to be some kind of joke, right?* he thought. But when he saw them pull closer yet, their lips beginning to part, he knew it was no joke.

His hand shot to his digital camera, his heart pounding. He just had a bigger, better story than any he could have concocted from just a couple of quotes. He had a bonifide scandal on his hands.

*With just this one shot,* he thought, *I can make my career. I’ll never have to cover crappy little events again.*

He aimed the camera, zoomed in, focused, and pushed the button.

* * *

The shrieking of the phone awakened Akira the next day.

He rolled over on his futon and reached up and out, fumbling for the old cordless that was on the little table by his bedding. It was an extension of the main family line. The press wasn’t ssed sed to know the Touyas’ main number, but they somehow managed to get it anyway.

“Hello?” he said, trying his best to make his voice *not* sound like a sleepy mumble.

“Good morning, Touya-kun,” the male voice on the other end said. “Kodachi, Daily Dispatch.”

“Yes?” said Akira, trying not to get too annoyed at reporters’ tendency to call him Touya*-kun*. “How may I help you?”

“I would like to get a quote from you regarding Shindou,” the voice on the phone said.

Akira frowned. This was unusual. Yes, Shindou had passed the first couple of rounds of the tournament yesterday, but so had Akira himself, and Isumi, and Waya, and several other players.

*Oh, well,* he thought, *maybe this is someone that Ishii talked to about doing a story on Shindou.*

“He and I have had a rivalry for several years now,” he said. “I have always had a deep respect for him. He is most definitely developing n aln all-around Go player.”

A pause. Then, the person on the other end said, “Well, that wasn’t quite what I meant. Let me cut to the chase -- Touya-kun, what about that picture of you *kissing* Shindou?”

Akira sat bolt upright. “WHAT?”

“You mean you didn’t know about it?”

“What picture? Where?”

“In the Daily Mirror, on the gossip page.”

Akira felt like the world was crumbling around him. It was a nightmare come true. They’d been outed, forcibly outed, by a member of the press.

“I have no comment at this time!” he shouted into the phone, before turning it off and leaping to his feet. Rushing to his drawers, he grabbed the first pieces of clothing he could find -- shirt, pants, underwear, socks -- without regard for it they matched.

Once dressed, he snatched up his wallet and cell phone and dashed for the living room. Neither parent was there, thank the gods, he didn’t know if he could face them right now.

Rushing out the door and stepping into shoes, he made a beeline for the nearest convenience store, two blocks away -- which felt like two miles. He ended up crashing into an elderly woman walking a small dog in his haste. He bowed and shouted “I’m sorry!”, then rushed away as fast as he could.

He wondered if the woman had seen the picture.

When he reached the store, he brushed more people aside as he ran for the newspaper rack. There was the Mirror, a tabloid, stacked next to several other tabloids. His fingers trembled as he snatched it from the rack and began turning pages.

There it was. Slightly fuzzy, but still unmistakably him and Shindou, engaged in an openmouthed kiss. The caption said, “GO, GO, GO FOR IT! Touya Akira, son of the retired Touya Meijin and Go prodigy, seemed to get a bit too familiar with his professed rival, up-and-coming teenage Go pro Shindou Hikaru, backstage at yesterday’s Young Stars Tournament.”

The paper dropped from his hand to the floor. He stood rooted to the spot, white-faced, fists clenched, trembling with rage.

*How?* he thought. *How could they have gotten that shot? I closed that door! I know I did!*

The cell phone in his pocket began to ring. He ignored it. But when the person on the other end didn’t give up after ten rings, he yanked it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Shindou.

He pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Touya, have you been getting funny calls from reporters? Somebody claimed there’s a picture of us from last night . . . y’know, from that locker room.”

*Oh, gods,* Akira thought, *he doesn’t know yet. Or he does, and he’s in denial.*

“They’re not making it up, Shindou,” he said, quietly. “There is a picture.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m looking at it right now. It’s on the gossip page of the Daily Mirror . . .”

The phone abruptly cut off. *He’s gone to find it,* Akira thought. *He’ll go to his own convenience store, and he’ll see it.*

He bent over and picked up the paper, placing it back on the rack. Slowly, he turned and began walking toward the door, feeling eyes on him as he walked.

*How many other people have seen it?* he thought. *What are they thinking? What are we going to do now?*

* * *

Hikaru turned off his cell phone and just sat there for a moment, feeling like he’d just been hammered with a 20-ton mallet.

There was a picture out there in public of himself and Akira, kissing. Anyone could see it. His parents, his old friends from the Go club, his fellow Go professionals.

*Oh, gods,* he thought. *Akari is going to see it.* He had often wondered if his childhood friend had any romantic feelings toward him, even though she seemed interested in Mitani now. Not that he would have returned them, but . . .

He walked over to his goban and sat down, as if being near the board and stones would give him some kind of comfort, reassure him that nothing was going to change in his life at all. He opened one go ke and dipped his han. She poured a glass of water and sat down. This only served to remind her of how little she knew the young man her son was becoming.

*Maybe it’s my fault,* she thought. *If I had asked more questions, gotten more involved in his life, rather than letting him go his own way ahe the time -- but I never wanted to be a smothering mother. I’d read too much about how that . . .*

The reason she’d given her son his independence hit her in in the face, and she let out a bitter laugh at the y.
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