"The winner: Yukima Azuma, 5th dan."
The referee's announcent echoed across the hall—
—and a wave of gasps and murmurs swept through the room.
All around, matches were still in their early stages.
So players had barely advanced beyond the opening ten moves.
Yet this match... was over?
Already?
Players at nearby tables paused mid-move, craning their necks toward Azuma's board.
Then ca the silence.
The stunned silence of realization.
And then—horror.
A few players stood up, unable to resist their curiosity.
When they laid eyes on the final board state, their faces stiffened.
Disaster.
It wasn't a match.
It was a slaughter.
A completely one-sided annihilation.
The positions on the board painted a vivid picture of the massacre.
Even for experienced players, it was difficult to look at.
Those who saw it turned toward Kawai Kenichi with sympathy.
If they had suffered such a defeat, they'd probably be too embarrassed to eat or sleep for days.
Kawai Kenichi muttered in despair as he stumbled toward the resting room, face pale:
"No... make that seven days. None of you understand what I just went through."
The two bowed after the ga ended.
But it was clear—
Only one had walked away whole.
Yukima Azuma stood up and offered a polite smile to the crowd.
Sora Ginko, sitting in the spectator area, covered her face with both hands.
Again.
This monster... again.
The spectators watched his expression.
That soft, friendly smile...
It didn't comfort anyone.
In fact, it felt like a smile hiding blood at the corners of his mouth.
Most in the audience weren't professionals, but they understood enough about shogi to see what had just happened.
The ruthless precision. The lack of hesitation. The overwhelming pressure.
No one dared to call Yukima Azuma "outdated" anymore.
Three Gas, One Day
The official tournant would last about a month and a half.
Matches were spaced out—so every few days, others once a week.
Only the opening round used a special triple-match elimination format.
Azuma waited in the resting room, sipping tea while his next opponent slowly finished their first match.
Then ca Round 2.
Then Round 3.
And just like that—
Three matches, one day.
With an average of 80 moves per ga, Yukima Azuma wrapped up the entire day effortlessly.
By the ti the digital board displayed the nas of the day's winners—
Many players hadn't even finished their first ga.
"Too strong..."
"This is absurd."
"So this is the undefeated genius from three years ago..."
Whispers buzzed throughout the venue like static.
And then, Yukima Azuma stepped away from the board.
Sora Ginko was already waiting.
"Let's go, Ginko. Ti to head ho. I wonder what Keika-san's cooking today..."
His eyes sparkled with innocent anticipation—like a child thinking of dinner.
But Ginko scowled and raised her fan, gently smacking his head.
"Idiot. There's still the post-match interview!"
It was, after all, a public tournant.
dia coverage and viewership were part of the package.
"That stuff doesn't matter. Let's just go, let's go." Azuma waved dismissively.
Ginko stared at him for a long second, deadpan.
"Why am I always the one looking after this guy? Sothing's seriously wrong with ."
Resting Room, Third Floor
Dragged against his will, Azuma was brought to the Federation's resting area to wait for his turn.
There, soone was already seated—
A man with quiet presence, hands folded calmly in his lap.
"It's been a while, Yukima Azuma, 5th dan."
Azuma's expression softened.
"This is the place. Long ti no see, President."
Tsukimitsu Seiichi.
9th dan. The Eternal ijin. President of the Shogi Federation. A living legend.
If he hadn't gone blind at 20, the world was certain he would've rewritten the history books.
The saying goes: "Heaven is jealous of geniuses."
And Tsukimitsu was living proof.
Back when Azuma had first entered the pro circuit and hit 4th dan in record ti, the President had personally visited him.
It had been a brief but warm conversation.
And despite Azuma's usual defiance of hierarchy, he respected this man deeply.
Because—
When Azuma's family had fallen into hardship and he was forced to leave the Shogi world—
It was Tsukimitsu who had offered quiet, substantial help.
Even after leaving the pro scene, Azuma had continued to send seasonal greetings to the President.
That's the kind of man Tsukimitsu was.
"I'm glad to hear news of you again," Tsukimitsu said gently.
"Thanks to everyone's support, I was finally able to return."
"The past doesn't matter. As long as you're back, that's enough."
"Yes."
Tsukimitsu smiled, sensing the tension.
"Relax. You always act so stiff around . Here, drink so tea."
He gently pushed a teacup across the table.
Azuma accepted it with a quiet nod, taking a small sip.
They sat in peaceful silence, waiting for the tournant's first day to end.
A Quiet Confession
Eventually, it was ti for interviews.
Azuma stood and bowed respectfully.
"Well then, President Tsukimitsu, I'll take my leave."
"Go on. It's alright."
As the door closed behind him, Tsukimitsu exhaled softly.
A faint smile crept onto his face.
His assistant, standing beside him, noticed the change.
"President?"
She helped him to his feet, a bit confused.
Tsukimitsu whispered, almost to himself:
"As long as he's returned... that's enough."
He turned his face toward the door, unseeing eyes full of aning.
"A person like him... stopping where he did...
That would've been the greatest loss the Shogi world could suffer."
The assistant blinked in surprise.
She had seen Azuma's match.
Yes, it was impressive. Unbelievable even.
But this praise—
Even the ijin himself had never received such words from Tsukimitsu.
And yet, she could hear it—
The hope. The relief. The belief.
Yukima Azuma wasn't just a genius.
He was sothing more.
A miracle that the Shogi world almost lost.
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