The afternoon sun dipped low behind the distant mountains, casting a golden hue over the rural rooftops. A soft breeze stirred the hydrangeas blooming by the walkway, brushing lightly against the wind chis hanging from the eaves. Inside the small yard of the Hinatsuru Ryokan, Kiyotaki Keika sat quietly on the engawa, brows knit in quiet concern.
Yukima Azuma stood beside her, casually sipping a barley tea that had long gone lukewarm. After a mont of silence, he glanced down at her with a gentle smile.
"You know," he began, "there’s an official tournant this year—the Queen tournant. As long as you make it to the main bracket, you’ll get promoted straight to Joryu."
He offered it like hope in a sentence, his voice brimming with certainty. "Keika-nee, you’ll definitely get in. Who knows? Before this year’s over, you might officially be Joryu."
At that, Kiyotaki Keika let out a short, bitter laugh.
"If only it were that easy."
Her voice was light, but it carried years of buried frustration. She didn’t need to explain further—Azuma already knew. She’d participated in the Queen tournant before. More than once. But every ti, she failed to make it past the preliminaries. Not because she lacked skill—but because she lacked sothing else. Sothing harder to define.
"You’re too optimistic," she murmured. "Shogi doesn’t hand out miracles just because you want them."
Azuma smiled faintly, then leaned in and whispered like he was revealing a great national secret.
"Well... what if I said I had a surefire way for you to win?"
Keika blinked. "Hah?"
The mont she realized what he ant, her eyes widened—and she shook her head violently.
"That’s cheating!"
"The pros wouldn’t see it that way," Azuma replied, still calm. "It’s not like I’m giving you moves mid-match. I’m just saying... I could help you prepare so opening sequences. You study your opponents’ habits, plan a few traps. Just like Kajin-san did with the ijin."
"But that’s..." Keika hesitated.
She knew Azuma wasn’t wrong. Plenty of top-level players studied prearranged sequences, especially when targeting specific opponents. Even Kajin had nearly steamrolled Azuma using that thod. If she had openings designed by Azuma—one of the top minds of his generation—then beating those rookies who hadn’t even touched the Joryu threshold would be like flipping a page.
Still...
"No," she said again, quietly but firmly.
"It doesn’t feel right. If I won that way, it wouldn’t be my victory."
Azuma tilted his head, watching her carefully. Then, without warning, he smiled.
"Isn’t that proof enough?"
Keika blinked again.
"That you can refuse my absolute winning thod—ans you’ve found your own way to victory."
She stared at him, stunned. Her heart thudded once, oddly loud in the quiet evening.
My own way to victory...
Those words echoed inside her like a bell.
Had she really been so lacking all this ti? Or had she just lacked belief? Since childhood, her shogi had always been strong—but life kept tripping her just before the finish line. One failure after another until she started to doubt herself with every small misstep. But now...
Azuma walked behind her and gave her back a firm pat.
Keika yelped in surprise, jolting upright.
"Keika-nee!" Azuma scolded playfully. "What kind of shogi posture is that? You’ve got to straighten your back!"
She imdiately turned, puffing out her cheeks as she reached for him in protest. He dodged effortlessly.
"Tch, don’t lecture like I’m so kind of middle schooler!"
"Then stop slouching like one!"
Keika chased him around the small yard, hair fluttering as she abandoned all traces of twenty-five-year-old composure. For a few minutes, she wasn’t a struggling Joryu hopeful. She wasn’t a mature senpai or a distant older sister.
She was just a girl—laughing, running, chasing soone important to her.
Eventually, their impromptu ga of tag brought them to a small park nearby, quiet and bathed in the warm glow of sunset. The swing creaked softly as Keika sat down and caught her breath.
Azuma leaned against the swing’s fra, arms folded.
"You know," Keika said, glancing at him sideways, "how are things between you and Ginko-chan?"
Azuma blinked. "What kind of sudden question is that?"
"Don’t ’what kind of question’ ," she said, grinning. "I’ve watched the two of you grow up. Even a blind grandma could tell Ginko’s liked you forever."
He scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Well... we’re not there yet. But maybe next year, when she moves to Tokyo, things’ll start moving faster."
Keika laughed.
"Honestly, it’s your fault. Back then, you were always teasing her. Poor girl was always sulking."
Azuma chuckled, rembering those chaotic childhood days.
"I still rember that ti a Russian girl transferred into our district," Keika said mischievously. "And sohow, you’d learned Russian from sowhere and kept talking to her every day."
Azuma winced. "Oh no, not this story."
"Yep," Keika said, smirking. "Ginko-chan just sat in the shogi club all by herself, arms crossed and looking ready to kill."
Azuma groaned.
"She didn’t even say anything when I asked if she was mad," he muttered. "She just nodded. I thought I fixed it when I made her laugh... but then I ran off again, and when I ca ho—BAM!—she kicked in the butt."
"⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾ That’s exactly the face she made!" Keika said, cracking up.
Azuma looked annoyed. "That was your fault, Keika-nee. You were right there, and you just laughed! You didn’t even warn !"
"I wasn’t your babysitter!" she defended.
"I would’ve listened if you’d said sothing. Back then, I liked you the most."
The words slipped out so smoothly that Keika didn’t register them at first.
Then her cheeks turned crimson.
"...W-What?" she stamred.
"I liked Keika-nee," Azuma said again with a grin. "Back then, I had a thing for onee-sans. You were my type."
Keika’s heart skipped two beats. Her head practically buzzed.
(づ>/////
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