Tears of the Dragon
A Spirited Away / Hikaru no Go crossover
By Quicksilver
Disclaimers: Hotta and Obata for Hikaru no Go; Miyazaki for Spirited Away.
NOTES: A oneshot, with definite Spirited Away influences, though this one is almost all Hikaru no Go.
When he was young, my son did not cry.
Many people wish for a quiet child, but with Akira, it was different. His silent nature transcended that of a good behavior and began to worry me that he was damaged � until he began to talk four months early. He would sit and watch me play Go for hours, lying on his stomach as though he understood what each move I made meant. Sometimes I would place him with the other players as we argued theory and discussed kifu. He would remain eerily still as he observed everything that happened, his young eyes seeming to take in all of his surroundings without reflecting anything.
I wonder how much he absorbed through those sessions. I wonder a lot of things about my son. He has always been so quiet, so focused on a goal. Sometimes�
I didn�t mean to teach him Go so young. I wanted to give him more choices, rather than force him into my shadow and set him on my path. Go is an obsession for the true player, and it is a lonely road for one so young to walk. But Akira was precocious.
Ogata and I were discussing the divine move, our elusive dream, when Akira came over to me. His small arms were round and chubby, and his expression was solemn as he crawled into my lap, something he rarely did. He wasn�t into tactile contact, even as a child, preferring formality. �What is it, Akira?� I asked, resting my hand briefly on his glossy hair.
�Is this divine move something the kami know?� he asked me, and something about his eyes were sharper and more demanding than any two-year-old should be.
I nodded slowly. �The divine move is the perfect move that the gods would play if they were in the same situation. The move can only be performed between two players of overwhelming skill� and it�s the goal of every Go master to achieve it.�
He thought on that, studying his hands for a moment. �I want to play,� he told me.
Ogata raised an eyebrow in amusement. �I think I should take my leave, sensei,� he told me. �I�ll look forward to playing you, Akira-chan,� he said sincerely. Something glittered behind his glasses and I felt a feeling of foreboding. He was a seven dan, but he already had his eyes on my toddler.
Would everyone?
Akira nodded and looked over at the goban that I left over in the corner. I rose to my feet and we moved over to it, and I began to explain some of the basics.
He listened carefully, but I had the feeling he was checking off points he already knew rather than learning. I rarely tutored beginners, but I started with the capturing stones game, and he defeated it easily. �This doesn�t look like what you do,� he said.
�This is how we all start,� I told him. �To play, we must know the rules.�
He sighed a bit in boredom, but continued. He defeated the simple problems I set him easily, and within a week we were playing shidago. He caught on quickly, learning the subtle differences in play. I watched him with pride and a bit of awe, wondering if it was my teaching or his inborn genius that made him pick up on the subtleties so quickly.
He was six when I stopped playing shidago and started playing handicapped games with him in earnest, starting at nine stones but quickly reducing them. He was strong then, strong enough to play most players on an even level and defeat them.
I sent him to a Go school, wanting him to see what others were like. I didn�t realize how weak the other children were. I knew he was strong, but when he steadily defeat them by humiliating margins, I within drew him after six months and told him he couldn�t compete in tournaments, but the damage had been done. Akira�s legend had begun.
The prodigy of Touya Kouyo, a meijin in training. A child too strong to play against other children, but who had to play against adults. A child too strong to become an Insei. Touya Kouyo�s son, Touya Akira.
Always my son.
That didn�t bother him that he was always called my son instead of his own name. He just played, striving for the divine move, on a path that seemed to have no barriers, something that meant he would not find it. Without barriers, the divine move is unreachable by a mere mortal. Still, I wondered if he would find it regardless. Akira had a way of getting what he wanted, in spite of circumstances.
As Akira�s skill grew, I rose, gaining my second then third titles. No one seemed to be able to stop me, and I didn�t see any of the younger players coming up from below� with the exception of my son. In ten years, I foresaw us playing title matches against each other. It was a strange feeling, knowing that my son would be one of my chief rivals.
But then he finally hit his first wall, a child his own age whom claimed to never play before: Shindou Hikaru.
Like the light which was his name, Hikaru came in like a shooting star, briefly illuminating the darkness which seemed to shroud Akira�s soul. Akira stumbled around blindly, trying to figure out what to do with this unexpected intruder on his territory, and I watched as well, satisfied that Akira finally had a rival.
But like everything with Akira, Hikaru proved transient, falling as quickly as he had risen� or so we thought. But those few months of obsession showed me another side of my son, one which I hadn�t known was inside of him.
Passion. Rivalry. Territoriality. Instincts which he tried to hide from me, but Ichikawa and his teachers let slip the stories of his pursuit of his rival�
And I wondered.
His movement towards the divine hand rivaled my pursuit. I had been wrong to think he was just a pure genius; there was passion and drive there that would make him a truly dangerous opponent when he entered the world of pros.
Which he did, thoroughly defeating the lesser dans. And then Hikaru reversed their game. Together they lead each other on a most interesting chase, and I see within them the perfect game. Kuwabara and Ogata do as well, I think, and the rest of the Go world has started to watch them in fascination, watching their dance move towards the inevitable conclusion.
Towards the divine hand�
I do not understand my son. I sometimes look at him as he concentrates on some problem and wonder what changeling masquerades as my child. Sometimes I want to go over to my son, turn him around and shake him by the shoulders and demand, �Who are you?�
I fear the answer though. I can imagine him tilting his head, the long hair falling to the side of his face, and him giving me a sad smile. �I am your son,� he says in one fantasy. In another, he tells me a far more terrifying truth, one that I bury deep in my heart, unwilling to confront in the light of day.
Akira is too cold, too perfect, and I know that there is something inside of him, sleeping, waiting to erupt. Shindou Hikaru brings it close to the surface, but Shindou is not the ultimate answer.
Akira is playing for something else, something I cannot - I, who was once called the greatest player in the world � understand. This thought plagues me.
What does Akira play for?
Is it for the divine hand, the move that will being a Go player a bit closer to heaven?
Or is it towards something he had, but lost?
END