Ryuuou no Oshigoto! - Volume 11 - Chapter 2

  MASTER AND APPRENTICE

“Yaichi Kuzuryu, wasn’ it?” the pro player said, putting his large, meaty hand with surprisingly sensitive fingertips right on top of my head.

“If yer that keen on playin’ Shogi with me, why not come to my place to play to yar hearts content?”

I couldn’t understand the chilly, “Huh ……?” that came from my father behind me.

The pro player I idolized had just extended an invitation, and six-year-old me was on top of the world. Without any idea what my response actually meant, I said with giddy excitement, “Yes! I want to play more Shogi with you, Sensei!”

That was how I became this pro Shogi player Kousuke Kiyotaki 8-dan’s live-in apprentice.

I met him for the first time at a regional Shogi tournament in my home prefecture, Fukui.

There I was, Yaichi Kuzuryu, playing against the adults in the A Rank Division and winning the whole thing just a few days after turning six.

“W-Whoa!”

“A kindergartner becomin’ the champion? That’s gotta be a first!!”

“A boy genius ……!”

“That one could very well become Fukui’s first-ever professional Shogi player!”

I’d been taking Shogi seriously for about a year at that point. I was the kind of player who could get in a groove and rack up wins one after another. Luckily for me, I managed to tap all my skills and more that day.

And it just so happened that Kousuke Kiyotaki 8-dan was the head judge for that tournament.

“Sensei! Would you please give this boy here an instructional match?!”

It was only natural that the adults there went to ask the pro after I won.

Kiyotaki 8-dan must’ve been interested in me, too, because he accepted right off the bat.

“Sure thin’! Okay, kiddo, how’s a two-piece handicap sound?”

Except …… Six-year-old Yaichi didn’t understand the concept of a pro player yet and opened his fan, sat down across from the geezer and said, “Handicaps are boring! I wanna play even Stephen!”

My father’s face turned pale next to me and he shouted, “Y-Yaichi! That was very rude!!”

“Dad, shut up! You couldn’t even win B Class!”

“Kgh ……!”

I was so full of myself in that moment that the very idea of losing never crossed my mind.

“Ha ha ha! Ya got spirit, kiddo. But–––.”

SNAP-AP-PP ………… ppp!

“?!”

The echo hit me so hard I thought the geezer broke that piece in half when he snapped it down onto the board.

It was like taking a bucket of ice water to the face. Suddenly, I was awake.

“That ain’t no way to talk to yar father, ya hear?”

Then Kiyotaki 8-dan finished lining up the pieces with a delicate refinement that was the complete opposite of that snap before taking the Bishop out of his own territory and putting it back in the piece box.

“How ’bout this. You beat me without a Bishop, then we’ll talk ’bout yar even Stephen.”

“………… Okay.”

I could tell something’s different …… after hearing that pro’s snap for the first time and accepted his proposal with a nod.

In amateur terms, playing against a former A-Ranking pro player without their Bishop is the same as playing against someone at the national level. In pro terms, probably about 6-dan.

Back then, I was maybe 2-dan. I was sure I could take on any grown-up and win, but I understood by the 20th move that my attacks would never work against the man sitting across from me. His Shogi was just built differently.

The only reason I was able to keep playing was–––.

“…… Hmm. I see, I see.”

Kiyotaki-sensei would leave little windows open in his defense, simultaneously inviting me to attack and giving my nearly broken fighting spirit an encouraging push. Without that, I would’ve thrown in the towel right then and there.

“Yeah. Goin’ there ………… Oh? Yar a strong one.”

I thought I was thoroughly dominated in that match from start to finish, but it ended with me being just a single move short of checkmate.

To everyone else, it probably looked like I had a pro on the ropes and almost won.

“He may have lost, but that kindergarten boy was one move away from beating a pro!”

“He’s some kid, I tell you!”

The grown-ups were saying nice things about me left and right, and the newspaper ran an article with a title like A Prodigy Putting Pros on Notice! Yaichi Kuzuryu.

But, only Kiyotaki-sensei and I knew what had actually happened. The true meaning behind that match.

Kiyotaki-sensei took out his own Shogi notebook and jotted down the entire match on the spot like it was a walk in the park. Then he tore out that page and gave it to me.

“From now on, record all yar Shogi matches like this. ’Cause if ya can go back and review yer matches, yar gonna get that much stronger.”

“Yes ……… Yes, I will!!”

Clutching that sheet of paper to my chest like a priceless treasure, I nodded so many times I got dizzy.

Not only did Kiyotaki-sensei bring out the best in me, but he also showed me how impressive pros were …… and how unfathomably deep the game of Shogi could go. It was a genuine instructional match, the way they’re meant to be.

–––Pros are amazing! Shogi is amazing!!

I followed Kiyotaki-sensei everywhere after that day.

If I heard that he was going to be judging a tournament, I begged and pleaded with my parents to take me there. Not so that I could play in the tournament. So that I could play a match against Kiyotaki-sensei.

Since summer vacation was just beginning, Kiyotaki-sensei was taking part in tons of Shogi festivals and tournaments, and I went to every single one. Of course, I had my Shogi notebook with me.

Other people at the tournaments couldn’t figure out what I was doing.

“Kiyotaki, as in the guy that only lasted a season in A, that Kiyotaki?”

“He’s never even challenged for a title, has he?”

“The one who plays the same boring old defensive yagura?”

Back then, Kiyotaki-sensei …… Nah, it’d be easier just to call him Master, wouldn’t it? Compared to his Shogi skills, Master’s reputation was pretty low.

The Meijin, who was a few years younger than him …… Actually, he’d lost the Meijin title at that point in time so he wasn’t really the Meijin, but it’ll get confusing if I call him anything else so I’ll just keep calling him the Meijin, okay? That Meijin’s generation had claimed almost all the titles and the younger generation under him were at the forefront of new strategies and research. So, with the exception of Chairman Tsukimitsu (he wasn’t the chairman yet either but, yeah), everyone was certain that the generation above the Meijin was over.

“Listen, son. Are you sure you want Kiyotaki-sensei? There’s Tsukimitsu-sensei and a bunch of strong, young professionals out there, too?”

“No, I want Kiyotaki-sensei!”

“I’m sorry to say that he’s busy right now. Being a judge is a lot of work. I don’t know when he’ll be able to get around to doing an instructional match ……”

“Okay …… Since he’s busy, I’ll play in the tournament until he’s done. Please tell me when Kiyotaki-sensei can give me an instructional match!”

Word soon spread that there was a little kid who came all the way down from the mountains to be at tournaments but didn’t want to be in them. What’s worse, he was a nuisance because he won these tournaments that he wasn’t planning on playing in.

But the one who was more surprised than everyone was the man being followed: Master.

“Ya again, kiddo ……? How are we playin’ today?”

“Two-piece handicap, please!”

I couldn’t quite break through Master’s formations, even with the two-piece handicap.

And Master never once took it easy on this kid who traveled so far just to play against him.

I’d travel hours and hours just to get to the arena and wait in the corner for hours and hours all to lose to him, sometimes in less than 30 minutes.

Whenever that happened, I’d reset the board and silently wait for him to say something.

“…… Wanna do one more?”

“Please!!”

Hearing those words was the happiest thing in the world …… And I got more and more hooked on Shogi every time I heard them.

Even when summer vacation ended and I was back at school, my parents came up with excuses to get me out of class and took me to wherever Master was doing a tournament that day.

After losing count of how many matches I’d played against him, I got the invitation that started it all.

…… Looking back on it now that I have apprentices of my own, Master was probably watching my parents just as closely as he was me. Testing them to see just how willing they were.

Seeing how much they loved their son …… And how willing they were to let him go.

Luckily for me, I was the second son.

My older brother played Shogi as a hobby but had no intention of turning pro whatsoever, and my little brother was a toddler at the time.

My parents probably thought they could let at least one of their sons walk his own path in life.

Even so, my mother apparently cried … a lot. Meanwhile, I was so ecstatic to be going to Master Kiyotaki’s house that I was smiling the whole way ……

“If you’re serious about letting him become a professional, living that far away will be an obstacle for him. Looking at the elementary school calendar, now would be the best timing for him to move to Osaka,” Master explained to my parents. And he also supposedly said this: “If you’re willing to put him in my care, so long as he is in Osaka, you have my word I will raise him as my own son. I cannot accept any payment for teaching or day-to-day expenses. No parent would ever take money from their child.”

My parents had said they could never accept that …… But it was this that finally convinced them.

“I have a daughter, but I have really always wanted a son. A son to teach Shogi …… Raise him to be a pro if he could, but a son to share a board with. After my wife passed away, I’d accepted the fact that that dream would never come true ……”

That’s when I showed up.

A boy who thought the world of him and wanted nothing more than to play Shogi.

We weren’t connected by blood, but …… Shogi families are bound in a different way.

“Yaichi falling in love with Shogi has made that dream come true. That kind of happy miracle doesn’t exist in this world …… I ask you to please let me live it. My dream of teaching my son how to play Shogi.”

Over the 10 years I was his live-in apprentice, Master never accepted a single yen from my parents.

They didn’t tell me about this until after I’d turned pro.

I couldn’t hold back the tears.