Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hikaru was in a slump when he met Sai, so his appearance had been nearly a blessing to him when he showed up.

The 15-year-old had been staring at his computer screen for hours that raining summer day, with it remaining blank as the moment he had opened it. The white paper had been almost insulting him, as if refusing to take the words he would write with grace.

Everything he had tried to write, no matter how small, he had deleted after the first few sentences or so. Nothing seemed to stick much with him. No words, no plots and much less a passable story. It had been the third day of his slump and the block of creativity had begun to take its toll on him.

He nearly slammed his face down on the keyboard by the time the fourth hour of nothing hit.

“I think you need a break, Hikaru.” His grandmother had said, watching him pull at his hair in frustration. “It’s not healthy to continue something if you don’t enjoy it.”

He wanted to answer back, saying he did enjoy writing, but it was no use arguing with his grandmother. She had been in the writing business longer than even his own father had been alive and if she said to take a break, then there was no fighting it.

“If you need any inspiration, your grandfather has a bunch of old junk in his shed. You can try looking through it to see if it helps.”

And so that’s what he did.

He had run through the rain into the shed and, after searching for a while through the cluttered mess of antiques, documents and other items his grandfather had collected over the years, he climbed up the steps to face the bloodstained goban that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Quite literally haunt him, in fact.

“Is this…blood?” He had asked himself, rubbing at the stains on the old, but beautiful wood. “Why would Grandpa have something like this?”

‘Can you see the stains, child?’

And that’s how Hikaru found himself in a hospital room (after the shock had sent him tumbling down the stairs into a few old vases) with a ghost bound to his soul.

It was the start of a friendship that would bring forth a tsunami.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, who are you exactly?" Hikaru asked as he laid in his hospital bed.

The ghost, a man with dark purple hair and dressed in old clothes befitting the nobility, stood next to his bed. He wore a guilty expression on his face, his eyes resting on the thick bandages wrapped around Hikaru’s arms and one on his head, a result of having been laying in the ceramic shards. He had been staring at them since he found out that they would scar over.

“My name is Fujiwara no Sai.” The ghost responded, and then went into the details of his life.

Hikaru found himself hanging onto every word of the old Ghost’s story. Sai spoke to him and he was lost in the tale of his woeful life and death. He could almost feel the ghost’s emotion through his words, his joy at his love of the game to the betrayal he had felt when he was cheated out of his position and the upmost despair as he told him of his eventual suicide. When he told of Torajirou, where he was filled with hope and peace for his chance to play again only to be crushed by the boy’s death, Hikaru had been stunned into silence.

The biggest grip on his emotions, however, was that he understood exactly what Sai must be feeling. He tried to imagine what life would have been like for him if he had been in Sai’s shoes, to want to write, but being unable to do so without someone there to do it for him. To be denied the one thing that kept his life as passionate as it was. A stab in the heart would be less painful.

A cord had been struck in him, one that would not stop until it had been immortalized.

“Sai.” Hikaru had said, after a few moments of pondering. “Want to make a deal?”

The ghost perked up.

“I’ve been having trouble trying to come up with a story to write.” He started. “If you would let me write yours down, I’ll let you play as much Go as you want. How does that sound?”

Hikaru took Sai nearly smothering him in a ghostly hug as a yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t occur to Hikaru until after he had begun to type the first page that he couldn’t write a story about a man’s love of Go without knowing how to play the game first. Even with Sai there to explain as he wrote, the words would never come to him naturally if he couldn’t visualize them himself.

And thus, began the process of teaching Hikaru how to play. Every day after school as he did his homework, Sai had explained the game to him. He explained the rules, the strategies to play and the names of the formations with great excitement.

Go was, as Hikaru found out, not as boring as he had originally thought it was. Sai was an amazing teacher; much better than his grandfather, who made everything too complicated, or the go class that had been so boring that he almost fell asleep. Sai was patient, firm and had no issues repeating rules and concepts. Hikaru had found that he actually enjoyed having these lessons.

After he had managed to get his grandfather to buy him a foldable go board in exchange for cleaning his house, Sai had begun to instruct him on the old game. It had been difficult to learn, and he admitted that he still didn’t know how to hold his stones properly but had gotten easier after he finally managed get the rules through his thick skull.

It still didn’t make playing Sai any easier.

“You went all out again, didn’t you?!” Hikaru shouted at his embarrassing loss. “What the hell, Sai?!”

Sai merely laughed at his reaction and went right onto the game explanation. Hikaru pouted throughout it, but eagerly listened as Sai explained every move in detail and what he could have done to change the game.

It was at that moment that made him realized how much Go reminded him of water. Any movement, whether small or large, rippled the surface and changed the position in the river. Go was fluid and smooth like a tranquil lake, or rough and vicious like the tides of the ocean. It bent and shaped with every stone placed like a river cutting through the land. Like water, it brough great life, but would not hesitate to drown those that opposed her.

He could see why Sai loved this game so much.

Eventually, while browsing the internet for Shuusaku’s games, they stumbled upon a little thing called NetGo.

“Hey Sai, want to make an account? It’ll let you play more players.”

The surface had been rippled the moment Hikaru pressed ‘Create Account’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The start of the book was the hardest part, surprisingly. Sai didn’t exactly remember much in detail, having last experienced everything over 1,000 years ago. Even if he did, there wasn’t much to work with. Sai lived a rather sheltered life and had no interest in anything other than Go and maybe a few instruments that he ultimately abandoned after scoring his position as a tutor.

His classes in school had never really gone into much depth about it, and he had already forgotten whatever knowledge he did possess.

The only thing that they could do now was research.

His grandmother had been the biggest help that he could find, albeit by accident.

Hikaru had finished the story outline, Sai’s limited version of the events, when he realized that his grandmother had been reading over his shoulder (His small, very manly shriek after she startled him was something that he didn’t wish to repeat). It had been embarrassing having his grandmother print out his outline and watching her take her favorite red pen to it, adding her own input and advice on how she would go about it, but it helped tremendously.

“This seems like it could be a beautiful story.” She said, handing him back the paper for him to fix. “Historical dramas can be amazing when they’re done right. How much do you know about it?”

Hikaru looked over her notes.

“Well, not that much, but- “

She didn’t even let him finish his sentence before she snatched the paper away again and ordered him to put on his shoes. Having her drag him to the library and picking up a few dozen books on the Heian Era for him to read was not fun. By the time Hikaru had finished reading the books under her watchful eye, 3 months had passed.

In between all of this, Hikaru had only gotten better at playing. Sai’s NetGo account had blown up considerably, with at least a dozen requests coming in every time that he logged on. Every game that Sai won only added to the fame his account had received, which in turn brought on more requests. Even with everything, however, Sai never stopped playing go with him and their book always came first.

They had their story outlined completely by the 6^th month mark. It was the story of a man, Fujiwara no Sai, and his journey throughout the messy life of Heian court politics and his devoted love for the game of Go like they always planned. However, following his grandmother’ s advice, he had added more to it to keep the interest of the readers and the story moving forward.

He had shamelessly added himself into the story, of course, as Sai’s personal student who attempted to prove Sai’s innocence after overhearing the plot, only to be tragically assassinated by Sai’s rival (whose name had to be changed as he was praised in history) for it. Sai had been less than thrilled by this, shouting about how he didn’t want Hikaru to die, but the plot had already been woven to the story and there was no way he was going to change it.

The biggest challenge, however, was the ending. His grandmother had suggested a happier ending, or at least bittersweet, but it didn’t sit right with him. Despite his changes, this was still Sai’s story and it felt wrong to just change it to make himself feel better. He would end the book with Sai’s eventual banishment and suicide in the river. It would end on a bitter note like it happened.

With the outlined complete and approved, Hikaru began to write.

The water’s tides had begun to shift.

Chapter Text

The book was released on Hikaru’s 17^th birthday, after almost 2 years in the making, with 3 rewrites, thousands upon thousands of edits, hiring an illustrator to draw out Sai’s games, hours on the phone with publishers and listening to Sai cry about Hikaru’s character dying. But, at long last, it was perfect. The Art of Playing on Water had been published.

In all honesty, he didn’t expect the book to blow up the way it did, being how depressing the ending was and the very niche community that it was marketed for. However, nearly 7 months after it had been released and set in whatever bookstores his grandmother and mother could stick it in (he had never known just how powerful those 2 were in the writing industry until then), the reviews praising the book had begun to pile up and his books was sold out in many of his local bookshops.

It wasn’t a bestseller by any means and the given result was probably due to his grandmother’s influence and his mother’s negotiation skills with publishers as it was, but that was fine by him. He had achieved his dream of getting a book published and Sai’s story had been immortalized for the world to see. However, the biggest relief was that the process was finally over, and he could go back to worrying about school and playing more Go with Sai.

Hikaru smiled as he ran his fingers across his penname, Fuji Mitsue, inscribed across the bottom.

He had insisted on it, despite his grandmother telling him that he would get more sales if he used their family name. However, he had already milked his grandmother’s influence to get this far and having a name be his own made it just a bit sweeter for him, especially with him stuffing part of Sai’s name in it.

He opened it, flipping to a page where one of Sai’s games was shown on the side and his text on the other. Despite having this book for months, it still amazed him to open it and see his words written on the pages. It was euphoric to read over, not on his computer, but on real published pages. He almost cried the first time he opened it (almost, no matter how much his mother or Sai would tell you otherwise).

He placed his book, a beautiful hardback with Sai’s figure holding go stones drawn on it, on the top of his shelf like a trophy. His pride and joy was home for him to admire.

He had done it.

“Hey Sai. Want to play a game?” He asked, then immediately went to set up his portable goban because of course Sai would say yes.

They played their game, completely oblivious to the waves that just crashed onto the shore of the Go world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ogata Seiji always knew that he had was prone to obsession.

It had started small, with his mother making an off-hand comment about him looking cute in white when he was 3, leading to it being his color of choice. Then, when his father had gotten him a fish for his 6^th birthday, a habit he had only expanded with a massive aquarium the size of a wall. Then came Go, the game he picked up only because his cousin had once told him he was too dumb to understand it when they were 8. His status as a title holder only cemented this fact further into anyone who would doubt it.

In front of him today, was his newest obsession.

Ogata puffed his cigarette, staring intently at the dozens of sheets of paper that were scattered across his floor. His table had been too small to hold them on, forcing him to relocate to the less-than-ideal place. In his free hand, he held the book open to the page containing the first kifu and put it next the papers, Sai’s kifu that managed to print from the web.

The playing style was the same, no doubt about it.

Everything, from the opening to yose, spoke of a vast knowledge of Go from an expert with countless of years of experience and skill. It was a skill that shouldn’t be possible, especially from somebody unheard of in the world of professional Go. Even though the style was old, from another era entirely, none of his opponents stood a chance against him.

He took the last drag of his cigarette, closing the book to look at the name on the cover again.

Fuji Mitsue.

The name that had kept him up for days stared back at him, almost mocking his failure. He couldn’t find a trace of them, no matter how hard he had looked through the library databases or the internet. Going through phone books and emails turned up nothing but people with similar names and, of course, the publishing company would refuse to give out the real name of the author if it was a pen name.

Ogata cursed as his finished cigarette, putting it out on his ashtray and tossing the butt to the small pile on the side. He threw the book down in one final act of frustration.

Who are you?

The question rang through the room as the world began to tremble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a slow day in the dead of winter when Hikaru decided to take Sai out to celebrate their newest milestone. An article in the newsletter his grandfather always seemed to get had written a review on their book (he didn’t cry here either), sparking a little spike in the sales ever since.

Originally, they had planned on just looking around that random Go Salon that the one taxi driver had told him about, but it turned out to be too far away from his house to even consider it. So, they had to make do with one slightly closer to his house.

“Sai, are you sure about this?” Hikaru asked, looking at the supposed Go salon in what suspiciously resembled a dark alley. “Maybe we should find another one.”

But Sai had already started to float inside, reasoning that no place that plays Go could be a bad place and Hikaru didn’t feel like destroying the ghost’s illusions.

He walked in after Sai, paying the old man in front, and sat down at an empty seat. He only had to wait for a few minutes before he was approached for a game by one of the men sitting on the next seat over. He heard the other patrons snickering and placing bets on how long he’d last (his eye twitched when they called him Fresh Meat) once he rejected a handicap.

He watched Sai’s face darken in disgust at the blatant disrespect of the game.

The first game was an easy win, almost too easy when he looked at it. The man had gone easy on him and thus, was crushed horribly before he realized and could reground himself. Hikaru was about to thank him for a game when a few bills were shoved in his face.

“Thanks for making me rich kid.” One man, the only man that bet on him it seems, smiled victoriously.

Hikaru felt a smile tug at his lips when the next one sat down, glaring and determined.

“Want to make a bet?” Hikaru asked, as innocent as he could.

By the time he left the shop, he left richer than he had been in a while and left a trail of defeated players in his wake. Sai gave him a dirty look as he counted the cash but didn’t say anything when Hikaru mentioned that it would cover the fees for the next salon.

He didn’t stay long enough to hear the whispers of a rumor known as the “Blond Demon” being born.