Pre-Match: Onward to the Next Battle

The first day of the prefectural tournament. Having just finished his match against the East District representative, Mikado entered the kifu from his game with Wataru into his smartphone, reviewing the moves on the virtual board.

It was a clean victory with no obvious flaws. Taking a moment to bask in the satisfaction of his own one-sided dominance—that wasn't bad, either.

Yet, as Mikado replayed his moves, the vague sense of unease he had been harboring crystallized into sharp awareness.

"...I guess this isn't something I can fix overnight."

He had the analysis software evaluate each move one by one, reflecting on what had gone through his mind during the match. The evaluation graph climbed toward the ceiling in a mostly straight trajectory, but the fluctuations grew sharper and more erratic the deeper the game progressed into the endgame.

Having reviewed the analysis to the very end, Mikado pocketed his smartphone with a grim scowl.

Then he picked up the tournament handout lying on the desk.

The document outlined the schedule of the tournament from the opening ceremony to the closing awards. What Mikado was checking, however, were several specific regulations regarding the matches.

"Time control is forty minutes, followed by a forty-second byoyomi countdown."

(T/N: Byōyomi (秒読み, literally "second-counting") is a time-control method used primarily in traditional board games like Go and Shogi to prevent stalemates once a player's main thinking time runs out.)

"In the event of a foul or illegal move, pause the game clock, raise your hand, and follow the arbiter's decision."

"In the event of a fourfold repetition draw, player colors will be swapped and an immediate rematch played with remaining time maintained."

"In the event of a mutual entering king, the 27-Point Declaration Rule will be applied."

None of these situations came up very often; for the most part, they were just rules to keep tucked away in the back of one's mind.

Among them, what Mikado focused on was the section at the top regarding time control.

Forty minutes plus forty seconds. You had forty minutes of main time, and once that ran out, you had to play each move within forty seconds. By amateur tournament standards, it was a relatively generous time limit.

With the time controls lengthened even further compared to the district qualifiers, the shift in pacing was something he acutely felt after just a single match.

Just one match. Yet, in that single game alone, the reality had sunk into Mikado more than enough.

—The painful awareness of his inexperience fueled his growing anxiety. In his battle against Wataru, Mikado had made mistakes three separate times. That was what his smartphone's post-game analysis had just laid bare.

None of those three had been game-losing blunders that would flip the board against him. But they were questionable moves that undeniably shaved points off his evaluation value.

The right to punish an error belongs solely to the opponent. If Wataru had noticed those fleeting openings and found the correct responses, there was no telling how the match might have ended.

An unfamiliar venue, and a time control completely different from online shogi. Just having an opponent physically seated across from him made the psychological duel of reading moves far sharper and more intense than usual.

Yet Mikado also knew that he couldn't afford to use any of that as an excuse.

Forty minutes plus forty seconds... I've been practicing under this exact time control leading up to today, but when it comes to the real deal, I'm falling completely short. My clock management is sloppy, and I let myself get swallowed up by my opponent's rhythm several times.

Mikado was reminded once again of just how demanding his chosen tactics truly were.

While it was a deeply frustrating style for opponents to face, piloting it demanded an extraordinary level of precision and skill.

There was no reason something he could handle in blitz games shouldn't work with longer time controls. Even if he understood the theory, putting it into practice in real life wasn't going nearly as smoothly as he hoped.

Mikado set the tournament sheet back on the desk and turned to head outside the playing hall.

"Yo, Zimetsutei."

A hand patted Mikado on the shoulder with a light tap.

Turning around, he found Sakuma Hayato standing there.

"Ah, good work out there..."

"'Good work out there'?"

Canned juice in hand, Hayato flashed a broad grin, sliding his face right up beside Mikado while keeping a casual hand on his shoulder.

"What? ...Um, are you mad at me or something?"

"Nah? Just surprised. About you being Zimetsutei... and the fact that, for some reason, only Tojo and the others knew about it. Well, well—keeping secrets from your own clubmates, huh?"

"...Sorry. I'm really sorry about that."

Mikado offered an earnest apology.

Though he had never intended to reveal his identity as Zimetsutei to anyone, it was true that Tojo and the others had found out in the end.

On top of that, he had made a move that essentially blew his own cover in public. If he had been prepared to go that far, the right thing to do would have been to come clean to his own teammates beforehand.

Perhaps expecting some flimsy excuse, Hayato shrugged and let out an exaggerated click of his tongue.

"...Tch, I'm just messing with you. Besides, I already knew."

"...You did? Since when?"

"Like I'd tell you."

Showing no intention of elaborating, Hayato averted his eyes, canned juice still in hand.

Then, his gaze happening to land on Mikado's game clock, Hayato noted the time control and asked between sips of juice:

"—Clock's pretty tight on you, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I didn't feel it as much during the district tournament, though."

"Prefecturals are a whole different beast, after all."

Level. If it came down to pure skill, Tenryu Kazuki, whom he had fought back in the district tournament, was on an overwhelmingly higher plane.

Knowing full well that wasn't what Hayato was getting at, Mikado asked frankly anyway.

"Do you think Asuma Wataru is stronger than Tenryu Kazuki?"

"It's the atmosphere that makes it feel that way, isn't it?"

Hayato offered a roundabout answer.

"...I don't really get it. Maybe I still have a lot to learn."

"Well, when it comes to real tournament experience, we've got you beat."

Hayato gave a smug grin, lightly rattling his empty can.

The conclusion was the same one Mikado had reached on his own. In the end, it all came down to tournament experience. Gaining that very experience as a byproduct of each hard-fought win, one could argue Mikado was evolving faster than anyone else here.

Hayato picked up the game clock, expertly resetting it to its default starting time with practiced ease.

After watching his back for a quiet moment, Mikado called out his name.

"Hayato."

"?"

"Thank you. For helping out behind the scenes and doing so much for the team."

"..."

Hayato stared intently at Mikado's face after the thank-you, his gaze darkening with irritation before he spat out a curse.

"I really hate that look of yours, like you've got everything figured out. I don't want your thanks or your gratitude—can't you spit out at least one boastful line to show some damn pride?"

There was an underlying friction, a sense that they were fundamentally incompatible.

Mikado, who had always passively accepted that distance as fine, paused in silence before carefully choosing his words.

Was the urge to meet him halfway spurred by the adrenaline still coursing through his veins after the match?

"...All right."

At the unexpected response, Hayato's eyes went wide.

And then—the tense curiosity over what he was about to say lasted for only a fleeting heartbeat.

"I'm going to crush every single one of them."

It was phrasing he clearly wasn't used to using. His expression hadn't even caught up with his own words.

Still, hearing words he had never once imagined coming from Mikado's mouth, Hayato blinked in shock before doubling over, clutching his stomach in roaring laughter.

Seeing Mikado wear an uncharacteristically awkward expression, Hayato felt as though he had caught a glimpse of Watanabe Mikado for the first time, rather than Zimetsutei.

"Nice. I like you a little better now."

"I'm never saying that again."

"Your moves say it every single match anyway."

Watching Hayato flash the kind of grin reserved for genuine friends, Mikado felt he finally understood why Hayato had disliked him all this time.

◇

The first round of the Yellow Dragon Tournament's prefectural championship. Away from the wild frenzy surrounding the team clash between the West and East Districts, another matchup was quietly coming to an end.

"Feel like doing a post-match review?"

"No..."

A clash between the South District and the North District. To the invitation from the Tyrant of the North, Aomine Ryuga—who had just suffered a crushing defeat—South District Captain Tennoji Kaito simply shook his head.

"I'd prefer not to associate with you if I can help it."

Kaito rose from his seat.

It was far easier to picture him reading a book in solitude than sharing a laugh with anyone. Shrouded in an aloof, solitary aura, Kaito showed no inclination to fraternize with Ryuga in the slightest.

The final score was six wins to one. The clash between the two districts had concluded in what could only be described as a landslide victory for the South District.

Yet Kaito, who served as their Captain, let out a weary sigh. The match had been far too hollow for him to savor the victory.

"—Playing the In-Hole Bishop. You must really look down on me." Kaito asked.

Known as a surprise opening with virtually zero theoretical merit, played almost purely as an insult, the In-Hole Bishop was the exact strategy Ryuga had chosen to deploy.

"Get under your skin?"

"No. You're free to play however you like. If you lose because of it, that's your own problem."

Ryuga scoffed at Kaito's response.

"Spot on. Which means you, the guy who lost to it, don't get to complain about my opening."

A resignation just before the threshold of the endgame. Ryuga talked big, but the evaluation at the point of resignation had been dead even—if not tilting slightly in Kaito's favor.

"I only resigned because our district had already secured the majority win."

"Don't go looking for excuses. You were just terrified of playing me, weren't you?"

"I was conserving my stamina."

"Compared to where we started with the In-Hole Bishop, looked to me like the momentum was swinging heavily to my side, wouldn't you say? You were just terrified I'd turn the tables if we kept going, so you threw in the towel early, didn't you?"

Looking down at Ryuga as he spouted his smug logic with a smirk, Kaito narrowed his eyes.

"Then do you want to settle this in the individual tournament?"

"...Heh?"

Ryuga's expression shifted. His tone tinged with genuine surprise, he looked up at Kaito.

"Even though you didn't even enter the individual bracket?"

"..."

"You think that if you egg on a guy like me, I'll get all fired up and jump into the tournament on my own? If I took the bait only to find out you weren't even playing, I'd be a total laughingstock. Once I realized you just blew me off, all the blood would rush to my head and I'd go ape."

Ryuga's deduction was largely on the mark.

To Kaito, Ryuga's existence was like a natural disaster. There was no reason to go out of his way to engage him; if Ryuga went on a rampage elsewhere and knocked out even one of his rivals, it would be a welcome windfall.

"What, so you actually have some sense for someone called a Tyrant?"

"Talk about selling me short. Sure you don't wanna do that post-match review after all?"

"I'll pass. I have my hands full preparing for my next opponent."

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Kaito turned to walk away.

At his retreating back, Ryuga called out as if to have the final word.

"Oh, well, let me give you a piece of advice then."

As Kaito stopped in his tracks, Ryuga rose from his seat as well, grabbing the drink resting on the table.

"—Tenryu Kazuki was strong."

Kaito furrowed his brow. He instantly grasped the weight behind Ryuga's words, immediately understanding the sheer threat posed by the opponent he was about to face.

For someone like the Tyrant of the North, Aomine Ryuga—who almost certainly had never praised another human being in his life—to openly state that Tenryu Kazuki was strong was abnormal in itself.

If so, then just how terrifying was the strength of Mikado, who had defeated that very Tenryu to stand here today—?

"I'll keep that in mind."

Murmuring in a voice barely audible enough to serve as a reply, Kaito left the venue alongside the girl from his team who fell in step closely at his side.

ToC