Rewrite Our Love? Too Late

The next morning dawned bright and brisk over the Hinatsuru Ryokan, the surrounding mountains wrapped in a soft veil of early mist. Dew glistened on the courtyard stones as if nature itself were holding its breath in anticipation.

Inside the ancient inn, guests began to stir.

But Yukima Azuma had already risen.

He sensed it—today wasn't just another step toward the Ryuuou title.

It was the arrival of someone irreplaceable.

A knock came at the door.

"Yukima, your master has arrived," a staff member said respectfully.

Yukima's expression shifted subtly.

"He's here."

Sure enough, as Yukima stepped out into the receiving hall, he was met with a familiar trio: Kiyotaki Kousuke, his stern and reserved master; Kiyotaki Keika, his senior disciple and daughter of Kousuke; and Sora Ginko, his fierce childhood friend and longtime training partner.

Trailing behind them was an unexpected face—Sainokami Ika, practically skipping in excitement.

"Shishou!" she beamed.

Yukima offered her a nod and a polite wave, but his full attention was on his master.

He bowed low.

"Master."

Kiyotaki Kousuke gave a soft grunt in reply.

"Umu. Follow me."

Without another word, he turned and headed into one of the private shogi rooms within the ryokan.

Yukima gave a small gesture of acknowledgment to the others, then quietly followed.

The doors to the tatami room slid shut with a soft shhk.

Inside, the shogi board had already been set—a full 7-tatami layout, framed by a view of the serene garden just outside.

Kiyotaki Kousuke took the sente side, settling cross-legged with the quiet dignity of a 9-dan veteran.

"About the Ryuuou match," he began, his voice low and steady. "Do you feel prepared?"

Yukima sat across from him, posture straight.

"…I believe I am. To a degree," he replied modestly.

Kiyotaki's lips curled slightly—part amused, part wistful.

"Since you turned twelve, I've had nothing left to teach you."

"At times, I wonder if I did you a disservice. Had you studied under the Meijin himself… perhaps you'd already be holding the title I once dreamed of."

There was no bitterness in his voice—only quiet resignation, touched with admiration.

Truthfully, he hadn't played Yukima seriously in years.

There was no point.

Once Yukima's talent had bloomed, it had become painfully clear that their paths were no longer equal.

He was not molding a stone into a blade.

He had simply stumbled upon a blade already forged by the heavens.

"Master, please don't say that." Yukima shook his head.

"Everything I am today… is because of the foundation you gave me."

"Before I had anything—before the system or the titles—I had your lessons. Your patience. Your belief in me."

Kiyotaki Kousuke blinked slowly, surprised by the boy's honesty.

This child… when did he become so composed?

He gave a chuckle and waved dismissively.

"Bah. I'm old. I get sentimental."

"Your next opponent's a friend of mine. He's a coordination specialist—his pieces dance together like a flock of birds."

"My style can't match his fully, but I can replicate about 70%."

He reached for the board.

"Now then… show me your blade."

The pieces clattered softly onto the board as they began.

At first, Yukima met his master's offense with measured responses.

But the game soon escalated.

Kiyotaki Kousuke's approach—famous for the Rook and Lance offense—was disguised behind smooth coordination. He maneuvered with surgical precision, masking aggressive lines within elegant formations.

And Yukima…?

He played like a mountain unmoved.

His pieces didn't flare with brilliance or dazzle with innovation.

They simply converged.

Each move was like a stone laid carefully into the bed of a river—firm, deliberate, inevitable.

The match extended beyond 300 moves.

For a time, it felt as if the master was holding his own.

But then—

The endgame.

Where instinct dies and pure calculation reigns.

In this realm, Yukima's true strength emerged.

Kiyotaki could only watch helplessly as his fortress crumbled piece by piece, all his formations subtly unraveled by setups he hadn't even noticed being built.

With a reluctant sigh, he set his hand down.

"I resign."

Then, he laughed.

"Good grief… I actually believed I could teach you something today."

Yukima bowed.

"Thank you for the match."

Kiyotaki's eyes lingered on the board.

"Your style… it's like a heavy, edgeless sword."

"No flair, no flash. But every swing lands with the weight of inevitability."

"It doesn't cut—it crushes."

He stared longer, a quiet reverence blooming in his expression.

"To think, a boy I once guided would surpass me like this."

"I wanted to give you special training. But now, I realize… any advice I give would just muddy your clarity."

Yukima began resetting the board, gathering the pieces with practiced care.

Kiyotaki leaned back, arms crossed.

"…Did Ai's family give their blessing?"

He asked the question casually, but there was a flicker of interest in his tone.

Yukima paused for a moment, then smiled.

"Umu. Once I claim the Ryuuou title, I'll take Ai in officially as my disciple."

Kiyotaki exhaled slowly.

"You're already speaking like a man who's won."

"But after that game… I don't think I can blame you."

He chuckled and waved toward the door.

"Go on. Find the others. This old man won't slow you down any further."

Yukima bowed once more and departed.

As the door slid shut behind him, Kiyotaki remained seated.

He gazed down at the board, the lingering heat of the match still in his bones.

"So this is what the Meijin is chasing…"

"The perfect truth behind shogi."

He knew Yukima's next opponent—and he knew the Meijin beyond that was unlike any other.

But now, a part of him suspected…

If anyone could truly uncover the perfect, unanswerable solution to shogi—

It would not be the Meijin.

It would be his disciple.

Shogi is approaching its end… or perhaps… the dawn of a new era.

Outside, Yukima stepped into the sunlight—and was immediately greeted by a lively noise.

The sound of wood pieces tapping rapidly.

"Ginko, don't blitz me with Silver again!!"

"That's called a calculated risk!"

"You're lying! You just moved on instinct again!"

Near the edge of the courtyard, three girls sat hunched over shogi boards:

Sainokami Ika, grumbling in frustration.

Sora Ginko, eyes sharp and lips tight.

And Hinatsuru Ai, calmly watching and waiting, her fingers hovering over the board with precision.

A true triangle of rivalry.

Ika's wild instincts gave her an edge over Ginko, often pulling off absurd victories through brute intuition.

But against Hinatsuru Ai's methodical, principled play—her instincts collapsed.

Hinatsuru Ai, however, couldn't beat Ginko. The latter's aggression and pressure caused her to fumble and overthink.

And Ginko?

She lost her cool against Ika's randomness, frustrated by the lack of predictability.

It was an eternal shogi rock-paper-scissors.

Off to the side, Kiyotaki Keika stood silently, watching the scene unfold.

She didn't speak.

She didn't play.

She simply… observed.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

Yukima approached quietly.

Then, with boyish mischief, he tugged gently on her sleeve.

"Keika-neesan."

She looked at him, startled.

"Want to take a walk with me?"

"I haven't seen much of Iwate yet."

Keika blinked. Then smiled.

Just a little.

"You're supposed to be the junior here, you know."

"And yet, you're the one trying to cheer me up."

She shook her head in mild exasperation.

"Honestly… you've gotten too cool for your own good."

The two slipped away quietly, leaving the shogi battlefield behind.

Once they were outside the ryokan walls and out on the quiet street, Keika let out a long breath.

"…I really am useless, huh?"

Yukima glanced sideways at her.

"You're not. Not to me."

She laughed bitterly.

"I'm twenty-five. And I've never won a title."

"My father's a 9-dan. You're a prodigy. Ginko's scary-talented."

"I'm just… average."

"I'm the legacy that never bloomed."

Her words held no drama, only fatigue.

Yukima didn't argue.

Instead, he said calmly:

"Even Master feels the same way."

"He called himself useless today too."

Keika blinked.

"…He did?"

Yukima nodded, smiling.

"So it's okay. Like father, like daughter."

She stared at him for a long second.

Then suddenly—laughed.

Soft and real.

"…You're really terrible, you know that?"

But she reached over and gently flicked his forehead.

"Thank you."

"Really."

As the sun warmed the old stone paths and the trees whispered in the wind, the two continued their walk.

No longer master and disciple. No longer prodigy and senpai.

Just two people, trying to hold onto the warmth of a quiet moment—

Before the storm of the Ryuuou finals would begin.