Michael retrieved his sword from the luggage compartment as soon as he saw Aesril boarding the transport.
The Sephiroth had arrived on Shinamo specifically for him, though many others boarded there or at later stops. Residents of the Monastery worlds were often curious about the Google UK network. They shared similar values, rejecting the immersive Arcade and MMO VRs popular on the Core Toyota colonies.
Michael had already left behind what little electronics he owned. Google UK allowed none—anywhere, at any time—and Exeter colony was their equivalent of a Monastery world. Probably even stricter.
He stood in stance in the training ring. A simple gi. Sneakers instead of proper shoes.
Years of sword fighting guided his posture more than conscious thought.
“Come,” he said quietly.
Aesril struck immediately.
Steel met steel with a sharp crack. Michael deflected the blow and stepped past her shoulder, circling behind her. She spun to face him, blade flashing as she deflected his probing attacks.
He did not press.
He waited.
She attacked again.
Each strike was quick and skillful, but not as sharp as he remembered. After facing his master’s Rampaging Tiger style, no other attacker truly unsettled him anymore. Even when she chained feints together and shifted her footwork, his own body moved automatically—years of practice guiding his balance and distance.
He leaned aside from another cut.
Then he struck.
Three quick touches.
Three points gone.
The match was over.
They cleaned the blades and returned them to their rack. Aesril leaned against the wall and projected a display across the far side of the training room.
“Grandmaster battles, playlist seventeen,” she said. “I kept collecting them.”
The recording flickered to life.
The camera could barely keep up.
Shin attacked relentlessly, a blur of motion across the ring. Michael defended, retreating and countering wherever an opening appeared.
Even on video it felt overwhelming.
“You developed that defensive style because attacking him was suicide,” Aesril said quietly. “It was beautiful to watch. Why throw it away?”
Michael watched the recording a moment longer.
For seventeen months he had chased that victory.
And then the Compound AI—and Shin himself—had told him the truth.
He would never win.
“I have a new goal now,” Michael said.
He turned away from the screen.
It was time to wield the go stone.
Outside, the Sephiroth settled onto the landing platform.
* *
Aesril remained aboard the Sephiroth. The transport would continue on to New London, the central world of the Google UK network.
They had already said their goodbyes.
A gentle female voice spoke near his ear.
“Michael M. Hello.”
He looked around, uncertain where the voice came from.
“I am Uno, the Exeter colony AI. You may speak to me anywhere on this colony and I will respond. I can arrange transportation or help you locate whatever you require.”
“Good morning,” Michael said, bowing to someone he could not see.
“You intend to participate in the Exeter Classic. The tournament begins in fourteen days.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed. Speaking to the empty air still felt strange.
“An autocar will arrive shortly to take you to the AI center where my primary hardware resides. Integrity validation is required before participation in any Go competition. Extensive anti-cheating measures will be performed. Do you consent?”
Michael nodded.
“Yes. Whatever you need.”
He wasn’t turning back now. Not after what he had given up.
The car that arrived was black, every window tinted—even the windshield.
Shinamo was so remote that it still had manually operated vehicles. Years earlier, when he lived on Seifer colony, he had taken trains or simply walked everywhere.
This vehicle had no steering wheel. No controls of any kind.
Without electronics, how did anyone even listen to music here?
He closed his eyes as the car accelerated.
“Uno, could you play some music?”
The speakers produced something that sounded like a distant cousin of arcade music. The sharp synthetic rhythm reminded him of the VR arcades he had hated growing up.
For years he had gone without music at all.
Only on Shinamo had he rediscovered it—ancient Japanese pieces played by monks in the monastery halls. Slow, deliberate melodies that suited sword practice perfectly.
He sighed.
“Maybe some Go commentary instead.”
The seat reclined automatically, comfortable without a steering column crowding the space.
A calm broadcast voice filled the cabin.
“Masters League Week Twenty. Region Three is particularly interesting this week. Two players are approaching professional rating. Exeter may see its fourth pro this year, although 2600 remains a long distance from Jin W’s current rating of 2938.”
Another voice replied.
“Marv, did you see the seven-game exhibition between Jin and Sandra?”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Sandra K managed two wins. She’s still improving, bit by bit.”
“I’ll have to catch up. Reviewing all five regions of Masters League has already consumed—”
Uno interrupted.
“We have entered the garage. Please proceed to the elevator.”
The parking structure was mostly empty.
The light poles were spaced far apart, leaving large sections in shadow. Michael crossed the dim concrete floor toward the elevator.
It opened immediately.
Floor –38 was already selected.
The doors closed with a soft click and the elevator dropped quickly.
When the doors opened again, Michael stepped into a quiet room.
A Go board sat alone in the center beside a single chair.
Resting on the board was something like a wire mesh hat.
“Please place the hat on your head,” Uno said. “It is a neural sensory device. Additional sensors will operate non-intrusively.”
The metal mesh felt cold as he lowered it into place.
Two compartments beside the board opened automatically. Black and white stones slid out and settled onto precise points across the board.
Michael stared.
He had expected the pieces to sit inside the squares, but instead they rested at the intersections of the lines.
“This is a position from a professional game of Go,” Uno explained. “From the seven-game series you just heard mentioned.”
Uno began asking questions.
Michael felt completely helpless.
He did not know the rules.
He did not understand the patterns on the board.
Even the questions themselves barely made sense.
At last Uno fell silent.
Several seconds passed.
Finally she spoke again.
“No neural modifications or unlawful advantages detected. Your preliminary rating will be set to 0, Beginner A classification.”
The stones slid away into their compartments.
“I have assigned you to Go Locality #1532. You may enroll in a Quick League. Many residents who focus on other pursuits use Quick Leagues to regain form before the Classic.”
A pause.
“If you register today, you will receive five pairings within the next ten days.”
Michael removed the mesh hat.
“A car is waiting for you on Floor G.”
* *
Michael had always been comfortable sleeping anywhere—bunks, barracks, thin mats on stone floors.
After reaching the top of the Sword Masters’ Challenge he’d finally been given a small private room, but even as a Beginner here he had a far nicer hotel room.
He barely stayed long enough to look at it.
The Go center was only a short walk down the street.
The Localities functioned like Go clubs, though an AI coordinated all of them across the colony. From the outside the building looked about the size of a modest restaurant.
A plaque beside the entrance read:
Locality #1532
(District #103, Region #3)
Beginner A – Beginner B – Beginner C
Two smaller plaques hung beneath it.
Lucas P – Expert H
Top 1000 in Exeter Classic 52
Mariah A – Intermediate G
Michael studied the names for a moment before stepping inside.
The room was filled with Go tables.
It was around lunchtime, but the place was quiet. Only a few players were seated, each alone with their boards.
Maybe they were studying.
At one table sat a child, a girl perhaps eight years old.
Michael approached.
“Are your parents here?” he asked.
She looked up after a moment.
“Oh! Sorry, I was studying a Life and Death puzzle. My dad’s at the restaurant next door.” She tilted her head slightly. “Are you new?”
Her black hair was braided neatly. She wore a simple green dress and black shoes.
She looked almost like the kids back home.
On Shinamo and the other Toyota colonies, people constantly experimented with cosmetic alterations—purple hair, crimson hair, glowing patterns in the skin.
Here everyone seemed... ordinary.
“I just arrived today,” Michael said. “Life and Death puzzle?”
His mind turned the phrase over.
Go players used aggressive language. Almost like sword fighters.
“Oh!” she said brightly. “Want to play a practice game? What’s your rating?”
She grinned.
“I’m Marly.”
She tapped the board and the stones slid neatly back into the troughs on either side.
Michael sat across from her.
“Sure.”
Attack and defense.
Life and death.
The vocabulary alone sounded familiar.
“You want white or black?” Marly asked.
Her smile was completely innocent.
But Michael suddenly understood something.
She wasn’t the prey at the table.
She was the shark.
And he had just stepped into the water.
"I'll take Black"
It seemed like the color of a sword fighter.
The go table had a little digital readout, I realized. Next to the trough of black stones there was a timer that read 10 minutes, and started to count down. The other timer stayed at 10 minutes.
He didn't realize what happened next until Marly said something.
"Black goes first," she said, smiling sweetly.
I picked up the black stone, and reminded myself to put it on the intersection between lines. I placed it firmly on the intersection in the lower left where there was a little dot. This was a good stance.
"4-4, that's good you know that much. Dad always told me black plays first in the upper right, but it doesn't matter."
Marly played on another of the little dots, playing on the left side as well.
Michael studied the board.
Her stone stood alone on the far side, claiming ground without resistance.
That felt wrong.
In a duel you never let your opponent stand comfortably.
He placed his second stone near hers.
Not touching.
Close enough to threaten.
"Oh, you're attacking already. Edges first, my dad says."
She played a stone in the top right corner. Michael pondered whether to try to mark all of her stones, or try to press in against the first stone she had played.
He pressed the attack. They continued to play stones back and forth.
One of his stones came under attack.
Michael leaned forward.
Something shifted in his mind.
The stones weren’t stones anymore.
They were fighters.
Marly had swords everywhere.
Each stone stood like a duelist guarding ground.
The fight broke out in the lower left corner.
Marly approached the corner the way a swordsman advanced—blade angled, testing distance. Maybe she was left-handed.
Michael answered instinctively. A sidestep. A counter.
He placed another stone.
She replied immediately.
The board dissolved into movement.
Footwork. Pressure. Blades sliding past each other.
Even though Marly was taking long pauses between moves, Michael saw the exchange as a rapid series of strikes.
He stepped toward the center of the fight, threatening the corner while strengthening his stance.
The fight became close.
Stone by stone.
Attack. Parry. Counter.
The soft, floating strategy Marly had started with vanished.
Now she was defending.
When the exchange ended Michael sat back.
The left side of the board was his.
But when he looked across the rest of the board his confidence faded.
Marly owned the right side completely.
She had quietly secured territory while he fought.
The sword-fighting vision faded.
The board returned to being stones again.
Too many stones.
Too many possibilities.
“I mean, we’re competing,” Marly said kindly, “but I can’t let you reduce your score by playing hopeless moves.”
She had been passing for several turns already.
“Just pass.”
Michael stared at the board a moment longer before placing a stone beside the bowl.
Pass.
The board chimed.
Final score displayed.
Marly had won.
He had fought the battle perfectly, the wrong battle.