"Hmm? Ginko?"
Recognizing the voice, Hiroshi relaxed.
'At this time of day, it could only be Ginko.'
He opened the door to find a middle school-aged girl in a sailor uniform, her blue hair framing her face. In her hand was a white fan emblazoned with the words "Unyielding" on one side and "Victory" on the other. It was none other than Ginko Sora, the queen of the shogi world, known as the Snow White of Naniwa.
"Long time no see, Ginko. What brings you here so late?"
Without waiting for an answer, Hiroshi stepped aside to let her in.
Ginko didn't respond, simply walking past him into the apartment. Spotting the prawns in the kitchen, she turned to him. "Are you making dinner?"
Hiroshi smiled. "Yeah, prawn tempura. If you haven't eaten yet, I can make enough for two."
Ginko nodded, folding her fan. She didn't refuse.
Hiroshi chuckled and headed back to the kitchen, pulling out more ingredients from the fridge.
A while later, he emerged with prawn tempura, two bowls of rice, a tomato and egg soup, and a serving of salad. If it were just him, he wouldn't have bothered with such a spread, but with Ginko here, it was different. After all, she was a client too.
Ginko sat quietly at the table, exuding the same regal aura that had earned her the title of queen in the shogi world.
"Sorry for the wait," Hiroshi said, setting the dishes down. "Do you need any sauce?"
"If it's your cooking, I don't need it," she replied.
Ginko had an almost obsessive love for sauces, often drowning her meals in them. But when it came to Hiroshi's food, she never felt the need. "It's already perfect as it is," she'd say.
She glanced at the spread and murmured, "Still the same as always…"
"What was that?"
"Nothing." Instead of elaborating, she picked up her chopsticks, performed her usual pre-meal ritual, and began eating.
About ten minutes later, Hiroshi cleared the table and washed the dishes. When he returned to the living room, Ginko had already set up a shogi board and was sitting on one side, waiting.
Spotting him, she pointed her folded fan at the opposite side of the board, her expression brooking no argument.
"You didn't have to come all this way just to play shogi with me," Hiroshi said, eyeing the board. "Didn't you have a match at the association today?"
"Matches like that are over in no time," she replied coolly.
"Fair enough. You are the Snow White of Naniwa, after all."
In shogi, wins were marked in white, losses in black. Ginko's title came from her flawless 47-0 record; pure as snow, just like her name.
Seeing Hiroshi hesitate, Ginko snapped her fan open impatiently. "Don't worry, I'll pay you overtime."
The magic words. Hiroshi immediately sat down across from her.
"Thank you for the game."
Truth be told, even without the overtime pay, he would've played. She was a client, after all, and occasionally working past hours was fine. But since she'd offered, he figured he'd better bring his A-game.
Their usual arrangement was on Saturdays, sometimes spilling into Sundays. Today was Thursday, definitely overtime.
Seeing him settle in, a small smile tugged at Ginko's lips. This was why she'd come all this way.
"You can go first," she offered.
"That's kind of you, but let's decide randomly."
Hiroshi picked up the king piece and tossed it into the air. It spun gracefully before landing back in his hand.
"It's face up. Looks like I'm first."
In official matches, the first move was often decided this way, unless there was a handicap, in which case the handicapped player would go first.
…..
Hiroshi gazed at Ginko's serious expression across the table. Sensing the weight of the moment, he straightened his posture and turned his full attention to the shogi board between them.
After about 90 moves, Ginko stared at the board, her face etched with concentration. Time stretched on until she let out a quiet sigh, setting her piece down gently. "I lost."
"You played well," Hiroshi said with a faint smile, reaching for the scattered pieces to reset the board.
Ginko observed him, idly fanning herself with her signature fan. "Hiroshi, are you really not interested in joining the Shogi Association?"
He shook his head softly. "Not at all. I only play shogi because of you, Ginko. Honestly, you're the sole reason I keep going with it."
His words carried a quiet sincerity, his gaze steady and unshaken. Ginko felt a flush creep up her cheeks. She snapped her fan open, revealing the bold kanji for "Victory" written across it, and held it up to shield half her face.
"Idiot… why would you say something like that out of nowhere?"
Hiroshi chuckled lightly. "Because it's true."
By now, he'd finished arranging the board and motioned for her to take the first move.
As he watched Ginko ponder her opening, his thoughts drifted back to the day they first met.
Ten years ago, Hiroshi was only six, still living in an orphanage after turning down multiple adoption offers. It wasn't until middle school that he finally struck out on his own.
Back then, a classmate had dragged him into shogi. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was the kid's relentless pleading, but Hiroshi gave it a shot that day.
It wasn't some grand moment of destiny. To him, shogi was just a pastime, nothing more. Yet, with the experience of two lifetimes tucked away in his mind, he picked it up quickly, soon outclassing his peers.
With his mature perspective, though, he had no desire to steamroll a bunch of kids. He set the game aside, only picking it up again when someone asked him to play.
The orphanage staff and even the director often called him over for a match, always impressed by his skill. "You've got a real talent, Hiroshi," they'd say. "Ever thought about going pro?"
Each time, he'd just smile and shake his head. He didn't see his ability as anything extraordinary. In his past life, he'd learned a hard truth: effort could only carry you so far, and talent was just a small spark in a world full of blazing geniuses.
So Hiroshi kept shogi at a distance, only playing when pressed. He knew how to charm the adults around him; obedient yet playful, the kind of kid they couldn't help but adore.
One day, in the orphanage director's office, he stumbled into online shogi.
"Hiroshi, I've got something to take care of. Mind finishing this game for me?" The director, a woman in her thirties named Tatsuko Kawaju, had a complicated past; losing a child, a broken marriage. Her well-off parents had set her up as the orphanage's head, a role often more symbolic than heartfelt.
But Tatsuko was different. She poured genuine care into the orphans, especially Hiroshi, treating him like her own. She even encouraged him to call her "Mom" and proudly introduced him as her son to outsiders.
Hiroshi didn't mind. He treasured the warmth of that makeshift family.
That day, he sat at her computer, staring at the half-played shogi match on the screen. Tatsuko loved nudging him toward the game, hoping he'd catch the bug. Her "errand" was obviously a ruse, she just wanted him to play.
He didn't call her out. Instead, he focused on the board. It was his first time playing online, and the unfamiliar setup threw him off at first. The early moves went poorly, but he adapted, clawing his way back until the screen finally flashed "Victory."
Tatsuko returned, clapping with delight. "Incredible, Hiroshi! That player had a solid win rate!"
He smiled back at her enthusiasm. But as he moved to close the window, a message popped up: "One more game!"
The opponent had sent a rematch request. Uninterested, Hiroshi typed a quick reply: "Not taking students." Then he declined and powered off the computer.
Tatsuko ruffled his hair. "Was that really necessary? Teasing them like that?"
Hiroshi grinned. "It's fine. What are they gonna do, hunt me down?"
He'd meant it as a joke. But the next day, someone actually showed up.
A four-year-old Ginko Sora stormed into the orphanage, her tiny fists balled up, glaring at him with all the fury her small frame could muster.
"You actually came?" Hiroshi had blurted out, stunned.
…..
Back in the present, Hiroshi stifled a laugh at the memory, drawing a curious look from Ginko.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing much. Just remembering how you tried to take me down in person when you were four."