The masked man known as Jinshi's next opponent was a portly older gentleman.
The man eyed the strange masked figure with suspicion but sat down to play Go regardless. Jinshi won with ease.
"I heard he was supposed to be reasonably strong, but it seems calling him 'strong' was quite the mistake."
"Is that so?"
Maomao had once served under Jinshi, but he hadn't seemed like much of a Go player to her. Being naturally dexterous, she figured his level was probably only slightly above average—a casual hobby at most.
"Isn't the old man simply weak?"
Because Jinshi won so effortlessly, suspicion of the old man cheating began to surface.
"So it seems. Lucky break."
Bowing before the Go board, he went off to meet his next opponent.
"Aren't you going to penalize the old man for cheating his way to victory?"
"Would you punish a valued customer who pays the entry fee all over again after losing?"
"......"
Hopeless.
"I'm joking. Either way, as long as you pay, you can have a match with father-in-law. No problem, right?"
"......So after all the trouble of advancing through the tournament, you were still charging extra on top of that?"
"A match and instruction are separate matters. Well, I don't know if father-in-law even understands what 'instruction' means, but—"
"En'en."
"I'll make sure they properly get to meet with father-in-law another day."
Raban kept glancing over at the eccentric strategist.
"Another day? Not today, right after this?"
"Hmm. He might be reaching his limit soon. At that rate, he'll probably pass out the moment the tournament ends."
Raban began calculating in his head.
He'd heard from his old man that the eccentric strategist slept for half the day, but if the man passed out the moment his business was done, what child could rival that?
He'd heard of a disease that made people fall asleep without warning, but in this old man's case, it had to be something else entirely.
"For those who've already received advance payment, I'd have to visit them later—no, bringing them individually would cause problems, so I'd have to somehow put them to sleep first and then wake them up—no, that's impossible, so..."
"Money-grubber."
Maomao shifted her exasperated gaze to Jinshi. It seemed the next opponent had been decided.
"That one's going to be tough to win."
It was the middle-aged man she'd noticed earlier—a former professional player.
Wondering what could possibly be going through his head to enter a tournament like this, she watched the match from a distance. A figure wearing a mask had drawn attention, and a crowd had gathered around.
She understood shogi well enough, but Go was beyond her, so she quietly tended to the registration desk and kept an eye out for anyone feeling unwell.
(Clean up and get moving, will you?)
Several seats were littered with food scraps, and as she tidied them while making her rounds, she heard a disappointed "Aah."
It came from the spectators around Jinshi. Many participants, having given up on winning, had settled into enjoying the matches as onlookers.
Maomao made her way to Raham, who was mixed in among the spectators.
"What happened?"
"His play wasn't bad, but the opponent was just too much. He got caught perfectly in a trap."
"I see."
That's about what you'd expect, Maomao nodded.
"A comeback is difficult too?"
"Not impossible, but unless the other side makes a really egregious blunder, it's not going to happen. And that's not the kind of person to make such a basic mistake—"
Raham was about to finish his sentence when the venue erupted in murmurs.
With a soft rustle, the out-of-place mask was pulled away. Glossy black hair swept through the air, and the scent of incense burned into silk robes drifted through the vicinity.
"..."
People opened their mouths but couldn't produce a sound.
Standing there was a figure who could only exist within the pages of an illustrated scroll—a nobleman of the celestial realm, beyond anything ordinary eyes would ever behold.
For a fleeting instant, his beauty was so striking one might mistake him for a woman, but the Adam's apple at his throat and the breadth of his shoulders denied that notion. Mixed into that voice without a voice was a hint of small disappointment.
A clean scar sliced across his right cheek would never fade—a flaw in the jade, as the saying went, and never had it been more fitting.
Even among the colorful blossoms of the rear palace, Jinshi had radiated a beauty that stood apart from all the rest.
That would be more than enough to stun everyone around him.
(Though I'd forgotten — his appearance was trouble to the point of being a public nuisance.)
Even just the act of placing a stone with a soft clack looked refined. Each time he did so, murmurs of admiration rose from the crowd.
Whatever his reasons for removing his veil, the real trouble was for his opponent. Just moments ago, the man had been in the lead, but now his face was ashen.
Had the tide of battle turned? No, not exactly.
If it was true that he once taught Go to nobility, then he probably knew a little about courtiers.
Whether he had met Jinshi in the past, or whether he simply guessed who the handsome man with the scar on his right cheek was—
(He knows he can win.)
No one else seemed to realize who this beautiful man was. Rumors about the imperial brother's scarred right cheek must have been circulating in the capital, but no one would imagine he'd be playing Go in a place like this.
Of course, it wasn't just his opponent who had recognized him. Others had too, and every one of them looked either pale or flushed — their faces a busy spectacle. None could speak, merely flapping their mouths like fish.
(Unless he gives a really obvious sign.)
And he did give that obvious sign.
The man, now ashen-faced and slick with cold sweat, bowed his head low.
"I concede defeat."
He was trembling. Was it because of the obvious sign, or from anxiety about having been disrespectful to Jinshi?
(Poor thing.)
Even Maomao could only put her hands together in sympathy.
Why had he worn the veil in the first place? If he was going to show his face, he could have done so from the start. Had he only worn it to unsettle his opponent?
(Cowardly.)
Still, that made two wins. A win was a win. He hadn't technically broken any rules.
It might seem like an underhanded way to fight, but Maomao recalled that Jinshi was always perfectly willing to do such things. He'd used his handsome face freely in the rear palace to beguile ladies-in-waiting and eunuchs.
Adding a little power play to that hardly seemed worth scorn now.
(He's completely serious about winning.)
Was he really that desperate for a showdown with the eccentric strategist?
Did he truly believe the rumors Luo Ban had spread? Maomao glared.
"...?!"
When she turned around, having felt a sudden shiver run down her spine, an unkempt older man over toward the stage was casting his gaze her way.
"Maomao, would you step away a little? Father is trying to concentrate on the match."
"Right."
"You know, Father has gotten to the point where he can identify the courtesans of the Moon Chamber."
"Was he unable to do that before?"
Being unable to tell people apart must truly be a difficult thing.
Maomao headed back to her post, cleaning supplies in hand.
At the reception desk, a young man who had newly worked his way up was there, handing out sweets and tea. He had a freshness about him that suggested he hadn't yet turned twenty.
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he clenched his fist tight, resolved that he would fight his way up from here — but.
In his very next match, he would be pitted against a dazzlingly handsome young man of his own generation, his composure utterly shattered in a crushing defeat — of that, he could have had no inkling whatsoever.