Overcast and grey skies with a torrent of downpour bringing rainfall fell upon the vacation town of Hakone, where Kyungsoo, Chanyeol and the lot were in for the Japan National Go Tournament.

The tournament took place every year in the summer month, where the best player from each of the two Go associations in Japan was sent in to represent their respective associations and compete in a best of three matches for the title of Japan’s National player for the year.

Over the past few years, the two contestants who ended up being pitted against each other in the finals had been none other than Chanyeol and his long-standing rival, Maruyama.

But over the years that they had been seeing each other every final tournament, Chanyeol always felt like he had improved and became a better Go player than he was the previous year; but despite feeling that way, Chanyeol never felt like it was ever enough.

It was never enough and Chanyeol was never satisfied, not until he could sit comfortably behind the Go board and be confident that he could actually defeat someone of his caliber, namely Maruyama in this case.

Maybe Chanyeol was wrong about thinking that he had improved or that he had become better because he always found himself in the same dilemma and heated match, year after year.

No matter how hard Chanyeol tried, the seasons would always come and go, and summer would inevitably also come around, year after year bringing the same rain and shine that came along with it.

Time waited for no man after all and time was supposed to be a medium of change but Chanyeol felt like an utter failure, felt as if all the hard work he had put into training and practicing were never enough.

When would it ever be enough, Chanyeol though? At this point, he was starting to believe but not wanting to admit that maybe this was the limit of his capabilities and of his talent because he may have been considered a formidable player in Go by many but at the end of the day…even mountains crumble.

The wind that the storms brought blew hard, sending branches of trees tapping and knocking into the glass windows, rattling the rooftops and spraying raindrops onto the walls and glass panes.

The sounds of the thunder, rain, and wind all combined together to create a loud surrounding atmosphere that drowned out almost and even the smallest of noises from maybe the flipping of a paper to maybe a person anxiously clicking their pen open and close to a person rattling their feet in anticipation.

For that was the atmosphere experienced by almost everyone waiting in that traditional Japanese styled room, all seated cross-legged surrounding a low wooden coffee table on tatami mats as they eagerly and tried to be patient in waiting for the match between Murayama and Chanyeol to come to a conclusion several rooms away.

It was four in the afternoon and both players were still going against each other neck to neck, ferociously and passion-driven with no clear winner in sight despite the match lasting for hours now.

There were two hours left before the end of the match when the timekeeper would bring it to an end and the referee would begin scoring the two participants.

There was also the option to end the match sooner if both opponents decide to call a “pass” and have their scores calculated even before the scheduled finish time, but in such a tense and high ranked match, neither side would ever want to give up until they were made to by official rules.

There was also, of course, the option to concede a defeat that Chanyeol never had to use in his entire professional Go career and one that he hoped he would never have to.

And today was not a time for conceding either, Chanyeol trusted.

In the spectator and staff room, Kyungsoo sat in front of a flat-panel television screen that was displaying the live feed of the board view currently in play.

Kyungsoo barely had a gist of what was going on in the board and how the piece placements and how they were moved around meant, but he could guess when Takeda and Mr. Fujiwara sitting beside him started to gasp or nod whenever a move was made.

Kyungsoo hardly knew anything about Go as he had quit playing the game twice now but he did know about the unwavering and unconditional support and care he had for Chanyeol.

It didn’t matter even if tomorrow Chanyeol became the lowest ranked Go player to ever exist because Kyungsoo would still believe and support him no matter what.

Kyungsoo glanced over Takeda’s shoulder to see him scribbling some characters in Japanese on a piece of paper with grid boxes.

An assistant from the association that looked almost like a high schooler, whose name Kyungsoo did not know yet was also doing the same thing.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fujiwara had his chin perched on his palm and was paying full attention and focus on the match’s live feed being televised on the screen mounted on the wall.

Everyone was busy doing their own thing and Kyungsoo still felt lost and clueless about what he was even doing there.

How was he, a Korean doctor in a room full of Japanese people currently observing a traditional Chinese board game?

The answer was because of Chanyeol, of course. That was Kyungsoo’s one and only reason.

But had it not be for Chanyeol, Kyungsoo doubt that he would have ever even broken out of his shell as a quiet antisocial recluse who preferred books over people.

Kyungsoo felt like he owed Chanyeol a lot and sometimes he even felt like he wasn’t doing enough to help Chanyeol either.

Kyungsoo did try and could only hope that it was enough at the end of the day.

The day did come to an inevitable end and when the clock hit six in the evening, and the timekeeper called the match to an end so the judge could begin the scoring.

Everyone in the room Kyungsoo was in began standing, arising from their seated positions and crowded the television screen as the camera was now focused on the referee counting and scoring from the pieces that were on the board and from the number of pieces that had been captured and were no longer in play.

Chanyeol and Maruyama were seated quietly on their respective sides of the board in silence.

Towards the final minutes of their match, neither party felt like they had the upper hand and neither felt like conceding either because they believed that they would be able to overturn the situation on the board and actually make a leap bound progress to win by a far margin.

But of course, that didn’t happen either.

The referee totaled up the scores and passed the paper around to the judges and match observers who all nodded and agreed on the results before it was formally announced.

The reporters and cameramen allowed in the match room were all also armed and ready, awaiting the news and beginning their post-match coverage.

There was total silence in not just the room Kyungsoo was in but also the room across from them that housed Maruyama’s camp, but also in the match room itself and everyone also watching the match who cared the least bit regarding Go.

Then, the results were announced by the referee in a loud voice with a clear intonation that was perfectly articulated, announcing that the winner of the match was Maruyama of the Kansai Go association.

Maruyama pumped a fist in the air and smiled wide from ear to ear once he heard his name being announced as the winner.

Chanyeol hung his head low and balled his fists up, clutching onto the material of his trousers as he looked down upon the board in front of him that had determined him as the loser.

The previously quiet atmosphere was instantaneously broken by roars of cheer and joy from the room that house Maruyama’s supporters and staff.

The flashing lights of the cameras and the clicking sounds of the camera shutters all began to go off all at once in a spectacular and blinding dazzle, all of them focused upon Maruyama, the winner, while Chanyeol only sat in silence in the literal shadows.

Reporters all began approaching and huddling up near Maruyama, throwing questions at him, eager to be the one to listen to and record his post-victory statement.

Chanyeol remained with his head hung low, gazing upon the board and the moves that had cost him his defeat.

Chanyeol did not even want to try finding out which move had led him to his streak of defeat, or how he could have played his pieces differently because it wouldn’t change the fact that he had lost.

Chanyeol had his question answered, however, at least. His defeat had proved that maybe all his effort and practice still weren’t enough.

Takeda and Mr. Fujiwara came into the match room bustling with reporters shortly later to deal with the post-match process and to pick Chanyeol up.

Takeda helped Chanyeol to stand up, the latter having quite numb and sore feet after sitting cross-legged on the floor for hours during the match.

“You did well. It’s alright,” Takeda mentioned to Chanyeol over the commotion in the match room, holding Chanyeol by the arm.

Chanyeol did not say anything in return but he didn’t nod or shake his head either, allowing Takeda to lead him out of the room.

Takeda assisted Chanyeol out of the room where Kyungsoo was waiting patiently and quite anxiously by the door.

With a simple affirming nod and through a brief glance of the eye, Takeda didn’t have to say a single word to know that he and Kyungsoo had already come to a silent understanding and moment of solidarity.

Takeda “handed” over a stoic Chanyeol to Kyungsoo and quickly, Kyungsoo pulled Chanyeol out of the room and down the hallway where everyone passed them by either stopping for a second to look or just carrying about their business.

One news reporter present there, who was more interested in interviewing and questioning the defeated player of the match, that being Chanyeol, had attempted to run and chase after Chanyeol as he was leaving with Kyungsoo but ultimately failed to do so.

Kyungsoo held onto Chanyeol’s forearm, holding onto the forearm belonging to his best friend that was significantly larger than his own, holding it close to his own body as if in a reassuring and protective way to silently tell Chanyeol even without words that he was okay and that everything was alright.

In somber and silence, Kyungsoo walked Chanyeol back up to the latter’s hotel room, successfully avoiding any questions or anyone that wasn’t on the association’s board of staff members on the way there.

It was luck that everyone else seemed too busy or preoccupied with their own matters to notice Chanyeol, a top Go player, walking past them.

Chanyeol would have usually stayed behind for the post-match review even if he had lost but not after a defeat in such a large and major title match like this one.

Everyone who knew Chanyeol couldn’t believe or would be convinced that he would be able to handle the immense pressure of facing the press, contest committee or his opponent after such an unwanted defeat.

If Chanyeol was any other player, the Go association might have been persuaded but not when Chanyeol was Chanyeol.

He just wasn’t that well “equipped” unlike the regular person, but it was nothing that the association didn’t know to handle.

Mr. Fujiwara stayed behind to talk to the press on behalf of Chanyeol and their Go association to give out their messages and statements. Takeda, on the other hand, stayed behind to run a post-match review of the game together with Chanyeol’s opponent, Maruyama, on behalf of Chanyeol.

After the match had also been wrapped up, a closing ceremony dinner and official prize awarding ceremony would be held in the hotel venue before everyone left the next morning and the year’s title match was officially brought to a close.

Even in the years and times when Chanyeol had won, he would usually forego the post-match dinner to go home immediately.

Having lost this time, it was no exception and Chanyeol didn’t plan on staying another extra night in Hakone either just to listen to people tell him what he already knew and couldn’t change yet; the fact that he had lost.

Chanyeol just wanted to go home now, wherever that was.

Things were okay and alright in almost every sense but Chanyeol. The world would still live to see another day and the sun would set in a few hours in the West just like surely would every single time, day upon day.

Nothing about that would change but for Chanyeol, it almost felt like it didn’t.

In its simplest form, it was just one more loss and there were many more tournaments to come, especially for a professional player where defeat and victory were an integral part of the competitive career in Go.

And tomorrow, a new day would always come to no matter who won or lost that year’s title match. And inevitably so, the days