After 19 years Hikaru finally found Sai's grave. He decided to do shamanic rituals.

Sai decided to end his life at Uji River after he felt the weight of his tarnished honor become heavier than the water itself. As his body sank into the cold depths, the silken robes of a royal tutor blossomed like a dark flower before being weighed down by the silt of the riverbed.

Days later, his body was found by local fishermen downstream, near the outskirts of the capital. Recognizing the high-quality fabric of his robes but seeing the brand of a disgraced official, they reported the find to the palace guards.

The response from the Imperial Court was cold and swift. Because Sai was officially labeled a “cheat” and a “criminal” who had insulted the Emperor’s game, he was denied the sacred rites of Fushibi (cremation). The officials ordered that his body be treated as Kegare—a source of spiritual pollution.

Without a coffin or a prayer, his remains were wrapped in a coarse straw mat and hauled on a cart to the desolate fields of Toribeno. There, in the “Field of Falling Dew,” his body was not buried, but abandoned to the elements. This was the Fuso (wind burial), where the elite of the city threw those they wished to forget.

While the birds and the mountain winds slowly reclaimed his physical form, the palace struck his name from the official records. No stone was laid; no incense was burned. Within a year, the tall grass of Higashiyama had completely hidden the spot where the greatest Go player of the Heian era had returned to the earth.

To the world, Sai became a nameless skeleton in a field of ghosts. But because no one performed the rituals to guide his soul, and because his heart was still gripped by the “Divine Move,” his spirit remained trapped—not in his bones, but in the blood-stained Go board he had cherished in life, waiting for a thousand years for someone to hear his plea.

TIME SKIPPED

***

After Sai’s ghost showed a divine move by Hikaru, the ghost felt relieved and had no longer any purpose to stay in the human world. He faded into the light, leaving Hikaru with a heart full of both gratitude and an ache that wouldn’t subside.

Adult Hikaru kept searching for clues about Fujiwara-no-Sai’s history, driven by a need to give his teacher the dignity the Heian era had stolen from him. After 19 years of searching through ancient scrolls, cross-referencing forgotten maps of old Kyoto, and consulting with specialized archaeologists, Hikaru finally found the remains of Sai’s body in Higashiyama.

It was a secluded, overgrown corner of the old Toribeno site, far from the modern walking paths. As Hikaru carefully brushed away centuries of packed earth and tangled roots, his breath hitched. There, among the fragments of a skull that had once held the most brilliant Go mind in history, lay an object that defied the passage of time.

Hikaru was still familiar with the ougi (the traditional fan) that the ghost of Sai often brought with him. It was the exact same design as the one Sai had passed to Hikaru in his final dream. Despite being buried for a millennium, the ribs of the fan remained intact, tucked protectively near the remains of the skull. The silk was tattered and stained by the earth, but the elegant curve of its frame was unmistakable.

Seeing it there, in the dirt, made the ghost feel real in a way the spirit world never could. Hikaru didn’t see a criminal or a disgraced tutor; he saw his friend. Tears blurred his vision as he reached out to touch the wood of the fan.

“I found you, Sai,” Hikaru whispered, his voice thick with nearly two decades of longing.

He didn’t leave the remains in the cold ground of the ‘forgotten.’

But instead of bringing peace, the sight of the tattered fan ignited a desperate, reckless fire in Hikaru’s heart. He wasn’t ready to let go.

Hikaru decided to perform shamanic rituals to drag back the ghost of Sai. He had spent years secretly preparing, obsessed with forbidden texts and ancient spiritual practices that promised to bridge the gap between life and death.

He brought Sai’s remaining skull and his decayed silk clothes to a secluded temple deep in the mountains, under a moonless sky.

Hikaru began the ritual, chanting the old Heian verses and pouring his own energy into the circle.

For a moment, the air grew freezing, and a familiar silhouette began to form in the mist. Hikaru’s heart leapt—the long, flowing hair and the tall headdress were exactly as he remembered.

However, something went wrong.

As the figure solidified, Hikaru realized the aura was not the gentle, pure light of the Sai he knew. This entity radiated a very evil aura, thick with a thousand years of repressed resentment and the “kegare” (impurity) of the restless dead.

Its eyes were not kind, but hollow pits of cold malice.

Before Hikaru could break the circle, the dark ghost lunged forward. It didn’t embrace him; it shattered him.

The dark spirit of “Sai” entered Hikaru’s body, surging through his veins like liquid ice. Hikaru’s own consciousness was pushed into a dark corner of his mind as the entity took full control.When “Hikaru” stood up, his eyes had changed—sharper, colder, and flickering with an ancient, vengeful light.

He picked up the fan, snapped it open with a sound like a bone breaking, and smiled. The master of Go had returned, but the man who had summoned him was gone, buried alive within his own skin.

TO BE CONTINUE.

***

Hikaru no Go: Re-Birth of the Dark Master - Volume 1

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SOTA MIYASHIRO

***

My name is Sota Miyashiro. Nineteen years ago, when I was still an insei, I met Hikaru Shindo for the very first time.

Back then, I was ranked 14th among the insei — pretty impressive for my age, or so I thought. I had no idea I would end up sitting across the board from Shindo-san himself. When the tournament pairing was announced, my heart skipped a beat. I had just watched him play at the Hokuto Cup against Ko Yongha, that ruthlessly sharp player from Korea.

The way Shindo-san played that game — calm, deep, almost otherworldly — had honestly left me breathless.
But I was young and foolish. By the time I sat down across from him, I had convinced myself that maybe, just maybe, I could keep up. I told myself it was just one game. I told myself his fame was exaggerated.
He dismantled me in under two hours.

It wasn’t just the loss that hit me. It was how he won. He never looked hurried, never looked worried. Every stone he placed felt inevitable, like the board had always been meant to look that way. I walked home that evening in silence, replaying every move in my head, burning with embarrassment at how carelessly I had underestimated him.

That loss became the foundation of everything.
I threw myself into studying. Game records, joseki, pro matches. I consumed everything I could find.

My path to becoming a professional player was, thankfully, relatively smooth. And over the years, I crossed paths with Shindo-san several more times in various tournaments. Each time, I could feel the gap between us narrowing, slowly, but surely.

Once, after a particularly close match, he looked at me with that familiar sharp gaze of his and said, “You’ve gotten seriously good.” Coming from him, those five words meant more than any trophy.

Last week, we met again at a tournament. During the lunch break, he found me sitting alone by the window and struck up a conversation. Somehow the topic drifted to Kyoto. He had apparently heard that my parents were from there.

“Higashiyama,” he said, almost to himself, a small smile on his face. “I’m thinking of going after the tournament wraps up. Just walking around, no schedule.”

I told him to visit Ninenzaka in the late afternoon, when the stone-paved lanes glow gold before sunset. He nodded slowly, like he was already picturing it.
Nineteen years. From that first humiliating loss to sharing travel tips over a bento box.

I never imagined the game of Go would give me something like this.

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THE EMPTY THRONE

***

My name is Sota Miyashiro. I am now a 7-dan professional, and for nineteen years, Hikaru Shindo was my North Star. I followed his shadow, chasing the “otherworldly” depth of his Go. But the man who returned from Kyoto last week was not the Shindo-san who shared travel tips with me over a bento box.

It happened at the prestigious Meijin League Qualifiers. The room was silent, filled with the usual scent of floor wax and old wood. I was playing on the adjacent table when Shindo-san walked in.

The first thing I noticed was the cold. It wasn’t just the air conditioning; it was a physical chill that seemed to radiate from his very skin. He didn’t greet anyone. He didn’t even look at Akira Touya, who was already seated at the top table, waiting for their much-anticipated match.

“Shindo?” Touya asked, his voice laced with concern. “You’re late. And you… you look pale.”

Shindo-san didn’t answer. He sat down with a mechanical precision that made my hair stand on end. When he reached into his bag, he didn’t pull out his usual fan. He pulled out a tattered, ancient ougi—stained with the dark earth of Higashiyama.

As he snapped it open, a foul, heavy scent filled the room. The smell of stagnant water and old graves.

The game began, but it wasn’t Go. It was a massacre. “Shindo” played with a cruelty I had never seen. He didn’t just win; he toyed with Touya, placing stones that felt like physical blows..

Every time he moved, I could see a faint, flickering shadow behind him—a tall figure in Heian robes, but its face was a distorted mask of rage, its eyes bleeding darkness into Hikaru’s own.

Touya’s hand began to tremble. “This… this isn’t your Go,” Touya whispered, sweat beads rolling down his face. “Who are you?”

The entity in Hikaru’s body tilted its head. A voice that sounded like grinding stones came out of his throat, though his lips barely moved.

“I am the one the Heavens forgot. I am the stain you tried to wash away in the Uji River.”

With a final, violent click, he placed a stone that turned the entire board into a graveyard for Touya’s pieces. It was the Divine Move, yes—but it was a version of it that felt cursed, stripped of all beauty and replaced with pure, unadulterated malice.

Touya collapsed back in his chair, his spirit seemingly broken. The “Shindo Hikaru” I knew stood up. He walked past me, and for a split second, his eyes met mine.

“Miyashiro-kun,” Shindo said, using the fan to tilt my chin up. The evil aura was so thick I could barely breathe. “You told me to visit Higashiyama for the sunset. You were right. The gold light… it looks exactly like the fire that will consume this world of Go.”

He walked out of the hall, leaving the strongest players in Japan trembling in silence. I realized then that my nineteen-year journey hadn’t led me to a master. It had led me to the gates of a nightmare…

TO BE CONTINUE

***

there is no next chapter, unless someone donate me. thank you for reading

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damn.. Sai has returned.

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Dark Sai

Can’t wait to see Dark Hikaru

How is Akari doing? Did Hikaru end up marrying her?

Akari became a famous star model before they married and have two kids. It’s still unclear if they are still together