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The two sat across from one another, the Go board between them.
The world around had long since faded into a pale, endless silence, only the faint hum of light beneath their feet, as if the ground they stepped upon was in sync with the board and themselves.
Akane took a slow breath.
He had studied this once, not deeply, just enough to recall the rhythm of the game.
Go. Black and white stones. A war not of pieces, but of intent.
"The rule is simple," he murmured to himself, as if reciting from memory.
"Two sides alternate, placing stones on the board. To capture, you surround. To win, you control territory. No dice. No luck. Only your thought that matters."
Across from him, the replica smiled faintly, chin resting on one hand. "How nostalgic. You speak as though you've played this before."
"I haven't," Akane replied flatly. "I just know the rules."
"That's enough," said the replica. "You'll learn as you play. That's how it always goes."
Akane's eyes traced the board, its nineteen lines stretching like a map of possibilities.
There was no emotion in his gaze, yet beneath that calmness, something stirred: calculation, curiosity, the faint thrill of an uncharted field.
Unexpectedly, a tinge of red can be seen in the depth of his grey eyes.
He reached out and placed the first stone.
A small click echoed in the still air.
"I'll begin," he said.
The replica smirked, tilting his head. "A random move? Or are you pretending it's random?"
Akane didn't answer.
His mind was already moving ahead, tracing invisible chains, if he plays here, I respond there, create pressure on the left side, open the diagonal—
But the replica was faster.
"With pleasure," he said, and placed his own stone, the sound just as calm, just as measured.
The second move came near the center. Akane played low, patiently, and defensively. The replica replied with a high approach, pressing forward.
They traded territory.
Then they began probing.
Akane traced the flow with his fingers before each move, almost subconsciously, his heart began to grow heavy, and he was not as confident as before.
Always stay calm, though it seems a plays of intelligence, who know if he can read my face?
He looks to the other side with a calm face, the Replica is still calm as always, and even a little bored.
If I press on his upper side, he'll counter at the corner. But if I approach diagonally, I might build thickness instead.
He placed his stone carefully, a probing step into unknown terrain.
Replica answered immediately, forming a keima shape, small knight's move, elegant and threatening.
He cut off Akane's influence, blocking expansion.
The first few turns flowed like a quiet current.
Black and white stones began to form patterns across the board, clusters and walls, probes and traps.
Every few seconds, a move. Every few moves, a silent adjustment of posture.
They played like two reflections, testing, measuring, never rushing.
It was elegant.
It was suffocating.
At first, Akane felt the steady pulse of progress.
He understood his opponent's logic, naturally, since it was his own, and adjusted each move to counter it.
But the deeper the board grew, the more his rhythm began to slow.
Then the replica began to speak.
"Here," he said, placing a stone on the lower side. "A weak spot in your territory. You played too aggressively early on. You're assuming I'll defend the corner, but you forgot the center influence you gave me three turns ago."
Akane said nothing, placing his next move deliberately.
Replica's eyes gleamed. "You're trying to stabilize your left group. Logical, you value efficiency. But that means your right flank will collapse in five moves."
He kept talking, narrating the game as if reading a script already written.
"You calculate three moves ahead, not five," the replica continued.
Akane's hand froze midair. The words shouldn't have stung, but they did
Click. Click. Click.
As the board filled, small skirmishes broke out.
A single black stone pushed forward, instantly surrounded by three white ones.
Akane leaned forward, eyes narrowing. He placed another stone nearby, sacrificing the first to gain a better line.
Replica's brow rose. "A trade already? You're learning fast."
"It's not a trade," Akane replied quietly. "It's a misdirection."
His next stone landed three spaces away, connecting the shapes like a sudden revelation.
The captured stones were gone, but their absence built a wall, a line of intent.
A small hollow smile flickered on Akane's lips. "Territory isn't always where the stones stand."
Replica chuckled. "Philosophy in a board game. Fitting for you."
They played on.
Fifth sequence —
Akane extended along the lower side, forming a long chain of stones.
Replica invaded instantly, cutting the shape in two.
A faint tension rose between them. Akane countered by building aji, a latent potential of attack, forming a trap that would only bloom after several turns.
Replica responded not by defending, but by imitating, creating his own aji on the opposite corner.
By the twelfth move, the symmetry had become perfect.
The board now looked like two copies of each other, both reflecting infinite recursion.
Akane felt the pattern. The air itself was tightening.
He moved to disrupt symmetry, but every unconventional move was immediately shadowed.
When Akane built a territory on the left, the replica imitates one on the right.
When Akane attacked, the replica countered with the exact same sequence of logic.
Each move felt heavier than the last.
Every prediction was correct, too correct.
The Go board is slowly becoming a parallel of each other, black matching white, white reflecting black, every line a perfect symmetry.
And then Akane realized something.
No matter what he did, every path was known. Every plan is mirrored. Every trap was seen through before it was even conceived.
"You can read me," Akane said quietly. Some thoughts flickered, and even his certainty began to waver.
The replica looked up, eyes half-lidded with boredom. "You think so?"
He shook his head, sighing. "You still don't understand."
He placed another stone, and the echo of it was like a quiet thunder.
"I'm not reading you. I am you."
The words lingered in the silence, more cutting than any accusation.
Akane stared at the board.
The symmetry was unbearable now, two identical minds locked in an endless cycle of prediction and counter-prediction.
There was no victory here, no end.
Only reflection.
The replica leaned back, resting his cheek against his knuckles, watching Akane's hesitation with faint amusement. "You think this is about who's smarter? Who calculates faster?"
He laughed softly, without warmth. "You're still playing safe. Still afraid of chaos. Still chasing the 'right' move."
Akane placed another stone, but even before it touched the board, the replica was already responding.
"Predictable. That's the best you could come up with? You're defending your weakness again, not striking mine."
The smile that followed was almost kind, yet merciless.
"Let me show you, Akane. Your 'logic' is nothing but a cage."
With slow precision, the replica played a sequence, every move dissecting Akane's intentions, every shape countered, every illusion broken.
The white stones fell like raindrops, precise, inevitable.
And then, he spoke again, softly this time.
"You rely too much on knowledge," the replica said. "You think the board rewards those who think hardest. But knowledge only predicts what happens. Wisdom asks why."
Akane's fingers froze above the next stone.
The replica smiled, the first true smile since the game began.
"You understand it now? If not, then I'll tell you, rockhead."
He tapped the board. "I am you, Akane. Everything you could think of, I can think of it too. You cannot win by being yourself."
Silence.
Akane slowly lifted his gaze, meeting his own eyes, those same cold, reflective eyes staring back.
Silence stretched between them.
Akane's hand hovered above the board, fingers trembling once, only once.
Then, he spoke.
"Then," he said, voice low, hoarse, "I'll stop thinking like myself."
The replica's grin widened, the air around them trembling with anticipation.
"Good. Now the game begins."