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Somehow, slowly, Touya Kouyou became aware of the change in attitude from the people surrounding him.
Most pros, at least the higher dans (the only people who had really counted in his world until a few months ago) had accepted his departure from their ranks, once he'd explained his reasons - the official ones.
But saying that he'd resigned from his position so as to be able to play against more people was perceived as an insult by most of the Japanese pros. And the argument that he needed respite from the heavy schedule of a quadruple title-holder couldn't stand very long in face of his constant travelling between China, Korea and Taiwan, only stepping foot in Japan once in a while to check up on his son's progress. Not that Akira needed it, but there was another motivation than that of a caring father, the hint of something that the former Meijin would not begin to think about.
The real reason of his resignation had finally made its way through the international Go grapevine, and in the end most pros, while still recognizing his superior abilities, had agreed with Kuwabara Honinbo that Touya Kouyou was a very selfish man indeed.
He didn't mind much, focusing all his energy on discovering new (hidden) talents all over Asia, hoping.
There was something else than Akira bringing back to Japan, something that had become a ritual so easily that at times he couldn't quite remember when he'd started. Akiko referred to it as his meditation. In truth she thought about it as one of those strange things that were only understandable to Go players, like she did every time she couldn't work out something about her husband, son, or any of the people that evolved in their world.
Akira, young and inexperienced as he was --although older than his years, as Ashiwara-kun had once lamented out loud, but how could it be any different when you were playing a game so old that it had grown a soul of its own?-- probably understood much better.
He proved it one day, when Kouyou and Akiko came home early to find Akira yelling to a smirking Ogata-kun that he never wanted to talk about Shindou again, let alone play him, before stomping up the stairs like the defiant teenager he had never been. Ogata-kun merely smirked wider and invited himself to a dinner that Akira, locked in his room, refused to attend.
He came out a few hours later, and Kouyou could hear his steps falter in front of his room. Sure enough, the door slid open a few seconds later, and he turned his head to look at his son's face, hidden in the shadows. They looked at each other for a few seconds, during which he became aware of how Akira had grown in these few years. A lot of it was owed to Shindou, no matter how much he denied it.
When he spoke, Akira sounded both wounded and apologetic. "He isn't coming back, father. Sai... is never coming back."
He sounded like he knew and it hurt him personally. That wasn't a thing Kouyou would question. The only tangible link between his one-time NetGo opponent and the world was Shindou, and the relationship between Shindou and his own son was something he couldn't even begin to comprehend.
He'd wished for a rival, decades ago. Morishita Shigeo had seemed like a good choice for a while, and he certainly was keen on it, but there had always been a gap between them, that remained even now: the difference between a nine-dan and a multiple title-holder.
In the end, Touya Kouyou had remained alone on the path to the Hand of God, and perhaps that had been his failure. But for the span of a game he had had the feeling that maybe it wasn't too late yet, and that was what prompted his response, because faltering on the way was not acceptable.
"If the one worthy of battling me isn't coming back, then there is no point in playing any longer."
Maybe their relationship was that of master and disciple rather than father and son, maybe the heir to his name didn't fully understand the depth of his words yet. But like him, like all the people who had made Go their life, Akira, deep down, felt that there was little difference between playing and living. Despite the shadows Kouyou saw something, maybe an epiphany, washing on Akira's face. It was probably the reason why his son didn't insist, simply bowed and bid him good night before stepping out of the room and sliding the door shut.
Akira was gone already when he woke up the next morning. He came back late in the evening, apparently at peace with himself and the world. Kouyou was tempted to ask, to put an end to that seemingly eternal chase, but something --fear, he knew, and how long had it been since he had been afraid of anything?-- held him back, and he didn't call his son back when he excused himself to his room.
Instead he went up to his own room to set up the goban, giving his opponent the white stones. He then sat, contemplated the board for a few seconds before confidently slapping a stone on the upper right star, and waited.