Hot Spring Hospitality and Unspoken Bonds
The moment Yukima Azuma gave his calm, composed answer, the tension in the press room visibly wavered.
"I will do my best."
That was it.
Just those five plain words.
The room fell quiet for a beat, and then—
A collective groan of disappointment rolled through the gathered reporters.
No bold declaration.
No arrogant retort.
No viral soundbite.
They had come hungry for something spicy—some youthful hubris from the youngest 7-dan in history. A headline-worthy quote like "Next time, I'll crush him" or "He's not worth worrying about."
Instead, they got… sincerity.
Earnest, unshakeable composure.
Yukima Azuma had dashed their hopes with one swift move—not on the board, but in the press room.
"Tch… he's too well-trained," muttered a veteran reporter.
Others tried their luck, tossing out questions with sharper barbs, hoping to crack his calm exterior.
But no matter how they twisted their words, Yukima responded with clarity and diplomacy. Each answer left little room for misinterpretation—polished enough to deny even the most creatively misleading edit.
Eventually, the Shogi Association staff stepped in to end the Q&A, their expressions tight but pleased. President Tsukimitsu's guidance was evident.
They would never allow their prodigy to be spun into a controversy.
As the reporters reluctantly packed up their gear, the mood was clear:
This genius refused to play their game.
The Ryuuou Tournament rolled into its quarterfinal stage.
Yukima's opponent?
Another 7-dan.
And the result?
Another clean sweep. 4–0.
The nation watched in awe.
But the next chapter in the story would not be fought in the familiar Shogi Association halls in Osaka.
The semifinals and finals were to be held far to the northeast—Iwate Prefecture.
A land known for its serenity and steam.
The land of hot springs.
But it wasn't just any venue.
It was the Hinatsuru family's ryokan estate, a historic stronghold of refined tradition and quiet power.
They had sponsored shogi tournaments for generations, and their hospitality was legendary.
Last time Yukima had played an official match here, he'd stayed in their elegant inn.
This time, it was more than a simple guest room—
It was the stage of the final battle.
The moment Yukima's quarterfinal match concluded, a sleek convoy sent by the Hinatsuru family arrived without delay.
A fleet of black cars. Efficient. Discreet.
"We'll escort you home, Yukima-sensei," one of the drivers had said.
Yukima did not refuse. He had no other pressing obligations—and the thought of tranquility before the semifinals was welcome.
And so, with Hinatsuru Ai beside him, they boarded the car bound for Iwate.
When they arrived, the reception was… astonishing.
As the car door opened, a breeze carried the faint scent of cedar and steamed rice.
Two neat rows of people stood flanking the entrance.
On the right, Hinatsuru Akina, dignified in a formal kimono, stood with elegant young women in traditional dress behind her.
On the left, Hinatsuru Takeshi, calm and composed, stood with men in formal black suits arrayed behind him like a chess formation.
"Welcome home, Yukima-sensei. Welcome home, Ojou-sama."
The chorus of voices rose in unison, bowing deeply as Yukima stepped out.
Even Ai blinked, stunned by the pageantry.
She instinctively reached out and gripped Yukima's hand tightly.
But Yukima, as always, remained composed.
Calm beneath the weight of a thousand eyes.
He stepped forward, hand still holding Ai's, and addressed Hinatsuru Akina.
"Hinatsuru-san, this is too much. There's really no need for such grandeur."
Akina noticed their hands still intertwined and smiled—gently, almost maternally.
"This isn't excessive at all."
"You're Ai's master."
"As the family she belongs to, we would never be so disrespectful as to greet you informally. This is our minimum standard of etiquette."
Yukima offered a slight nod of acknowledgment, but he still looked faintly uncomfortable.
Akina only chuckled.
"Besides, a genius like Yukima-sensei deserves no less."
With grace, she turned and led the pair into the estate.
The Hinatsuru ryokan was not gaudy like the modern luxury inns of Tokyo or Kyoto.
Its walls were aged with grace. The hallways softly echoed under slippered steps.
Rare woods, polished with time and care, lined the floors and ceilings.
The scent of incense lingered faintly in the air.
There was no gold, no crystal chandeliers.
Just tradition.
Elegance. History. Quiet confidence.
A place that had endured.
"The ryokan has been passed down for over a thousand years," Akina explained. "It's the legacy of our family."
Indeed, unlike the power-hungry conglomerates that clung to stocks and politics, the Hinatsuru clan had chosen legacy over power. They preferred enduring grace to fleeting dominance.
As they walked past a courtyard, Yukima noticed the manicured rock garden, the slow-moving koi pond, and—
A dense bamboo grove, swaying softly in the evening wind.
"This garden was designed by a Feng Shui master," Akina said, almost offhandedly.
Yukima raised a brow.
"Feng Shui? Not… Onmyoji?"
Akina smiled again, intrigued by his sharpness.
"Ah, you're not wrong. But this one was Chinese."
"The Hinatsuru family has always admired Chinese culture."
Yukima's eyes briefly lit up with understanding.
That explained the calligraphy scrolls he saw during the previous match—the ones quoting the Dao De Jing.
Back then, he had wondered which old master had such taste.
Now he knew.
Akina watched him carefully.
"Yukima-sensei… you don't mind?"
Her voice was casual, but there was tension beneath it. As if she feared his stance might oppose their old-world fondness.
"A Japanese genius who respects Chinese classics?" she seemed to ask without words.
Yukima chuckled quietly.
"Just a passing observation. It's rare to see a family so devoted to that tradition."
Relief bloomed in Akina's eyes.
"I see. Then perhaps, our family and Yukima-sensei are more compatible than I thought."
Yukima offered a rare smile.
"Perhaps."
Once inside, Yukima settled into a quiet room in the estate. The decor was minimalist—tatami mats, scrolls, a small alcove with a single seasonal flower.
He felt at peace.
A yukata was brought to him shortly after, along with an invitation to enjoy the rear hot spring.
It was said the waters could soothe deep fatigue and even minor ailments.
There was still time before dinner, so Yukima quietly made his way through the outer corridor.
The sky had dimmed to a deep velvet.
He rinsed himself clean and slid open the wooden door to the spring.
Steam rose in graceful curls from the water's surface.
The air was silent. Sacred.
Yukima stepped in.
The warmth wrapped around him like a silent embrace.
"Hayasaka would love this…"
He murmured the name unconsciously.
Hayasaka Ai.
That ever-tired, sharp-eyed bodyguard maid.
She was the only person he knew who actively sought luxury—perhaps as a way to survive the pressure.
"Shishou, who is Hayasaka?"
A small, curious voice piped up beside him.
He froze.
…What?
He turned slowly.
Hinatsuru Ai was in the spring beside him.
Wearing a modest swimsuit, hair tied back, she blinked innocently up at him.
Yukima blinked.
"Ai? Why are you here?"
She tilted her head playfully.
"I got here before you, Shishou."
"This is our house's spring, you know."
Yukima exhaled slowly.
Of course.
This was the Hinatsuru estate.
The hot springs weren't gender-separated.
He should have remembered.
Akina hadn't arranged anything—this had just… happened.
Still, Yukima was grateful for his yukata.
"Just relax, Ai. I'll head out first."
He began rising, but the moment he moved, Ai swam over and clung to his arm with both hands.
"Nooo~!"
"It's so rare we get to bathe together! Stay with me a little longer?"
She gazed up at him, eyes twinkling with mischief and something warmer beneath it.
He sighed.
"...Just for a moment."
I'll blame the stars later.
Dinner was served in a grand room with Western chairs and a long polished table.
Not tatami. Not floor cushions.
Instead of Japanese cuisine—
It was Chinese food.
Dishes steamed and sizzled in glistening platters.
Aromas of star anise, garlic, soy, and sesame swirled in the air.
Yukima's sharp nose immediately noted their authenticity.
"These are… shockingly accurate."
He hadn't tasted Chinese cuisine this true to its roots even in Tokyo.
"Was the hot spring to your liking?" Akina asked from across the table, smiling.
Yukima nodded slowly, still admiring the feast.
"Yes. It was more than pleasant. I quite enjoyed it."
Next to him, Hinatsuru Ai mirrored him perfectly.
"Umu."
Seeing the two echo each other, Akina chuckled with deep satisfaction.
"Umu."