I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 304: No Masterpiece Before Me

As soon as the host finished speaking, Shin Seunghyun, the Korea team leader, stepped forward and took the microphone from the host.

Facing the cameras, he looked around the room, cleared his throat, and began:

“Hello everyone, I’m Shin Seunghyun, the team leader for Korea.”

“For this year’s Team Tournament, it seems many are worried about the Korean team. After all, everyone witnessed Japan’s strength last year—we only narrowly won. And this year, new talents from China have started to shine.”

“But let me just say...”

He paused, then continued with powerful conviction:

“We’re here this year for one purpose—to wipe away the shame of last time!”

“Even though we won the championship last year, it was a championship tainted by disgrace!”

“This year, we’re not just aiming to win again—we’re going to take the title with style and dominance!”

Beside him, translators for both Chinese and Japanese repeated Shin Seunghyun’s words in sync. When he finished, thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

“D*mn, that’s cocky.”

Down below, a male Go player muttered, “He just said that last year’s win over Japan was a shameful victory. Isn’t that basically saying they plan to completely shut out Japan this year?”

At that moment, Zheng Qin couldn’t help but glance toward the Japanese support team—every single member wore a grim expression.

Soon after Shin finished, the Japanese team leader stepped up and took the mic from him.

The Japanese leader was a sharp-eyed man in his forties with a full head of hair. Despite the bold words from Shin Seunghyun just moments ago, he remained calm. He looked around, then began:

“Hello everyone, I’m Miyamoto Shun, the team leader for Japan.”

“We lost to Korea in last year’s tournament. But after a year of hard training, our players are no longer the same. This year, we’ve come to claim the championship!”

“If the Korean team still sees our players as the same ones from last year... then I believe they’re in for a shocking surprise.”

“Korea has won enough championships. Now... it’s time for someone else to take the throne.”

He paused, then added:

“As for the Chinese team that’s getting a lot of buzz—personally, I think only Yu Shao and Su Yiming are players we need to watch out for.”

Hearing his name mentioned, Yu Shao couldn’t help but glance up at Miyamoto Shun.

“But among all the games they’ve played,” Miyamoto declared, “the only one that could be considered a true masterpiece... was that one match at the Hero’s Pride Cup. They’re still green—not our equals!”

“With that said, we are determined to win this year’s championship!”

His speech didn’t just shake up the Korean support team—it also soured the mood among the Chinese delegation. The expressions of Qin Lang, Gu Chuan, Le Haoqiang, and Ma Zhengyu darkened noticeably, some of them clearly growing furious.

On the other hand, the journalists lit up with excitement. Cameras clicked nonstop as flashes burst throughout the hall.

“The Japanese team is really fired up this year!”

A blonde, blue-eyed European reporter eagerly whispered to his cameraman, “Sure, it’s normal for teams to talk trash to boost morale before matches, but this? This is bold—especially since Korea’s the host this year!”

“They must’ve put in some serious work. Their players must be much stronger now.”

The cameraman nodded, impressed. “You can tell—even after hearing Ma Zhengyu’s response, Japan’s seven players didn’t waver. If anything, they look even more fired up now.”

Some of the reporters outside the main room were from other countries in the region, all too happy to stir the pot and watch the drama unfold.

Soon, it was Ma Zhengyu's turn to speak.

He took a deep breath, walked calmly to the front, and received the mic from Miyamoto Shun.

“Miyamoto-san said that of all the games Yu Shao and Su Yiming have played, only that Hero’s Pride Cup match is worthy of being called a masterpiece.”

Ma Zhengyu’s voice was steady.

“But let’s not forget—Yu Shao and Su Yiming only became pros this year, and they haven’t even played 100 games yet.”

“And besides them, we have Qin Lang, Le Haoqiang, Gu Chuan—they are all excellent players. I believe they will not let us down!”

Another round of camera flashes lit up the audience.

“Chairman Ma’s speech felt too soft…” muttered Wu Zhixuan, frowning below the stage. “Both the Korean and Japanese leaders threw punches, and all he gave was that?”

“Eh…”

Next to her, Wu Shuheng sighed, shaking his head. “What can he do? We haven’t had any real results in the past five years. Hard to talk tough when the numbers don’t back you up.”

The mood turned heavy. Wu Zhixuan visibly deflated.

With the leaders’ speeches finished, it was time for the main players from each team to speak.

Lee Junhyuk stepped forward first, taking the mic.

“Hello everyone, I’m Lee Junhyuk, the Korean team’s main player. First of all, I’d like to thank the sponsors for their strong support of this tournament.”

“This time, we will live up to expectations and give our all in every match...”

Compared to Shin Seunghyun, Lee Junhyuk’s words were far more official and reserved.

When he finished, he gave a deep look to the next speaker—Higashiyama Kaoru—before handing over the mic.

Higashiyama took the microphone and stepped to the front.

“Hello, I’m Higashiyama Kaoru, Japan’s main player. I believe this tournament will be a thrilling and intense battle.”

“That game last year against Lee Junhyuk 7-dan left a deep impression on me. I’m sure he’s worked hard this past year, preparing for our rematch.”

“I’m also sincerely looking forward to playing him again.”

“Besides Lee Junhyuk 7-dan, I’m also quite eager to face Yu Shao 2-dan...”

After he wrapped up, Ma Zhengyu glanced at Yu Shao and reminded him, “Yu Shao, your turn.”

Yu Shao nodded, stepped forward, and took the microphone from Higashiyama.

Holding the mic, he swept his gaze over the crowd, then flicked a glance at Shin Seunghyun, and lastly at Miyamoto Shun—before looking away.

“Miyamoto-san said that among the games I’ve played, only the one from the Hero’s Pride Cup counts as a masterpiece.”

He paused for a moment, then continued:

“Maybe he’s right.”

The entire audience froze. Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

They had all expected Yu Shao to push back, to say he’d played other great games—not to just... agree?

Even Wu Zhixuan, Zheng Qin, and others looked puzzled. They thought for sure he’d mention other standout matches—but he didn’t.

“But... with all due respect—”

Yu Shao’s tone sharpened, his gaze fierce as he looked out over the audience.

“In my opinion—before me, there has never been a single game worthy of being called a masterpiece.”

The moment those words fell, the Chinese team section went absolutely still.

Wu Zhixuan stared blankly at Yu Shao, her eyes slowly widening, her jaw dropping.

Zheng Qin’s mind went blank—he opened his mouth, but it was like something was stuck in his throat. No sound came out.

Even the normally calm Xu Zi was stunned, eyes locked in disbelief on Yu Shao.

Wu Shuheng gulped hard, staring at the teenager on stage, thinking just one thing:

Does he even realize what he just said...?

Silence.

On the Chinese team’s side, it was deathly silent—utterly shocking silence.

“But... with all due respect, in my view—”

The translator, who had been diligently interpreting, suddenly stopped mid-sentence when he heard Yu Shao’s last line.

Sweat trickled down his face as he stared in disbelief, eventually turning to look at Ma Zhengyu in a panic.

Ma Zhengyu looked just as dumbfounded. He wasn’t the only one—Qin Lang, Le Haoqiang, Gu Chuan all stared at Yu Shao like they were seeing an alien.

Even Su Yiming was just staring blankly at him.

Over on the Japanese side, Higashiyama Kaoru, who understood Chinese, looked completely shocked.

As for the Korean side, Shin Seunghyun couldn’t believe his ears. He stood frozen, wondering if he’d misunderstood because of his less-than-fluent Chinese.

Everyone else in the audience was equally stunned—they didn’t understand what had just happened.

“Before me, there has never... never been any game...”

The translator, still sweating bullets, finally forced himself to finish:

“...that can truly be called... a masterpiece.”

Silence.

Complete silence!

Everyone stared at Yu Shao on stage—jaw-dropped, mind-blown silence.

Even the previously rowdy journalists forgot to press their shutters. Their brains buzzed with shock, stuck on that one sentence.

A moment later, people’s faces began to twist in anger—

The entire hall exploded into chaos!

“What the h*ll is he talking about?!”

“Are you serious? Youthful arrogance is one thing, but this?! Has he lost his mind?”

“Before him, not a single masterpiece exists? What a joke! Is he saying four thousand years of Go, with all those National Masters and top-tier players, produced nothing worth his praise?”

“He’s trying to erase four thousand years of Go? Every Go player in history? And it’s him saying this?!”

...