I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 305: I Want Him to Apologize to Go

The entire venue erupted into chaos.

Just moments ago, Japan and Korea were locked in open rivalry, acting like mortal enemies—but now, both sides united in fury, turning their rage toward one common target: Yu Shao.

Over the years, Go has seen countless talented players—and plenty of arrogant ones too. In fact, people have come to expect a certain level of arrogance from geniuses.

After all, if you're a prodigy, what’s a little pride?

In the world of Go, the only real proof of a player’s worth is their strength on the board.

That’s exactly why people have a high tolerance for arrogance when it comes to prodigies.

Even if Yu Shao had declared that he was going to crush Lee Junhyuk or grind Higashiyama Kaoru into the ground, most would’ve simply taken it as the fiery confidence of a rising star—some might even admire it. That kind of bravado is expected of a genius ready to take on the world.

But this...

This level of arrogance—they had never seen anything like it.

“Before me, there has never been a single game worthy of being called a masterpiece.”

That one sentence—too outrageous, too arrogant!

Even the boldest prodigies knew there had to be limits.

Think about it—Go has a history spanning four thousand years. In any context, even fantasy novels, four thousand years is a mind-blowing timespan!

If what Yu Shao said was true, that there hadn’t been a single masterpiece in all that time...

Then what? All the heartbreak, dedication, and sleepless nights spent by generations of players—were those games just a joke?

All the legendary matches, the breathtaking strategies, the stunning brilliance of countless national masters—none of them count as masterpieces?

When standing in front of Go’s immense, four-thousand-year legacy, humility is non-negotiable. No matter how talented, not even the boldest genius is allowed to trample that line.

This wasn’t just taking on the best of today’s world—it was challenging the saints of all time, the revered masters of every era!

Even the usually calm Higashiyama Kaoru turned red in the face, nearly lunging at Yu Shao in outrage. He’d just taken a step forward when Miyamoto Shun quickly grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Miyamoto-san—”

Higashiyama still wanted to say something, but Miyamoto simply shook his head with quiet finality and said, “Get back in position.”

Grudgingly, Higashiyama gave Yu Shao a seething glance before stepping back.

“Yu Shao!”

At that moment, Ma Zhengyu finally snapped out of his shock. He rushed forward and yanked Yu Shao back into the lineup, clearly wishing he could slap some sense into him.

On stage, both emcees looked completely at a loss, their expressions awkward to the extreme. They didn’t even know how to proceed.

Finally, the female host forced an awkward smile and let out a nervous chuckle: “Haha... Miyamoto 7-dan is quite the joker.”

But her words fell flat. No one responded.

Seeing that, the smile on her face became even more strained. She hastily wrapped things up:

“Alright! That concludes the main players’ remarks!”

“Let’s hope all the participants from the three nations get a good night’s rest, and give their best in the matches ahead—show us your style, show us your skill! This concludes the opening ceremony of the Team Tournament!”

And just like that, the opening ceremony ended on a sour note.

A European reporter and his cameraman were still frozen in place, long after all the players had left the stage.

“Mike, I had a feeling this year’s team tournament would be something special,” the cameraman finally croaked, his throat dry and sweat clinging to his face. “But this... this is way beyond anything I imagined. This year’s tournament is going to blow the roof off.”

...

Back at the Japanese team’s game review room—

“Miyamoto-san, why did you stop me?” Higashiyama couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Miyamoto frowned. “Were you going to storm the stage and argue with him? Tomorrow, the headlines would read: ‘Team Tournament Turns Into Street Brawl.’”

“I don’t care if they say my Go sucks,” Higashiyama growled through clenched teeth, fists tightening. “But he said... there’s never been a single game worthy of being called a masterpiece!”

That wasn’t just dismissing his own games—it was erasing the entirety of Go’s legacy.

If it had only been about his own skill, he could’ve accepted that. But to deny the entire history of Go?

No Go player—no one who holds Go sacred—could tolerate that.

Hearing him, the other four players' faces also twisted with anger. Fists clenched. Clearly, they too were deeply offended.

“Before him, no game was a masterpiece?”

What kind of joke was that?

“He’s just a kid with talent who doesn’t know his place,” Miyamoto said with a shake of his head. “Don’t take it to heart.”

“Miyamoto-san,” Higashiyama bit out each word, “I can’t just let it go. If he’d said my games weren’t good, fine. But what gives him the right to say none of them are?”

His expression darkened. “I’m going to beat him. I have to.”

Miyamoto looked at him, a little surprised.

“I’m going to beat him and make him apologize—not to me... to Go itself!”

“What kind of Go player says something like that? How dare he claim to love this game!”

“No matter who he is—if he’s going to run his mouth like that—I have to win that match. I need to. I have a reason I must win.”

Miyamoto couldn’t help but be moved.

He’d thought Higashiyama was angry just because his own games had been insulted. But clearly, it was much deeper than that.

“Go requires a cool head. What about tomorrow’s match against Korea?”

Miyamoto sighed. “That’s our first match. Let’s win that one first. No matter what, Korea is still our biggest threat.”

“I’ll win, Miyamoto-san.”

Higashiyama took a deep breath. He seemed to calm down slightly. “Lee Junhyuk may have gotten stronger—he’s not the same player as last year.”

“But neither am I.”

Clenching his fists, he declared:

“I absolutely won’t let myself lose. I’ll win tomorrow’s match to prove it to Yu Shao—and when it’s finally my turn to face him... I’ll defeat him on the board!”

...

Meanwhile, in the Chinese team’s review room—

Ma Zhengyu looked helpless as he stared at Yu Shao. He scratched his head and finally sighed:

“Yu Shao, I know you didn’t like what Miyamoto said, but did you really have to go that far?”

Yu Shao stayed quiet, not offering any defense.

The moment the ceremony ended, Ma had pulled him aside and brought him to the review room.

Yes, that line he said—“Before me, there has never been a single game worthy of being called a masterpiece”—was partly emotional.

But more importantly—he didn’t think it was wrong.

Yu Shao wasn’t someone who ran his mouth for no reason.

There were many games in the world—even ones he’d admired—that showed breathtaking brilliance. Some were bold and awe-inspiring, with dazzling kill fights that left the entire Go community speechless. Of course those could be called “great games,” even “masterpieces.”

Some classic pre-AI era matches from his past life, when analyzed today, still held up—full of divine tesujis and stunning creativity.

But the truth was—even the most thrilling kill fights and complex tactics often stemmed from fundamental misunderstandings of the board: about thickness, direction, value, timing.

If you considered it that way... then maybe, just maybe—there really wasn’t a single game before now that could be called perfect.

It’s not that a game with mistakes couldn’t be a masterpiece—Go has no final answer, even AI can’t fully solve it. No one can say with certainty what move is right or wrong.

But when a game is built on flawed fundamentals, no matter how dazzling the midgame fight may be... it can’t be considered a true masterpiece.

From that perspective—aside from that Hero’s Pride Cup final, and his recent game in the Main Player Selection Tournament—he hadn’t seen any game that truly lived up to the title of “masterpiece.”

“You’ve become a target now,” Ma muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. “If this were in China, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But here in Seoul? This is really bad. You’re still too young... too impulsive.”

He sighed again. “And it’s not just Korea anymore. Japan’s furious too. Probably every other country is too.”

“But it’s done. There’s no undoing it now. Go back to your room, rest up. Watch Japan vs. Korea tomorrow. Get your head in the game.”

Ma took a deep breath. “I’m guessing the internet’s already exploding. Don’t go online until after the matches are over—especially you, Yu Shao.”

He hesitated, then added:

“If you lose these two matches... the backlash will be brutal. You should know, Lee Junhyuk and Higashiyama Kaoru aren’t just young talents—they’re not even playing at normal 9-dan levels anymore...”

Yu Shao slowly stood up and walked to the door. Just as he reached it, he paused.

“Chairman Ma.”

Ma looked up at his back.

Without turning around, Yu Shao said:

“Then let’s see... if they can really beat me.”