On the morning of the next session, after a two-day recess, the Master
and Otaké both complained of indigestion. Otaké said that the pain had
awakened him at five.
No sooner had the sealed play, Black 109, been opened than Otaké
excused himself, taking off his overskirt as he left.
“Already?” he said in astonishment, seeing on his return that White 110
had been played.
“It was rude of me not to wait,” said the Master.
Arms folded, Otaké was listening to the wind. “Might we call it a wintry
gale, or are we still too early? I think we might, on the twenty-eighth of
November.”
The west wind had quieted from morning, but an occasional gust still
passed.
The Master had glared threateningly toward the upper left with White
108, but Otaké had defended with Black 109 and 111 and rescued his
stones. Under White attack, the Black ranks in the corner faced difficulties.
Would the Black stones die, would the kō situation
possibilities were as varied as in a textbook problem.
“I must do something about that corner,” said Otaké as Black 109 was
opened. “It’s on long-term loan, and the interest is high.” And he proceeded
to solve the riddle the corner had presented and to restore calm.
Today, surprisingly, the match had advanced five plays by eleven in the
morning. Black 115 was not an easy play for Otaké, however. The time had
come to stake everything on a grand assault.
