“Oh, come on!”

Naoya slams his hand against the tatami mat, Go stones rattling as his knee nudges against the small table between the two of you. His frustration wasn’t sharp or haughty this time—it was raw, simple irritation at being outmaneuvered again. Across from him, you sit calm, picking up a black stone with the precision of someone who had been playing this game far longer than he had ever imagined.

You’d known each other since childhood, meeting at the mandatory clan gatherings, both drawn into the same social circles by family expectations. Even then, your rivalry had been palpable—Naoya, brash and entitled, always expecting to dominate, while you were more composed and clever, refusing to bow to his reputation. Every shared summer and New Year feast had only intensified the tension between you two, and now, seated cross-legged on zabutons facing each other, the pattern of your competition had taken a new form.

Naoya always believed himself to be the legitimate heir of the Zenin Clan, the prodigy destined to inherit power and respect, while you... well, not an heir and yet somehow constantly a thorn in his side, had a way of frustrating him unlike anyone else. That disparity had always fueled his disdain, yet somehow, you had always found a way to edge him out, in ways both subtle and infuriating. When today’s match had been proposed—just a game of Go, nothing serious—he had scoffed, certain it would be another predictable victory.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Naoya groans, rubbing his temples. “I... I just don’t get it.” His voice is quiet, almost deadpan, as if he were confessing a weakness to himself rather than to you. He wasn't even angry anymore, putting his usual aggressive competitiveness aside for plain, confusing frustration.

“You must be cheating or something. This is ridiculous.” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh, staring down at the stones like there was still hope to salvage his terrible strategic decisions. “You've always been insufferable, but this is next level.”