SCRAPBOOK

It’s made up of articles that a Shogi magazine only runs twice a year.

This scrapbook, which only contains the one two-page article that’s quietly slipped into the back of that magazine twice a year, has become 100 pages thick. Where did the time go?

I doubt it’s worth much at all to most people.

But I treasure it.

Ever since I was six years old when I found out that professional Shogi players exist, I’ve been holding on to these articles, even when I ended up throwing away the rest of the magazine.

“4-dan promotions.”

Short essays that only two people, the ones who make it through the 3-dan division’s six-month season, can write. People who have given the prime years of their youth to Shogi pour their heart and soul into a single page; the life of the professional Shogi player in a nutshell.

My life has revolved around getting to write my own article.

On those long nights before my matches on regular activity days in the Sub League when sleep never came, I would pass the hours by reading through this scrapbook and thinking about what I would write once my turn finally came.

What would I talk about?

How hard life in the Sub League was?

Matches during my time in the 3-dan division that had the biggest impact on me?

The jealousy I feel toward the others who turned professional before me?

Gratitude for my Master?

Gratitude for my parents?

Gratitude for my fellow Sub League members?

The joy of playing Shogi?

The day my heart shattered?

The match that restored my fighting spirit?

As the years in the Sub League dragged on, I noticed there was more I wanted to say and the content had changed.

However, the way I wanted to conclude the article always stayed the same.

That sheer determination is what allowed me to endure my darkest days in the Sub League.

Passed up by my juniors, I managed to put up with the indignation of calling them Sensei and serving them tea while working as a match recorder during their matches because I knew what I wanted to write.

I endured giving the king’s seat to players younger than myself and taking on a secondary role after having led practice sessions for so long. Even after winning the Newcomers Tournament as a Sub League member for the first time, I managed to prevent the question why do weaker players than I am get to become professionals and I don’t? from rotting my heart away.

Reading through this scrapbook, I drift off into peaceful slumber.

It’s the final match of the 3-dan division, and I hold the top position. Having placed my opponent in checkmate by deploying a Gold in front of their King, I see myself stamping a white victory star on the division annuals. Everyone at the association office is congratulating me as journalists and reporters line up to take my picture. Once that’s over, I contact Master to tell him the news and then call my family soon after. It’s hearing my mother’s tears of joy on the other end of the line that makes me cry for the first time.

I promoted to 4-dan …… I have become a professional. Processing all that joy as best I can, I sit down with a pen and start writing my article one letter at a time. My own 4-dan promotion.

Once I have finally gotten the words that have been brewing in my heart for so long down on paper, I start thinking about a title for my article. Ah, that’s perfect. I’ll call it–––.

Awake, I reach for the scrapbook by my pillow.

Then I look for the article that should be there.