Let me tell you something that happened to me... about ten years ago now. I was working at a company in the Hommachi district of Osaka.
A July evening, like so many others. The clock had just struck 7:00 PM. I tidied my desk and gave a quick nod to my colleagues before rushing out.
By 7:05 PM, I was already outside. It was particularly hot that day – at least 30 degrees, with that humidity that sticks to your skin. The sky was perfectly clear.
Before heading home, I made a detour to the convenience store near my office. I grabbed a cold beer and headed to Utsubo Park.
The park still had a few visitors at this hour. Children were playing in the water, others cooling their feet in it. I settled on the grass, between the roses and the large fountain. In front of me, the sun was sinking below the horizon, the sky turning a reddish-orange.
That's when I noticed her.
A woman sitting a few meters away, on one of the stones lining the stream. Her kimono was strikingly elegant. On the grass in front of her was what looked like a board game, positioned as if to give me a perfect view of the pieces she was manipulating.
As my eyes adjusted, I recognized shōgi pieces, though they were curiously spread across a Western chessboard. One piece – slightly larger than the others, almost matching the king’s stature – kept drawing my gaze. From my distance, the kanji on its face was unreadable, yet she guided it with particular elegance: now in a bishop’s long diagonal, now in the sudden L-shape of a knight. Alone, she moved the pieces from one side to the other with an almost ritual precision.
I had been watching her for a few minutes when suddenly, without any warning movement, she raised her eyes to meet mine. Her gaze was direct, calm, and strangely captivating.
Caught in the act, I was about to apologize when she gestured for me to sit across from her to play.
Something held me back. I politely declined with a nod and left the park.
Since that evening, I often find myself placing pieces on a board, trying to reproduce that game that was neither quite shōgi nor quite chess. Through my research, I've come to believe that the distinctive piece I had seen might be called 姫
1 – a name I sometimes catch myself saying aloud when playing alone too, as if she might answer, moving pieces from one side to the other.