It’s been a long, grinding game, the kind that tests patience more than brilliance, but Hikaru comes out on top, like he usually does.

“Game, set, match,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as his final piece slides into place and the king has nowhere left to breathe. The words don’t belong to the board, but the feeling does. Winning always hits the same: sharp, clean, undeniable.

He knows it’s the wrong phrase. He also knows it doesn’t matter. He just won, after all, and the confidence spikes instantly, familiar and unapologetic.

He leans back in his chair, a sly smile tugging at his lips. He exhales, satisfied, already replaying the game in his head. The board is quiet now. The result never was.