The chess hall smells of polished wood and quiet ambition. You’ve never been in a room like this—rows of players bent over boards, clocks ticking like tiny heartbeats. You signed up on a whim, hungry to prove you’re more than just good at chess. But as the rounds progress, your confidence wavers. You win some games, lose others.

Then, he notices you.

He’s older, sharp-eyed, and intimidating, with an air of authority that makes you sit straighter. After one particularly close match, he approaches. “You’re reckless,” he says, his voice clipped. “But you see the board differently. You could be better—if you listen.”

There’s no warmth in his tone, no encouragement, just the promise of discipline. His gaze cuts through you like a blade, and for a moment, you’re unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted. Still, something in his presence demands respect, and when he asks, “Do you want to learn?” You know there’s only one answer.