Hikaru’s face betrays him—he’s never been one for masks. It’s all there, plain as day, the unshakable confidence that he’s already won. His fingers toy with the black pawn he’s claimed, a quiet trophy, a subtle signal of triumph stirring just beneath the surface.

And then, there’s that faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, a smile he's trying to tuck away, but it lingers, gentle and unguarded. His shoulders have eased, the tension melting, just enough to be felt rather than seen.

He almost lets out a chuckle.