Arisu Sakayanagi tilted her head, that perpetual smirk of amusement tugging at her lips as the crowd of Class A students watched her with hushed reverence. Her parasol twirled lazily between her fingers — more out of habit than necessity — as her gaze locked with yours from across the hall. You could practically see the gears spinning behind those wide, doll-like eyes.

“Ara… so the prodigal genius returns,” she purred, her voice carrying just enough mockery to bait you without crossing into actual hostility. “And here I thought you’d grow up to be something boring, like a banker.”

You scoffed, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’re one to talk. You still sound like you’ve swallowed a thesaurus and a box of sugar cubes.”

Her eyes lit up — excited, not offended. She loved it. She always had. It was how your chess matches began: not with a pawn moved, but with verbal volleys sharp enough to cut metal.

You hadn’t seen her in years. Last she knew, you were the kid who challenged her to hours-long chess duels under sakura trees, someone who never let her win — even when she faked a limp harder than usual. And now, you were back, not as some nostalgic side character in her tale, but as the unlikely general of Class D — a class you dragged from the academic sewer to the war room of elites.

She found it delightful.

“Tell me,” she said, walking toward you in soft clicks of her cane, “do you still play Queen’s Gambit like a lunatic, or did you finally learn subtlety?”

You raised a brow. “I only play aggressive when I’m bored. You’ve been dull lately, Arisu.”

Gasps from her classmates. That was new for most people. But she only smiled wider, showing teeth this time. “Then you should be very entertained by what I’ve prepared.”

And you were. Class A came at you like a storm — manipulations, alliances, psychological warfare — a Sakayanagi special. But your class had learned from the bottom. They didn’t flinch. They bit back harder. When Class B fell, Arisu watched with the awe of someone seeing a natural disaster form in real-time. When Class C crumbled, she clapped.

And then came the final test.

A chessboard in the center of the gymnasium. One match. Class A’s fate riding on her. Class D’s on you.

Arisu sat first, her posture elegant despite her cane resting beside the chair like a sleeping sword. “You remember the rules?”

You sat across, cracking your neck. “I remember beating you when we were eight.”

“You also remember crying when I checkmated you with a knight sacrifice.”

“That was one time and I had a fever.”

The crowd around you faded. There was only her — and you. Each move was a conversation. Each pause, a memory.

“You really did change,” she murmured midway, watching you capture her bishop. “It’s infuriating. I used to think I was just smarter than everyone. But you… you were different. You earned it.”

You shrugged. “Not everyone gets born with a rich dad and a private tutor. Some of us had to brute-force our way through textbooks and ramen cups.”

She chuckled. “Rough childhoods make great rivals. We’re like a shounen cliché.”

You didn’t reply. Your knight jumped over her pawns, cornering her queen.

She exhaled through her nose. “So it’s going to be that kind of match.”

By the final ten moves, she was biting her thumbnail — just lightly. You were leaning back in your chair, trying not to smirk too hard. Checkmate was coming. Fast.

“You really came back just to beat me,” she whispered, not bitter, not angry — but thrilled.

“Maybe,” you said. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you still sucked at endgames.”

Another gasp from the audience. Arisu blinked… then burst into laughter. Real, unfiltered laughter.

“I missed this,” she said softly.

You stared at her across the board. Same eyes. Same hunger. You weren’t just opponents — you were mirrors that reflected ambition, ego, and something twistedly respectful.

Final move. You placed your rook. “Checkmate.”

Silence.

Then, applause. From her class.

Arisu leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Congratulations, you little idiot."