Ren had been fighting uphill through what almost felt like hours. His brain was racing, his fingers moved like they were sure of it, and here it was—the final move before everything went into irreversible disaster. The end of the match was rather intense for the last moments. His hands hovered over his rook, each of the possible moves calculated in his mind. He thought he was going to checkmate the masked champion, but something had told him that it was far too simple. Remembering the calm, calculating demeanor of his opponent, now, as Ren felt the pieces drawn into place, he was being ensnared into a trap.
He made the decision with narrowed eyes, moving the rook into the same vicinity right afterward. Victory was in sight: the adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he imagined it forming. But the moment his piece touched down on the square, the masked champion made a sudden move that was an elegant counter in Ren's standards which took Ren quite unawares.
The next move executed by knight would take his queen, and suddenly, everything fell apart before him. His stomach dropped, and his heart sank. He couldn't believe it happened and was staring at the board in disbelief.
The masked figure leaned back, hands on lap, and observed how Ren absorbed, now with resignation, what was an inevitable conclusion of the game. A flurry of thoughts raced through Ren's mind. His plan had been perfect. Or so he thought. Now, it seemed every move he had made was merely an advance into the trap.
He was strong enough to mostly keep down the tide of frustration rising toward him. ""No,"" he murmured more to himself than to anyone else. ""This can't be it."" The eyes behind the mask of the masked champion narrowed as if they had projected that moment long before. With deliberate elegance, the bishop moved to seal Ren's fate: checkmate.
Silence fell in the room, burdened with the defeat. Ren stared at the board, with that tightness around the chest while his breath caught in ragged gasps. The game was done.
Ren could hardly swallow the fact of having lost; to him, it seemed he was still arguing with himself about whether such a feat could even be accomplished. He kept looking intently at the fetishized section of the board, as if he had stepped into a vacuum, the dawning idea leaving behind: he really wasn't in the right league.
""Game over,"" all but inaudibly said the masked champion as his voice got lost in the folds of his mask.
Tightened fists still at his sides, Ren didn't bother speaking, as there was nothing to be said. What could he say? How could he even begin to process this loss?
The audience, which had never said a word during the match, was now beginning to murmur, the sounds echoing faintly in Ren's ears. His mind was still somewhere else, still wrapped up in memories of his crushing defeat.
Kenji stepped off the sidelines and broke the silence with an almost knowing smile. ""Too eager to finish, were we, Ren?"" he asked reproachfully but mildly encouraging, ""You skimped out on your analysis and rushed through the decisions. That's where you lost."
Ren kept silent. His heart was heavy; his body felt almost unnaturally heavy and void of energy. He had lost.
But, again silent and the steady voice ruptured now, a calm construction Ren did not expect.
""I am Takashi"" The voice penetrated air thick with tension. Ren's head snapped up, his eyes on the man.
Standing in front of him was a tall commanding figure with sharp and calculating features. He pulled the mask off his face with great care, revealing a face Re recognized immediately from journal articles and tournament telecasts. Takashi-the youngest chess champion of Japan. Ren's chest tightened yet again, but with a different emotion-not with anger but with awe. It was like a dream to be standing in the presence of the national champion.
Takashi's look bore down into Ren's soul, steady, suffused with the still strength of a master. ""You have potential,"" said Takashi, ""But you lack discipline and strategic depth to make the real ones great.""
Ren swallowed and made his mouth dry. More than a defeat, it was a lesson.
""That in a nutshell means you rely quite heavily on your speed and instincts,"" Kenji threw in with arms crossed and a skeptical look across his features. ""You never stopped to truly calculate your opponent's every move. That's why you lost. You've got talent, but you're not looking far enough ahead.""
Takashi nodded as well with a penetrative gaze. ""Good players tend to anticipate beyond the current move: they do not react. They perceive the state of the game within the future, and that is why you lost: You did not do that.
The lump in Ren's throat was near-painfully tight against another sense inside of him: the desire burning bright within him.
Takashi turned to leave but paused to declare: ""If you are really serious of improving yourself, however, you will have to change how you view the game. You are not ready for someone of my caliber yet; but maybe one day you will be.""
Kenji gave Ren one last lingering look before following Takashi out of the room.
Heavy words settled inside Ren's chest as he stood frozen. It was defeat. But more than that, it was a complete crushing-a defeat he absolutely needed. Somehow, he could tell his journey would be long and that he was ready to walk on.
This was just the beginning.