Ch.2 – EP17 National High School Chess Championship

In Jūjō, Kyoto, in Midsummer (Day Before the match)

Midsummer Kyoto was a great plume of steam in the shape of a city.

Heat rose off the sun-blasted asphalt, and cicadas cracked and fell from overhead in waves of sound. Away from the clamor of Gion and Shijō, the area around the hotel in Jūjō was so quiet it made the tourist crowds feel unreal, but the muggy heat showed no mercy. The damp wind stuck to cheeks, and far away an ambulance siren unspooled in a thin line.

The instant they stepped out of the elevator, the AC’s cool wind brushed their backs as if trying to escape. A small meeting room set up like a conference room. White long tables, bottled water, the tournament prospectus handed out. The clock on the wall pointed to 7:00 p.m.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

Iori squared up the papers with a patan (snap). The second button of his white shirt was, as always, fastened. Precise, neat—the incarnation of the textbook.

“The National High School Chess Championship runs for two days. There are fifteen participants—regional qualifiers and recommendation slots. Single-elimination tournament, four rounds. Two rounds on the first day, two on the second. Time control is 45 minutes + 30 seconds per move. Forfeit on time if 45 minutes of your main time passes from the scheduled start while you’re late. Withdrawals mid-tournament affect pairings in the next round, so prioritize your physical condition.”

“Yees,” Momoko raised her hand.

“Breakfast should be light, but don’t forget carbs. Sora, eat two slices of bread.”

“Got it…” Sora smiled wryly, but the sweat wouldn’t dry on his palms. (Four beats, four beats—inhale, hold, exhale, hold. A shape I can return to.)

“And about your opponents—”

A Kansai intonation breezed into the room. Sōma spun his own laptop around and projected ad-hoc slides. Beside him, Akira took notes.

“The first-round opponent has been announced in advance, so ah gathered intel. First off, Iori-senpai’s opponent… a girl named Haruka (17), representin’ Aichi. ELO is 1700. They say she favors intuition (inspiration) over strictly rational opening theory. Well, if it’s Iori-senpai, it’s an easy win.”

Iori: “Thanks. I’ll be careful not to get careless.”

“Next is Sora’s opponent, a rep from Fukuoka named Kōta (18). ELO is 1820. Style is to thoroughly deflect the opponent’s attacks. He never gives up even in inferior positions and clings on to the bitter end, so games with him often run long. He’s good at shaving the opponent’s clock down to the last moment and wearing them out… I reckon time management will be the key.”

Sora: “Time management… understood.”

“Yes, yes! What about my opponent?” Momoko raised her hand.

“Since the number of participants is odd, you get a bye in Round 1 for odd-number adjustment. Lucky you.”

“Eeh, that’s boring!”

“If you let your guard down, from Round 2 you’ve got a higher chance of facing a powerhouse right away.”

“Hmmm, in that case I guess that’s fine.”

“Hah, cool as ever, Momoko. And I also looked up the players to watch this tournament.”

Sōma puffed out his chest. “First—”

● “Yurika (17). ELO 2060. A young lady from local Kyoto. Proper in manners and proud of a beautiful style of play. Neat, with a keen aesthetic sense—and cute.”

“We didn’t need that last part,” Momoko’s jab was sharp.
“The definition of aesthetic sense has nothing to do with face rating, okay?”
“Ah’m jokin’, jokin’. But there really are ways to win by ‘beauty.’ Shaping the board sticks a dagger in the opponent’s mind.”

● “Next is our own Iori-senpai (18). ELO 2100. Tokyo representative, last year’s best 4. The incarnation of the textbook. The moment the opponent overextends, he fixes the form with a central thrust. Finishes with a textbook diagram at the end—sayin’ that in front of the person himself is a bit, y’know.”

“I’m honored, Sōma,” Iori smiled faintly.

● “Rei (18). ELO 2250. Kanagawa representative, last year’s Japanese high school champion. Some call him the strongest Japanese high schooler in history. He stares quietly at the board and aims to win without showing emotion—a cool genius type of player.”

“This year I want to get revenge on him,” said Iori.

● “Last is Alexandra (Sandra, 16). ELO 2400. Recommendation slot, guest player from overseas. The number one favorite to win, backed by a FrostFish-affiliated AI company. Folks say she’s currently the closest human to AI… I mean, that ELO is IM level. Why’s a monster like that even competing as a player this time?”

“Bookmakers say Sandra… well, of course they would,” Momoko smiled meaningfully.

Sōma snapped his fingers. “Also, the schedule’s tight, so while there’s a concession stand, bringing lunch is recommended. Secure 1.5 liters of water. AC works at the venue, but watch out for heatstroke when you go outside; on the nutrition label the ‘Na’—”

“That’s enough. I prepared salt tablets,” Akira lifted a basket flatly. “Cooling sheets too. And nutrition gels.”

“Perfect,” Momoko gave a thumbs-up.

“—Okay, goal. Our school’s chess club will take the national title. Any objections?”

“Of course not.”

Iori answered immediately, and Akira nodded. Sōma grinned and shrugged.

Sora closed his eyes for a single beat.

(Win the championship. If you won’t quit chess, win the championship. Decisively—into the very center of the light. Win with an explainable surprise. Set your breath to four beats; always have a shape you can return to.)

When he opened his eyes, Momoko was looking straight at him. He felt like they’d said the same words with their eyes, and Sora smiled slightly.

“Tomorrow I’m coming out swinging from the start.”

“Roger.”

The two shared a quiet high five.

____________________________________________________________________________________

【Morning of the Tournament—From Takeda Station】

The train heading to Kyoto Pulse Plaza ran as if pushing through the morning’s humidity.

Iori went ahead to the venue for tournament procedures, and Sōma and Akira messaged that “entry will be slightly delayed due to equipment trouble.” Momoko and Sora got off together at Takeda Station.

Heat pooled on the platform, hot enough to prickle through the soles of their shoes. Exiting the gates, the sky over the station was hazy white.

“…Kyoto’s hot.”

Momoko wiped the sweat at the nape of her neck with the back of her hand. “But walking like this, doesn’t it feel a bit like a date?”

Momoko chattered as if there were no such thing as match pressure.

“…My head’s full of the matches.”

Sora faced forward, his face red. (Four beats, four beats. Smiling throws it off—no, even if it throws off, I can bring it back.)

They walked the road to the venue. Twenty minutes on foot—a path threading between residential streets and factories.

In the distance, a large white roof came into view. Kyoto Pulse Plaza. Near the entrance hung a large banner—“National High School Chess Championship.” A local newspaper crew set up equipment, and staff held up guide placards.

“We can see it now.”

Momoko smiled and lengthened her stride just a little.

A faintly sweet air. Amid the smell of sweat, the sweetness of sports drinks. Their footfalls matched.

But then—.

____________________________________________________________________________________

【The Shade of an Alley, a Cold Breath】

Beyond the residential streets, they followed the map app and turned into a small, dim path where foot traffic thinned out.

The cicadas’ voices slipped away. The air grew heavy for a moment. Though it was midday, the light dulled as if clouds had drawn over.

They turned the corner, and a black car was parked there.

The sound was quiet. Yet their ears could make out even the sensation of the tires biting into grit.

The rear door was still closed. No one got out of the driver’s seat.

Instead, two men in suits got out—one from the passenger seat, one from the back—without a word. Dark sunglasses; despite midsummer, their ties were immaculate, their shoes mirror-shined.

“…You are Sora-kun, yes?”

The voice was low, overly polite.

One of the men approached. The pin on his lapel flashed for an instant in the sun.

The Chess.aic logo gleamed there.

(—!)

Sora’s heart jumped into his throat. His four beats collapsed; he couldn’t count them.

Momoko stepped a half step forward. “And who might you—”

They grabbed her.

A man took Momoko’s wrist hard. A creaking rippled up her arm. “Ow—” her face twisted.

Another man pinned Sora’s shoulder.

The way he put his weight on him was professional. An angle that cut off the escape route first.

(Exit, behind, where—)

In his head, the words he’d promised Elena flashed. Create an exit. Don’t go into the crowd.

(—I can’t breathe.)

“We cannot allow you to participate in the national tournament.”

The man’s words had the temperature of an office memo. A voice simply reading out an order.

Before there was even time to voice an objection, the back door clicked as it opened from the inside.

The cold air from the car spilled out. The summer heat that had been clinging to them was stripped away in an instant. The cicadas’ voices were swallowed by that cold.

“Let go!”

Momoko twisted her body. At the instant her loafer heel struck, a sharp shock drove into the man’s gut; he choked and stepped back two paces.

“Behave yourself!”

Momoko saw that another man had a knife to Sora’s neck and stopped resisting.

“—Sora!”

The man pinning Momoko applied a full nelson, coolly increasing the force. Fingers with a pressure that gauged the pain threshold exactly.

(…These guys are practiced.)

Her call reached him. But yet his legs wouldn’t move. His shoulders were fixed; he couldn’t shift his core.

From inside the car, a cold shadow extended.

His back was shoved—hard. He lost balance; his foot was sucked into the black floor—

Sora was dragged into the dark interior.

At the same time, Momoko gave a small gasp and was pulled in next to him.

In the cramped space: the cold and the smell of leather. The doorframe sliced the edge of his vision.

Thunk.

The closing door sounded like an ominous final period.

The sounds of the world ended there for a moment.

The car pulled away, gliding.

Outside the window, the white summer light stretched into bands and receded.

Sora closed his eyes just a little and, with a voice crumbling up from his throat, finally retrieved just one line.

“—Are you okay?”

In the darkness, Momoko’s fingers found his hand.

Tight, strong. No answer needed. They only had to match their beats together.

Four beats, four beats.

A shape they could return to, even in the dark.

The car moved quietly, surely, in the opposite direction from Kyoto Pulse Plaza.