Chapter 1: The Strongest Online Shogi High Schooler

They say everyone has a talent for something.

But the only people who ever find that out are the ones who have the chance to try everything the world has to offer. In the span of a single, short human life, there’s no way to know for sure what you’re actually good at.

On the other hand, some say that if you master one thing, that becomes your talent. If you put in more effort than anyone else, you’ll eventually gain a level of skill that those who didn’t try can never reach.

This is a story about a half-hearted guy named Watanabe Mikado who failed at both—and how one day, his life changed forever.

"—Alright, that’s it for homeroom. We’ve got Home Ec tomorrow, so don’t forget your sewing kits. Also, Tanaka, you’re staying behind."

"Whaaat?! But teach, I’ve got club practice!"

As the school day ended and the homeroom teacher made his announcements, my classmates began streaming out of the room.

Amidst the bustle, I stayed in my seat, staring at the smartphone in my hand as I prepared to head home alone.

Naturally, I didn't belong to any clubs. I was a second-year member of the "Going Home Club."

Before leaving the classroom, I felt a Shogi match I was playing on my phone reach its climax. I poured all my focus into the screen, reading deep into my opponent’s potential moves while my fingers danced across the glass.

My opponent was a high-ranking amateur—a "top ranker" in gaming terms.

The clock was ticking down. A relentless barrage of checks followed. I parried every single one of their attacks, maintaining my composure even as my time dwindled to the brink.

After about thirty seconds of high-intensity play, my opponent hit the resign button. The word 'VICTORY' flashed across my screen.

"...Yes!"

The match had ended in a win for me, decided in a lightning-fast endgame with only ten seconds left on my clock.

Overjoyed by the takedown of such a high-ranked player, the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Thankfully, the classroom was empty now that homeroom was over. Well, even if someone had been there, they probably wouldn't have spared a glance for a pathetic guy like me.

I was just a Shogi player. A plain, ordinary amateur you could find anywhere.

I’d been playing since I was a kid. Back then, I was so overconfident in my own "overflowing talent" that I even took the entrance exam for the Shoreikai—the professional training academy.

(T/N: To become a professional Shogi player, one must enter the Shoreikai (奨励会) the official professional training institution. Where the skill gap between Amateurs and Pros is huge)

The result was a crushing defeat. I was forced to realize that I was just a mediocre person after all.

I started playing Shogi online around the time I quit the local dojo I used to attend. To begin with, I didn't have any friends in real life to play with, and after everything that happened, I found it a bit daunting to face strangers over a real board.

So now, I spend my life tapping on a smartphone screen. It’s a bit hollow for a high school student supposedly in the "springtime of youth."

That said, if I do say so myself, my skill level is pretty high. At the very least, I’m confident that I’m one of the better players on the internet.

After finishing the match, I typed my usual handle for Shogi apps into a search engine: 'Zimetsutei'.

It was a cringey name I’d come up with by taking the kanji for "Mikado" and using an alternative reading for "Emperor," then slapping on "Self-Destruction" as a bit of self-deprecation.

When the search results loaded, my name was right at the top, the subject of a massive thread.

<【Crazy】 Who the hell is Zimetsutei, the mysterious amateur powerhouse? Part 8>

725: Anonymous

: Played him at lunch!

726: Anonymous

: Ran into him today. My rating is dead.

727: Anonymous

: I got speed-blitzed!

728: Anonymous

: With that kind of strength, he's gotta be cheating.

729: Anonymous

: >>728 But if the admins haven't banned him, doesn't that mean he's legit?

730: Anonymous

: He was hanging out in the high-dan bracket all day yesterday.

731: Anonymous

: What's his win streak at now?

732: Anonymous

: >>731 Just checked. 87 wins in a row.

733: Anonymous

: >>732 Huh? Lol.

734: Anonymous

: >>732 Insane lmao.

735: Anonymous

: >>732 87 wins?! LOL.

736: Anonymous

: >>732 At this point, the guy's just a monster.

It was ironic. On the internet, people showered my play with praise. Since I had zero redeeming qualities in the real world, I’d found a place to belong online—some kind of weird equivalent exchange. Though, looking at it, it wasn't "equivalent" at all...

I let out a deep sigh as I scrolled through the comments praising me.

In the beginning, it satisfied my craving for validation. Eventually, I started reading them as a way to keep myself in check. Now, I felt nothing at all.

No matter how much of a big shot I acted like online, in reality, I was just a gloomy loner with no presence. I knew I’d neglected every effort outside of Shogi, so I didn't even have the right to complain about my current situation.

I slid the classroom door open with a clack and walked alone through the desolate school hallway.

That was when it happened.

—'Beginners Welcome! Shogi Club Recruiting Members!!'

A tattered, half-torn flyer caught my eye.

◇

Maybe I wanted to fill the void of my tedious high school life, or maybe I still had some lingering attachment to my old dreams. Either way, my subconscious reasons were unclear.

All I knew was that before I realized it, my hand was on the door to the Shogi club.

"E-excuse me..."

I opened the door, my voice so thin it felt like it might vanish into the air.

I’d expected a traditional, Japanese-style room. Instead, what met my eyes were long tables with Shogi boards and students sitting in chairs playing matches. A few of them were even huddled around computers, not even touching physical pieces.

Right, this is the AI era. I suppose it’s more meaningful to gather data from a computer than to sit on a tatami mat and theorize with someone else. Modern Shogi sure is something...

While I was staring blankly at the surprisingly professional-looking clubroom, a burly guy called out to me.

"Oh! You looking to join?"

"Uh, well... just visiting..."

"I see, I see! We were actually one person short! You're a lifesaver!"

"No, I said I'm just visiting..."

"Hey! Everyone! We've got a precious new recruit!!"

Listen to me.

"Wait, aren't you from my class...?"

Standing up from a seat in the back was Tojo Mika. Her long black hair swayed like moonlight reflecting on a night pond. She was in my class.

Intelligent, athletic, and beautiful—she was at the very top of the social hierarchy and incredibly popular with the guys. She lived in a world diametrically opposed to mine.

I never thought our paths would cross, but I guess she can play Shogi on top of everything else...

"You're joining starting today, right? Give us your name."

"Uh, it's Watanabe Mikado."

"Watanabe Mikado! The whole club welcomes you! By the way, I'm the president, Tsutomu Takebayashi! Nice to meet ya!!"

"I haven't decided if I'm joining yet, but... nice to meet you..."

This beefy Takebayashi-senpai really wasn't listening to a word I said.

"Sigh... of all the people to be our final member, it had to be a guy like this."

While a few half-hearted claps echoed through the room, Mika was the only one sighing with a look of pure annoyance on her face.

"So, what's your experience with Shogi?"

"Uh, well, I've played a bit..."

"Do you have a rank?"

"Rank...?"

"I mean a diploma. Do you literally know nothing...?"

I wasn't confused about the concept of a diploma; I was just questioning the word "rank." But as a loner, my natural trait was being unable to speak up for myself.

I answered her question honestly.

"I-I don't have a diploma, but..."

"What? You mean you've never even been to a dojo?"

"I went to one for a little bit when I was a kid..."

"And what was your rank there?"

I recalled the events of that fleeting period before I left the dojo. I answered with the rank that had been written on my wooden nameplate back then.

"Uh... 8th-kyu, I think..."

"...Seriously? You're a total beginner."

At my answer, the disappointment in Mika's voice intensified. She wouldn't even look me in the eye anymore.

"Watanabe-kun! Do you play any Shogi apps?"

"Oh, yeah. I play 'Shogi Wars' occasionally."

Shogi Wars is one of the most common apps. With its simple design and matchmaking system, it has the largest player base among Shogi fans. That was the app I’d been playing in the classroom earlier.

"Oho! Then tell us your rank on there!"

Takebayashi-senpai looked at me with expectant eyes. I didn't think my rank on some app mattered at all, but I told him the truth anyway.

"Um... I'm technically '9-Dan'."

"Huh??"

"What?"

The moment those words left my mouth, the clubroom went dead silent, as if it had frozen over.

<【Crazy】 Who the hell is Zimetsutei, the mysterious amateur powerhouse? Part 9>

260: zimetu

: I worked up the courage to join the Shogi club today.

261: Anonymous

: Oh, he's here.

262: Anonymous

: >>260 Wait, Zimetsutei is a student?! Lmao.

263: Anonymous

: >>262 That's common knowledge, dude.

264: zimetu

: They asked if I played any apps, so I told them I was 9-Dan on Shogi Wars. They just gave me these cold stares.

265: Anonymous

: >>264 LOL.

266: Anonymous

: >>264 Well, obviously!

267: zimetu

: The club's ace is a popular girl from my class, and it's super awkward.

268: Anonymous

: >>267 I'm jealous.

269: Anonymous

: >>267 Give us more details! Write a long post!!

270: zimetu

: I'm about to play a match against her as an entrance test. She looks pretty strong, so I'm not sure if I can win, but I'll give it my all.

271: Anonymous

: >>270 ...Ah.

272: Anonymous

: >>270 Hey, wait.

273: Anonymous

: >>270 Make sure you hold back, okay?

274: Anonymous

: >>270 Oh boy.

275: Anonymous

: >>270 Aaaand he's gone.

276: Anonymous

: >>270 Do you even realize you're basically the best in Japan?!

277: Anonymous

: >>270 This is gonna be bad.

278: Anonymous

: Zimetsutei really underestimates himself just because he's an online player.

279: Anonymous

: Just got here. Summarize in three lines.

280: Anonymous

: >>279 Zimetsutei / Moves in real life / Club is doomed.

281: Anonymous

: >>280 Got it. You've done it now, Emperor-chan.

282: Anonymous

: And thus, the win streak grows again.

◇

Apparently, there’s been a Shogi boom lately.

Even someone like me, who doesn't keep up with the world much, has seen more Shogi news on the internet recently.

That trend seemed to have reached Nishigasaki High School too. A few years ago, there weren't even enough members to form a club, but now the Shogi Club sign was hanging proudly.

I heard that since the boom started, more students became interested. A Go and Shogi club was formed, and eventually, enough people joined that the Shogi section could stand on its own.

The current club had six members excluding me. I hadn't learned their names yet, but apparently, they were all strong enough to compete in real-life tournaments.

Nishigasaki was in the "West District." You can enter individual tournaments anytime representing the school, but for the team tournaments, you need seven players. They’d been searching for that final member.

The West District was considered one of the stronger areas in the prefecture. Despite having talented players, our school had apparently been forced to eat humble pie year after year.

And that’s when I showed up. To be honest, this feels like a massive burden.

"Sigh..."

I let out a breath and shrank into a corner of the clubroom. I hadn't even officially decided to join, but the momentum of the room had just carried me along. Being a loner, I didn't have the courage to say no. Well, it was true that I was interested, and I did have a "promise" to keep, so I’d planned on joining eventually. But still, the timing... it was a lot.

Mika was currently setting up for the match, and I was just waiting for her.

Takebayashi-senpai, the president, had decided to throw me against Mika for an "entrance test." Mika was shooting me annoyed glares, and everyone else was looking at me with suspicion after my "9-Dan" comment. I really wanted to go home.

Actually, Mika definitely hates me... We're in the same class, give me a break.

"The only place that understands me is here..."

Muttering that, I sat alone and opened the message board on my phone, tapping away. In this place, where communication happened through clear text, my social anxiety didn't trigger. No one used flowery words because we were all strangers, and because we were strangers, nothing felt personal. It was a relief to speak without being judged by my appearance or social status.

Seeing me like that, a girl with a boyish look approached.

"Hey there."

She had pink hair in a short bob, with a half-up braid and oversized sleeves. I think her name was Rena Aoi, a first-year junior. Takebayashi-senpai mentioned she was the second strongest in the club after Mika.

Rena placed both hands on my shoulders and leaned in close.

"Wow, Mikado-chi, you're something else! Claiming to be 9-Dan in front of Tojo-senpai... that's a hell of a bluff."

Wait, what? Why did she get so close? Scared. And 'Mikado-chi'? No one's ever called me that.

"Uh, it wasn't really a bluff..."

"Nyahaha~! You're a riot, Mikado-chi!"

Listen to me.

"But seriously, you should be careful. Tojo-senpai might look like that, but she's exactly as scary as she looks. When Aoi first joined, she didn't hold back at all just 'cause I was a newbie! She totally crushed me! Scary, right?"

Yeah, scary. Help. I want to leave. Also, her face is too close.

"W-well, I am 9-Dan, you know? I'll probably be fine."

Why am I acting tough now? I've lost it. The fear is making me say stupid things. Someone shut my mouth...

"Nyahahaha! Mikado-chi, you really are the best!! Aoi likes you! I'm gonna root for you for real!"

"Oh, thanks..."

"There, there! Good boy!"

Uh, can you stop patting my head? What is with this girl? She's so... intense.

Also, this is really embarrassing...

"Hey, if you're gonna flirt, do it somewhere else."

"Oh, sorry..."

"It's Tojo-senpai! Run away~!"

As soon as she saw Mika's face, Rena bolted to the far edge of the room.

"...I'm ready."

Ignoring Rena, Mika sat down in front of a board she’d placed on a long table. There were seven members in the room including me, and most of them were watching the two of us with intense curiosity.

"Our president is a softie, so he’ll probably let you join no matter how this goes. But personally, I won't acknowledge you unless you’re at least 3rd-kyu."

That’s what she said.

I mean, I told you, I'm 9-Dan...

"...?"

"What?"

As Mika opened the piece box and started arranging them on the board, I felt a slight sense of dissonance.

"Um... we're playing an even game, right?"

"Huh?"

Mika looked at me with pure exasperation.

An even game—that meant playing without a handicap. I’d assumed that’s how we were playing.

However, Mika removed every piece except for her King, Golds, and Pawns.

"You're a beginner, so we're playing with an 8-piece handicap. Obviously."

"Wait, what...?"

I couldn't help but let out a shocked noise.

An 8-piece handicap is exactly what it sounds like. You start the game with eight of your major pieces removed. You take out the strongest pieces—the Rook and Bishop—then both Lances, both Knights, and both Silvers. All you have left are the Golds.

It was a massive, overwhelming advantage for the other player.

"I mean, if it's an 8-piece handicap, I'm definitely going to win..."

The words slipped out. It wasn't a lie. With an 8-piece advantage, I didn't think I could lose to anyone. I once played an 8-piece handicap against the strongest AI that had beaten pro players, just for fun, and I remember winning in minutes.

Besides, there are established winning strategies for an 8-piece handicap. If you just memorize them, you win by default.

"For a beginner who lies about being 9-Dan, an 8-piece handicap is more than enough," Mika said with a mocking smirk.

I didn't have the courage to correct her, so I had to follow her lead.

"I-I guess it's fine... though it's a shame I won't get to see how strong you actually are..."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I mean, if it's an 8-piece handicap, I'll probably finish the game in under a minute if I just follow the book. You won't even be able to play properly..."

I said it from the bottom of my heart. I wasn't trying to be mean.

Mika began to tremble. She slammed the pieces she’d just put away back onto the board.

"...Fine. We'll play an even game."

"Tojo-kun!"

"Stay out of this, President. This is between me and him. Besides, there isn't anyone in this room who can beat me in an even game anyway."

Mika glanced at a whiteboard listing the club's ranks and names, seemingly cutting herself off mid-sentence.

"And besides, it looks like I need to teach you exactly how strong I am."

"Tojo-kun..."

Apparently, I’d stepped on a landmine. I felt like shrinking under the heat of her anger, but I could see her point. I was the newcomer. If I were really confident in my skill, I should have joined as a freshman. To her, I was just a guy who didn't know how strong she was, claiming I could win if given a handicap.

If Mika were at the level of a Shoreikai member, she had every right to take my comment as a provocation. In that case, the chances of me winning an even game would be zero.

If I lose, I don't know what she'll say to me. I have to stay focused and give this everything I’ve got.

"So, are you ready?"

Facing a confident Mika, I wiped away some cold sweat and swallowed hard.

"Y-yeah..."

The match...

""Let's have a good game!!""

...began.

<【Crazy】 Who the hell is Zimetsutei, the mysterious amateur powerhouse? Part 9>

356: Anonymous

: Thread's moving. Did Zimetsutei show up?

357: Anonymous

: He's already gone off to do the deed.

358: Anonymous

: Sorry, I'm a newbie, but how strong is 9-Dan on Shogi Wars? Is it like "win a regional tournament" strong?

359: Anonymous

: >>358 Total newbie lol.

360: Anonymous

: >>358 Not even close.

361: Anonymous

: >>358 More like "win a national tournament" strong.

362: Anonymous

: >>358 He's basically a pro.

363: Anonymous

: Wait, a guy like that is trying to join a high school club? Isn't that insane?

364: Anonymous

: >>363 Yeah, it's insane.

365: Anonymous

: >>363 That's why we're all panicking.

376: Anonymous

: I wonder what Emperor-chan is thinking right now.

I never thought the day would come where I’d be playing Shogi against a girl from my class.

Since I play online all the time, I’ve probably played against girls through the screen, but facing one in person hasn't happened since middle school.

The girl in front of me was the school’s "madonna." The distance between us now was closer than the distance we’d usually stand apart to talk.

Anxious feelings crawled up my spine. I was painfully aware of my own lack of experience with the opposite sex, and it was irritating.

But on the flip side, once I was focused, those feelings disappeared, and I could devote everything to reading the board.

—Because right now, I’d stopped thinking about anything else.

"No way... Why... Why am I..."

Mika whispered, her hand trembling as she held a piece.

"...Holy crap," Rena muttered, her voice a mix of shock and strange excitement.

And it wasn't just them. The other club members were leaning over the board, staring in utter disbelief.

"...Um, it's mate, right?"

Mika was still staring at the board, shaking. I couldn't help but speak up.

I had no idea why she was so upset, but the outcome of the match was decided.

"I... resign...!"

Mika threw down her hand in frustration, clenching her fist. I bowed my head quietly.

"Thank you for the game."

I didn't usually say that in online Shogi, so it felt strangely fresh.

As for the game itself, it was a 'Double Yagura' match—a stiff, traditional style known as the "Ancient Set-piece."

I didn't remember much of the old Yagura theories, so I followed her lead and played the traditional moves until the mid-game. Mika, true to her serious personality, seemed to be sticking strictly to the "Old Theory" even after the mid-game started.

But Shogi theory evolves every day. A move that was considered "best" yesterday might be outdated today.

I countered her old theory by using modern, cutting-edge variations, overturning her solid position and taking the lead. From there, I just pushed through to the win.

Well, since Mika purposely responded with easy-to-understand traditional moves, she was probably just testing me. For someone like me who fights high-ranking online players daily, it’s rare to win a game where the theory fits so perfectly.

I turned to President Takebayashi for confirmation.

"I won. Does that mean... I passed the test?"

"Y-yeah... Great job, Watanabe-kun! I never expected you to beat her in an even game. Even I didn't see that coming!"

Takebayashi-senpai slapped my back repeatedly. He was probably holding back, but it actually hurt.

"Haha... No, it's just because she was holding back."

"Oho, is that how it looked to you?"

"...?"

Takebayashi-senpai smiled as he said that, leaving me a bit confused. Then, he turned to the downward-looking Mika and spoke in a gentle, admonishing tone.

"Well, Tojo-kun? His skill is the real deal. Maybe that '9-Dan' comment was true after all?"

"..."

Mika snapped her head up and glared at me. Her eyes were teary, but she suppressed her voice and slammed both hands onto the table.

"I... I don't acknowledge it! I'll never acknowledge you...!"

With that, Mika stood up and stormed out of the clubroom.

"Wait, what? Scary. I won, but she still won't acknowledge me...?"

"Nyahahaha~! Mikado-chi, that's exactly why you're a riot!"

While the other members looked at me with varying degrees of shock, only Rena was smiling, poking my shoulder repeatedly.

Yeah, she's better than the President, but it still hurts. Though, it's actually kind of hitting a pressure point…

◇

In the tense atmosphere, I packed up the pieces while being surrounded by the bewildered club members.

"Seriously though, taking down Tojo-senpai in one go... Mikado-chi, you're a beast~!"

Rena teased, drawing out the end of her sentence while digging her elbow into my shoulder.

"Rena-kun, how did the match look from your perspective?"

Takebayashi-senpai stood behind me with his arms crossed, looking like a literal guardian deity. Despite being in the Shogi club, the president looked like he belonged in a sports club.

"Hmm. The strategy was classic Double Yagura. His playstyle was sharp and bold, but accurate with zero misses. He even used the shortest possible sequence for the final mate. No matter how you look at it, it was a 100-point game~"

Being showered with praise like that was embarrassing. I always thought of myself as having a rougher, more aggressive playstyle, so being told it was "accurate" made me happy.

"I see. And how strong would you say he is?"

"You can't tell from just one game! But his '24-move Yagura' was perfect. I’d say he’s at least '1st-Dan' level, officially."

""What...?!""

Two other male members reacted with a mix of shock and jealousy, looking at me with dissatisfied expressions.

I see, so my skill is around "1st-Dan." As I thought, there’s a big gap between online ranks and real-life ranks. I’m glad I didn't get ahead of myself.

"H-hitting 1st-Dan right when you join? I've never heard of that!"

"Y-yeah! I don't care if Rena Aoi's judgment is good, I can't accept this!"

As the members voiced their complaints, Rena looked at them with an exasperated expression. Takebayashi-senpai stepped in to settle things.

"Sorry about that, Watanabe-kun. They've got their own feelings about this."

"N-no. I'm the one who should be sorry, acting all high and mighty when I just joined..."

"Don't worry about it! Even if it was just an entrance test, beating Tojo-kun is a huge achievement. Even if it was just a fluke, or a coincidence, or pure luck!"

Takebayashi-senpai shot a glance at the complaining members, and they all swallowed their words, enduring the situation.

"Well! It’s late. I’d love to have a welcome party, but we don't exactly have a budget! Sorry, Watanabe-kun, but you'll have to settle for our best wishes! Once again, welcome to the club!"

"Th-thank you."

President Takebayashi nodded with his hand on my shoulder, while Rena stood next to me, clapping with a big smile. No matter how hard I listened, I could only hear Rena’s applause.

Feeling a bit of awkwardness gnawing at me, I finally left the Shogi club for the day.

◇

On the way home from school, I stop by a nearby convenience store to pick up an ice cream bar. I munch on it while casually firing up Shogi Wars on my phone.

My opponent is a fellow top-ranker—a powerhouse 7-Dan. It’s a Shogi streamer who goes by the name 'Laika,' and they’re a seriously tough customer.

To make things even more interesting, they’ve opted for the same Double Yagura opening I just played against Tojo. The strategy and the castle are identical, but their style of play is a world apart from hers.

"Man... Laika-san is something else. They’re good."

The ice cream is on the verge of melting, so I’m blitzing my moves at high speed, yet my opponent is firing back just as fast.

If this keeps up—or rather, if the game proceeds along the standard theoretical lines—I’ll win. But the more moves it takes, the more my ice cream melts. If it drips, it’s a moral defeat.

Reflecting on how my earlier match with Tojo didn’t go as smoothly as I’d liked, I decide to counter with a strategy called the 'Reiwa Rapid Attack Yagura.'

<(INSANE) Who is this anonymous amateur powerhouse 'Zimetsutei'?! Part 9>

Anonymous 611:

LOL, he’s playing Laika right now.

Anonymous 612:

Whoa, it’s a Double Yagura.

Anonymous 613:

Is Zimetsutei going for a rapid attack?

Anonymous 614:

613 Looks like the Reiwa Rapid Attack Yagura, doesn't it?

Anonymous 615:

Laika is fast, but Zimetsutei’s moves are on another level.

Anonymous 616:

He’s playing so fast you’d think he’s got an emergency to get to, lol.

Anonymous 617:

So damn fast.

Anonymous 618:

The endgame was a blur! LMAO.

Anonymous 619:

He saw the mate from a mile away.

Anonymous 620:

Ah, it’s over.

Anonymous 621:

Laika-chan... DE-STROYED.

Anonymous 622:

Zimetsutei’s evaluation bar just went up and up. Hilarious.

Anonymous 623:

Too strong. This guy is a literal monster.

Anonymous 624:

Can’t wait for Laika-chan to upload the video of her losing!

Anonymous 625:

Wait, didn't he say he was gonna play against a girl in his class today? Whatever happened with that?

◇

It’s been one day since I joined the Nishigasaki High School Shogi Club.

In the morning, I arrive at school while battling my usual sense of crushing gloom.

No friends, no one to talk to... for me, school life is a special kind of hell. If I had even one common hobby with anyone, I might be able to join a conversation, but unfortunately, I have nothing but Shogi. I don't understand anything except Shogi. And in this class, almost no one plays.

The only person who can play, Tojo, seems to despise me. Besides, our social standing is so different that I feel like I might pass out just from the aura she radiates.

And so, another long, depressing day was about to begin.

I slide the door open and walk into the classroom with the gait of a ghost—someone whose presence is noted by no one.

However, I immediately sense a bizarre atmosphere—a weight of collective attention. I instinctively lift my gaze from the floor.

For some reason, my classmates are all staring at me.

◇

I’m used to looking at crowds, but I am definitely not used to crowds looking at me.

I stood there, bewildered by the stares and the hushed murmurs rippling through the room.

Why are they all looking at me? Did I do something? I'm just a useless loner.

...Don’t tell me they found out I joined the Shogi club yesterday? Are they thinking, 'How dare a bottom-tier piece of trash like you have the nerve to join a club!'?

If that’s it, I’m gonna cry.

"Wait... what?"

Just as I was about to head to my seat, I froze before I could pull out my chair.

For some reason, there was a Shogi board sitting on my desk.

...A Shogi board?! On my desk?!

"I mean, what is this...?"

I didn't understand. At all. What was this? Some new form of bullying?

Was putting a Shogi board on my desk their way of saying, 'You’re a bottom-tier loner whose only redeeming quality is Shogi!'?

If that’s it, I’m definitely gonna cry. Didn't they learn in school that you're not supposed to hit people with the truth?

I was panicking internally, but I kept my cool and scanned the room with my eyes. However, the looks I got in return were filled with suspicion, as if to say, 'No, who the hell are you?'

I still didn't understand what was happening, but I gathered that because a Shogi board had appeared on someone’s desk early in the morning, everyone was staring at the person whose desk it was.

But I really, truly didn't know the 'why' behind it.

I wasn't sure if I should even touch a Shogi board when I didn't know who it belonged to. I couldn't even put my bag down.

Do I have to keep this board out for the rest of the day? 'I lost my textbooks, but I have a Shogi board'? I felt like the teacher would throw a piece at me instead of chalk.

"Do you have a moment?"

Just then, a familiar, dignified voice called out from the side.

I slowly turned toward the voice and saw Tojo standing there, arms crossed, with a look of slight irritation on her face.

"H-Hey. Tojo-san is talking to Watanabe."

"Why would Tojo-san talk to a guy like him...?"

"Wait, isn't that Watanabe? The guy who’s always staring at his phone...?"

The fact that the top of the social ladder was suddenly talking to me drew the attention of the entire class.

"W-What is it...?"

My voice was a mixture of agitation and confusion. My face twitched as I looked up at her.

Without a word, Tojo moved to the other side of my desk, grabbed the chair from the seat in front of mine, and sat down.

Wait. Does that mean this Shogi board is—

"How about a game?"

Is this girl insane?

<'How about a game?' Part 10>

zimetu29:

I walked into class this morning and there was a Shogi board on my desk. It was a public execution. I'm in the bathroom right now because my stomach hurts.

Anonymous 30:

29 ???

Anonymous 31:

29 That makes no sense, lol.

Anonymous 32:

29 Emperor-chan, does your tummy hurt?

Anonymous 33:

29 What does that even mean?

zimetu34:

It’s that top-tier girl I mentioned yesterday. She’s got her sights on me and made me play a match in the morning. Playing a match while the whole class watches is literal hell.

Anonymous 35:

34 Yikes.

Anonymous 36:

34 Just imagining that makes my stomach hurt too...

Anonymous 37:

34 So that's why you're in the bathroom now.

Anonymous 38:

34 Enough with the small talk. Give us the result.

zimetu39:

38 There wasn't much of a result. It was right before morning homeroom, so it ended halfway through the mid-game. She clicked her tongue and went back to her seat.

Anonymous 40:

39 Eh...

Anonymous 41:

39 That’s rough, lol.

Anonymous 42:

39 That tongue click was probably aimed at the teacher, not Emperor-chan.

Anonymous 43:

39 Just pretend the tongue click was a blown kiss. Trick your brain.

Anonymous 44:

39 Stay strong, Zimetsutei. You're a brave boy.

◇

Tojo Mika’s life had been a series of hardships and setbacks.

Sandwiched between a talented mother and father, she was reminded of her own lack of brilliance every single day.

Whether she got high marks on a test, was selected for a sports team, or was popular with the boys, nothing ever filled the void in her heart.

The world was irrational, absurd, and rarely functioned in one's favor.

Trends and countermeasures. Effort and results. The thing that always betrayed one’s actual skill was that mysterious obstacle called 'luck.'

I had hated luck since I was a child.

No matter how hard you work, whether those efforts bear fruit depends on luck.

No matter how much you polish yourself, whether anyone notices depends on luck.

No matter how perfectly you prepare, whether you succeed in the end depends on luck.

In life, a person's fortune follows them through every endeavor.

I hated that.

The state of being 'lucky' was something I, who tried to do everything perfectly, had no connection to. Since I started at 100%, no amount of luck would ever take me to 120%. But bad luck could drop me down to 80% or 70%.

That’s why luck has always been my greatest enemy.

And it was the same this time.

Yesterday, a guy named Watanabe Mikado suddenly showed up to look at the Shogi club.

With his messy hair, listless eyes, slumped shoulders, and a negative aura devoid of any talent, he was the textbook definition of the unpopular 'loner' archetype in class.

I scoffed at him, thinking he had likely never put effort into anything in his life.

But when we actually started playing... he defeated me in a matter of minutes.

The man had dismantled my best strategy—one I had prepared to crush him with—with an utterly nonchalant expression.

Again, I thought.

In Shogi, there is a term called 'finger luck.'

It’s used when someone stumbles upon the correct move—the best move—without actually having read the board correctly.

I thought he had beaten me through 'finger luck.' I thought he had just gotten lucky.

Once again, luck had abandoned me. It had betrayed me. Luck always sits above skill. The reason I lose is because of luck.

Because I put in more effort than anyone else—

◇

After school, I find myself reflexively heading for the exit before catching myself and turning back toward the clubroom.

I’d already forgotten that I was a member of the Shogi club. Even though my application was accepted today, the moment school ends, my first impulse is to scurry home.

But I’m a high schooler now; it’s high time I joined a club.

Interacting with strangers still makes me a bit nervous, but since it's the Shogi club, it's a lot better than other clubs. Besides, it's not that I'm bad at talking to people. I just don't initiate conversations, which has resulted in me spiraling down the path of the loner.

As I miserably try to justify my social standing to myself, I find myself standing in front of the clubroom door.

Alright. I’ll follow Takebayashi-senpai’s lead and give a loud greeting to show my enthusiasm as a new member!

"H-Hello... excuse me..."

I offer a greeting as weak as a slug as I open the door.

But there’s no one inside. It’s dead quiet, without a hint of a human presence. Just a Shogi board sitting there.

It seems I arrived too early.

Come to think of it, my class got let out early today. I guess it’ll be a while before the upperclassmen show up.

...Wait. If the clubroom is unlocked and the lights are on, and a Shogi board is already set up, does that mean someone got here before me?

"So, you finally came."

Just as I was wondering, Tojo’s voice rang out from inside the room.

I looked over and saw her sitting in a chair by the computer in the back.

"Oh, Tojo-san... Uh, good work today."

"Just sit down."

"Huh?"

The moment she saw me, she stood up, cutting off my greeting and pointing to the long table where the Shogi board was waiting.

"We’re finishing the game from this morning."

"..."

She was referring to the match we’d started before homeroom.

I looked at her with a skeptical expression, remaining silent.

I’d been thinking this since this morning, but I didn't understand why Tojo was so obsessed with playing against me. I’m just a bottom-tier loner with no redeeming qualities. Wouldn't she lose social points just by being associated with me?

"I don't mind playing... but can I ask why you want to play me so badly?"

I sat down across the long table from her, just like yesterday, and posed the question.

"Because... I can't accept it."

Tojo repeated the same sentiment she’d expressed the day before.

"I’ve spent my life working hard. I’ve spent years refining my skills. And I’m not just talking about Shogi. Academics, sports—I’ve done everything within my power to excel. But Shogi... I’ve poured more time into Shogi than anything else. I’ve worked harder at it than anyone."

Facing me directly, she slammed her hands onto the table and stood up, glaring down at me with mounting rage.

"And for me to lose to some newcomer who just showed up? To a guy like you who looks like he has zero talent? To someone who looks like he’s never worked a day in his life?! How could I possibly accept that?!"

It was an emotion I’d never experienced before. I couldn't tell if what I was seeing was irritation toward me or her own sense of shame. But a surge of uncontrollable feeling had clearly exploded within her, and she was hurling all that directionless emotion at me.

Faced with this outburst, I silently looked away.

"How can someone who can't even look another person in the eye possibly defeat me?!"

She gripped her bangs tightly, her voice growing sharper as she struggled to process her feelings.

Normally, I would have been flustered and panicked. But her relentless insults were actually making me feel strangely calm.

I didn't care about being looked down upon. I am an idiot, and I’m fully aware of how pathetic I must look to others.

However, there was one thing I felt I had to say.

"It’s true that I have no talent. I’m not very smart, and I’m terrible at sports. My hair is a mess, my posture is bad, I’m not good-looking, and I’m short. ...That’s because I never put any effort into those things."

I spoke with an almost excessive level of self-deprecation, dragging myself down.

"Being looked at with cold eyes, shivering in the corner of the classroom like a pathetic loner—it’s all the result of my own lack of effort."

I met her intensity with total apathy as I bluntly laid out my own shameful weaknesses.

Tojo gave a distorted smile, seemingly in agreement.

"T-That’s right! That’s why you—"

"Then why won't you acknowledge this?"

I pointed to the Shogi board.

Tojo’s expression froze.

"Just as you said, I’m someone who hasn't put effort into much of anything. But when it comes to Shogi, I pride myself on having worked harder than anyone. Of course, I’m sure there are countless people stronger than me, and I can't say for sure that my efforts will always lead to results. ...But I know for a fact that I’ve worked for this."

"Are you saying you’ve worked harder than me...?"

"No, that’s not it. You know that your past efforts have shaped your current skill, Tojo-san. So why can't you acknowledge the crystallization of effort behind someone else’s skill?"

"T-That’s...!"

I continued as she fell silent.

"If you want to hate me, go ahead. If you want to make fun of me, be my guest."

"I-I’m not making fun of you...!"

"But I won't let you deny my life in Shogi. I won't back down on that. This is the only... redeeming quality I have."

I was the one who had just finished exposing his own ugliness. I knew she could fire back with a dozen different insults. But even if I had to throw away my pride, there was one line I wouldn't let her cross.

Not Shogi. Never Shogi.

"I... I..."

"Anyway, I’m sorry for acting all high and mighty when I'm just a piece of trash. Don't mind me, I was just talking to myself. ...Now, shall we start the match?"

While Tojo stood there, mouth agape and visibly shaken, I began taking the pieces out of the box and arranging them on the board.

◇

In Shogi, there is something called 'Joseki'—traditional theory.

These are the 'correct moves,' refined and polished over a long history until they are free of waste.

As long as both players follow Joseki, the position will never truly crumble. Or, it leads to a sequence where one side has a clear path to victory. You could call it a roadmap for winning.

However, just because a move is 'correct' according to theory doesn't mean it’s the 'best move.'

If a god created those moves, they would be undeniably correct. But Joseki was created by us humans over a vast span of time.

Therefore, Joseki changes and evolves with the era.

"..."

In the silent clubroom, only the sound of our pieces echoed.

I took a sip of water from the vending machine while watching the game clock sitting next to the board.

Tojo’s hand had stopped moving around the end of the mid-game. She was hunched over the board, lost in thought.

In amateur Shogi, thinking for three minutes is considered a 'long think,' but Tojo had been pondering for over ten minutes. In a real tournament, that kind of time management would be fatal.

The reason she couldn't emerge from the ocean of her own thoughts was simple. She was playing what should be the correct moves—the theoretical ones—and yet, for some reason, the game wasn't going the way she wanted.

"Damn it..."

Unable to find the answer, Tojo looked away from the board and glanced at the clock. Her expression twisted when she realized how much her time had dwindled.

I watched her, a sense of unease growing in my chest.

This definitely isn't going to end before the others get here. If the other members see us like this, they’re going to look at me weirdly... I really want to avoid standing out... But then again, we're in the Shogi club playing Shogi, so there shouldn't be anything wrong with it... But still, it’s scary...

I was suffering from the typical loner’s anxiety and excessive paranoia about the immediate future.

Humans are wired to fear the unknown. I had never anticipated playing a match against the class queen and the ace of the Shogi club. It was completely uncharted territory. It was only natural to be anxious.

"I... I found it!"

How long had she been thinking?

Tojo whispered those words to herself, her expression regaining its confidence as she played her next move with force.

In that instant, I played my response with no time taken at all.

"What...?!"

Tojo looked stunned.

After a brief pause, she glared at me with an intense gaze.

Her move wasn't bad; in fact, it was close to the best move. It was exactly the move I had expected her to make.

—And that’s exactly why I had finished reading the board through to that move a long time ago.

Shogi isn't a game about guessing the next move. It’s a game about reading through the hundred or so moves until the end.

If you obsess over the move right in front of you, you’ll neglect the reading that lies beyond it.

"How can you read that fast...?"

A look at the game clock showed a stark difference in our remaining time.

—1 minute— versus —18 minutes—

Tojo had only two minutes left, while I still had eighteen.

We had both started with twenty minutes. Considering we had resumed from the mid-game, Tojo’s play was incredibly slow, even for an amateur.

Her personality was likely reflected in her moves.

Tojo’s style was solid and sturdy. She didn't take risks; she played moves that weren't 'wrong.' She played a very traditional, 'stiff' style of Shogi.

But that made her inefficient.

The good old-fashioned style. The Yagura. Both yesterday and today, Tojo had used an old-school formation called the 'Yagura Castle.'

In the old days, Shogi was all about Joseki. Many strategies involved building a set formation before the fighting began.

Yagura is one of those. It involves spending many moves to build a fortification for your King, and only once that castle is complete do you begin your attack.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Shogi has a proverb: 'Avoid a sitting King.'

It means, 'If you don't protect your King, you’ll die quickly.'

So, the ironclad rule of old-school Shogi was to always protect the King—to build a castle—before attacking. Apparently, some dojos made this a mandatory principle and would harshly scold anyone who broke it.

However, in modern Shogi, we 'don't castle the King.' We don't protect him, Tojo.

In the last few years, the level of the Shogi world has skyrocketed, shifting from an 'era of following Joseki' to an 'era of seeking the best move.'

If you have time to castle, attack instead. If you have the few moves it takes to build a castle, use them to end the game. Because every single move counts.

See? It’s simple, right? ...And the thing that forced that reality upon us was 'AI.'

AI has no emotions and no fear. That’s why it completely rejected the idea of 'Shogi as a conversation with your opponent'—the kind where you build castles and prepare your attack in sync. Instead, it gave birth to 'Optimal Shogi,' which uses the fastest, shortest path to crush the opponent.

What the AI produces is the absolute best move. The correct move in the truest sense.

Many professional players struggled with those moves, and many Shogi enthusiasts went through cycles of rejection and acceptance.

—Eventually, as time passed, those who played the old Joseki began to disappear, replaced by those who imitated the AI’s best moves.

And those AI-generated moves began to be hailed as the new 'Joseki' of the modern era.

Since I’ve been a loner for a long time, I only spent a very short period at a dojo, and no one ever taught me the finer points of traditional theory.

But in exchange, I’ve spent countless hours at home researching with my AI. And I’ve spent just as much time battling on the internet against others who were doing the same.

(I’ll say it clearly in my head, Tojo Mika. Your moves are... too far behind the times.)

—Beep.

The game clock sounded, signaling that Tojo had run out of time.

Once your time is up, you enter 'Byo-yomi'—countdown. It means, 'If you don't move within X seconds, you lose.'

The countdown was set to thirty seconds.

In other words, from here until the end, Tojo had to make every single move within thirty seconds.

◇

Tojo’s clock had run out. She was now in byo-yomi—a thirty-second countdown for every single move.

Even in this dire situation, with her life hanging by a thread, Tojo hadn't given up. She was still desperately searching for the best possible move.

The buzzer nipped at her heels. Her hands moved without a hint of their usual grace. The sound of the pieces hitting the board had changed; the sharp, rhythmic clack! had been replaced by a frantic, sliding skree! She simply didn't have the luxury of snapping her pieces down anymore.

“Ngh...”

Tojo bit her lower lip, somehow managing to find a response within the grueling thirty-second window.

But barely three seconds after her piece touched the board, I had already fired back with my next move.

“Dammit...!”

The curse slipped through her teeth. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but I didn't let up.

I wasn't using my own clock to think. I was doing all my calculating while she was on the move. Because of that, my time remained untouched, while her remaining life was being chipped away piece by piece.

In the world of Shogi, this was called ‘clock-grinding.’ When a massive gap in time exists, you can weaponize the clock itself. It shatters the opponent's composure, ruins their concentration, and spikes the probability of them making a blunder.

The current state of the board was the direct result of that suffocating cycle of pressure.

“Am I... going to lose? Again...?”

As her defeat became an undeniable reality, Tojo’s face turned a ghostly shade of pale.

“...”

I remained silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Strictly speaking, Tojo wasn't weak.

We had only played twice, once yesterday and once today, but her skill was more than enough to justify her position as the Shogi club’s ace.

It might sound arrogant, but at first, I actually thought she was holding back. That was the kind of gap I felt when we started.

Throughout our matches, Tojo hadn't made a single obvious mistake—no missed reads, no tactical blunders. She played a near-perfect game, move after move.

In terms of raw talent, Tojo was undoubtedly superior. In fact, her stability was something I felt I should emulate. She was exactly what everyone in class called her: a genius.

...Which meant the only reason for the gap between us was a ‘difference in information.’

The gap existed because I specialized in modern, AI-refined strategies, while Tojo was still clinging to the traditional Shogi of the past.

That was the decisive factor.

“...Ngh. I... I resign.”

Though the clock was still ticking, Tojo realized she was beaten. She dropped her captured pieces onto the board and whispered the words of surrender.

Frustration and regret were etched deep into her features.

“Thank you for the game,” I said, bowing my head in respect.

The fierce battle of the Yagura, which had lasted since morning, ended just like yesterday—with my total victory.

“...Hey. Tell me. Why are you so strong?” Tojo asked, her head bowed low.

Her voice was trembling, on the verge of tears. I could hear the anger and jealousy boiling underneath.

“...That’s a cynical question.”

“Huh?”

She looked up at me, clearly confused by my choice of words. I offered a small, weary smile and continued.

“Tojo-san... if someone weaker than you asked that same question, how would you answer?”

“I’d say... because I worked harder than anyone else.”

“Then you already have your answer.”

Tojo fell silent the moment the words left my mouth.

“I can’t say with any certainty that effort always pays off,” I said. “People have different strengths and weaknesses, and there’s an inherent gap in natural talent. If just working hard was enough to beat any genius, every competition in the world would be a lot more unbalanced. ...But if you want to win—if you want to seize victory—you have to work harder than everyone else. Those who don't put in the effort will always be overtaken by those who do. Effort is the bare minimum requirement for winning.”

Tojo snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with defiance.

“Then why can’t I beat you?! I’ve worked harder than anyone! I know I have talent! ...But I still can't win!”

I ignored her outburst and reached for my King from the piece box.

The character was worn down, the ink faded in places. It was proof that this piece had been used in hundreds, if not thousands, of matches over the years.

“It’s simply because I have better information than you do.”

“Information...?”

I set the King back down and looked away from her intense gaze.

“The Yagura fortress you played was well-constructed. A few decades ago, it would have been a textbook example of perfect theory. ...But modern Shogi isn't that patient anymore. Intense battles start right from the opening now. It’s becoming common not to even bother fully fortifying the King. Did you know that, Tojo-san?”

Tojo bit her lip and gave a quiet, frustrated nod.

She probably knew of it in passing. But she likely lacked the time to relearn everything from scratch—or perhaps her pride prevented her from abandoning the effort she’d already invested. She had been looking away from the truth.

“The rest is simple. I know exactly how to break your Yagura. That’s why I won. Nothing more.”

“How did you learn how to do that?!”

“I used an AI to analyze it. I researched the best response for every possible move, and then I memorized them.”

“S-So! You’re saying I lost just because I chose the Yagura?!”

I couldn't help but react to her overly simplistic conclusion.

“...Are you kidding me?”

“Huh...?”

Tojo flinched, her body tensing up.

She was undervaluing everything I’d done. Hearing her reach such a shallow conclusion made me feel like my own years of struggle were being insulted, and I felt a sudden surge of cold aggression.

“It’s not just the Yagura. Gangi, Mino, Silver Crown, Anaguma... Central Rook, Fourth-file, Third-file, Opposing Rook, Right Fourth-file... from surprise attacks and traps to niche strategies and modern trends. I’ve learned the counters to every single castle and strategy in the game. I memorized them all and built counters for every single one of them.”

I spoke while remembering all the bitter, crushing defeats I’d suffered in the past.

As Tojo stared at me in stunned silence, I repeated the conclusion I’d reached long ago.

“—Isn't that what ‘effort’ means?”

In Shogi, the loser is always the one at fault. That’s just the nature of the game.

To fix the reason you lost, you have to untangle the game move by move.

Where did it go wrong? Where did it get better? How do I win? How do I stop losing?

What if the opponent plays this? What if they ignore that? What if they’ve researched the same branch of theory as me?

You explore every possible pattern. You prepare every possible counter. You reach for the answer while your head spins from the endless questions and lack of easy solutions.

—To win, to truly put in the effort... wasn't that what it was all about?

“...Ah... aah...”

Tojo was speechless.

The frustration on her face faded, replaced by large tears that began to spill over and roll down her cheeks.

Before I knew it, Tojo was crying.

◇

I think everyone has a regret or two.

A moment where you think, I should have done this, or I should have said that. Everyone feels that way sometimes.

And right now, I was experiencing that feeling in real-time. I was regretting my life choices immensely.

“...hic... sniff... ugh...”

Tojo was sobbing, her tears dripping onto the floor.

She was trying to stifle her voice, leaving only the sound of her sniffling echoing in the room.

It had been nearly thirty minutes since the match started, which meant the other club members would be arriving any second.

I’ve really done it now.

I, the bottom-tier loner, had committed the ultimate sin: I made Tojo Mika, the literal peak of the school hierarchy, cry.

Is my life over? It feels over.

“U-Um... I might have said too much. I’m sorry...”

I tried to console her, hoping to reduce my eventual sentence, but a socially awkward guy who’s barely ever spoken to anyone doesn't exactly have ‘comforting girls’ in his skill set. If anything, I was the one who felt like crying from the sheer awkwardness.

“...!”

“Wait—”

Tojo stood up, hiding her face, and bolted out of the clubroom without a word.

Wait, she’s leaving again?! At least stay for the club activities! I know it’s awkward, but come on!

Slam!

The sound of the door echoed through the room.

“Man...”

But the door immediately opened again. Instead of Tojo coming back, Rena walked in.

“Huh? Was Tojo-senpai crying just now?”

Rena looked back and forth between the door and the room, having clearly sensed something was off when they passed each other.

“Wait, don’t tell me... Mikado-chi, did you totally blow it?”

“...”

“Helloooo? Can you hear me? Mikado-chi?”

I hadn't actually done anything wrong, but I couldn't exactly deny the situation, so I kept my mouth shut.

Seeing my silence, Rena looked at the Shogi board on my table and grinned mischievously.

“...Heh. So you played Tojo-senpai. And she ended up crying like that... interesting.”

Rena seemed to fill in the blanks of what happened with her own imagination. She walked over to me, leaning in until her face was inches from mine.

“If I asked you right now, would you make Aoi cry just like Tojo-senpai?”

She let out a playful, provocative lick of her lips.

I had no idea what she was thinking, but she was way too close.

“W-What are you talking about? Also, you’re too close.”

“Nyahaha~ Mikado-chi, you’re surprisingly hard to make blush, aren't you? Are you secretly a ladies' man?”

“...”

“Anyway, jokes aside—what happened?”

“I just... played a normal match with Tojo-san...”

As I was trying to explain my confusion, the door opened a third time.

“Good work, everyone! I just passed Tojo-kun, and she seemed to be in tears. Did something happen?”

The club president, Takebayashi-senpai, had arrived.

“Ah, President! Listen to this—it looks like Mikado-chi made Tojo-senpai cry!”

Hey, stop snitching!

“Ho?”

Takebayashi-senpai narrowed his eyes, looking like he’d just found a very interesting toy.

Noticing the state of the board where Tojo and I had played, he stood with his hands on his hips.

“So you played Tojo-kun! Tell me, Watanabe-kun—do you remember the kifu of that match?”

“Ah, yes. I remember it.”

A kifu is the history of a match—the game log, essentially.

Anyone even remotely experienced in Shogi can usually remember an entire game they just played. For those with good memories, it’s not rare to remember matches for a month or more.

Since I’d just finished, every move was still crystal clear in my mind.

I wrote out the record of the morning match and handed it to Takebayashi-senpai.

He took the paper, set up a board, and had Rena sit across from him.

Following my notes, he began to recreate the battle between Tojo and me.

“...Hmm.”

“Whoa... this is incredible...”

The two of them muttered to themselves as the recreation progressed.

Takebayashi-senpai looked deep in thought, while Rena looked slightly disturbed.

“Rena-kun, it seems your assessment was way off.”

“Well, I only saw one match yesterday. But looking at this... yeah.”

“Indeed.”

Once he finished recreating the game to the very end, Takebayashi-senpai stood up and handed the paper back to me.

“Thank you. That was very informative.”

“Y-Yeah, sure.”

“Now, I know it’s a bit rude to ask this directly, but—”

Takebayashi-senpai, who was usually smiling and boisterous, looked at me with a rare, sharp intensity.

“—Who exactly are you?”

◇

I stared back at Takebayashi-senpai, blinking in confusion at his sudden interrogation.

“Tojo-kun is our ace,” he said. “Her strength is at least 4-Dan, maybe even equivalent to a 3-Dan diploma. She won a girls' amateur tournament back in middle school. In this club, she’s the only one with a real shot at the nationals.”

The national level—that meant she was in the top 1% of the entire Shogi population.

I hadn't misjudged her strength, but I hadn't realized she was that highly decorated.

“And yet, you’ve crushed her twice now. And looking at the remaining time on the clock... the gap is so absurd I’d almost suspect cheating. You’re playing at an incredible speed. And despite that speed, your moves are perfectly precise.”

Takebayashi-senpai reset the game clock as he spoke.

“I’ll be blunt. Your skill level is abnormal. This isn't just 5-Dan or 6-Dan level. You’re clearly a powerhouse, a high-tier player. You’re on par with the top players in the country.”

I felt a mix of awkwardness and doubt.

How could that be? I was just a failed amateur whose dreams had been crushed. I was just another random player at the bottom of the ladder, only capable of performing well online.

If I really had top-level talent, I wouldn't be ‘this version of myself’ right now.

...However, the image Takebayashi-senpai had of me was apparently much higher than I thought. The conclusion he’d reached was aimed way past the ceiling and into the clouds.

“Watanabe-kun. Are you, by any chance, a former member of the Shoreikai?”

Rena gasped, a cold sweat breaking out on her face.

I felt exactly the same way.

“...No way.”

The Shoreikai—the Apprentice Association. The professional training institute where the best of the best gathered. A den of geniuses where every member was a former national champion.

There was no way I belonged among them. Because...

“...I failed the entrance exam back in elementary school. I don't have the kind of skill you think I do.”

“Wait, you’re talking about elementary school?” Takebayashi-senpai asked, his eyes widening. “You can’t use something from that long ago as a reference! You might have failed then, but your current strength is undeniable. From where I’m sitting, you’re definitely at the Shoreikai level.”

He was a bold man. Hearing him say that actually made me a little happy. And that’s exactly why that wall always stood before me as an insurmountable obstacle.

“...You’re exaggerating. I’ve only ever played Shogi online.”

“Then online Shogi made you this strong!”

“I wonder...”

Online Shogi was like junk food.

It was convenient and easy to start, but with no byo-yomi and the ability to use AI assistance for a fee, it was slightly removed from ‘real’ Shogi.

There were even rumors that playing too much online Shogi actually made your real skill drop.

I’d been playing online ever since I failed that exam as a kid.

So while I might be strong on a screen, I believed I wasn't strong in reality. Tojo only lost because our styles happened to clash.

“Well, it doesn't matter what you think! Watanabe-kun! There’s something I need you to do! I was going to have Tojo-kun do it, but you seem much more suited for the job!”

Takebayashi-senpai began lining up four Shogi boards on a long table. He put four chairs on one side and a single chair on the other.

Wait, what? I have a really bad feeling about this...

““We’re heeeere.””

Right then, two more members walked into the room.

“Ah, perfect timing. The Sakuma brothers!” Takebayashi-senpai boomed.

The two boys were in the same grade as me and Tojo, but in a different class.

One was a bit of a flashy guy with dyed brown hair—the younger brother, Hayato Sakuma. The other, who had his arm around Hayato’s shoulder and looked a bit bored, was the older brother, Kaito Sakuma.

They looked almost identical; twins, just as the President said.

“What is it, Prez? Are we finally talking about promotions?”

“If so, I’m actually gonna try today.”

The two spoke in perfect sync.

In Shogi dojos, ranks like ‘Kyu’ and ‘Dan’ are used to define a player’s strength.

I mostly played online, where the ranks went from 10-Kyu all the way to 9-Dan.

This club followed the same system. On a whiteboard at the back of the room, everyone’s names and ranks were listed.

Takebayashi-senpai was 3-Dan, Tojo was 5-Dan, and Rena was 4-Dan. There was another name I didn't recognize who was also 4-Dan.

The Sakuma brothers were both listed as 2-Dan.

Since I’d just joined, my name wasn't on the board yet.

But looking at the list, everyone was a ‘Dan’ holder. That was an incredibly high average for a school club.

There were zero beginners here.

In fact, compared to these people who had been playing on real boards for years while I just tapped a screen, I was probably the biggest amateur in the room.

“...Hmm, promotions, eh? Tell you what. If you win the match we’re about to play, I’ll consider it.”

“Really?!”

“We’ve got that in writing, okay?”

The Sakuma twins were suddenly fired up. They dumped their bags and sat in two of the four chairs.

“Nyahaha~ This looks like it’s gonna be fun!”

Rena sat in the third chair, looking excited, and began pulling pieces from a box with childlike glee.

I started heading toward the fourth chair to join them.

“Watanabe-kun, where do you think you’re going?”

“Huh?”

Takebayashi-senpai grabbed my shoulder before I could sit.

“You’re over here.”

He guided me to the single chair on the opposite side of the table, then sat himself in the fourth chair next to the twins and Rena.

“How do you like the view? A tamen-zashi match against the four of us.”

“Wha—?”

I let out a sound of pure confusion.

Tamen-zashi—a simultaneous match. Usually, a high-level instructor plays against multiple lower-ranked students at once. One versus many.

Cold sweat began to pour down my back.

This situation... this many people... was he really asking me to...

“Starting now, you’ll be playing all four of us—including me, the President—in even games with no handicap! The time limit is 40 minutes with a 30-second countdown. If you can beat everyone here, you’ll be promoted to 5-Dan, just like Tojo-kun!”

◇

Simultaneous Shogi requires insane parallel processing.

A human only has one brain. Thinking about multiple sets of information at once is incredibly difficult.

You can’t maintain your full strength while multi-tasking like that; usually, your skill level drops by several ranks during a simultaneous match.

And besides... I’d never even done a simultaneous match before.

“Wait, hold on. Isn't the President supposed to be the one giving the instruction?!”

That wasn't me. It was Kaito, the older Sakuma twin.

“No! Watanabe-kun will play the four of us! Even games! And if he wins them all, he’s a 5-Dan! But if any of you beat him even once, I’ll raise your rank by one level! This is your big chance!”

“Nyahaha~ Aoi doesn't really care about ranks, but okay~”

Rena was as chill as ever, but Hayato, the younger twin, wasn't having it.

“If he beats all of us, he’s a 5-Dan?! Are you kidding me?! This new guy who just joined yesterday... you’re making him a 5-Dan?!”

“Yeah, this is a joke...!”

To the Sakuma brothers, my chances of winning were zero, and they clearly doubted my skill.

It made sense—they hadn't seen me beat Tojo. They’d only seen me win one test match yesterday.

“No arguments! If you have a problem, say it on the board!”

“Ugh...”

“Tch...”

Takebayashi-senpai steamrolled their complaints, and the two sat down begrudgingly.

The pieces were set for all four games. We drew pieces to determine who went first, and everything was ready.

Then, the clocks were pressed.

““““Let’s have a good game.””””

“Good game...”

With my delayed bow, the massive handicap match began.

—Moves began to fly, and the sound of pieces hitting the four boards overlapped into a chaotic rhythm.

With four different opponents, the styles were all over the place, and their individual personalities started to bleed onto the boards.

The opening phase went quickly, as everyone followed established theory. I was the only one playing four games, so my clock was ticking down four times faster. My time was disappearing regardless of the actual state of the games.

Takebayashi-senpai had set the time to 40 minutes per game—generous for an amateur—likely to account for the mental load on me.

But for someone who had never played a simultaneous match, even that felt like nowhere near enough.

...A few minutes passed. The openings were over, and the mid-game positions had taken shape.

In Shogi, there are two major styles: ‘Ranging Rook,’ where you move your strongest piece (the Rook) to the center or left, and ‘Static Rook,’ where it stays on the right.

The choice between these two changes the entire nature of the game.

The Sakuma brothers both chose Ranging Rook styles, aiming for a light, counter-attacking game while waiting for me to slip up.

Takebayashi-senpai chose Static Rook, playing a solid, heavy style similar to Tojo’s.

Rena also chose Static Rook, but her play was even more unpredictable and tricky than the Sakuma twins. It was incredibly annoying to deal with.

By the way, Tojo’s Yagura is a Static Rook strategy. Given she’d used it twice, it was safe to say that was her specialty.

As for me? I could play both. I was an ‘All-Rounder.’

Each of them pushed their unique strategies, trying to gain an edge.

I could feel the pressure coming from across the table. They were all hunting for a gap in my divided attention.

I’ll say it again—this was brutal. I had to account for moves that I’d usually ignore in a normal game, which meant I was taking much longer to think than usual.

My moves were becoming slow, and mistakes were starting to creep in.

The only saving grace was my years of high-speed online Shogi. That experience was the only thing keeping me from making a total blunder.

—However.

“—Think you can afford to look away?”

While I was distracted by Rena’s bizarre formation, a voice came from the end of the table.

It was Kaito. On his board, the pawns were already clashing. The battle had begun.

I pulled my attention away from Rena, made a safe move on her board, and started responding to Kaito.

“Hmm, I believe it’s time for my offensive.”

Then came Takebayashi-senpai’s voice. His board was also entering a critical phase that required deep thought.

“...Hm? Mikado-chi, isn't this move totally a blunder?”

I hadn't even finished dealing with Kaito when Rena dropped that bombshell.

A blunder—if she was right, it was the first one I’d made since joining the club.

“Pfft—I can just run right through the edge here. This is an easy win.”

Then came Hayato’s voice from the other side.

I looked over and realized he was right. I’d completely overlooked a gap in my flank.

I scrambled to fix the hole in my defense against Hayato, tried to cover up the mistake against Rena, and kept an eye on Kaito’s counter-attack.

But that was when Takebayashi-senpai landed a heavy blow.

“...!”

I’d been so focused on the other three that I’d missed the weight of his move. My defense wasn't ready. It was a massive oversight.

Because of that, I was forced to spend a huge chunk of time on Takebayashi-senpai’s board.

I was lured into a sequence I should have easily avoided, and the position between us became a dead heat.

In a simultaneous match where I had to win, being in an even position was a disaster. If it stayed even until the end-game, I’d be crushed by the time pressure.

I had to find a way out...

“Mikado-chi, you’ve got less than ten minutes left over here~”

Rena’s words sent my heart racing.

I stopped thinking about the President's board and looked at hers, only to realize my position there had also deteriorated.

“No...!”

“Heh heh~ Aoi’s feeling pretty confident about this one~!”

Because I’d cut my thinking time short, her deeper calculations had overtaken mine.

(Dammit—! They have so much more time to think, the gap in our depth is starting to show...! Does a four-to-one time disadvantage really make them this much sharper? Shit!)

Complaining to myself wouldn't change anything.

I tried to force myself to stay calm and find a way to counter Rena.

But when I turned back to Takebayashi-senpai, my face went pale.

(What...?!)

The position had gotten even worse.

“Hmm. It seems my pieces are flowing quite well. Would you say I’m in the lead?”

I wanted to click my tongue at his comment.

A Dan-level player doesn't just look one or two moves ahead. They can easily see ten moves into the future. It’s a form of intellectual violence.

Just like with Rena, cutting my thinking time against the President had backfired. I was now at a clear disadvantage.

“Boy, are you okay? ‘Teacher’?”

The Sakuma brothers were snickering at me.

As all this was happening, my time continued to bleed away. Finally, the buzzers on all four clocks went off, signaling that I had less than ten minutes left on every board.

“Hmm... perhaps I pushed you too hard.”

Takebayashi-senpai muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

My eyebrows twitched. That flicker of disappointment turned my panic into a burning, white-hot rage.

(Something about this... is starting to piss me off. You’re all ganging up on me while I’m trying to think, hitting me over and over...)

I let my frustration fuel my focus. I stopped moving and slowly closed my eyes.

“...?”

“Mikado-chi?”

“What? Giving up already?”

“There’s no way you could beat the four of us.”

I ignored their chatter. I visualized all four boards in the ocean of my mind, lining them up in parallel. I stripped away the physical sensation of sitting in the room—and moved my consciousness into the familiar space where I felt most at home: in front of a screen.

Then, I opened my eyes.

“—”

My eyes were void of light. I stared down the four boards as if I were glaring at an enemy.

The ‘real’ Shogi I’d been playing was still too foreign to me. I still felt a lingering sense of wrongness whenever I touched a physical piece.

I’d dreamed of starting a new life and establishing a new style as Watanabe Mikado... but that was just a pipe dream.

I was a creature of the internet. Trying to grow without showing my true colors was just arrogance.

(...Let's do this for real.)

I took a single, quiet breath. I stopped being ‘Watanabe Mikado’...

—And switched my mind over to ‘Zimetsutei.’

◇

A person's true nature is often laid bare in their Shogi moves.

Takebayashi-senpai, for instance, is a generous and charismatic man in everyday life, but his moves are stern—heavy and deliberate, like the march of heavy infantry.

Tojo is also a stern player, but her style is rock-solid and defensive, with goals that are unwavering and consistent. You could say it’s a method of slowly building toward victory, though right now, that very rigidity might be acting as a shackle.

Aoi has a tendency to use tricky, unconventional strategies. Her curiosity and interest, which are obvious from her personality, probably manifest as a desire to experiment with various tactics.

The Sakuma brothers are the type most common among amateurs; they distinguish clearly between offense and defense. This type usually enjoys the time spent attacking more than the actual result of the game.

And my own essence? I’m the type who charges in recklessly and shatters. The so-called "self-destruction" type.

In my own mind, I feel like I can make it work—that I can break through—but in the end, the opponent parries me and I simply implode.

Sometimes I still remember how I self-deprecatingly mocked that weakness by naming my Shogi Wars account "Zimetsutei"—the Emperor of Self-Destruction.

But this sensation, while tormenting me for a long time, also spurred immense growth.

You’re only called a "self-destruction type" when your attack fails. In other words, if I don't fail, it’s not self-destruction.

Naturally, I started out on a losing streak with no sign of talent, but I didn't give up. Through hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of trials and errors, my attacks slowly began to land.

When a vital moment or a critical turning point arrives—a situation where there’s no turning back—people tend to fall into self-preservation.

—Because, of course, no one wants to fail.

That’s a normal feeling everyone has. Nobody wants to take a massive risk of failure if they can help it. That’s why ordinary people tend to play it safe in those crucial moments, opting for solid, defensive moves.

But for a self-destructive type like me, that fear doesn't exist. The psychological tug-of-war of 'Can I make it? Can I not?' that humans usually experience simply isn't there.

The moment I think I can go, the attack is already a reality. Because I’ve researched it over and over until it becomes a reality.

"─!"

I pushed my concentration to its absolute limit, stuffing the records of all four games into my head and scrutinizing them in sequence.

Evaluating the positions. The next move. The response if that move is read. The counter-response if they play something else.

I analyzed every possible contingency until I was in a state of perfect reading.

(W-what?)

(His atmosphere changed...?)

(Mikado-chi...?)

(This is...)

My mindset as Zimetsutei is one of overwhelming self-destruction—a style that disregards both myself and my opponent.

A beast-like thirst for victory through a full-frontal assault, coupled with a cold, ruthless logic.

Added to that, I began to unleash a barrage of "friendship-ending moves."

"What the—"

"No way..."

To crush both Sakuma brothers, who I had finished reading first, I abandoned my own defense. I traded off all my major pieces and used the sheer mass of my hand pieces to crush their Kings from above.

"He's so fast...!"

"Dammit, don't get cocky—!"

Counter-attacks were launched; major pieces were traded. The end-game was closing in without a second's delay.

However, my hands were moving even faster.

0 seconds, 0 seconds, 1 second, 0 seconds, 2 seconds, 0 seconds, 2 seconds, 0 seconds, 0 seconds—.

I dispatched every move from the Sakuma brothers instantly, without a moment's thought.

"...W-why?! Why, why...?!"

Hayato’s attack, which had been superior until then, was completely left in the dust. My offense took precedence, devastating the formation around his King.

Before he knew it, our speeds had inverted, and Hayato was driven into a corner.

"What's happening here...?! Why won't his attack stop...?!"

Kaito’s piece stand was overflowing with the pieces I had traded away.

Compared to me, who only had three pieces in hand, Kaito had so many they were practically falling off the stand. The board was almost empty.

But Kaito’s turn would never come.

Because I was using those mere three pieces to link an endless chain of attacks.

"Unbelievable..."

Takebayashi-senpai let out a rare gasp.

The Sakuma brothers were clutching their heads in deep thought, while my remaining time didn't move an inch.

(I've suppressed those two. Now I just need to finish this side.)

When I turned my dilated pupils toward them, Takebayashi-senpai and Rena flinched in shock.

Truthfully, I didn't want to play in such a flashy, aggressive way.

You might think I shouldn't say such naive things in the world of competition, but an inkya like me can’t help but worry about how others see me.

Even though I’m fully aware that I’m a nobody that no one looks at, I’m still seized by the anxiety of "what if they think I’m weird?"

I'm such an irrational, foolish creature. It makes me sad just saying it.

—But I can't just let them walk all over me like this.

I have things I need to do. I can't back down here until I've accomplished them.

If I'm going to lose here and be a disappointment, I’d rather show my true strength and crush them, even if it leaves a bad impression.

With a serious expression—no hint of a threat or a joke—I spoke to Takebayashi-senpai.

"I’m going to finish this."

"...Show me what you've got!"

Ignoring my sudden change in demeanor, Takebayashi-senpai moved to block the blitzkrieg I unleashed.

But I wove in small tactical traps to create openings, launching a fresh assault from the opposite side of the formation he was trying to defend.

"What...?! No, is this a pincer attack...?!"

As expected of the Shogi club president, he immediately saw through my seemingly incomprehensible plan.

But whether he could deal with it after seeing through it was another matter entirely.

I immediately countered Rena’s moves at high speed, cornering the Sakuma brothers in the intervals.

My remaining time stayed frozen at five minutes.

Instead, the situation had reversed; the four of them were the ones rapidly consuming their clocks.

The app I used, Shogi Wars, is fundamentally based on blitz games.

Matches where you have ten seconds per move or five minutes total are the norm; you're always living on the edge of a time-out.

The speed of the Zimetsutei who achieved 9-Dan there was enough to finish a game without even consuming a single minute—.

"Ngh...!"

Rena showed a rare look of panic, biting her thumb.

Tricky strategies often look advantageous on the surface, but if you break them down strictly, they usually fall under the category of "bad moves."

Of course, if the opponent doesn't know how to handle them, those bad moves flare up like brilliant plays. That's why tricky strategies are so popular—because most people don't know the counter.

But you made a mistake, Rena. That kind of deception won't work on me.

"Ah...!?"

For just a split second, Rena slipped up in her tightrope-walk reading. I lunged at that opening, ruthlessly slaughtering her minor pieces.

"I messed up—!?"

"It's a sudden death. Checkmate. Game over."

I dropped a Rook into the flank of Rena's King, which hadn't even been scratched yet. By using that Rook as a sacrifice, I disrupted her formation and cleanly took the King's head without ever touching her defensive pieces.

"I... I lost-ssu..."

Without even registering Rena's resignation, I shifted my eyes to Takebayashi-senpai's board at incredible speed, breaking through his castle and closing in on his King.

Takebayashi-senpai had been overwhelmed by my onslaught from start to finish. Finally reaching a breaking point, he held a hand over the board and spoke.

"...I resign!!"

The moment the words left his lips, I turned back to the Sakuma brothers' moves, linking the path from the current move to victory in my head.

I played a powerful counter-move and slammed the clock. Thump!

I will never let the time run out—.

"D-dammit...!! To lose to a guy like this...!"

"Shit...! He's mocking us...!!"

The Sakuma brothers tried to rally their momentum for a comeback, but momentum alone doesn't win in Shogi.

It’s a game where only correctly calculated reading and strategy are reflected.

Specifically regarding these two, they weren't playing with the assumption that their opponent’s moves were reliable. Was it because I was the one playing them?

Tojo might have looked down on me personally, but she never looked down on my moves.

But the Sakuma brothers were looking down even on my moves. They assumed I couldn't possibly play such a move—that it had to be a mistake.

The current board state was simply the price they were paying for that assumption.

"D-damn it all...!!"

Hayato scratched his head frantically, searching for an out. But I wouldn't even allow that, pushing the game into an inescapable checkmate.

If they didn't want to admit it, I’d create a position where they had no choice but to understand.

There is no mercy in Zimetsutei's logic. In this state of mind, where everything is sacrificed for the sake of defeating and shutting out the opponent, no stray thoughts enter.

It was the only state where I could wipe away my pathetic existence as an inkya.

""I... I resign...""

Realizing that victory was impossible now that the mate was in sight, both Sakuma brothers resigned simultaneously.

"Phew... phew... Thank you for the game..."

It was only then that I finally voiced my declaration of victory to all four of them.