0-Elo King

Late autumn in Kasumihama meant two things:

Cold wind.

And school somehow feels even longer.

Kurohama Municipal High School liked to brag about producing future leaders.

Unfortunately, they also produced me.

At the moment, I was contributing to society by sleeping on my desk. Peacefully.

Until someone jabbed my shoulder with something sharp.

Once.

Twice.

Then again, harder.

I wiped the drool falling off my mouth and looked sideways.

Kuroda.

Of course.

Of course, it was Kuroda.

She shrugged.

“You were drooling. It was disgusting. So I woke you.”

I squinted my eyes. “You stabbed me...”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up. It was only a tap.”

“Yeah, you know ever since Mori-sensei sat me by you, you’ve been nothing but a pain.”

“Really? That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“Tch you just completl-”

A cough cut through the room.

Mori-sensei rubbed his temples as he was visibly annoyed at me talking.

“Natsume... page fifty-eight.”

Great.

Now half the class was staring at me.

Mostly the guys.

Probably because I was talking to Kuroda.

Actually, yeah.

Definitely because I was talking to Kuroda.

I stood up.

Then without warning the room shifted.

The classroom dissolved.

Black.

White.

A chessboard stretched across my vision.

My chest tightened like someone had squeezed the air out of it.

The classroom noise faded.

Voices sounded far away.

For a moment, all I could see were squares.

Light.

Dark.

Light.

Dark.

A board.

A chessboard.

But I had no idea why I recognized it.

The pattern slid across my vision like it was moving.

Then it vanished.

Air rushed back into my lungs.

The classroom returned.

Everyone was staring.

I glanced at Kuroda.

And for a second, Kuroda looked genuinely worried.

Then she noticed me looking.

The expression vanished.

Back to her usual calm face.

I looked back at the book, sighed, and started reading page fifty-eight.

The bell finally rang. Time to go home.

I was packing my stuff when—

“Hey... you sure you’re okay?” she asked, standing by my desk.

My eyes widened in surprise.

And while twirling my hair without realizing I mumble, “U-um, yeah, thanks for asking.”

Then she winked. “Well, sorry anyway.”

Then she disappeared into the crowd.

I’m confused as to why she did that

But I couldn’t care less.

I finish packing, but as I try to take my first step,

I lose my balance and fall right on my face.

Ow.

She tied my laces together....

The walk home was the same as always.

But it was foggier and colder than most days.

Near the cemetery, I stopped.

There’s a grave along the path, I always notice.

No idea why.

Something about it feels... wrong.

It doesn’t look like it’s for someone who’s from Japan.

I shake it off and keep walking. Not planning on getting haunted today.

Getting close to my home, the low groan of docking ships echoed from the harbor.

The ocean crashes and seagulls scream about who knows what.

My house comes into view and I feel relieved that I don’t have to walk anymore.

I slide the door open and step onto creaking wood.

My mom calls from the kitchen, “Aki? How was school?”

“Good,” I muttered, not looking for a conversation.

“Mm oK, well I’m cooking and your father’s gonna be home soon. Get your homework done, then clean the attic. I’m tired of ignoring it. Thanks, sweetie.”

Didn’t even give me an option to refuse.

“On it, Mom.”

I climb the narrow staircase slowly, trying to delay this cleaning I have to do.

When I make it to the top, I go to my room and drop my bag.

Then I take a seat, breathe, and decide to take a bath before cleaning.

Some time goes by and now I’m in the forgotten dusty attic.

Dad’s downstairs eating. I’m hungry, but Mom said I can’t eat till I’m done.

I sigh, then say to myself, “Let’s get this over with.”

As I look around, my eyes start to adjust.

Old boxes stack the walls, war photos hung up like sports trophies.

I look to my right—a broken fan that used to work when I was little—and the smell of old wood fills the area.

Welp, better to get started now than never.

I start small by organizing boxes, dusting shelves, and wishing I never had to do this.

A couple of minutes passed and I’ve been bored the whole time.

While also going through scenarios where I’d said no to Mom...

Yeah, not happening.

I take a step back to observe what I’ve done.

The attic looks way better than when I started, so it was nice to see progress.

I check my phone. I still have time to kill.

So, to cure my boredom I decided to open some of these boxes. I mean, I cleaned them—I should be able to look, right?

As I’m going through them I’m finding old books about war, pictures of Grandpa when he was younger, and documents I’ll never understand.

Several pictures had one thing in common, there was this man, who didn’t look like he was Japanese, but seemed like he was close to grandpa

When I feel like I’ve seen enough I get up and start to leave,

I glance back one last time and see one box in the corner, sitting, waiting.

A chill ran down my spine, but why?

I make my way toward it, and everything’s already off.

The air around it feels compressed, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

The noise downstairs faded.

The dust motes in the air didn’t just float; they swirled in a perfect circle around the cardboard box, as if caught in a localized gale.

Curiosity killed the cat, so they say.

But I’m a curious man.

So naturally, I opened the box.

The first thing I see is,

Chess books.

With videotapes that look like they’ve seen better days.

One called “The Game of the Century.”

And another called “The Immortal Game.”

And as I looked deeper, beneath all of that there was something wooden. It looked like a box of some sort.

I moved all the tapes and books away to get the box.

It’s heavy and dusty.

I bring it toward the dim light of the setting sun to get a better view of it.

And the pattern hit me again.

Light. Dark.

The same squares I saw in class.

When I looked around it

One name was carved under the board.

Vadim...