It had been four years since Fischer's retreat.
I was twenty-eight now.
In those years, I ascended even further.
Tournaments? I crushed them with ease.
But really, what else could anyone expect?
I am the Emperor of the Board.
But what truly stood out was this: Gert Keller, the so-called "world champion," hadn't played a single official match in four years. Not one.
And honestly, who's surprised? Mediocrity always fears the light. He was handed the title — and disappeared before someone could take it from him.
But now… In two days, we will face each other.
For the first time. The only match between me and the man who spent four years humiliating the title with silence.
At last, the world will witness what I've always known: he is nothing. And I am everything.
I stepped out of the building where I had just won the final qualifying match. The right to challenge the so-called "champion" was mine now. As expected.
Outside — a sea of flashing lights and
microphones. Voices, faces, tension in the air.
A young journalist pushes her way forward.
Sharp eyes. Rising star. Of course she wants a quote. A moment. A blessing from the Emperor.
Her voice reaches me, poised but eager:
— Mr. Nobell, could you share a few words about your upcoming match with Mr. Keller?
I look at her, a slow smile touching my lips.
And I speak as only I can:
— The whole world already knows who the next champion will be. And you're asking what someone like him can offer me? A man who, after receiving his title for free, didn't dare play a single match against me?
Let me say it clearly: the rabble is not equal to an Emperor.
A murmur cuts through the crowd — then a voice, loud, emotional, from somewhere behind the cameras:
— You're arrogant! Even if you're brilliant, you've got no right to insult him like that!
I turn. Calmly. Slowly.
— And who are you, peasant, to interrupt the words of an Emperor?
He lowers his eyes. Silenced. Small. Like a child scolded by a father he'll never become.
I say nothing more. I turn. Step into the car.
And leave.
The match awaits. Not with a man. But with a shadow that once dared to call itself champion.
After the press, I didn't go home. I headed to the restaurant where my mother was already waiting. We had agreed to have lunch —maybe talk a little. But the drive there became a journey inward.
Robert James Fischer.
The man I once admired. A figure who dominated every aspect of the game. His presence alone was authority. A gaze. A pause. A step — and the world held its breath.
And then… he vanished. No warning. No logic. No farewell. It wasn't just strange. It was irrational. And I despised irrationality.
And now — Gert Keller. A man who had never shined. A name that came from nowhere. And yet he became world champion.
How? Why?
What if... it wasn't a coincidence? What if Keller did something to Fischer? Not necessarily direct.
Manipulation. Pressure. Setup.
Or worse — what if he was someone's piece on the board?
A quiet discomfort began to stir within me.
Not fear — strategic caution.
Fischer showed no signs of decline. No exhaustion. No weakness. He was in his prime. And then — nothing.
And after he vanished? Keller never played a single match. Not one. In four years. That could not be random.
And suddenly, a thought struck me— what if I don't make it to that match? What if the game, two days from now, isn't a game at all — but a trap?
I had never seen Keller in person. Never spoken with him. All I had heard was the same:
— his chess is dull.
— his moves are average.
— he plays like a hobbyist.
How does someone like that become world champion?
Then a sharper, colder thought slid across my mind like a blade: What if Keller isn't a player at all? What if he's a mask? A front? A tool?
Someone's pawn. Or worse — their king.
What will happen to me? I didn't know.
But I knew one thing: I had to get close to him.
Look him in the eye. Understand.
Because everything about this... doesn't feel like coincidence.
I was so consumed by my thoughts, I didn't even realize I had already arrived at the restaurant.
I stepped inside, scanned the room —
and naturally, I spotted her immediately.
My mother.
I walked toward her. She smiled, warmly.
— Hello, my dear son. I'm so happy to see you.
I gave her a soft smile in return.
— Likewise.
We embraced. A kiss on the cheek. And for a fleeting second, the world felt still.
A waiter approached. We placed our orders.
Then came the pause. The quiet space where thoughts rise louder than words.
She looked at me. Her eyes — as always — saw through the surface.
— Son… is everything alright?
I exhaled. Sometimes I wondered if she could read my thoughts like a printed page.
— You always notice everything… Yes Something's bothering me.
Her gaze sharpened gently.
— It's Keller, isn't it? The current world champion.
I raised an eyebrow.
— How did you know?
She gave a small smile.
— You've talked about Fischer for four years.
How he left the game. You mentioned Keller more than once. But now it's not just about that, is it?
I nodded. She was — as she often was — right.
— Want me to guess? she asked softly. I don't want this to happen to you. But I have a bad feeling about this tournament. You know my instincts aren't usually wrong.
I didn't respond immediately. She continued, her voice calm but steady:
— Gert Keller… No one knows anything real about him. He came out of nowhere. Took the title after Fischer's disappearance —technically.
— Yes. And that's what bothers me, I said. Fischer had… greatness. Aura. Power.
And then he just vanished. No warning.
And Keller? He appeared — a man with no games, no record, no presence.
She nodded.
— Fischer was brilliant. But you know, in his final years… He struggled with his mind, even if his form was strong.
— I've thought about that too, I admitted.
— Maybe Keller exploited it somehow.
But what scares me is not that… It's that Fischer didn't just retire. He disappeared.
Rumors said he went mad.
I went silent for a moment.
— It's not Keller that terrifies me. It's what he may have done. I call myself the Emperor of the Board… but even I feel something tightening inside.
She looked at me with warmth. And sorrow.
— I feel it too. You need to be careful, truly careful. If I'm wrong — I'll be relieved. But if I'm right… then you must be prepared.
She wasn't just a caring mother. She was a first-class psychologist. Her instincts bordered on prophecy. And this time, I felt it too. Not just fear. A warning.
The waiter returned. I broke the silence.
— Alright… let's not talk about dark things tonight. Let's enjoy dinner.
We ate quietly. Neither of us mentioned Keller again.
When the meal was over, we embraced once more, said goodbye, and left for our separate destinations.
The wind outside was calm. But somewhere within — a storm had already begun.
After dinner with my mother, a feeling clung to me. Subtle. Cold. Wordless.
It felt like our last meeting. I couldn't explain it.
I simply knew.
And it tore at me from within.
But in that moment, I made myself a promise:
I would survive. Even if it meant… crushing Keller into the ground. Erasing him. Entirely.
Then came the day. The World Championship.
The world buzzed with anticipation.
Excitement. Tension. Every eye turned to Zurich, Switzerland.
Fans from Tokyo to New York — everyone watching. Waiting to see who would claim the crown.
For two days… nothing happened. And that was strange.
No accidents. No threats. No mysterious figures.
I almost started to believe that maybe Fischer really had left of his own will. That my fears were simply the toll of obsession. I almost believed.
Almost.
I stepped into the room where our match was to be played. And for the first time, our eyes met.
Gert Keller.
A man around fifty. Eyes sharp like a fox's.
His face unreadable. Cold. And something else. Wrong.
He didn't look mediocre. Not for a second.
On the board — perhaps. But in person…
he was something else entirely.
Not a man. A presence.
When I met his gaze, something deep inside me… cracked. As if I wasn't staring at an opponent— but at something beyond comprehension.
Not human. Not beast. Something magical. Otherworldly.
We shook hands. His skin was cold — like a corpse.
— Care for a little chat before the match? he asked, casually.
I tried to stay composed. I played the role.
But inside… everything in me was shattering.
I nodded. But before I could speak, he did:
— Angelo Nobell. The self-proclaimed Emperor of the Board. An arrogant talent who started too late, but rose too fast. Looks down on the world with scorn… reminds me of someone.
— You mean Robert James Fischer? I asked.
— Did you ask him for a "little talk" before your match, too?
He smirked.
— You're a clever one, he said.
— But save the flattery.
I met his gaze directly.
— Then tell me. What did you say to him?
What made him snap?
He smiled again.
— I have no idea what you're talking about.
And in that moment, I knew— he wasn't going to answer. Or perhaps… he was no longer someone you could question at all.
The game began.
And strangely enough — over the board, he was weak. Very weak.
I won. Easily. Calmly. Without emotion.
"Angelo Nobell — the new World Champion!"
That was the headline across every screen.
Emperor. Genius. Legend.
But I felt no joy. I felt death.
Something was waiting. Not on the board. Beyond it.
As I rose to leave the room, Keller spoke:
— Angelo Nobell… your time has come to fade.
I paused. Just for a moment.
But I didn't turn around. I said nothing. And I walked away.
After the match, I couldn't sleep. The clock read 3:07 a.m.
I texted my mother:
"We'll celebrate tomorrow. Today… I can't. I have no appetite. Complicated reasons."
She understood. Of course she did. She always does.
Zurich is one of the safest cities in the world.
I went out for a walk, as if trying to shake off the residue of tension. But with every step, the air grew heavier. As if I wasn't walking through streets, but across a narrow bridge toward the abyss.
And when I turned into the alley, I knew instantly: it had begun. A chill crawled up my spine. Not wind. Presence. Familiar. Burning.
I turned around. He was there.
Gert Keller.
And he wasn't alone. Behind him — five shadowy figures in black cloaks. No faces. No words. Just silence.
Then he spoke:
— "Did you remember my final words?"
I looked him in the eyes. And to my own surprise, I was calm.
As if my instincts had already accepted it.
— "About how it's time for me to fade? Yes. I heard."
He clapped his hands slowly, mockingly:
— "Well now… You're surprisingly calm.
Not like the last one."
That caught me off guard.
I hadn't shown any fear. No hesitation. No tremble. No words. Yet he… read me like an open book.
— "You followed me here. You brought five cloaked shadows with no faces. You didn't come to talk. You came for my life."
He smirked. And nodded, as if pleased.
— "You're reacting better than my last victim.
So be it… I'll tell you."
I said nothing. I listened.
— "I drove Robert Fischer insane."
He said it so casually. As if commenting on the weather.
— "So I was right," I replied. "My instincts were correct."
— "Want to know how it happened?"
— "No point hiding it. You won't leave this place alive."
That smile never left his face. Predatory. Certain.
Then he spoke again:
— "A day before the title match, I met with him. He was arrogant. Too confident. Like you. Exactly like you."
— "I lured him into an alley. My men broke his hands.
Then I told him:
'If you don't withdraw, your family dies. And don't even think about telling anyone. You have no one. My eyes are everywhere.'"
I stood there. Still.
But inside— everything began to lock into place.
He didn't just hurt Fischer physically. He shattered him mentally. Used his paranoia as a weapon.
Fischer had greatness. Aura. Command.
But inside— he was already cracking. And Keller… simply finished the job.
I exhaled.
— "So I'm not headed for a psychological death, am I? It's something worse." "Tell me, Keller," I asked. "Why me? We had no connection. You came out of nowhere.
Who are you to dictate fate? You're not a god!"
I said it with controlled fury.
He looked at me. Still smiling. But in his eyes — something inhuman.
— Let me ask one last question… before I die, I said.
Keller nodded silently.
— Are you really going to kill me?
— Yes. Why wouldn't I? Your life means nothing. You call yourself an emperor, but to me, you're just… noise.
I laughed. Softly at first. Then hysterically.
— You've already lost, Mr. Keller.
From the moment you walked here—everything was already calculated.
His expression shifted, slightly. Still foxlike. But less certain.
— Is that madness speaking before death? he asked.
— Not at all, I said calmly. Do you remember our handshake before the match? That's when I planted a bug on you.
His face froze.
— Everything's been recorded. From the moment the game ended until now—
every word. Every confession. How you drove Fischer insane. How you broke his hands. How you threatened his family. How you… murdered.
There was a flicker in his eyes. A shadow of unease.
— Even if you have that, he hissed, I have the power to erase it. Once you're dead, it'll all disappear. You're just a chess player. You hold no weight in this world.
I smiled.
— You misunderstand, Keller. The recordings… they're not for justice. They're for permission.
He blinked. Two seconds of silence. Then realization.
— Self-defense…
I reached into my coat. Drew the gun.
— Exactly.
One shot. One shadow fell.
— Rejoice, Mr. Keller, I whispered. Tonight, you'll be judged… by Emperor.
Second shot. Another body hit the ground.
Keller flinched.
He didn't expect this. He thought I'd bluff.
He thought I was another genius obsessed with the board.
He miscalculated.
— Kill him! he shouted.
The three remaining shadows charged.
I fired.
One. Two. Three.
They collapsed. My hand was steady. My eyes — colder than ever.
These were my first kills. But I didn't hesitate.
There was no time for shock. Only necessity.
Now, only the two of us remained. No more words. I raised the gun.
And then— everything changed.
His expression twisted. He smiled. But it wasn't human.
Not a grin. Not arrogance. Something… other.
There were still twenty meters between us.
I squeezed the trigger— But he was already there.
In an instant. A blur. No sound. No air. No logic.
And I felt it: a presence not of this world.
Overwhelming. Unnatural.
My limbs froze. My thoughts stopped. My instincts shattered.
This wasn't a man.
— Angelo Nobell, he whispered in my ear, — you gave me a wonderful performance.
But in this world… you no longer belong.
His hand pierced my stomach like a blade.
Clean. Effortless.
I collapsed. Hard. My vision dimmed.
And in those last few seconds— my entire life flashed before me.
From a nobody, to the Emperor of the Board.
I truly believed I had planned for everything.
I believed I had won.
But my opponent… was not a man. He was a god.
And I— I had been nothing more than
a piece on his board.
He stood over me. Cold. Still.
— Don't worry, he said softly. This is only the end of you… in this world. I have plans for you… elsewhere. You'll be my piece now… on another board.
With the last breath in my lungs, I growled:
— You bastard…
And then darkness...