The room was still, the air heavy with a quiet intensity as 402 and the patient faced off across the chessboard. The absence of physical pieces only added to the tension, the game existing entirely within their minds. Erich watched from the sidelines, a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes flicking between the two opponents. The silence was broken only by the sound of their voices, calm and measured as they stated their moves.

“Knight to f3,” 402 began, his tone casual but precise. He glanced at the patient, his eyes steady. “Do you have a memory problem?”

The patient responded without hesitation, his gaze never leaving the invisible board. “Knight to f6,” he said, confirming 402’s suspicion. “Yes, I do have a memory problem.”

“C4,” 402 continued, his voice smooth, as if they were discussing the weather. “But that’s not the reason you’re here, is it?”

The patient’s expression remained neutral as he responded, “G6,” before asking, “What do you think my problem is?”

“Knight to c3,” 402 said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of curiosity. “It’s hard to say for certain. Nothing’s apparent just yet.”

The patient considered this for a moment before making his next move. “Bishop to g7,” he stated, then added, “I’ll give you a hint—I have a problem with an emotion.”

“D4,” 402 replied, his voice thoughtful as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “That emotion is fear.”

The patient’s gaze briefly flicked to Erich, then back to the board. “Short castle,” he said, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “It doesn’t seem like Erich told you anything. How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Bishop to f4,” 402 said with a small chuckle, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. “The slight memory problem and your hint gave it away.”

The patient’s calm demeanor faltered slightly, and he tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. “D5,” he said, then leaned back in his chair. “Care to explain?”

“Queen to b3,” 402 continued, his voice steady as he began to unravel his thought process. “Your emotions seem toned down—muted, almost. And the memory problem led me to one conclusion: damage to the frontal lobe of your brain.”

The patient nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “Pawn takes c4,” he said, his tone steady but with a note of curiosity. “But that doesn’t explain how you knew it was fear.”

“Queen takes c4,” 402 responded, his voice taking on a more instructive tone. “Common symptoms of frontal lobe damage include impulsiveness, apathy, and fearlessness. You mentioned an issue with an emotion, so fearlessness was the only logical answer.”

The patient’s gaze sharpened as he recognized the accuracy of 402’s deduction. “C6,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice. “You’re quite perceptive.”

“E4,” 402 replied, his tone still casual. “Are you aware that frontal lobe damage doesn’t cause complete fearlessness? It only tones down the emotion, making it harder for you to feel fear because your brain doesn’t send a strong enough warning to your body.”

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The patient nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Knight back to d7,” he said. “The doctors have explained that to me, which is why I’m here for therapy.”

“Rook to d1,” 402 continued, his expression unreadable. “Do you miss the feeling of fear?”

The patient’s gaze grew distant for a moment, as if he were searching his mind for a forgotten memory. “Knight to b6,” he answered, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. “Fear is crucial for everyday life. It’s what makes us human.”

402 paused, a faint glimmer of something flickering in his eyes. “Humans, huh?” he murmured, more to himself than to the patient. Then, more clearly, he stated, “Queen to c5.” He inhaled deeply, the sound of his breath almost imperceptible in the still room.

The patient noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle movement. “Bishop to g4,” he said, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Bishop to g5,” 402 replied smoothly, his tone unchanging.

The patient’s brow furrowed slightly as he repeated the move, “Bishop to g5?” He paused, taking a deep breath himself before making his next move. “Knight to a4.”

402’s gaze didn’t waver, but there was a slight tension in his posture, a subtle shift that only someone paying close attention might notice. “I’m fine,” he said calmly. “But it seems like you’re not.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping as he said, “Queen to a3.”

The patient’s breath hitched, a slight unease creeping into his voice. “The air feels a little heavy,” he admitted, his breaths growing louder and more labored. “Knight takes c3.”

402’s expression remained impassive as he watched the patient. “If you think about it,” he began, his voice soft and measured, “the skull is like a room for the brain—a small, confined space. Imagine if that space started to shrink, squeezing in on itself.” He paused, letting the words sink in before stating, “Pawn takes c3.”

The patient’s breathing grew faster, his chest rising and falling with increasing urgency. He seemed to be struggling, as if the walls were closing in on him. “Knight takes e4,” he gasped, his voice strained as his breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts.

402 leaned in slightly, his voice almost a whisper. “Take a deep breath,” he suggested, his tone calm but commanding. But the patient couldn’t—his breaths were ragged, uneven, his body tensing as he fought against the sensation of suffocation. Panic flashed in his eyes as he looked to 402, desperation creeping into his voice. “What’s happening to me?” he choked out.

402’s gaze remained steady, his voice calm as he delivered the final blow. “What you’re experiencing is suffocation—the true form of fear.”

The patient’s eyes widened in terror as he gasped for air, his hands clutching at his throat as if trying to free himself from an invisible noose. The sensation of suffocation overwhelmed him, his mind convinced that he was moments away from death. Just as he seemed on the verge of collapse, Erich snapped his fingers in front of the patient’s face, breaking the spell.

The patient gasped, his lungs finally filling with air as the suffocating illusion vanished. He stared at Erich, wide-eyed and trembling, his body shaking from the aftershocks of the intense fear. “How... how did you do that?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Erich smiled gently, his tone soothing as he explained. “You weren’t actually suffocating. It was just your brain playing tricks on you. The fear was real, but the danger wasn’t.”

The patient blinked, his mind slowly processing what had just happened. He glanced down at the chessboard, his expression dazed. “I... I’ve lost track of where we were in the game,” he admitted, his voice still shaky. “You win.”

402 remained silent, his expression unreadable, as Erich stood up and placed a reassuring hand on the patient’s shoulder. “It’s good that you felt fear,” Erich said gently. “It means you’re recovering. You’re getting better.”

The patient nodded weakly, his eyes flicking between Erich and 402. “Thank you... both of you,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt fear. I needed that.”

Erich nodded, giving the patient a final pat on the shoulder before turning to 402. “We should leave him to rest.”

402 stood and followed Erich out of the room, his expression still as composed as ever. As they walked down the hallway, the patient called out after them, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you... for the game, and for making me feel fear again.”

Erich glanced at 402, a curious smile playing on his lips. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked, his tone light.

402 met Erich’s gaze, a rare glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I did,” he admitted. “It was... fun. I’m looking forward to the next monitoring session.”

As they continued walking back to 402’s room, Erich couldn’t help but ask, “Was it your plan from the start to make the patient feel fear?”

402 shrugged, his expression calm. “The idea came to me once I learned about his condition. I knew I couldn’t beat him at chess.”

Erich chuckled, shaking his head. “Why did you think of that?”

402’s eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and intellect. “From the way he played—how quickly he made his moves—I could tell he was a professional chess player. I remembered reading about a study on what patients with conditions like his fear the most.”

Erich nodded, his smile widening. “I remember that study too. The result was suffocation—it always got a reaction from the patients.”

They reached 402’s room, and Erich paused at the door, turning to face him. “Well, I’d say you did an excellent job today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

402 gave a slight nod, his expression