It was around 7 in the evening when I finished up yet another online ranked game, winning by resignation after 43 moves. That brought my win rate to 4-3 for the evening, a decent record considering I was blasting music the whole time and half my brain was occupied with worrying about Pep’s declaration.
That fool… why did she insist on doubting herself so much? ‘Unworthy to stand on even ground with the person I love,’ what a lark. I didn’t know anyone in that entire shithole of a school that could stand even with her. As the only tolerable existence in the whole wretched institution, she was on higher ground than everyone else by default.
Ugh, there I was, letting my mind dwell on her again. For someone so proud of my loner nature, I was getting into a bad habit of thinking about other people too much. I needed to clear my head with some fresh air.
I threw on a hoodie and a pair of trainers and made for the front door, with no particular destination in mind. It had become a habit of mine to simply walk aimlessly until my mind felt more clear, though having no end point also meant I rarely knew when to turn back. Well, whatever. It’s not like I was all that busy.
Just as I put my hand on the front door, I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me. Considering only one member of my household has been introduced so far, I knew before I turned around who it was.
“Bro… you’re going out somewhere?” Yaki’s voice came from the stairs. I turned to see her hovering around the staircase expectantly.
“Yeah… just to get some fresh air.”
“I want snacks… come to the convenience store with me?”
“I thought you’re still mad at me for yesterday.”
“I’ll forgive you if you buy me snacks.”
“…put your shoes on, let’s head on out together.” I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop a slight smirk forming on my face. Typical Yaki.
It wasn’t long before she and I were wandering the streets around our home on the way to our local convenience store, Yaki walking with a slight spring in her step. She was never happier than when the prospect of snacks was on the line.
“Hey, bro, ain’t 7/11 the other way?”
“Tesco express is cheaper. And I want the clubcard points.”
“It’s twice the distance!”
“But I always save somewhere between 20 pence and 200 yen there.”
“Just how cheap are you?! And would you stick to one currency, it’s already confusing enough!”
I should have known my lazy ass off a sister would complain about an extra few minutes walk, but despite her objections she kept walking alongside me. In truth, the money saved was only half the reason I picked the further option. I also just wanted to be out of the house for longer. It may be my comfort zone, but sometimes I got a little too comfortable there. That’s when I started to overthink, and that’s the last thing I wanted to be doing right now.
“You good there, bro?”
“Huh? Why do you ask?”
“Well, that’s the eighth time you’ve sighed since we left, you have a face like a slapped arse, and I’m pretty sure I heard you mutter ‘why does god hate me so much’ at least once.”
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“It was that obvious?!”
“No, I made that all up. I just know you tend to go for walks when you’re worried about something.”
“You really push my buttons sometimes, y’know that?”
I suppose I should have figured she was lying. Though I did have habits of sighing and muttering, I wasn’t the type to blame all my problems on some cosmic entity. Especially not a god.
Loners and losers have a tendency to believe the world is against them. That some great power has set out to spite them, and that their misfortune stems entirely from factors outside of their control. But the world hardly cares to spite random gloomy twats. It just doesn’t care to help them either.
The cruelty of this world lies in its indifference, not malice. Perhaps misfortune befalls you through no fault of your own. It happens to everyone. But those who blame their misery on the world or some greater power are the type to not actually try and fix it.
God doesn’t hate you, asshole. He just doesn’t give a shit.
“Oh, by the way, bro, I passed your ELO today.”
“What?!”
Just as I was ranting in my own head about how much better I am than everyone else, my sister made a startling declaration. In all the years we had played, I had stayed ahead of Yaki in chess. I was never massively better than her, but always just good enough to be unreachable in the rankings. If she had truly overtaken me… well, it was a mix between pride in my younger sibling and shame as the elder one. To lose to one’s younger sister… could there be any greater disgrace?
“So you passed 1800? After all this time?”
“What? No. 1600. That’s your blitz rating, right?”
My disappointment was immeasurable. And my day was ruined.
“Blitz. What a shite time control. Let me guess, you play three plus two?”
“Five flat.”
“Argh, even worse.”
I couldn’t believe it. My own sister, a blitz player? How could our parents have raised her so poorly? My stepfather (her father) had always played either clockless or classical with us, because he was a sensible man who knew the value of well thought out moves and strategy. Fifteen-plus-ten rapid, that’s the best time control. Enough time to think things out, but not so long that your concentration starts to slip. Anything shorter is for tiny-brained fools.
“Listen, Yaki. Blitz chess is for the weak and feeble. The ones who can’t think at a depth of more than two or three moves. A 1600 in blitz chess is no better than an 800 in rapid, y’know. I can’t believe you’ve been so led astray.”
“Bro, you know you’re the kind of elitist that makes people not wanna play chess right?”
“Me? Elitist?! How could you say such a thing.”
“You once told me that people who play the London system are ‘neither chess players nor people.’”
“That’s the London! Can you blame me?”
“Well, you got a point there.”
“If anyone’s an elitist, it’s the new girl at my club. The one that Pep is crushing on.” I grumbled, irritated that I had to recall her existence. “She’d probably say something like ‘there’s no greater disrespect to the beautiful game than to hurry those playing it. The very existence of the chess clock is an insult to the art of playing.’” I put on my best pretentious voice, which sounded a lot like my regular voice, causing Yaki to chuckle lightly.
“Nice to hear you finally have a friend other than Pep.”
“Friend? Don’t make me laugh. She and I can barely be considered better than enemies.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t have enemies. Having enemies would require you to actually pay attention to people. We both know that’s not how you roll.”
“Well I guess you’re not wrong there, I do see other people as little more than the dirt under my shoe.”
“It’s that extreme?!”
“Still, to call Sai and I friends would be premature at best. We share a common interest in chess, but even in that we rarely agree. She’s all ‘theory’ this and ‘tactics’ that but she doesn’t understand the first thing about strategy. She’s the least creative chess player I’ve ever seen. She irritates me.”
“But most people do things you hate and you pay them no mind. You must at least care about this girl in some capacity for her opinions to actually mean something to you.”
“Only as a member of my club, nothing more.”
“Sure, sure.” She rolled her eyes at my complete denial, before changing the subject. “So… if you’re only practicing rapid, does that mean that’s the time control you’re using for your tournament thingy?”
“Hmm? I have no idea. He didn’t mention it in the letter thing.”
“Why didn’t you ask when you answered the challenge?”
“I never sent a response.”
“What?!” She stopped on the spot, overreacting as usual. “Are you an idiot?! How is he supposed to know if you’re coming or not?!”
“I just assumed it was one of those things where someone replied offscreen so we wouldn’t have to waste a scene on it.”
“Wouldn’t you be the one to do that?!”
“Well that would be the implication. But now you’ve pointed it out and ruined it.”
“How is this my fault?!”
Ah, what a pain. I guess I’ll have to actually draft a response tonight. Damn you, Yaki, and your incessant lampshading.