Chapter 11
The Abyss of Desire

My blood was pounding in my veins, and the heat... was becoming unbearable.

I tried to focus on the chessboard, fighting like a demon to channel my thoughts.

Each time she leaned over to move a piece, her perfume—a blend of night jasmine and precious woods—went to my head. In the half-light of the bar, her skin seemed to glow. I could not stop my eyes from following the curve of her neck. Fuck, what was happening to me?

It is your move, she whispered.

I started, realising I had been frozen.

The pieces were blurring together. Everything was going hazy.

I raised my eyes to her. Her gaze anchored itself in mine. I saw something there... or else I was completely delirious.

Is everything all right, Yoshirō-san? she asked, her voice seeming to come from very far away.

Hearing her say my name—which I had never given her—troubled me even more. I wanted to answer. The bar seemed to be spinning around me.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would pass. But even with my eyelids shut, I saw only her. Her face, her lips... Shit, I was losing it.

When I opened my eyes again, everything was coming apart. The chessboard in front of me was losing its shape, the pieces floating like mirages. I blinked, trying to find my footing.

But nothing made sense any more. The outlines were fading, everything was dancing in my head. I was going under completely.

Suddenly, in the middle of this mess, one sharp image: the golden ring on the bare wood. The free gold. The gold of the piece, the gold of the ring... Free. Her bare ring finger. Was she free, too? Was I dreaming or what?

The vision gave me a jolt. With the last of my strength I reached out toward the chessboard, my trembling fingers trying to catch that piece before I went under.

I raised my eyes to her one last time. Her face was blurred, but she seemed... kindly? She rose slowly. Her figure was breathtakingly beautiful.

The world tipped over. My head grew heavy as lead. The chessboard rushed up at me, the pieces scattering.

The last thing I remembered was the touch of the wood against my forehead.

Then, nothing.