Chapter 10
The Limits of the Mind

The carriage swayed gently, and in Takeshi's clouded mind the swaying swelled into vertigo. On the ōgiban, the pieces were turning into dancing silhouettes, their dominant position now as vulnerable as a sandcastle before the rising tide. Every breath became a conscious exercise, as if the air itself were thickening in his lungs.

Through the confusion overtaking him, Takeshi saw with sudden clarity that he had to end this duel before his strength deserted him altogether. His position was impregnable, his victory assured within a few moves. Yet the price of this triumph suddenly seemed exorbitant.

Your play is... remarkable, he murmured, his voice barely audible above the hum of the train. Perhaps we could conclude this game with a draw?

The words escaped his lips before he had fully grasped their import. He, the champion, offering a draw in a winning position—it was a first in his career. The silence that followed seemed to stretch on indefinitely, punctuated only by the insistent rhythm of the rails.

The answer came in an icy breath that seemed to crystallise the air of the carriage. No. A single word, spoken with a finality that left no room for negotiation. The woman's gaze, unreadable until then, took on an almost cruel gleam in the half-light.

The universe lurched dangerously around Takeshi. His body, as if in protest at this forced continuation, threatened to pitch forward onto the board. With a superhuman effort he straightened up, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. The game had to go on, even if every move now seemed to draw directly on his life force.