Yeah, I Won't
Ralph Leoris.
Among his hobbies was Rotochess. It was a game nearly identical to chess as it existed in the real world, though the movement of the pieces and a handful of finer rules differed slightly. In any case, it was a board game in the same family as chess.
In this world's lore, Ralph Leoris was the greatest Rotochess player on the continent. One could name magicians stronger than him, certainly — but a Rotochess player stronger than him? There was no such person. Even Sara, who was said to have inherited every ounce of Ralph's brilliance, could not defeat him over the board.
In Legend Route, Rotochess against Ralph was a notoriously infamous event. Given the worldbuilding, of course the Ralph AI had to be strong.
The game community had gone up in flames over it for a while. The developers had poured far too much effort into something nobody asked for, people said. Even I, who'd had my skull thoroughly cracked by Legend Route, found this one hard to defend. What was the point of making it that difficult?
Win at Rotochess against Ralph, however, and you earned his recognition. And the recognition of the head of the Leoris family carried enormous weight. This was not the sort of thing that ended with a clap on the shoulder and a hearty My, you're rather impressive!
Even a noble — never mind a commoner — would applaud with delight to receive his acknowledgment. There were ranks among the nobility, and the Leoris family sat at the very top of those ranks.
Earn his recognition, and a countless number of events opened up down the line. And among them were events essential for obtaining Hidden Pieces. The single greatest reason I had accepted Sara's invitation today was to earn the recognition of Ralph Leoris.
"I'll let you have the first move."
Ralph shrugged as he said it. Ceding the opening to a beginner was only natural.
If he had taken the first move himself, I would have had no chance of winning. But just as he had in the game, Ralph yielded it to me. I held back a laugh and reached for a piece.
"Then I'll begin."
The winning sequence was already in my head. Never underestimate a veteran.
Ralph Leoris had played Rotochess against a countless number of people, across a countless number of games. And in all that time, he had come to understand one thing: this little board game could project a person's character with startling clarity.
A person's nature was defined by their words, their actions, their habits. The way they moved their pieces, the chain of judgments they made in pursuit of victory — all of it laid that nature bare.
His own daughter, Sara Leoris, played with the distilled essence of orthodoxy. She assigned a thorough, victory-oriented meaning to every single move, stripping away her opponent's options one by one. Her pace was neither fast nor slow, and it was precisely that quality that made the strategy so viciously strong. The number of people on the continent who could beat her at Rotochess could be counted on one hand.
By contrast, the play of Biblio Organ — Head of the Academy's Magic Department — was irregularity taken to its furthest extreme. The process by which she constructed a victory would have made Sara faint from how thoroughly incalculable it was. And yet every move, in the end, became foreshadowing for that victory. Her strategy possessed a strange, unreadable quality — much like the woman herself.
So then… what of this boy's moves? What of Johann Baker's?
Ralph Leoris had wandered into a labyrinth. He and Johann had exchanged seventeen moves.
What is this? A foundation for an attack? Or is it defense?
Johann's piece placement was highly unusual. The meaning behind that arrangement was hard to read. Was he trying to attack? To defend? Or did he simply not know the rules of Rotochess?
If those moves had been merely eccentric, Ralph would not have been agonizing like this. A beginner's whimsy was, by nature, something a veteran could not follow.
The problem was the meaning those moves implied. To Ralph's eye, this was not simply a barrage of overextensions. There was a regularity in the sequence that he could not yet see. A sense honed through countless games was telling him so.
It was his turn now. Time to give his answer to Johann's seventeenth move.
Ralph was sunk deep in thought when the sound of the study door opening reached his ear.
"Fwaaah… Father. Are you playing Rotochess with Johann?"
The pronunciation was slightly blurred, as if she'd had a bit to drink.
His daughter, Sara Leoris. Her mind, unlike her voice, was relatively clear — especially compared to Arsha, who stood beside her.
"Uheheh~! Lea Saoris! I won…! I wooon! This Arhon Swordsha wooo~n…!"
Arsha staggered so badly it seemed a miracle she hadn't hit the floor. Arsha Swordhorn was astonishingly weak to alcohol. Warrior types generally had a reputation for holding their liquor; that particular image did not apply to her. Sierra, propping her up, wore a strained little smile.
"Johann. Lady Swordhorn — no, Miss Swordhorn's drunk personality is something else. She's been repeating the same thing for a while now."
The wine had loosened the atmosphere enough that Sierra had dropped the honorific, calling her Miss Swordhorn instead.
The three of them drew near the table where Johann and Ralph were playing. Ralph snapped his fingers, and three chairs that had not been there a moment before materialized out of the air.
"Daughter. You already know this, but — no kibitzing."
"Even if I did, I wouldn't stand a chance of beating you. You're a fool who only knows Rotochess, Father."
"Urgh! To hear that from the daughter I raised with such devotion… I've lost the will to live…"
"Oh, please. You milked that one win against me for an entire year. What kind of grown man still expects to be treated like an adult after that?"
"Haha! That's my girl. If it bothers you that much, then beat your old man."
Sara looked down at the board.
The odds of Johann winning were, coldly speaking, zero percent. That would have been true of anyone sitting in his chair. There was no one on the continent who could defeat Ralph Leoris at Rotochess.
Sara had sometimes wondered whether her father's title — the Red-Haired Sage — had been earned at the Rotochess board rather than in the study of magic. That suspicion owed as much to the childishness he so often displayed as it did to his actual skill at the game.
In the end, it's just a question of how long Johann can hold out… Hm?
Something was off. Looking at the board, it appeared to be her father's turn to attack. And yet he was not placing a piece. He was thinking.
Father is… thinking?
This was Ralph, who threw down moves against even her without a second's hesitation. If Sara spent ten minutes calculating, Ralph answered in one. The secret, he'd claimed, was that he thought while his opponent thought.
In any case, Ralph's play had always been as unhesitating as his stride. And yet Ralph Leoris was deliberating. Against Johann.
It can't be…?
The image of Johann from today's entrance exam rose in her mind. The Johann who had brought down a chimera in a single stroke, on instinct that defied all reason.
Was he about to cause another incident here?
Sara began analyzing the position. She was no match for Ralph, but she was still one of the finest Rotochess players on the continent. Reading a board was no difficulty for her at all — and besides, there were things you saw more clearly as a spectator than as a player.
Having analyzed the position, Sara found herself face to face with the problem that had Ralph pinned.
I can't read the meaning of Johann's last move. But if you simply ignore it…
A move you could neither ignore nor calculate. And in it, she glimpsed a fragment of some terrifying strategy whose very concept she had yet to grasp.
Click.
Ralph placed his piece.
Click.
Almost in the same instant, Johann answered. A move without a shred of hesitation — a move that called Ralph himself to mind. For a moment it was hard to tell which of them was which.
"…"
Johann's nineteenth move was even more inscrutable than his seventeenth. Once again, Ralph had to find an answer to it.
"Hmm? Who's winning?"
Sierra asked. Sara could not bring herself to answer right away.
"It's… even, I suppose?"
Johann replied to her instead.
"!?"
At Johann's answer, Ralph and Sara's eyes went wide as saucers in the same instant. Like father, like daughter — their timing was almost identical.
"What do you mean by that, Johann, my boy?"
Ralph asked, baffled. Johann smiled brightly as he answered.
"Exactly what I said."
Who in the world would dare say something so arrogant against Ralph Leoris? And across a Rotochess board, no less.
Ralph's competitive fire caught.
"Fifteen moves until I take this, is it. I might even be faster than that."
Click.
Ralph placed a piece.
Click.
Johann answered.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
With every exchange, the two men's expressions diverged into stark opposition. The one being hunted was Ralph. The one doing the hunting was Johann.
And then, at last, they arrived at the turn Johann had named. It was Ralph who had to move. But Ralph could not move a single piece.
Ralph Leoris had lost.
"Dad, the Rotochess idiot, lost at Rotochess…?"
Sara's mouth hung open, all dignity forgotten. And of course, the one more stunned than anyone was Ralph Leoris himself.
"Th-this is clearly some kind of error…! There has been an error! Johann, my boy! Could we play another round?!"
Johann flashed a grin at the request. And then, from his lips, came the original game's canon line for turning down a rematch.