Smashing the Chess Club (2)
Kim Min-jun. Fifth-grader in elementary school. He was a member of the beginner class at the Chess Club.
He'd been attending the club for over two years now. There was no one stronger than him left in the beginner class.
That was Min-jun's one and only source of pride. But even that pride had a tiny crack in it.
The staircase to the second floor. The stairs that separated the entry class from the beginner class, and the intermediate from the advanced.
Min-jun would sometimes gaze up at those stairs. To him, they felt like a massive wall symbolizing the gulf in status.
He'd never even dreamed of challenging the advanced class. Most people there were high schoolers or adults anyway.
The real problem was the intermediate class. It was mostly filled with middle and high schoolers, but every now and then, kids his own age from the beginner class would get promoted up there.
Every time he saw peers his age climbing those intermediate stairs, something in Min-jun's chest would tighten painfully.
The worst had been when a third-grader—two years younger than him—got bumped up to intermediate.
His stomach had burned back then too, but he'd swallowed it down. It's just a year or two difference, he'd told himself.
But today was different. The director was testing some new kids.
Min-jun glanced over from the side.
Girls way shorter than him—by at least 40 cm. One was five years old, the other three.
What the heck.
At first, he just snorted dismissively. No way kids that young could play chess properly. Their parents must've dragged them here for some forced early education nonsense.
Poor things. Not like me. I've got real talent.
A few rounds in, they'd probably say, "This isn't for us," and never come back. Obvious.
That's what he'd thought. Until he saw them solving the puzzles.
10 seconds. 7 seconds. 12...?
Those were the puzzle positions the club had featured this week—he remembered them well.
How long did it take me...? Over 20 seconds per problem, I think...
Nah, just a fluke. Min-jun shook his head, pretending it was no big deal.
Then came the five-minute blitz game against the director.
The five-year-old held her own until the midgame before losing. The three-year-old lost too, but she made the director's face twist up during the match.
"Uh... uh oh..."
Min-jun found himself standing before he knew it.
The worst possibility flashed through his mind. And his fears came true.
"This is truly exceptional, but I think it's right to place both Yoo A-yeon and Yoo A-rin in the intermediate class. Amazing. Normally, intermediate starts from middle schoolers."
Intermediate class. Getting placed there meant climbing those stairs.
Those stairs. The ones I've stared at for two years. And these five- and three-year-olds are going up them...?
Something surged up from Min-jun's chest. Before he knew it, emotion-laced words were spilling out.
"Director!"
The director turned.
"Does it make sense for that five-year-old to go to intermediate? I'm in beginner! If a kid six years younger than me is in a higher class, what does that make me?"
After the words left his mouth, Min-jun felt a twinge of regret. He'd been too honest—too emotional.
Eyes turned his way. His face burned with shame at showing such an ugly side.
Before the director could respond, the five-year-old spoke first.
"Oppa."
Min-jun looked down toward the voice. At 145 cm, he towered over the 105 cm girl.
But even from that 40 cm height difference, he felt an intimidating presence he couldn't ignore.
The girl pointed at the chessboard.
"Wanna play a game with me~?"
The director tried to stop Min-jun.
"Min-jun, that's enough. Seems like there was a misunderstanding—"
"I'll do it."
Min-jun wouldn't back down. He'd beat her himself and prove it.
No way he'd lose at chess to some five-year-old girl.
Five-year-old girls should be playing house at the playground, nice and quiet-like.
They sat across the table. Min-jun took white. The girl took black. It was a 10-minute rapid game.
Min-jun went for a standard opening to control the center—one he'd learned over two years at the club.
But the girl started playing weird. Not aggressive, not purely defensive.
Bit by bit, the pieces got tangled in strange ways.
What is this position...? Never learned anything like it.
When familiar moves didn't come, Min-jun panicked.
He tried to stay calm and calculate ahead, but he couldn't see it.
Too many possibilities. Every move felt off somehow.
Uh... this for now.
Min-jun moved his bishop.
In that instant, her knight forked him—attacking his queen and undefended bishop at once.
"Ah."
Min-jun had to retreat his queen. One bishop gone.
Mistake.
He tried reading the next move. The position was even messier. Another blunder. Another piece lost.
Tick-tock. The relentless clock pressed down on him. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He's too weak.
I thought to myself.
Even in this simple position, he's blundering more than A-rin.
A-rin had better calculation skills than me, so she wouldn't make the kind of quick-disadvantage mistakes he was.
But this oppa? The second things got tangled, he couldn't calculate and just dropped pieces with bad moves.
He lacked the ability to read the whole board.
Soon, the midgame hit, and the material gap widened obviously.
Checkmate came quick. I delivered the death sentence to the white king.
"Checkmate~!"
He stared at the board for a while. Complicated expression.
No whoaaa~ of awe. Too lame for that.
I shrugged and said it extra snarkily on purpose.
"Oppa, you're really lame. Bet my little sis is stronger than you~?"
I'm not usually this aggressive, but if they don't show manners first, no need for me to either. Classic Tit-for-Tat strategy.
(Tit-for-Tat: A cooperative interaction strategy from game theory. Defect if they defect, cooperate if they cooperate.)
I got under his skin, and his eyes widened.
"...What?"
"My little sis. Her. You're lamer than my three-year-old sister. Wanna play her too~?"
I pointed at A-rin standing beside me.
"..."
A-rin looked up at him and said softly,
"...P-please take good care of meee..."
And so, Yoo A-rin's match against Kim Min-jun began.
Unlike before, he wasn't cocky anymore—his face was stiff as he played each move carefully.
I watched from the side, arms crossed. In low-rating games like this, tactical skill gaps show crystal clear.
Neither side had the skill to create complex positions, so it turned into a simple tactics brawl.
But beating A-rin in short-term tactics? Tough. Even I can't reliably do it.
The opening started. He played by the book, step by step like he'd learned.
A-rin hesitated, moving pieces slowly. Weak on opening theory, so she pondered early on, taking a bit of time.
She looked unsure, but every thoughtful move was strong.
Once the opening ended, his thinking time started dragging.
A-rin, meanwhile, was responding almost instantly now. Fewer lines to calculate, no real pondering needed.
He pinned with his bishop. A-rin instantly forked back with her knight.
"Huh."
His hand froze for a second.
Material gap opened slowly. A-rin kept forcing exchanges. Quick trades one after another.
The game ended in a flash.
His hand trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his king.
A-rin glanced at the board, then clasped her hands and bowed politely.
"Th-thank youuu..."
I sidled up to victorious A-rin and whispered in her ear.
"He's suuuch a lame-o, oppa... But unnie, what's 'lame' mean?"
He hung his head, clutching his eyes in agony.
I told him, "Oppa, no complaints now, right? We're heading up."
The director gave Dad a look.
Nod nod. Dad nodded back.
Our group climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Pitter-patter.
Min-jun sat there, drained, watching the group climb the stairs.
Those stairs he hadn't climbed in two years.
A mere five- and three-year-old girls were ascending them effortlessly.
The kids around him started averting their eyes.
Min-jun buried his face on the chessboard, pieces still scattered.
I lived in a fantasy.
Two years of built-up pride. Strongest in beginner class. All an illusion—hammered home in this moment.
Envy. So envious.
Those kids climbing to intermediate. I want that too. I wanna go up.
The footsteps faded at the top of the stairs.
Min-jun stayed slumped for a while. His sleeve grew damp.
The director returned and placed a hand on Min-jun's shoulder.
"Min-jun."
"..."
"Those kids are special. Doesn't mean you're weak."
"..."
"Get up."
Min-jun slowly lifted his head.
A faint voice echoed from upstairs. That annoying one from before.
Min-jun stood slowly, pulled out his notebook and pencil case from his bag. He took out a ballpoint pen and wrote in the notebook:
[Practice Rapid 5+ games every day]
[Review every game every day]
[Solve 20+ puzzles every day]
Min-jun gritted his teeth. Whether he'd grow from this defeat or crumble—it was up to him.