One could determine a lot the moment your opponent sat down before the chess board. Some had the firm look of determination, others had the fire of excitement in their eyes, and others showed their worry with how slowly they sat down.
But I could never read how Twilight felt. Her movements were firm, but yet her eyes wandered back and forth around the board. She leaned back as if to relax, but she thrummed with her fingers without any break.
And yet, I had never had to worry about facing her. I had always been the best player in Canterlot High—the gap in skill with other students was huge—and with Twilight’s arrival it hadn’t changed much. However, I liked her as an opponent. Slow, calculated, defensive—a tough player to break, and strong for an amateur. Still, nothing I had to worry about too much.
Well, that was the past.
We shook hands, and after I started the clock, Twilight played the first move.
We’re both in the final year of high school, which means that this school tournament was our last one. The title of best Canterlot High chess player, a yearly event held by the chess club. I had held the title since entering the school and would be the first to achieve winning it every year.
Of course, I wanted to win. This final game would decide the winner of the tournament. Twilight wasn’t showing it across the board, but from the talk her friends gave her before and how they cheered for her, I knew she desired the title too. I couldn’t blame her; she’d become strong and would deserve it.
We played out the first moves quickly, and when I had to slow down to think for my moves, Twilight still responded fast.
And yet her face didn’t tell me how she felt.
In the past, where Sunset had her oppressive hold of the school, the students had separated themselves into groups that only interacted with themselves. I remembered how others nicknamed us as “techie students”—basically nerds. I did have better average grades, but it wasn’t as good as the other students; and especially nowhere near the perfect score Twilight had achieved seemingly effortlessly every year.
Her strength was memorisation, and this was my problem now. She had memorised the best opening moves. For a while, I might as well have been playing a chess engine.
How many moves ahead did she study? How much preparation was spent facing me? As I made my moves, her constant instant replies worried me more and more. I felt how my heart raced in my chest, worrying about making a single mistake that would decide the game against me, while Twilight sat still before me—cold, calculated, and emotionless. The light from the lamps reflected on her glasses, hiding her eyes from me.
She was like a robot built to kill me.
When she finally had to think, I couldn’t sit still. Was my move a mistake? Did her opening memorisation come finally to an end? Or was she just trying to remember a sideline that would crush me in an unanticipated yet genius way?
When she moved, I released my breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding in. A simple and calm developing move.
Now I was playing against Twilight.
Analysing the position, I evaluated it as slightly better for her. She had more space and freedom to move her pieces, while I had to pay attention to not forget my defense.
A year ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. I had faced Twilight in the semi-finals and turned the game for me even after a worse position. I just had to wait it out. Over time, she would make small mistakes—each barely mattering, but accumulating an advantage I would exploit.
But now? Could I rely on her mistakes again? She visited the chess club a few times in the past months, and her progress was huge. Each member was crushed quickly and effectively—the same way if I would play against them with my full strength. The few friendly games I played against her also revealed how much more skilled she got. It had taken effort to beat her before, but now it took my full concentration. If I slipped, she was able to exploit it and win. I had to play my best.
To play my best…
I let out a sigh as Twilight played her next move. In itself, it was a calm one, but I knew how poisonous it was for me. The knight in the outpost not only disrupted the coordination of my pieces, but also threatened to lead an attack on my king—or on anything, everything would work. A deep move.
It was bad. I couldn’t do anything but wait for Twilight’s decisions and react to it. Playing defense was already hard, and that against Twilight’s slow but accurate moves would be a nightmare.
I looked up to her. Her glasses still hid her eyes from me. Was she watching me? Could she see my worry? No, she had never looked at her opponent’s face. When she’s playing, she’s fully immersed in the position.
And yet, her silhouette loomed from above, the reflection of her glasses piercing right through me. Her straight posture, her unmovable lips, her crossed arms—she towered above me, waiting to crush me for the first and final time in front of everyone in this school. She would be Twilight Sparkle, the student that was able to dethrone Velvet in the final year.
And I would be just a senior that was, at last, defeated by a Crystal Prep student.
Shaking my head to gather my focus, I played a move and waited. Seconds turned to minutes, and Twilight was still thinking about her move.
I couldn’t lose. Not when just a single game was left. I just couldn’t allow it.
Why would Twilight need that title anyway? She was part of the Rainbooms, a successful band already gathering international status, was the best student in Canterlot High, and could enter any university she wanted. What more did she have to prove?
But I had nothing else I excelled at than chess. Nothing else to be remembered for. Better than average means nothing—no one remembered those. If I would win, I would last as a legend here, even if just chess related. I would be Velvet Sky, the first student that held the title of best CHS chess player throughout all of her high school years.
And the last game should be the one that destroyed that destiny? Never!
However, after she made her next move, I couldn’t prevent myself from biting my lip. She was aiming for an attack on my king. It wasn’t a loss for me yet, but I had to be very careful now. My position was clamped, and I didn’t have as much room as Twilight to move my pieces where they were needed.
She always took a lot of time for her moves. While it meant that I would soon come back from my time disadvantage, none would matter if I couldn’t survive till that point. I was walking on a thin thread—a single slip, and I would fall to my grave of oblivion. Thus, each minute stretched out to an eternity of anxiety, wondering if Twilight would find a move to break through to my king, wondering if my move was a mistake.
Move after move the pressure rose, suffocating me deep into the abyss of variations I had to calculate over and over. I held my position, but my moves went out. Where was the saving line to break out? Where could I stop her? How did it come to this?
And Twilight never stopped pressuring. Without any break, she kept grinding and grinding me, pushing me under water and taking away any amount of breath possible. Without mercy, with pure determination—cold, calculated and emotionless.
Then I had a chance to force an exchange of pieces and went for it. With less room and on the defensive, exchanging pieces was a good practice. Less pieces to get attacked by, more room to breathe, more—
Just as I was about to recapture, I froze and stared at the position, calculating through a flash of thoughts. The further I calculated through the line, the faster I felt my heart pounding in my chest.
Exchanging pieces was a mistake.
I had made mistakes throughout the whole game, didn’t I? I played into a prepared line, falling right into her trap. I saw the continuation crystal clear. Recapture, silent move, and then a tactical sacrifice followed by my king wandering for safety while I would lose my material piece by piece.
I couldn’t stop it. Did she see it? She had to. She had prepared everything perfectly for this beautiful maneuver. Had she seen it several moves before me? Or was the idea of a sacrifice part of her preparation too?
Looking up, I saw for the first time a change in her posture. She was leaning forward, her face not turning away from the board for a single moment. Her finger was thrumming impatiently, waiting for my move.
She saw it too.
I had played stronger opponents before, so why was I so scared to lose? Why was she like a grim reaper to me, threatening to take me out? Her determination, her reflecting glasses—my fear took me over, suffocating me as I tried to break free from the chains of defeat she would put on me.
She was here to erase my name from the memories of the school. She was here to overshadow me, to let my name be forgotten. I would just be another chess player in the yearbooks that get stored away to collect layers of dust, while Twilight would rise to a legend that had defeated a long-lasting talent.
My name would be just another name. The effort I put into chess—all in vain. Everything would become pointless. Every sacrifice I made for chess would become a waste of time and effort. In the chess world, my skills were forgettable, and now, this school would forget them too.
All I was left to do was to accept my defeat and recapture.
Taking a deep breath, I looked over the variation again. Having calmed down a bit, I realised what a fascinating continuation the combination line would be. My king would wander all across the board, each move being forced. The preparations to reach this position, the necessary silent move before that—it would be Twilight’s immortal game. In a sense, this was something proud to be remembered for, even when on the receiving end of her genius.
I should be happy for her. I should just move. I should let her have this moment of an impressive and fascinating win. Her progress was something I had never seen before. Rising from being defeated by me easily to winning in the final match? She deserved it!
So I recaptured, and the necessary silent move followed in an instant. We both knew what was going to happen.
Looking at her, she hadn’t changed at all in her appearance. Cold, calculated, emotionless—all the same as in the beginning of our game. She was destined to be my reaper the moment she entered our school. I had always anticipated it, but now I was facing the brutal reality that finally reached me. There is always someone better than you, and in a cruel joke of fate, this fact would catch me in the very last game I would play in this school.
But the scythe was beautiful. I wouldn’t want to pass away any other way. A genius tactical sacrifice that was a joy to watch. Masterfully planned out, masterfully forged, and masterfully executed. Twilight had raised it already, and it was my turn to run into it.
So I smiled.
I moved, and she sacrificed her rook. The next moves were played out quickly—forced for Twilight to continue her attack, forced for me because I had no other choice. As the game played out, my anxiety grew again.
What was I doing? Why didn’t I move? Why couldn’t I let go? It was just chess, anyway! So why did my defeat stab my heart and cut it into pieces? Why did it hurt so much? Who was I to dream of being remembered as an undefeated chess player anyway?
Who even cared?
I closed my eyes as the question hammered repeatedly in my brain.
Who would care for my legacy anyway? Who would care that I had held the title every year? Looking at the other students watching me, no one cheered for me. Twilight’s friends cheered for her. She had support.
I fought only for myself.
Friendship is magic, the Rainbooms said. A cheesy line, but I saw the result right in front of me. Hard, dedicated work with support from your friends always wins—Twilight proved that it was true.
Such a devastating death of my name. Velvet Sky, now a name like anyone else, a single person amongst many in a group photo. Remembered as being defeated by the power of friendship, and forgotten once Twilight achieves something more impressive.
I felt the chess piece in my hand gaining weight. It became painfully heavy. It crushed my fingers, broke my bones into pieces, and when I let it go, I gasped in relief. Twilight’s friends…
I looked at the spectators. I looked at my club members who watched the game curiously. I saw Scribble, a drama student that was my best friend throughout the years.
Stoic.
Then I saw the Rainbooms. They didn’t understand that I had lost—maybe Sunset did—and yet they smiled for Twilight.
Twilight would leave many memories for them. She had achieved so much.
And she had given others memories of her too. Many memories, both good and bad. All by different kinds of interaction.
For me, it was all just chess. Chess, chess, nothing but chess. When tournaments came, I would be locked in my room to prepare for the matches. When Scribble asked me to help her practice for a role, I didn’t have time for her because of chess. When my chess club members were training, I studied for myself as I would learn nothing new with them. Every second spent for chess, and only for myself.
Even if I somehow won this game, there was nothing to remember other than my name. Velvet Sky, the girl who had won every single CHS chess tournament. But what else?
What else would I be remembered for?
I lowered my head as I tried to hold my tears.
There was nothing else to remember me for. An egoistic, self-obsessed girl that only cared for herself and her own interest. She sacrificed so much of herself to be remembered, that she ironically made herself forgettable.
With my time running low, I played the next move. Just a few more moves, and I could throw in the towel.
I looked at Twilight once again. She was truly my destined reaper. Cold, calculated, emotionless—that’s how I had been to everyone near me, and that’s how Twilight would take me out. She raised her scythe and played her next move.
Five years in high school. Five years focused and lost to chess. Five years I lived, just to be forgotten forever.
And I did this to myself.
She captured my queen. I was in check. Her scythe hit me with all its might and killed me.
With an outstretched hand, I admitted my defeat. Twilight’s friends ran to her and raised her, congratulating and cheering for her win.
I looked down at the board, admiring with a soft smile the position as a tear rolled down my cheek. One couldn’t wish for a more beautiful death—I just wished it would’ve come sooner.
Author's Note
For those wondering about the other students spectacting a chess game: It's canon, they apparently do it (starting from 2:09)
