It had been the prettiest boy Chanyeol ever met, though he didn't really think about that on first encounter.

They’d been playing chess—it’s something somewhat regular to do in the common room of the private college dorm. Chanyeol had beaten exactly fifty-eight other students beforehand, with maximum of four moves to beat the other opponent. It’s sort of a tradition; people with the highest scores for the term are pooled and collected to play chess. It was sort of an informal event, really—but the students, if they’ve failed to score the top ten, maybe they’ll perhaps get some sort of personal achievement if they master chess.

Chanyeol’s scored first in the top ten ever since he’d entered as a freshman, and nobody had ever beaten him since; both in grades, and chess. He loved games as a child, and mastered the majority of board entertainment and card play by the time he was eight, including the Rubik’s cube. Since it’d been the private college, he’d been counted as the international 1% teenage prodigy; Chanyeol didn’t like to admit, but he was sort of smug about it.

“Hey, Park! We’ve got him out of the dorm!” someone yells promptly, just after Chanyeol’s fifty-eighth victory. His classmates was escorting over another student—the only student ever in history to share a joint-first in scoring the highest grades with Chanyeol—and, laughing, they pushed the student over towards the room, closer to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol looked at him.

The boy had scholarship to get here. You could tell—most of the students here were of upperclassmen of wealthy backgrounds, with connections to the business industry or higher-ranking profiles; or their parents had scraped enough money to buy their child into the college. Most of them wore their family’s uniform, with the crest on their left . Though scholars—funded by the government to enter the college since they’d been a ‘child prodigy’—you can tell they’d been fresh from the neighbourhood houses. This one’s wearing a blue bomber jacket and his hair’s pink; though his lips are soft, his button nose tiny, and he had a whole ‘-off’ aura that made Chanyeol somewhat uneasy.

“You.” Chanyeol crossed his leg over, “the new scholar kid, right? The one that got moved last term?”

“I’d better be.” the boy brushed himself off. Chanyeol notices his pierced lips and ears—definitely a scholar. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be dragged out of my shower and given two minutes to dress up so I can go to some—what—some chess tournament?”

The whole room squawked with laughter, though Chanyeol’s raised hand silenced them.

“Oh. I expected some enthusiasm.” Chanyeol sat back in his seat. “I’ve summoned you specially. It’s not every day I do that.”

“And—why exactly?”

Chanyeol pulls an annoyed smile. “You’ve scored enough to share a first-joint place with me—and that’s saying something, dearest, because scholars usually rank in the lowest ten. You should feel privileged to know that I’m settling that down—with a game of chess.”

The boy huffs and parts his fringe, and sits down opposite Chanyeol, crossing his arms. The room falls into a hush because nobody dares to look at Chanyeol in the eye—especially not low-life scholars—and this boy was facing him head-on, asserting his authority. Chanyeol, to be frank, was slightly pissed.

“I’m Park Chanyeol,” the taller smirked as his classmates set up the chessboard, “Make sure it’s the name stuck to your head when you lose.”

“Oh, bother.” the boy waved his arms around.

Chanyeol’s classmates surround them as they played, their mouths agape. There’s the air of certainty that Chanyeol would win—but this scholar boy, who managed to score first-joint in grades with Chanyeol, proven a big dominance assertion that even Chanyeol’s authority looks marginally smaller. As soon they’ve finished setting up the board, a hush falls in the room.

“Let’s play by the fifty-move rule.” Chanyeol smiles. “I’d doubt you’ll survive after four, though.”

The boy said nothing.

In history of Chanyeol’s chess-playing, the most moves his opponent had were ten before he lost to absolute checkmate. Though as soon as they played it out, it soon became clear that the boy was nobody ordinary.

He was a genius.

There is at least five-minute interval at every move made, with everyone holding their breaths in—even Chanyeol was awed when the boy survives past ten moves with a breezy ease. They were both clever; you could see it in their eyes—they thought out each and every move with every interval. Chanyeol wasn’t used to this—and, the boy, having wiped out almost half of Chanyeol’s figures, the atmosphere starts getting thick.

The thing was that it was only Chanyeol who struggled. The boy made a move with no comment.

Then it was as if the bo