I enjoyed the nature of the whispers, anger mixed with admiration as I walked away from the eighth and last opponent of the day, qualifying me for the quarterfinals, which was exactly what I needed to maintain my scholarship without an issue.

The games themselves were quite interesting as well, each victory enhancing my reputation as an assassin. My third opponent was simply crushed under my merciless assault, especially in the third game, where it turned into a complete clusterfuck after I sacrificed two bishops seemingly pointlessly, giving him hope before moving for the kill.

When I had left the table, he had been whispering that I was a demon, actually in tears.

Unfortunately for him, I was just asshole enough to enjoy it. He was a grown man, and he needed to handle it better.

After my fifth game, however, my opponents started to take their defeats rather more acceptingly, my reputation starting to do my job for me after a string of devastating victories. That didn’t make me sad, however, as the number of people examining my games increased, leaving them to burst into a whispering conversation about the complicated structure of the games.

Which meant even more Intent for me, my guide confirmed. So, I made a point of pushing for ever-increasingly complex patterns, doing my best to turn every game into a show.

One of my opponents, a particularly sore loser, even claimed that I had been cheating, that I was clearly one of the football players only here to play a prank, that someone on the audience was signaling me the moves.

Normally, I would have ignored that, but instead, I offered him a compromise. I asked him to say his moves while I simply closed my eyes, played the rest of the game blind, making it impossible for me to cheat.

Only to destroy him even more spectacularly.

The frustrated huff he let out as he retreated after a humiliating game I extended just for fun, taking every single piece he had was beautiful. And it increased the number of people calling me an assassin, which I always liked. When I left the tournament, my reputation was better than ever.

Or worse than ever, depending on the perspective.

However, that wasn’t the only reason for my good mood.

[Pattern Recognition II, acquired]

[Tactics I, acquired]

Receiving two new Traits during the tournament was even more beneficial than I had been expecting. Improved pattern recognition helped me to process complicated situations with surprising smoothness, and the addition of the tactics allowed me to plan even more deadly attacks, allowing me to plan one step deeper than my usual ability.

A deadly combination, so much that I didn’t even have a chance to try the Intimidation, though, considering the efficiency of the others, I was quite excited about its potential.

I left the tournament area, with an upbeat rhythm in my steps.

The conference center was quite distant from my dorm, but since I didn’t use my car --- my old, shitty car that required three small miracles to work every day --- I had no option but to walk back. Still, it was nice weather --- if a bit chilly --- allowing me to have a talk with my sexy guide leisurely.

“So, can these Heroic Traits also improve my physical abilities?” I asked her.

“Not with the slivers of Intent you received,” she answered, her tone dismissive, like I had just bragged a billionaire about my hundred dollar bank account. “Little, ephemeral aspects are easier than directly improving the body, or giving comprehensive mental improvements.”

“How much more Intent is needed?” I asked. “It’s not like there’s a lot of people watching the games as well.” Which was true. The college spent a lot of money to make it a reputable tournament, and many other participants also brought some friends who enjoyed the game to watch, but ultimately, there were barely more than a hundred people watching the tournament, and split among many games.

“It’s not just the number, but the intensity of their Intent,” she answered. “The people that watched you during the tournament contributed quite a bit despite their limited numbers. They care about the game.”

Of course they did. They had traveled for hours to watch a tournament.

“When are we going to start working on finding proper worshippers?” she asked. “We shouldn’t delay it too much. Tonight? Tomorrow morning?”

Honestly, a part of me was tempted to actually follow her idea, no matter how crazy it sounded. The benefits I was receiving clearly proved that it wouldn’t be a fruitless affair. However, my negative reaction didn’t only come from my distaste of trying to sell myself as a crazy evangelical TV personality or a hooky cult leader --- though that part certainly didn’t help.

No, I was hesitant because of the gaping holes of information she seemed to possess, especially in terms of her sketchy historical memory. Because she seemed not to remember anything closer than 1200 B.C. which was dangerously close to the mysterious period the historian dubbed as the bronze age collapse.

A period that not only the ancient Greek civilization, but all civilizations --- except Egypt, who survived in a diminished state --- of the old world had collapsed in a three-century period. And I still remembered her referring that I was supposed to defend against some kind of darkness.

Since then the world was still standing, the threat had likely passed, but I wasn’t the kind of person that poked around, risking awakening some kind of mysterious ancient threat --- not unless I was forced.

“But wouldn’t it better if I improved myself properly before started gathering worshippers. You know, to make sure I could make an impression.”

“No, it would take too long,” she said with a sharpness that belied her usual silly speaking patterns. The sharpness was gone as quick as it arrived, but the sensation of fear thumping my heart didn’t disappear as quickly.

Fuck, I thought. Maybe I misunderstood the function of the guide. She wasn’t there to help me understand the system, but to make sure I was not lazing around.

And with her memory loss and mood swings, I had no idea how she would react once she decided I was slacking.

But before I could answer, a loud car, covered with the caricature of a puma, the symbol of our school’s football team. Sunset Pirates.

“That’s it,” I thought even as I remembered one mass mail I received a couple days ago, targeting all sports-scholarship students, promising another ten percent scholarship in exchange for joining the practice team, to help the actual team train.

I doubted that I was the intended target for the email.

Whether chess was a proper sport or not was an ongoing debate, but no matter what side people fell on, they would agree that the chess team wasn’t the best source for the people tackle down football players. Get tackled by them, sure, but not tackle back.

At least, they weren’t supposed to, unless they actually tried to take the scholarship route for football before setting on chess.

I wasn’t in perfect form, but I tried to maintain my fitness as much as possible --- more out of habit than anything --- which should be enough for the practice team, giving me the excuse to delay my guide.

The possibility of a hundred thousand people cheering aggressively, committed enough to start fistfights and spend hundreds of dollars, should be enough to distract her for a while. I had no hope of actually making it into the team, of course, my guide wouldn’t know that unless I told her.

All I needed was to convince her.

“What if I had a better option than chess?” I asked before giving her a quick breakdown of the football, including how many people watched it every week. But even as I explained, I had already quickened my steps. I had to first go back to my dorm, to pick my exercise clothes.

Also my car. The stadium was too far to walk.

“It sounds ... logical,” she said. I let out a relaxed gasp.

“Excellent,” I murmured. Admittedly, however, I wasn’t really enthusiastic.

While I earned some time to better understand the situation, it was only in exchange for suffering endless hours of practice.

Watching other people live my childhood dream while I tried to deal with a bunch of obnoxious jocks and rich buddies who would no doubt fill the practice team to mooch of the popularity of the team definitely didn’t sound like a good time.