Grandmaster Mikhailovich

 When Maksim took his hand off the rook, he felt as if the piece had just gut punched him. He could almost hear it yelling: "You placed me on the wrong square, you idiot!". At that exact second, he realized that instead of gobbling that pawn, defended his king would have been a brighter idea. After quite a flashy attack from his opponent, his shaky hand reaches across the table, signaling his defeat.

 It was his third loss of the day, and Maksim Mikhailovich wanted to jump out of the window. His rank in the tournament and FIDE rating were nosediving into oblivion, and his mind couldn't comprehend being bested by a ten-year-old girl. She was a prodigy, quite highly rated, but that didn't help wash away the embarrassment. He started this cursed, mind torturing activity, that some people consider to be fun, two years ago, after finishing high school. His progress since then was slow and steady, and he was slowly getting better, but that didn't quite satiate him, Maksim didn't just wanted to win, he wanted to dominate, or at least be good enough to beat any ten year old.

 On the bus ride home, the other passengers might have been puzzled by the sight of a lonely, scowling man, that seemed completely detached from his environment, but it was just Maksim replaying the games in his head.

 As he popped trough the door, his girlfriend, Anne, recognized his sorry state:

 -The games didn't go too well, did they?

 -I got beaten to a bloody pulp by a girl half your age ...

 -Don't be too bothered, I'm sure she will probably grow up to be a Grandmaster some day.

 -If I keep losing like this, I will certainly never be one.

 -Oh, come on! You were like this in high school too, you know? You just couldn't rest until you got valedictorian, and almost went crazy during the final exams. Maybe try playing for fun sometimes. You can just take things easy sometimes, it wouldn't cause you any heart problems. These words were seemingly falling on deaf ears, so she switched the strategy a little bit: Let's forget about this, maybe you can bounce back tomorrow, there are still games left, right? Now I want you to help me cook some delicious spaghetti.

Of all things, some spaghetti was maybe the only thing that could cheer him up. He happily cooked and then dined with his girlfriend, it was indeed delicious. There are many things that this girl did just right, but that may have actually cemented his decision to marry her in the future.

 He was living in quite a big house, with his parents, so there was plenty of space for Anne to move in with them. He spent the rest of the evening watching movies with his old folks and speedrunning video games. The next day he was feeling invigorated and ready to take on the world.

 That lasted about thirty moves. His opponent was an older, more patient gentleman, and was slowly outmaneuvering him. His clock was ticking and he was frantically trying to find a spot where to retreat his queen. As he picked it up, he still couldn't decide. And then he noticed something peculiar: he was unable to move his hand. He just felt a tingling feeling. Then he glanced at the clock and noticed something even weirder: it wasn't ticking down anymore. He tried to call out to the arbiter but his mouth was taped shut. He heard a whisper coming from the table:

-Hey, idiot! It seemed that the one talking was his black king, but he wasn't sure.

Maksim had a dumbfounded look on his face and was utterly in disbelief.

-We are losing again, aren't we? The deep voice was definitely coming from his king. How about we try winning now and stop acting like a coward?

The terrified man was wandering: if his king had any better ideas, why not just tell him?

-I can read your thoughts, just so we are on the same page. Now, how about I offer you a deal? I guarantee

that you will become one hell of a chess player. In exchange I only ask from you a little bit of everything else. Do you accept my offer?

Maksim briefly considered it, but after thinking of the pain of losing this round, his soul accepted the offer. He didn't want to know what "a little bit of everything else" entails. Then, he noticed his opponents clock has started ticking. Apparently he made a move, but his memory was very hazy.

 Looking at his opponents face, he suddenly remembered the brilliant queen sacrifice, that simply depletes all of his opponents defensive resources. The resignation came soon after, and they shook hands. Victory sure is sweet!

Almost a decade later, Grandmaster Mikhailovich was giving a press conference, and he was being barraged by questions:

-How do you feel about winning the Candidates Tournament?

-Are you confident about your upcoming match with the reining prepaWorld Champion?

-Do you deny the recent allegations?

-How much did you calculate the queen trade?

 His responses were brief and on point. Grandmaster Mikhailovich was considered to be one of the greatest chess player, surpassing even the likes of Fisher and Capablanca. He had it all: deep opening preparation, magical middlegame play, and engine like precision in the endgame. Maksim was giving autographs while making his way to the apartment he was renting. It was quite small for his income, but he always traveled a lot, so he didn't need the space. His ex-wife somehow managed to snack the house, ever since then he was living a nomad lifestyle, in order to go to his tournaments.

 Maksim opened his door with difficulty, due to the pizza boxes thrown in the corner. On the table there was some of his opening preparation. He would call his second to retrieve it later. Aside from calling his team, his phone was pretty useless. He hasn't talked with his parents since a couple years ago, some fight he doesn't quite remember.

 His body fell on the couch. A bottle of vodka caught his eye and he took a swig. Then he called his his second:

 -Tell them that I will not participate in the Championship, I'm gonna retire.

 With that, he hung up the phone, wiped a tear off his face, and then stared at the ceiling.