In a world where every living thing is granted its own blessing—

There exists the planet Marcus.
A world whose civilization is still advancing, yet already flourishing at its peak. The Creator bestowed upon it abundant resources, and creatures blessed in ways so bizarre they border on the unreal.

On a beautiful morning in this very world, the lively noise of a city household echoed at the start of a new day.

Knock. Knock.
A hurried woman’s voice rang out from outside a bedroom door:

“Amelia? Wake up for school! Why are you still sleeping in?”
(It was Rose — Amelia Schneider’s mother.)

“Y-Yes… I’m up… getting up… zzz…”
(Amelia merely rolled over and closed her eyes again.)

“You little—!”
Mrs. Rose snapped, grabbed Amelia by the leg, and dragged her straight toward the door.

“AAAAAA—!”

Amelia screamed, clinging desperately to her blanket.

Not as if she were crying from pain — but from sorrow at being torn away from her beloved mattress.

Today was the first day back at school.
Amelia was now a second-year student at a high school near her home — a school well-known in the city for its many clubs and diverse races.

She rode her bicycle leisurely through narrow streets and winding alleys toward the main road that led to school.
Rows of red-brick houses stood shoulder to shoulder, tall glass windows reflecting the morning sun. From second-floor balconies, softly glowing flowerpots floated gently in the air.

At a large intersection, the clinking bell of a train echoed as crowds of various races flowed toward the city center.
A sharp-eared gentleman adjusted his fedora in the reflection of a tailor shop window, while two beastfolk loudly argued over a slab of fresh meat at the morning market.

I wonder who I should challenge today?
Amelia pedaled faster.

She entered her classroom, casually greeted familiar faces, and looked around for her seat.

Beside her sat Movelz — a fairly close friend since first year.

The moment class began, while the teacher was still giving announcements, Amelia leaned closer.

“Another game?” she whispered.

“If you’re playing, I’m playing,”
Movelz replied confidently.

Amelia rummaged through her bag and pulled out… a tiny chessboard. She hid it behind a large pencil case to avoid the teacher’s notice.

They played through the first two periods. Before they knew it, break time arrived.

“I’m up again,” Amelia smirked after winning all three games.

“Lucky. I didn’t even touch chess this summer. You were probably buried in books again,” Movelz shrugged before heading to the cafeteria.

"He never admits I’m better, even when it’s obvious… hmph."
Amelia sighed and stepped outside.

“Guess I’ll hunt for my next prey.”

She headed downstairs and turned into a room labeled:
Chess Club.

The moment she opened the door, lively noise flooded her senses.

The clubroom was always unusually crowded. The clack of chess pieces, the clicking of timers, whispers of:

“e4 — e5… Nc6…”

Amelia found an empty table and scanned the room.

“Hey you! Want to play?”

A boy approached nervously and sat down. He seemed shy around girls — not surprising, since there weren’t many here.

“H-Hi… I’m Donz.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Amelia,” she replied brightly.

Her friendliness helped him relax.

They began their game, fully focused.

“Um… by the way… Amelia… what’s your rating?”

Suddenly, a small glowing light appeared behind Amelia’s hair and spoke:

“Blitz rating: 2217.
Rapid rating: 2101.”

It was called a Stat Spirit — a spirit cultivated and trained in workshops. It records information and performs various programmed functions. Amelia’s specialized in tracking chess ratings.

The numbers reflected her performance against others. Though ratings could be artificially “buffed” through arrangements, they still served as a rough measure. Professional tournaments used independent systems.

Donz looked shocked. For a casual street player, her rating was remarkably high. Professionals usually reached 2400+.

“R-Really…?”

“I’ve been playing for a long time,” Amelia said smugly, making her next move.

…
How would he ever know?
If I’m being honest… I’m not exactly the fair-play type.

Right now, inside my pocket, I’m carrying the very thing that will decide this match — something that helps me find the path I want to take.

It’s underhanded.

But I don’t care.

I like winning more.

“Checkmate.”

I gently place my rook on the final rank. Donz’s king has nowhere left to run.

“You’re really good…”

“I’m still far from strong.”
Wow. That was a terrible lie.

I buy him a soda for playing with me. He stays in the clubroom, and I step outside.

In a quiet corner, I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out a fish with a green gem embedded on its forehead.

It’s called a Tock Fish.

Rare in the wild, they usually appear in deep rivers.

Their blessing allows them to guide their owner through trails of light when touched. Most people use them to excavate ruins. Amazingly, they can survive on land for one or two days.
But in chess…

They have another use.

Because the Tock Fish’s blessing is guidance, it unintentionally points out the correct moves on a chessboard. The quality of those moves depends on the fish’s intelligence. Most of the time, they suggest advantageous lines. Their mistakes are rare.

Wild Tock Fish are estimated to possess strength equivalent to a 2900+ rating. Some professional organizations even breed them to enhance their ability. Modern chess theory owes them more than people would like to admit.
Naturally, they’re banned in tournaments.

But this isn’t a tournament.
The one I have carries a green gem — an exceptionally rare type. Ordinary Tock Fish can only suggest a single direction slowly. Mine can indicate two or three possible moves. Not only that, the brightness and color of the light change depending on how strong the move is.
Even so… I do feel a tiny bit guilty when I use it.

Buying Donz that drink was something like a silent apology. He looked genuinely disappointed.

I’ve cheated quite a few times already — but I’ve never tried sneaking into an official tournament.
Maybe I should try it someday.

I’m just not sure if I’m subtle enough.
A few weeks later, I wander around the city, visiting different central districts to see if any tournaments are being held.
Luck is on my side.

I find a flyer advertising a small local event organized casually by a professional player. The prize money probably equals two decent breakfasts.
But that’s not the point.

I just want to see how subtle I really am.
In the following days, I challenge high-rated opponents to test whether anyone suspects me.

I avoid suspicion by mixing strong moves with deliberate inaccuracies. That way, my overall accuracy drops when recorded by my Stat Spirit.
Even so, I still aim for decisive turning points.

It’s like trading ten small mistakes for one devastating blow.

I often visit parks or other chess clubs to play with Tock. Sometimes I even intentionally lose to stronger players, just to prove I don’t win all the time.

Everything is perfect.
No one suspects a thing.

Finally, I take that small tournament registration form, sign my name, and submit it for this weekend.

My chance to see just how subtle I can be while using the Tock Fish has finally arrived.

How cool would it be for a girl to crush a group of chess-obsessed guys?

Heh.

Sounds pretty cool.