Twenty #2
And why should she? She wasn’t going to lose to Carter. Mikhail’s words echoed. You want to be the one to do it. Much as Julian resented to think it, Mikhail was right. If Klaudia was going to lose, it would be by his hand.
If the first phase of the tournament had lacked spectacle and pageantry, the same could not be said for the final round. It
took place in the main building’s large lecture hall, a sweeping, echoing auditorium.
The double doors had been draped in laurel wreaths, sprinkled with gold flakes. On the dais, two podiums had been erected,
facing each other, a tablet set on each one. The stage itself was also dressed up in laurel wreaths, and curtains of rich
purple velvet had been raised overhead. The evocation of ancient Rome could not be ignored.
But this was no gladiatorial arena. This was the Senate chamber, where orators battled with their words and minds. One could
only hope to leave as Cicero, and not Catiline.
As soon as Julian entered, one of the first-year volunteers handed him a plastic case of nodes. “Here. Put these on.”
“Why?”
“Dr. Iver said to.”
Julian glanced around the room and saw that every student, even the audience, had the nodes fixed to their temples. He sought
out Dr. Iver and found him sitting in the first row, right next to Mikhail. They had their heads bent toward one another and
were speaking intently, but Julian was too distant to hear anything that they were saying.
He took the nodes out of their plastic case and fixed them to his temples, feeling the slight heat of the metal against his skin as they flickered on.
He had never gotten used to wearing them during the simulations, of the strangeness of not having to speak aloud yet seeing his thoughts shift the map before his eyes.
But if he won today, it would be well worth the discomfort.
Klaudia’s semifinal round was to be played first, and Julian watched as she stepped to the podium. He tried to see her face,
but she stared determinedly down at her tablet, consummately focused.
“You made a good showing.”
Julian looked up with a start. Carter was standing before him, smirking.
His skin prickled. “And I happened to do it all without cheap tricks. Imagine that.”
“It’s your friend’s game. It’s not fair. You’re cheap for getting his help.”
“Not as cheap as assaulting your competition.”
Carter’s smirk only grew wider. “She’s a frigid bitch. That’s the closest she’ll ever get to any action. She should thank
me.”
He had thought it was a cliché, but in that moment, Julian truly saw red.
“She’s going to wipe the floor with you,” he said. “I hope she makes it slow and humiliating.”
Carter only laughed. And then he stepped up onto the stage and took his place at the podium opposite Klaudia.
Professor Narendra was standing between the lecterns. The silver nodes were gleaming on his temples, too. He clapped his hands,
and immediately the audience fell silent.
“Welcome to the final rounds of our first annual Thymos tournament,” he said. “A sincere thank-you to our own Mikhail Karchenko,
who brought this game so vividly to life.” He indicated to Mikhail, who smiled brightly. There was a resounding chorus of
applause. “Now, please welcome our semifinalists: Klaudia Shimonova and Carter Egan.”
Professor Narendra stepped back, and in his place, a projection shimmered to life, hovering over the stage.
A projection? Julian couldn’t spot any machines.
And unlike the projections that he’d seen during the simulations, there was no translucency, no glitching at the edges.
In fact, the pieces on the stage looked as real and solid as Klaudia and Carter.
Something uneasy settled in Julian’s stomach.
The pieces had once been mere pixels on his tablet. Now he could make out so many of Mikhail’s clever details: the fringe
of lace on Psycha’s gown, each knife-sharp tooth of Marionette’s ghoulish smile. The audience grew hushed.
With each tap on their tablets, the pieces shifted, physically crossing the stage as they attacked. It was disconcerting to
witness—they looked so real. Carter had brought a hyperoffense team with Cervelet, the deer that had caused Jane so much consternation, and a rather
uncanny-looking anthropomorphic tiger in a wrestler mask. Powerful pieces with enormous damage output.
But it was an archetype doomed to fail against Klaudia. Ghostly Trap could strangle the deer and the cat like a snake with
an unfortunate mouse.
And that was precisely what she did. Carter fumbled around a bit, but he couldn’t stop Marionette from getting off the Ghostly
Chorus. Not one to know when to quit, Carter forced the audience to watch as the counter ticked down and each one of his pieces
was wiped from the board. When the last hit point was drained, he pounded the podium with his fist and then stalked off the
stage. Cheers and jeers exploded from the audience.
Given the circumstances, it would have been appropriate for Klaudia to smile. But her expression remained as remote as ever.
She didn’t even acknowledge the crowd.
Now was a moment Julian had been dreading. As Klaudia stepped off the stage, Jane took her place.
They had practiced their matchup many times, and they both knew that Julian had the overwhelming advantage. As he walked to his own podium, Jane gave him a nod of acknowledgment.
It’s okay, she mouthed.
Julian cast a glance at Mikhail in the first row. He looked resigned. After a moment, he flashed Julian a thumbs-up. It was
probably better this way, he thought. Better for Jane to face him than to face Klaudia.
“Our next semifinal round,” Professor Narendra said, “will feature Jane Lin and Julian Joyce-Young the Third.”
Mikhail, and some of the other technology students sitting around him, began to tap furiously on their tablets. They were
taking down notes for further research and development purposes. Dr. Iver had already stated his intent to publish their reports
on the matches that very evening, for any students who couldn’t make the live tournament. They had to record every detail.
Accustomed to reporters, and knowing how important it was to make a good impression, Julian smiled beneficently at each of
them.
The match was drawn out, as Jane played carefully with all her pieces, and because Julian was reluctant to thrash her. She
was a good player and deserved to have a good showing—not to mention that she’d been invaluable in helping him practice. He
also understood the optics: Jane was very popular with the students and the professors, and trouncing her would have made
him look like a complete ass.
When the match was finished, Jane held up her head and gave the audience a smile. The applause was resounding, and Julian
got his own round, too. There was nothing to be too dismayed about. Jane had already guaranteed herself a ranking in the top
five.
But all of Julian’s confidence withered when Klaudia stepped back onto the stage. She didn’t look at him as she took her place
at the podium. She glanced up just once, a quick, almost nervous sweep of the audience as they cheered. And then her mask
slipped on again.
Julian’s heart fluttered when the crowd turned their attention to him.
They chanted his name—a familiar enough occurrence on its own, but in this new context it unsettled him.
He had debated Democratic candidates twice his age and made a laughingstock of his Republican opponent after he’d won the nomination.
Yet none of them set his nerves alight like Klaudia Shimonova.
“Now, our final round,” Professor Narendra said. “Julian Joyce-Young the Third and Klaudia Shimonova—our only two players
with an undefeated record in the first phase of the tournament. I’m certain that you’ll give us a match to remember.”
The audience whooped in agreement. Professor Narendra stepped back, and the pieces flared to life again.
They could bring four of their six pieces to the match, and Julian took his time selecting his, even though he’d already planned
out every possible turn of the battle. It wasn’t the mechanics of clicking the tablet that flustered him. It was Klaudia,
only a few steps away across the stage, so close and yet so interminably far.
Did he see her hands shaking?
When Julian sent out Tradecrafter, the audience buzzed. Someone even laughed. He has to be kidding. He knew he was going to lose so he brought a worthless piece as a joke. Another laugh. Julian’s fingers curled around his tablet as he tried to tune it all out.
Klaudia’s leads were not what he expected, and that rattled him. Surely she had done that on purpose, switching up to immediately
put him on the back foot psychologically. And it worked. Julian tensed as neither Psycha nor Marionette appeared on the stage.
Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. He had played this all out dozens of times in his mind. He just needed to keep his nerves in check.
He had to put pressure on Klaudia to force her into Psycha and Marionette. Julian chose the move Endless Void, which would
put both of her pieces to sleep—if it hit. The move’s 80 percent accuracy set him on edge.
Let’s go gambling, he thought grimly.
He missed on one of her pieces. Shit. The audience murmured in disapproval.
Julian’s pulse raced as he chose his next move. He could still play out of it; there were multiple win conditions. He just
had to get his pieces into position . . . but the stage lights suddenly felt searingly hot.
It was a bad idea to look at Klaudia. Yet he couldn’t help it. Julian lifted his gaze, and what he saw unnerved him more than
anything before. Her hands were shaking. Her gray eyes were darting back and forth on her screen in a subdued sort of panic.
And then something happened that he had never imagined possible: Klaudia made a mistake.
She attacked one of his pieces, but only did a sliver of damage. It was an obvious blunder. She had sacrificed her positioning
to gain nothing in return. Julian went for another Endless Void, and this time it connected on both of her pieces.