I spent the entire evening studying my games and analyzing the clips of tomorrow's opponents. Turns out this grade school tournament was bigger than I thought—they actually showed it on local TV. I had a three-second clip in the broadcast, which Cam made into the biggest deal. But honestly? I wasn't interested in the fame. I was interested in winning.
Something had changed in me. All the usual thoughts about "you win some, you lose some" and "it's just a game" felt like loser talk. Sure, you can bounce back, but why settle for bouncing back when you can just win in the first place? For the first time since coming to this world, I wasn't playing chess just to improve my templates or gain EXP. I wanted to play for the pure thrill of crushing my opponents. That rush I felt beating those kids yesterday, mixed with the sting of being ranked third instead of first—it made me realize I was getting hooked on something deeper than stats.
So there I was, hunched over Mitchell's laptop at 10 PM, analyzing everything. Mitchell's doing pretty well as a lawyer these days—way better than I remember from the show. Something about the timeline feels different, but whatever. His fancy laptop was perfect for my research.
I replayed the TV footage over and over, studying each of the top 8 players during their brief clips. The video quality was garbage—this is 2008, after all—but I caught enough details. My quarterfinal opponent, Drake (seriously, who names their kid Drake?), had reached an endgame with an extra knight. Both sides had traded most of their pieces, but that one knight made all the difference.
I logged into Chess.com and Lichess, trying to reconstruct how he'd gotten to that position. After testing dozens of openings, I found a pattern: this kind of setup came up frequently in the London System. Drake clearly liked playing it. So I spent the rest of the night studying London counters, memorizing the key moves, the typical traps. If he played the London tomorrow, I'd be ready.
Patrick Jane – Beginner (231 / 15,000) +1
Mikhail Tal – Beginner (660 / 10,000) +50
Next Day
Tournament day. Either I'd crash out in the quarterfinals or make it to the top. My stomach felt tight, but Cam looked like he was about to throw up. Even Mitchell seemed nervous, constantly adjusting his tie. The whole family showed up—Jay drove down despite everything going on with the divorce, Phil brought his lucky coin again, and Haley actually put down her phone for five minutes.
"Just play your game, kid," Jay said, gripping my shoulder. "You've got this."
I shook hands with Drake—cocky smile, firm grip, the works. We checked our clocks, and I noticed the crowd gathering around our board. The other quarterfinals were already finished. Spencer and Gustav had advanced to the semifinals, and now it was our turn.
Game one started as a Four Knights opening, both of us developing steadily. We traded pieces constantly, reaching a complex middlegame that slowly simplified into what looked like a drawn endgame. With equal material and locked pawn structures, we both started playing fast, hoping the other would blunder on time.
Ten seconds left on both our clocks. Drake pushed a pawn—and immediately I saw it. Wrong square. I marched my king up the board, used it to shield my own pawn, and pushed for promotion. He stared at the board for three seconds, then resigned. Even with the clock ticking down, my new queen could check him forever.
Mikhail Tal – Beginner (690 / 10,000) +30
Drake looked frustrated as we reset for game two. "Lucky break," he muttered.
Then he played 1.d4, 2.Bf4. The London System.
I couldn't keep the smile off my face.
I opened with my usual setup—central pawns and knights—but immediately began the anti-London preparation I'd studied all night. Drake arranged his pieces in the typical London formation: bishop out early, pawns lined up like a defensive wall.
Instead of letting him settle into his comfort zone, I struck at the center and swung my queen to the side, targeting his weak pawn. He had to block with his own queen, which crowded his pieces together. Perfect. I pushed my central pawn forward, locking his queen in place and cutting off his escape routes.
My knights and bishop moved into attack formation, all pointing toward his king's defenses. Drake tried to create breathing room by advancing a pawn, but my pieces were already coordinated, working as a team while his forces stayed separated and passive.
My rook joined the assault, doubling up the pressure. His position crumbled—pieces stuck in bad squares, unable to defend each other. After a series of forced trades, his king got squeezed into the corner, and my attack finished the job cleanly.
The whole game felt inevitable once I locked up the center. His London System turned from solid defense into a cramped prison. I collected my pieces, already thinking about the semifinals.
"Good games," I said, shaking Drake's hand.
He just nodded, looking dazed. "How did you know exactly how to break that down?"
"Preparation," I said simply. "London's only scary if you're not ready for it."
Mikhail Tal – Beginner (760 / 10,000) +70
Two wins. Semifinals, here I come.
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Ryan's Quick Guide: What's This London Thing Anyway?
So Drake played something called the "London System," and based on Cam's confused face in the audience, I'm guessing most people have no clue what that means. Let me break it down.
The London is basically the chess equivalent of ordering the same thing at every restaurant. White moves their pieces to the exact same squares almost every game—d4, Bf4, e3, c3, and so on. It's like having a preset formula that works against pretty much anything Black tries to do. Convenient? Sure. Creative? Not really.
Why do people play it? Simple: you don't have to think as much. Instead of memorizing a thousand different opening lines depending on what your opponent does, you just stick to your plan. Even Magnus Carlsen (yeah, the world champion) uses it when he wants to avoid getting into theoretical battles with super-prepared opponents.
The thing is, the London has this reputation for being kind of... boring. Chess purists hate it because they think it's lazy—like choosing the same character in every video game because you don't want to learn new combos. Fair point, but it gets results.
Here's the cool part: if you actually study how to counter it (like I did all night), you can turn the London player's "safe" system into a trap. The key is not letting them get comfortable. Challenge the center early, aim your queen at their weak spots, and suddenly their neat little setup becomes a cramped mess.
The London got its name from some tournament in 1922 where a bunch of masters kept playing it, but the basic idea is way older. Think of it like the chess version of a reliable old car—not flashy, but it gets you where you want to go. Unless, of course, someone knows how to pop the hood and mess with the engine.
That's what happened to Drake. His London looked solid until I started poking at the weak points. Sometimes preparation beats system, and sometimes a little Tal-inspired chaos is exactly what a boring opening needs.
Next time you see someone playing the same moves every game, just remember: patterns can be broken. You just need to know where to push.