The blade of the knife juicily plunged into the white flesh of the inner thigh, slicing through the tender tissue with a wet, squelching sound. Blood, thick and warm, pulsed out from the severed arteries, mixing with the sticky synovial fluid seeping from the destroyed acetabulum.
Every strike of the knife left behind ragged edges – crimson flaps of skin with hairs sticking out in all directions, beneath which the granular structure of subcutaneous fat was visible, resembling a wet, curd-like mass.
"I wonder if you won back then, or not."
Ming You mentally uttered, breathing heavily, hooking the tip of the knife under the femoral fascia – a thin, semi-transparent membrane covering the muscles. It resisted, stretching like wet paper, before tearing with a barely audible crunch.
"I didn't…" the voice attempted to answer, but Ming You sharply interrupted it:
"Though it doesn't matter, the main thing is that there is talent."
The blade grated against the femur, leaving scratches and small notches on its smooth surface. Bone dust mixed with blood, forming a pinkish paste that dripped onto the floor along with droplets of sweat streaming down his face.
"While I was playing, I became more and more convinced that talent is the main thing, but hard work can also beat talented players, right?"
He jerked the knife sharply, severing the last tendons holding the leg. With a characteristic click, the limb separated from the body, revealing the wet, shiny-in-the-light articular surface of the pelvic bone. Dark, almost black blood gushed from the wound, mixed with yellowish lymph and droplets of fat.
"One must be the only talent, there are no other talented ones, only I am talented, all others are merely obstacles to the goal." he uttered, sinking his knife into the severed leg.
Ming You squeezed the muscles so hard that a cloudy fluid seeped from the torn fibers. He brought it to his face, inhaling the heavy metallic smell of fresh blood mixed with the sweetish aroma of decomposing flesh.
"But hard work…" the voice continued uncertainly. "In elementary and middle school, I trained day after day and improved in the game together with my teammates…"
Suddenly, his body shuddered in a fit of light laughter. Lips, smeared with blood, stretched into an unnatural smile, revealing teeth with bits of flesh stuck to them.
"Teammates? Friends are just a hindrance, they are only tools for achieving a goal, nothing more. Although you knew that too, otherwise I can't find an explanation for why you won't say their names."
He threw the severed limb into the corner, where it hit the wall with a dull thud, leaving a bloody imprint. His fingers mechanically reached for the victim's face – or rather, for what remained of it. The eyeballs, one of which was already popped out, hung on thin nerve threads, swaying like pendulums.
"I can, but I'm afraid I won't remember… they always surpassed me in the game…" the voice said with strain. "But that didn't stop me from proving that hard work can beat talented players, who usually have less experience."
His knife plunged into the remaining eye, cutting it in half. The vitreous body flowed out, mixing with blood and forming a sticky, gelatinous mass.
"And so the next four years of life passed, right?"
"No… the ch-chess club. She… Sun-Hee… her long, light-blonde hair, her brown eyes, her innocent gaze… the only one who truly loved me."
Suddenly, his body shuddered in a new fit of laughter. He grabbed his stomach, feeling hoarse, wrenching sounds tearing from his throat. Bloody fingers dug into his own face, leaving red streaks on the skin.
"Hahaha!"
"What's so funny?"
Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with snot and blood, forming a disgusting, sticky mess. He tried to cover his mouth with his bloodied hands, but the laughter broke through his fingers, turning into hysterical sobs.
"And did you love her?" he asked with difficulty in his mind.
"I don't know… but she was kind and smiling with me, plus she was the only reason I spent more time in the chess club…"
Ming You laughed even harder.
His body was wracked by uncontrollable convulsions – whether from laughter or sobs, or perhaps from both simultaneously. Every muscle was tensed to the limit, as if his nervous system, overloaded with adrenaline and horror, could no longer distinguish hysterical laughter from panicked whimpers. The bloodied knife slipped from his weakened fingers with a dull clatter and fell to the floor, leaving a scarlet trail on the dirty concrete.
Ming You curled into a ball, as if trying to become smaller, less noticeable, to hide from himself. His fingers dug into his shoulders so hard that his nails, through the t-shirt, left crimson crescent marks on his skin, but he felt no pain – only a deafening emptiness, torn apart by sudden bursts of laughter and stifled moans. Blood from his hands slowly trickled down his forearms, dripped onto the floor, merging into sticky puddles. In their dark surface, reflections of the sunset trembled, as if the light itself was afraid to touch this place.
He convulsively pressed his palms to his mouth, trying to muffle the sounds escaping his throat, but it only made it worse – his lips and teeth were stained crimson, and the taste of iron on his tongue reminded him of what he had done. Fragments of memories swam before his eyes: her smile, her voice, her last look, full of incomprehension. And then the convulsions became even stronger, because now he truly could not tell – whether he was laughing, or crying and screaming.
…
The office of the chess club was immersed in silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of foliage outside the window and the rare, soft shuffling sounds of pieces being moved across the board. Sunlight, seeping through the half-closed blinds, painted long stripes on the wooden surface, within which dust motes slowly swirled. Two teenagers were sitting at the table.
Ming You, with his black hair falling just below his eyes, seemed completely absorbed in the game, although his gaze periodically slid towards his opponent. His fingers, slender and confident, hovered for a moment over the knight before making a move.
Sun Hee, whose light brown hair cascaded down to her waist, leaned forward slightly, studying the board. Her eyes, dark and lively, narrowed in mild bewilderment.
"Are you really trying to put me in a Fool's Mate?" she said, looking up at Ming You.
He merely raised the corner of his lips slightly, not taking his eyes off the pieces.
"Who knows…"
"It seems to me that this time you're not playing very seriously; the first time, you were more persistent."
Ming You finally looked at her. His face remained impassive, but something elusive flickered in the depths of his eyes.
"The first time, we didn't finish the game."
"Then let's finish it this time!" Sun Hee smiled, and a challenge rang in her voice.
The game continued. The pieces moved faster, the moves became sharper. The room was getting stuffy — the summer heat was penetrating even here, despite the slightly open window. Sun Hee, feeling drops of sweat sliding down her back, couldn't stand it and took off her shirt, remaining in a light top.
Ming You froze for a moment. His gaze slid downward, to her chest, then sharply returned to the board. But it was too late — his body had reacted before his mind could suppress the impulse. Under the table, he felt the blood rush downward and barely suppressed an irritated sigh.
"Are you hypocritically mocking me this way, or are you really that innocent?" burst out from him.
Sun Hee's eyes widened.
"Huh!?"
Ming You slowly covered his face with his palm.
"…I thought I wasn't speaking out loud…"
"Hey, what did I do to make you think that about me?" her voice sounded more curious than offended.
Ming You glanced at her. His face remained expressionless, but a slight confusion could be read in his eyes.
"You have big boobs, and I can't concentrate on the game."
Sun Hee blushed and froze for a second, then laughed, but her laughter held a slight note of embarrassment.
"…you know… I do like that you're honest, but sometimes it's better to lie…"
"What's wrong with that?"
She shook her head, smiling.
"Ah… you seem more innocent than me when you don't understand something."
Ming You remained silent, lowering his gaze to the board. He made another move, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
Sun Hee, taking advantage of his distraction, moved her queen.
"Oh, by the way, check and mate!"
"…"
Ming You stared at the board. His eyebrows twitched slightly — he had truly lost.
Sun Hee stood up, stretched, and, taking her shirt, draped it over her shoulder.
"Alright, I've got to go, see you tomorrow!" she waved her hand at him and headed for the door.
Ming You didn't answer. He sat, looking at the board, but his thoughts were clearly circling around something else.
The door closed, and the room became quiet again.