Ace looked at the other seven members of his team.
Naturally, Alex and Marko were among them. He could’ve put them on the other team, but he wanted to show everyone how crucial each class was. The group gathered under the tall trees and stared at him.
"I’m the guy who bumps our IQ over nine‑thousand, so let’s play smart," Ace said. Grins spread all around. "See that hill? We’ll use it. Alex stays on top, back to the king. We rotate the king so Alex is always watching his six. We fight around Alex so we never lose track of our king. If the king needs help, yell. Tank and knight stay on him. Healer in the middle. Queen weaves between healer and tank. Other knight covers the rear. Have fun."
"Yes, Don Capo!" they chorused.
Ace stooped, picked up a pebble, and tossed it from hand to hand. "One pebble equals one hit. You might hate the trick, but doing everything we can is the least we can do."
They nodded. Throwing pebbles felt cheap, but they swallowed their pride and pocketed a few stones.
Five minutes passed; Ace had the first move. In the Chessboard Apocalypse, pawns could slip through any terrain, but on Earth he lacked those skills, so the rule mimicked them.
It took him less than thirty seconds to spot the other team. They were killing time, eyes glued to watches, asking each other for the countdown. No formation. They looked like lost kids on a field trip. At least they knew their classes: like that famous trainer Ketchup, the queen and a knight wore their caps backward to show their king was boosting their attack.
I should’ve told them one side attacks while the other defends, Ace thought with a sigh. Now they’ll either charge off and ditch their king or just stand there. Fine—I’ll scout and lure them out. I didn’t plan this game well. Next one’ll be better.
Moving like a cat burglar, he circled behind them, slid an arm around their king’s shoulders, and covered his mouth. Five quick taps to the back—game over.
That’s fool’s mate in chess.
"Checkmate, morons," Ace muttered.
Late afternoon found the gang in their dojo, nursing bruises. None were serious, but Chaewon grabbed the first‑aid kit and patched everyone up.
"That jerk said he tossed a pebble, but that was totally a rock!" one of the thugs grumbled, rubbing his sore cheek.
Chaewon gave a quick, bright smile. "Guess it was a rock after all!"
Ace, unscathed, chose two wooden daggers and shredded the straw dummy.
"Run into another gang?" Chaewon’s father asked.
Switching his grip, Ace slashed wide then turned. "Nah. Practice matches. Good times."
The games had boosted the team’s coordination, yet Ace, a veteran returner, still wasn’t satisfied. His silent frustration showed in each brutal strike on the dummy.
A few minutes later Chaewon walked over.
"Want to spar?" she asked, bright smile in place.
"In Taekwondo?" Ace raised a brow.
She hadn’t taken it up in his first life, and he still wasn’t sure why she did now.
"Yes." Chaewon nodded.
"Sure, but why’d you start?" He racked the daggers and wiped his hands.
"You impressed Dad day one, so Taekwondo caught my eye. Mom was good at it too. Then you rolled out all those martial arts, and I wanted to meet you in at least one. Taekwondo’s in my roots, and yeah—I’m stubborn and love a challenge."
"I know," Ace said, making her blink.
He strapped on safety gear; she did the same. The dojo fell silent.
Both dropped into walking stances, trading feints to find range. Ace shot a roundhouse, but Chaewon expected it—she chopped his calf, shattering his rhythm, and drove a straight punch into his solar plexus. Ace staggered back.
"That’s my daughter!" her father hollered.
The gang bit back cheers; one look from the old man and they burst into laughter.
"That’s our senior!" they shouted.
Ace chuckled and stood. "Nice one. I’d be toast in a real fight. Let’s go longer, Chaewon sunbae‑nim."
The taste of real combat fired him up.
Chaewon met his grin. "I’ve got the whole evening free."