Chapter Text
The first time Gojo played against Geto was also the first time he’d ever felt challenged. Looking back on it now, it was also probably the first time he’d actually had fun with chess. He’d always just considered it his duty, a lifelong task entrusted to him instead of a passion. His future was black and white, the occasional umber and beige shades, but nothing else.
But then he’d discovered dozens of shades of purple in Geto’s eyes and that was the first moment he'd ever felt any sort of fulfillment in his life. To Gojo, anything before that was better left forgotten, even if the history books would take care of going against his wish.
From the moment he could discern the pieces, he had been made to play chess daily. It only took a few days for his parents to realize he was a prodigy, but even if he wasn’t, he probably would have been forced to become one somehow. His talent just made his childhood slightly less of a torment.
By age 8, he was known worldwide. By age 9, he was bored. By age 10, he was allowed to play against Grandmasters three times his age. And by age 12, he was lonely.
So fucking lonely. A childhood stripped away and future already decided. It wasn’t that he hated chess, it was just that he hated not having had a choice. He despised how quickly his daily routine had turned to moving pieces across a board instead of running around in a yard, or whatever it was kids were supposed to do.
So at 16, he was resigned to his fate. His parents had entered him into the World Youth Championships like every other year, and like every other year, he was going to win. Sometimes, he thought about placing second on purpose just so he could have some silver in the middle of all his gold medals, to see something different, something new.
He was well on his way to winning his second-to-last game when he'd decided to walk around the quiet room. His current opponent - some guy with a shitty hair dye job whose name he should probably know - was taking too long to make his damn move. Really he should’ve resigned already, he’d been in a failing position for over an hour at this point. Boring…
Gojo let his gaze wander over his fellow players’ games, not really settling anywhere as he mostly used the opportunity to stretch his legs. And ugh, of course the other boards looked just as lame as his own…
But, this specific game caught his eye for some reason. The white pieces were in such a crushingly strong position, it seemed their owner had decided to have some fun with their opponent. Who the fuck promotes 4 whole rooks?!
Gojo couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He was probably gaping at this point and he should worry about all the cameras surrounding them possibly capturing his shock, but he couldn’t help it. A tan hand reached out to move a pawn closer to the opposition’s rear rank, closer to what was likely to be yet another promotion. Blue eyes trailed from said hand, to a dress shirt-clad arm, and up to a face he’d become closely accustomed to years down the line. But at that moment, Gojo couldn’t remember having ever seen him before.
The boy, around the Gojo heir’s age, seemed to be having the time of his life - unlike his opponent who had tears swimming in their eyes. Gojo looked back to his own game, and seeing his adversary had yet to make a move, he decided to watch the table in front of him a little longer, although, thinking back on it years later, he had been mostly watching his future nemesis. What with his long dark hair pinned neatly into a bun save for the stray bangs falling down his left cheek, the clean hairdo clashing quite hard with the plugs in his stretched lobes, and the slightly mocking smile that made his eyes crinkle.
At last, the other player knocked down the black king, resigning. But it was much too late to save face, even as they politely shook hands with the– the genius or whatever kind of crazy you had to be to pull such a prank.
Then, for the first time, purple eyes met blue, and yes, that for sure was the moment Gojo Satoru had found a meaning to life.
They looked at each other for a moment, before the other boy smiled at him and looked away shyly. As people applauded and his victory was announced, Gojo heard his name for the first time, and this one he would make sure to never forget: Geto Suguru.
Gojo had no idea what expression he was making, didn’t know how to describe this emotion he felt overtaking him as he returned to his table, feeling so much lighter despite the pressure in his throat, in his chest.
His adversary was clutching his head in a white-knuckled grip, pulling so hard on his already fucked over-bleached hair that he would likely leave the room half-bald. Gojo couldn’t help but think it served him right for wasting his time.
Just 4 minutes later the game was over and Gojo was matched with his final opponent, one last match before he could go home with another boring gold trophy in his name. At least he'd seen something interesting that day. It would keep his mind occupied for a little while before returning to the usual monochrome droning.
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Geto still remembered how bad his hands were shaking as he let the warm stream of water wash over them after that fateful match, but the usually calming feeling was nowhere to be found. He only had a few minutes to pull himself together before he’d have to go back out there and face his last opponent.
He knew Gojo Satoru would be here, obviously, he knew. But he wasn’t really expecting him to watch one of his games?! He’d noticed him. Out of the entire crowd of prodigies and professionals. Out of everyone, his game was the only one he stopped at. Fuck.
“Uhm… Mr. Geto?”
Said man jumped and looked towards the open bathroom door from which the voice had called out. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even heard any knocking (old habits never die).
So it was time to play against the one and only Crown Prince of Chess for the first time.
Through his disassociated state, he barely remembered going to the table and adjusting his pieces. He did remember shaking Gojo’s hand however, and how much steadier it was compared to his own. He was just- freaking out at that point. That was his first Youth Championship, he knew he’d do good obviously, just not this good, not Gojo-Satoru-worthy good.
Now he knew he had to give it his all, no more fooling around to get the press’ attention. His feature on chess newspapers was already guaranteed between the rooks fiasco and this finale. So he had to be serious and win this. He was certain he would, he knew his own capabilities quite well and he knew Gojo’s weaknesses even better.
Their first match would certainly be remembered for decades, if not centuries, and surely chess books would feature it as a must-learn if you ever hoped to become a Grandmaster - every single one of Gojo's final games were already notable but this would be special. Still, Geto couldn’t remember how he managed to play so well when he was so stressed out about playing against the famed white-haired prodigy for the first time.
It wasn’t that he’d idolized the other boy, but he just seemed so- so famous, too grandiose to possibly grant Geto any attention. And- he was already a Grandmaster! Unlike him. Gojo couldn't actually care, it was impossible.
When Geto had started studying chess, Gojo Satoru’s face was already plastered on every magazine he read despite them being the same age. And yet, the heir had stopped and watched his board. Had taken precious seconds away from his time to analyze it.
Geto forced his spiraling thoughts to quiet down, focusing intensely on the checkered table in front of him. None of the world around them existed in that moment. He hadn't even paid attention to how much time it took, but eventually, the end of their game came, and here it was. The first ever stalemate between them, what would come to be known as the beginning of their renowned streak.
“Draw?” Gojo had proposed, looking straight into his eyes with a look full of awe and excitement that jolted Geto's entire being. It felt like those piercing blue eyes were truly seeing him, truly paying attention to the no-name chess enthusiast he was.
Obviously, Geto accepted. He’d be a fool not to, and in any case, he knew their current setup could only ever result in a draw.
They shook hands, but the other champion didn’t let go of him until they’d received their trophies. That night, two World Champions walked out hand in hand. Two gold medals for the first time in history. Two perfect equals sure to be pictured on every newspaper the day after.
And that night, their fates were sealed together.