Chapter 2: A Calculated Move
1456 Words
Daryl took a deep breath, the smile on his lips refusing to fade. He never thought he’d have the courage to face Mayor Robert William like that — and yet he did. And he was sure of one thing: he would carry out his plans, no matter what.
Now that life had given him a second chance, he was determined to use it well. He would use his memories to rise to the top — and get his revenge.
The tricycle he was riding came to a halt in front of their small home. They lived in Ironbend District — the part of Astrendale where the poor resided, people like him.
It was the place the upper-class citizens avoided like the plague, convinced that everyone here was a criminal or dirty. But they didn’t know the truth. In this so-called undesirable district lived the kindest and most genuine people Daryl had ever met.
He was about to enter their house when his old keypad phone suddenly rang. His forehead creased when he saw the name on the screen — Samantha, his girlfriend.
She’d always been good to him — at least in the beginning. But after they married in his first life, everything changed. She never treated him cruelly, but the warmth between them had disappeared.
And the most painful part? She had blindsided him by filing for divorce.
Daryl sighed deeply before answering the call. “Samantha.”
“Daryl! What was that? Why did you say those things to my dad? He’s furious!” Samantha’s voice was calm, but the worry in her tone was unmistakable.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Daryl said softly. “But… I think you should listen to him now.”
“What? What do you mean by that, Daryl?”
For a long moment, Daryl stayed silent. In his past life, he never would have had the courage to say these words. He had loved her too much — too blindly. But now, remembering the pain she had caused him, his feelings began to dull.
“I’m letting you go, Samantha.”
The other end of the line fell silent.
“W-What? Daryl… why are you saying this? What’s wrong with you? What did I do? Is this about my father?” Samantha’s voice cracked with desperation.
Daryl closed his eyes. “Samantha… no matter what we do, you know they’ll never accept me. I’ll never be good enough for them. You and I… we’re too far apart.”
“Y-You promised me, remember? You said you’d prove my father wrong! Don’t do this, Daryl!”
“I’m sorry, Samantha,” he whispered. “But I think this is what’s best for both of us.”
“No, Daryl —”
He ended the call.
It hurt him, too. But there was no other choice. If he wanted to succeed in his plans, he had to let her go. His attachment to Samantha would only make him weak.
And in this life, Daryl Grey could no longer afford weakness.
He finally stepped inside their small home, immediately greeted by the comforting aroma of home-cooked food wafting through the air.
“Daryl!” his mother, Marissa, called out, her face lighting up as soon as she saw him. “You’re just in time! Look at what we made!”
Daryl’s eyes softened as they landed on the table — an array of their hometown’s local specialties, carefully and lovingly prepared. He remembered this same moment from his previous life. Back then, his parents had prepared these dishes for Abigail and her family, hoping to impress them. But they had been dismissed without a second glance. The food hadn’t even been touched.
But this time… things would be different.
“This looks amazing, Mom,” Daryl said warmly, taking a seat.
Marissa beamed. “It’s for the Williams. We thought they might like a taste of where you come from.”
His father, Henry, chimed in, “They should know we’re proud of our roots. And these dishes — they’re part of who we are.”
Daryl smiled faintly. He no longer cared for the Williams’ approval. But his parents’ pride — their love — meant the world to him.
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,” he said, even though he knew they wouldn’t.
“By the way, did you tell Mr. Williams about the results of your exam?” Henry asked eagerly.
Daryl hesitated for a second. “Ah… yes, Dad. I just went there.”
“And? Was he proud of you?” Marissa’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
Daryl forced a smile. “Yes. He was.”
“I knew it!” Marissa hugged him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Son! I bet Mr. Williams can’t wait for you to become his son-in-law!”
Henry laughed. “Of course! Our son is one of the best!”
Daryl’s heart twisted. If only they knew the truth.
Later that evening, after dinner, Daryl carefully packed some of the dishes into containers.
“I’ll take these to the charity event tomorrow,” he told his parents. “It’s a good way to share our culture.”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “Charity event? You’re volunteering again?”
He nodded. “It’s important to give back.”
Henry clapped him on the back. “That’s my boy.”
“Just make sure you save some for the Williams, okay?” Marissa reminded him.
Daryl sighed. “Okay, Mom.”
The next day, the charity event was buzzing with activity. Daryl arrived early, helping set up tables and coordinate the flow of people. One of the event’s main attractions was an international chess competition, which drew a small but passionate crowd.
Daryl had always loved chess. He wasn’t a grandmaster by any means, but he had a knack for strategy. Though he didn’t have time to participate, he watched the games closely, learning from every move.
Later that afternoon, as the competition wrapped up, Daryl stepped outside the hall to catch his breath.
Nearby, two elderly men were locked in a heated debate.
“You should’ve taken my knight!” one of them, a white-bearded man, argued.
“Nonsense, Harold!” the other elder shot back, adjusting his thick glasses. “Your defense was full of holes. I didn’t even need that move.”
Daryl smirked, amused by their passion.
“Excuse me, sirs,” he said, stepping forward.
Both men turned, eyebrows raised.
“I overheard your discussion,” Daryl said politely. “If I may… your layout with the black pieces — it’s the Pirc Defense, right? But there was a flaw in your 16th move.”
The man with the glasses straightened, intrigued. “What flaw?”
Daryl quickly explained, gesturing as he recreated the board in the air. “You let white dominate the center too early. If you’d repositioned your bishop here, you could’ve threatened the pawn structure and forced an exchange.”
Harold scoffed. “Easy to say after the fact. But theory doesn’t win games. Show us.”
The other elder nodded. “He’s right. Show us.”
They found a nearby chessboard, and Daryl swiftly set up the pieces. “Let me make two moves for black,” he said.
Within five moves, Daryl executed a brilliant checkmate.
“Impossible!” Harold grumbled.
“Not impossible,” Daryl replied evenly. “Just overlooked.”
The man with the glasses stared at the board, then slowly smiled.
“You have a sharp mind,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Martin Anderson.”
Daryl shook his hand firmly. “Daryl Grey.”
He already knew who Martin was — a senior prosecutor with a reputation for fairness and an unyielding resolve.
“I know you, Sir. I’m a fan of your work — and your son’s. Nicholas Anderson is one of the best police chiefs in the city. I hope to follow in your footsteps. I’m applying for a civil service position here. I want to make a difference.”
Martin’s expression shifted. “Really? Do you know my son? Are you from Ironbend too?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Martin’s eyes softened. “I grew up in Ironbend. Met my late wife there, actually — at a small restaurant she loved.”
Daryl smiled. “Then you’ll love this.” He reached into his bag and handed Martin one of the carefully packed containers. “These are specialties from home. My parents made them. I thought you might enjoy them.”
Martin’s smile faltered as he took the container. His eyes turned sharp, his voice low.
“Tell me, boy… what is it you really want?”
- Writer
