My name is Angelo Nobell
I am no hero. No savior. And certainly not a saint. I am an anomaly. A disruption of balance. The answer to this world's desperate, helpless cry. I didn't come to ask. I came to take. Not to please — but to subjugate.
Rights?
I have no need for permission. I take what I consider mine, because I am the Emperor of the chessboard. The Emperor of this twisted,
cowardly reality.
Mahaha... I have seen plebeians tremble over every pawn, terrified to make a move that might disrupt the order. Built for their own enslavement.
They live in fear — of judgment, of change, of
themselves. They believe in virtue, in honesty, in the light. Like children clinging to fragments of imagined gods.
But the world is not made for the weak. It does not reward the pure — it rewards those who dare to write its rules.
I don't care what a plebeian says. I don't care who among them dares to judge me. I exist beyond their game, beyond their rules. I am the one who writes the rules.
I calculate everything in advance.
I sow chaos — and direct it toward those who dare to defy my will. I sacrifice all my pawns coldly, without hesitation. Because every
sacrifice is a brilliant move that brings me one step closer to the throne.
And if achieving my goal requires the destruction of all — Then I will erase everything to ash. Without fear. Without regret. Without hesitation.
Even if the final piece must sacrifice… is myself.
The first part of my life — If it could even be called a life — will be remembered by no one.
Not because it was short, but because it was empty. I was nothing. Stripped of form,
meaning, will. Nameless in the eyes of the world. Soulless in my own.
While others laughed, built friendships, and found themselves — I existed in the shadows,
like a ghost without a voice.
At school, I was cast out before I even had a chance to enter. It wasn't just fists that pushed
me away — I was ignored, belittled, erased. I was an outsider. Too strange. Too real for a
system built on falsehood.
Teachers... instead of becoming bridges, they became walls. In their eyes, I saw the same
thing I saw in my peers — coldness. I wasn't even worth the effort of understanding. No hands reached out— only labels.
By eighteen, I left my parents' home. Not because I had grown — but because I couldn't
stand it anymore. There were no roots in me. No attachments. The ties were severed before they had a chance to form. I didn't feel pain — felt a void so deep that pain would've been a blessing.
I wandered through my own mind like a scorched desert. Without direction. Without future. Without belief in my own existence. I was a shadow — even my own flesh had turned away from me.
My parents... they wanted me to be their reflection. They offered me dreams I had never asked for. Their commands echoed like voices from a life I was never meant to live.
I refused to obey — but I didn't know how to rebel. We argued. We screamed. But never
truly heard each other. To them, I was a failed project. To me, they were executioners hiding
behind the mask of care.
And so my childhood passed — a silent scream.
Inside — frozen solitude. Outside — a mask of indifference.
And with each passing day, one question grew louder:
If I am a flaw in the system, why did it create me? If the world rejects me, why did it give me
consciousness?
Or perhaps... I was meant to rewrite the rules.
I kept dragging the wreckage of my life behind me, never even trying to piece it back together.
By the age of twenty-two, I was no one. Unemployed. Expelled from university for failing grades. Lost — in the eyes of society, and in my own. They mocked me. Especially those closest to me. To them, I was the architect of my own downfall. And maybe... maybe they were right.
But I didn't stay silent. I didn't swallow their words with indifference. I flared up. I shouted. I raged. I defended myself — even when there was nothing left to believe in.
And that reaction only pushed people away even more. I tried to prove something to those
who had long stopped listening. And then... everything collapsed. I cut nearly every tie
myself. Not because I wanted to — But because I could no longer bear the weight of false closeness.
I was left completely alone — broken, in utter despair, and without any support. I kept asking myself the same question over and over again: why do I even exist?
Why...? Why me?!
Why did everything turn out like this?!
Did I really deserve this?
Why does this world reject me?
Argh... Argh... Argh!!!
How I hate you all — and everything…
Argh!!!
All my life, I was forced to do things I didn't like.
I smiled. I obeyed. I endured.
And for what?
Argh... Arghhh...
I don't even know what I like in this world.
Mahaha... I don't even know — or understand — who I am… or what I am!
Argh... Argh... Argh! Argh! Argh!!!
It's all meaningless! It's all twisted!
I hate it! I hate it all!
Die! Die! Die — all of you! All of you and everything!!!
Arghhhhhh!!! Argh! Argh! DIE!!! DIE!!! ARGH!!!
This went on for weeks, until my mom called me.
At first, I didn't even understand — what the hell are you calling me for? You were the one who took everything from me…
I even wanted to hang up right away.
But then I decided to pick it up.
And the first thing I heard wasn't "Hi, how are you?", but simply:
"Forgive me for everything, Angelo. I know — I wasn't a perfect mother. I always made you do things that weren't to your liking. And only now have I started to realize that I was wrong.
Maybe we could meet this evening at the 'Full Moon' restaurant at 5:00 PM? If, of course, you don't mind."
After that, she hung up.
Her words shocked me.
I couldn't believe that a woman with such a stubborn character like hers could somehow change her views. Of course, her words could be considered hypocritical, without a drop of sincerity…
But during her speech, I felt warmth. And… regret.
I still decided to go and talk to her. I arrived at the time she had set at the "Full Moon" restaurant, and when I walked in… I found her with my eyes.
She was sitting at a table, eating a fruit cake.
When she saw me, she waved her hand and smiled at me.
Even though I had been a pathetic loser, I knew how to understand people. I could tell when someone was lying to me or telling the truth, when a smile was genuine or fake. Whether a person approached me with good intentions — or with bad ones.
And her smile really was warm this time… with love.
I just walked up to her, sat down.
And a few seconds later, before either of us said anything, a waiter came and brought me a chocolate cake. Apparently, she had ordered it for me.
I took a bite — and it really was tasty.
And it slightly lifted my mood.
Then we gradually started to talk. Our conversation turned out to be very heartfelt.
She told me that she regretted many things.
Maybe she was truly remorseful.
And I… at that moment, I wanted to catch at least a drop of hypocrisy and lash out — but I couldn't.
All her words were sincerely heartfelt.
I felt it. I understood it.
Gradually, we developed a normal dialogue between us.
She told me — and with me — that I should try to find something in life that would truly bring me joy.
And that she would help me with that — as much as she could.
She really had changed.
But at that moment, I didn't even have a clear sense of self… or any understanding of what I wanted.
I didn't even know if I could fully trust her words.
Because in this world, you can only fully trust yourself.
And everyone else — they're enemies, each with their own selfish goals.
That was the experience I had gained by that time.
I told her that I would try.
We hugged… and parted ways.
And since then, we began to maintain some contact between us.
It was 1972. All of humanity held its breath, watching as one man stood alone against The Russian Empire.
His name echoed through the world and made all chess players tremble.
Robert James Fischer.
He was a first-class chess player.
My admiration for this man didn't begin with his games or combinations — it began with his aura.
He didn't need chess to command respect. He could rule with silence, conquer by standing still.
He didn't look like an athlete or an academic. He looked like a man who knew he was
stronger than anyone else. Even if the whole world stood against him — he would never give up.
Because he never doubted himself. Not for a second.
When I saw his greatness — his unwavering resolve and burning thirst for victory — strange and unfamiliar feelings began to awaken within me. I had no idea what was happening to me at that moment.
My brain and body suddenly came to life. As if they were telling me:
"Now is your time, Angelo Nobell. Wake up. Create a new, strong personality. The time has come to break the system. And declare yourself to the whole world."
Fischer became my first idol.
Not because he won — but because he was the kind of man who never asked for recognition. He took it.
My new ego told me:
"I didn't want to become like him. I wanted to become greater. Not the one who follows
in footsteps — but the one who outshines even the light that once inspired him."
That was the moment a flame ignited inside me — clear, alive, and burning.
"I would become a chess player. Not just strong. One whose name would one day be written beside Fischer's. Or above it."
And for the first time in years, my eyes held not hatred, not pain — but hope.
After that fire ignited inside me, I called my mom.
Honestly, I expected doubt. I expected her to say, "Really? Chess?" But what I heard was something entirely different.
She didn't just support me — she said she would help me find a coach, if I was truly ready to go all the way.
And even though her financial situation was far from stable — she still chose to help me. Without hesitation.
That changed everything. Not just the circumstances—me.
It was the first time I felt real support exactly where it was truly needed. Not empty words. Not "hang in there." But actual involvement.
And maybe, in that moment, something was born between us—something that could finally be called a real bond. Not between relatives. But between two human beings
who had finally learned how to hear each other.
I was twenty-two. An age that's far from early for a chess player. But I had what money couldn't buy: intuition. Hunger. Memory. And rage.
I could feel the moves. I memorized patterns.
I devoured games like a starving wolf scents blood. I improved fast. Very fast. And once I started playing in tournaments, I understood,
chess is not just a board:
It's an arena.
It's psychology.
It's the art of war.
You don't win with moves alone.
You have to dominate.
With gestures.
With silence.
With a stare.
With how you reach for a piece.
With how long you pause.
You enter your opponent's mind — and you plant fear.
Chess didn't just give me a goal. It began to change who I was.
Mahaha… I wasn't pathetic mediocrity anymore.
I am wunderkind!
I became confident in myself.
I became colder. I became taller — inside.
I became extremely arrogant. And I had something… that gave me the right to be that way.
I became ruthless.
And maybe, just maybe, I was releasing all the rage I'd kept buried for years.
I wasn't just playing. I was taking revenge.
For everything. For everyone. For myself.
And over time, I realized something:
chess is not just a game. For some, it's a path to enlightenment. A silent discipline of the soul.
For others, it's a way to prove — that their mind is their weapon. Their crown. Their edge.
For others still, it's a door to the unknown:
to chaos and order, darkness and structure,
psychology and destruction.
It was 1974.The world kept turning in its usual rhythm — but for me, everything revolved around 64 squares.
With every tournament, with every game I played, I felt something inside me begin to shift.
The power I once drew from anger… began to fade. Not disappear — but transform into something else.
I understood: hatred, rage, the thirst for revenge — they spark motion, but not growth.
They blind you. On the board, and beyond it.
Chess demands more than precision — it demands mastery over the self. You must keep your face and your soul cold — in victory, and in defeat. Emotion is rust. It eats away at calculation, drop by drop.
I learned not to react. Not to rejoice. Not to suffer. Just to move forward. Like a blade that knows where to strike.
And in two years — from the moment I first touched a piece— I became a chess master.
My rating reached 2400 Elo.
All of this happened by mid-1974. Two years from nothing — and I had reached a place others spend their whole lives chasing.
I had started at twenty two. At twenty four, I was the one newspapers wrote about. They called me a prodigy. An anomaly. A phenomenon. Not because I was the youngest — but because I was late… and still overtook them all.
The world watched in disbelief. Chess
federations tried to make sense of it.
Journalists searched for a story. But the truth was simple: I was rising toward the place I'd always belonged — the top.
My ego and arrogance were growing not by the day, but by the hour.
All that time, my mother was by my side.
Our relationship… it was no longer just "good." We became close — genuinely close.
As if we had been strangers our whole lives until then.
I bought her a luxurious three-bedroom apartment and gave her financial support.
I saw in her eyes not worry, not doubt — but pride.
I had contracts, prize money, financial freedom. I wasn't surviving — I was choosing. I moved toward greatness. Deliberate. Cold. Relentless.
And more and more, I found myself asking:
How did I change so much in just two years?
How did something rise from ashes that now looked down on everything it once feared?
Mahaha... I never found the answer. Because the answer… was me.
I could feel it: I was the Emperor of the Chessboard.
And soon, the day would come when I'd reach the top — and he would be there, waiting for me. Robert James Fischer. My final boss.
And I wouldn't just meet him. I would destroy him.
Because in this world, there can be only one Emperor.
It was 1975. And then something happened I couldn't have predicted, not even in my wildest imaginings.
Robert James Fischer — my idol, my compass, my final boss — announced his retirement.
He refused to defend his world championship title. He simply… walked away. No fight. No explanation. No farewell. It shook the entire chess world. But most of all — it shattered me.
I stared into the void, unable to believe it.
The man who had ignited the fire in me.
The one who embodied power, dominance, and ideal. He just vanished.
For a moment, I felt rage and contempt.
Wtf... What are you doing…?
Weren't you supposed to be the Emperor of chess?
And instead, you turned out to be a plebeian wearing the crown?
An Emperor doesn't walk away.
An Emperor never steps down from the board.
An Emperor dies on the final square, fighting to the last move.
I kept asking myself over and over again — what the hell had happened.
In his place, the title of world champion went to Gert Keller.
He didn't win it in battle — he received it technically.
In aura, in strength, in spirit—he couldn't even stand in Fischer's shadow. He wasn't a lion—he was mouse in a suit.
I felt empty. My true rival… was gone. He didn't even honor me with a single match.
All my attempts earlier to challenge him had been ignored. He avoided me?
Mahaha... Maybe he sensed that It would be a huge disgrace to lose to nobody who rose from ashes to break the system of this world.
Maybe there was another reason behind it. Who knows.
Yes, the title of champion officially belonged to Keller.
This pawn was not worthy of the crown.
I am Emperor of the Chessboard.
Not by paper. By essence.
And to be honest, I no longer had the desire to play in this dirty theater for a title. I didn't want to defeat mediocrity. I wanted a duel with real god.
But... back then, I couldn't even imagine what fate had in store for me.