The second game stretched on for more than an hour.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Every eye on the floor was fixed on the chessboard.
The pieces were fewer now, the tension heavier. Each move carried the weight of crores, pride, and reputation. The old man's calm was gone—his fingers paused longer than usual, his brows knit in concentration.
PK, however, remained unchanged.
Relaxed posture.
Steady breathing.
Absolute control.
Then it happened.
A final sequence—clean, ruthless, inevitable.
Checkmate.
For a moment, the entire floor went silent.
Not a gasp.
Not a whisper.
Frozen faces stared at the board, then at PK, as if trying to confirm reality.
Many of the people present were regulars. They knew exactly what this meant.
The old man—undefeated for years—had been beaten twice.
And not by chance.
Not by luck.
They had all lost massive amounts betting on the old man.
What stunned them more was how PK won.
No celebration.
No arrogance.
As if this outcome had been decided long before the game began.
Eve was the first to react.
She started clapping—slow at first, then louder—and walked straight to PK. In pure excitement, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
She had won 75 lakhs.
She had come to this place many times, never daring to bet seriously. Tonight, she had placed a casual bet just to support him—never imagining this outcome.
The moment she realized what she'd done, her face turned deep red. Embarrassed and shy, she quickly let go and stepped back, pretending nothing had happened.
PK, unfazed, merely nodded.
The old man stood up and began writing another cheque.
PK raised his hand.
"Stop. No need."
The old man froze.
"I had fun playing with you," PK continued calmly. "That's enough for me."
The old man looked at him for a long second, then smiled—a genuine, respectful smile.
"Rules say I must give you something on the spot."
PK thought for a moment, then replied evenly,
"Then let's be friends. That's enough."
The old man laughed softly, clearly pleased. He pulled out a card and handed it to PK.
PK took it without a second thought and slipped it into his pocket.
"Another game?" the old man asked.
PK stood up.
"Maybe next time."
But in his mind, he already knew—
There will be no next time.
This place had served its purpose.
As PK walked away, the crowd instinctively parted.
No one stopped him.
No one challenged him.
Because everyone on that floor understood one thing now:
This wasn't a lucky kid.
This was a force—
someone who walked into dangerous territory, took what he wanted, and left without looking back.