50-move rule.

It was quite a straightforward rule, basically saying that in the endgame phase, where players usually delayed advancing their pawns to wait for the right momentum, if no pawn advancement was made for the next 50 moves, the game was basically deemed as unsavable. This was a necessary rule to prevent such a game like this from being prolonged for God knew how long, ending the game abruptly rather than waiting for any of the players to lower their ego and offer a draw.

As Sheva watched, the arbiter counted from the last time pawn advancement was made to the latest move, the boy felt like his soul left his body slowly. It wasn't like he was disappointed with the result.

Well… Yeah, he was extremely gutted by this. Even though the boy had never dreamed before coming to this beautiful city that he would dominate the whole tournament, since Sheva was so close to the top spot, there would always be some sort of regret lingering around the failure. Coupled with the exhaustion that hit him quite hard right now, everything went blank, and for a moment, he was completely in a dreamland, not knowing what was going on around him.

"Young man… Young man!" The voice registered through his brain snapped Sheva from his thought. When he was back in the living plane, the boy realized that the arbiter just shook his shoulder a little, while Muradli Muhammad also looked at him concernedly. "Do you need an ambulance?" The arbiter asked gently.

"Ah! No! I apologize!" Sheva shook his head strongly, trying to clear his head. "Sorry, just dozing off a little here." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. In return, the arbiter just stared at him intently, and it seemed that the man knew exactly what he was currently thinking.

"No need to regret this, Young Man." The man said earnestly. "You might think that this result is a failure, but don't forget that you have done the unthinkable in this tournament. No one expected you to emerge from out of nowhere, let alone fight for the title until the end. You did a very good job, and you should be proud of yourself. You will win more tournaments, so don't be too burdened with this result."

Sheva could only smile wryly, not expecting that he would get consoled by the arbiter like this. Hell, even Muradli Muhammad on the other side of the table also nodded, agreeing with what the arbiter said. It was clear that the Azerbaijan GM also wanted to say something here, yet the man probably wasn't so proficient in English, which made him hesitate to do that. Well, Sheva was grateful for that little mercy, as getting consoled by the sole winner of the tournament would sting more than failing to win the game itself.

"Good game, by the way." Sheva still didn't forget to offer a handshake here. "Congratulation. You deserve to win the tournament here." Even though it didn't sit quite well in his stomach, Sheva indeed believed that Muradli Muhammad also deserved to win the tournament. Even though the man's feat was not as amazing as his, it was still quite remarkable compared to any other player in this field.

"Thank you. You also did a good job." Muradli Muhammad answered with a slow and heavy accent, confirming Sheva's guess that the man was not that good in English.

They chatted a little bit more at the table, with Sheva doing the talking while Muradli Muhammad listened attentively to what he said. The arbiter acted like the third wheel here, finishing the administration work for this game on the table while also interrupting the chat here and there. In the end, though, both players were too tired and got sick of this building already, so they decided to leave it as soon as possible.

"Don't forget to attend the awarding ceremony!" The arbiter didn't forget to say it to them both. "You will need to go if you want to get your prize!"

Sheva could only grunt silently when he heard that, not looking forward to going back to the building again. Still, the thought of getting the prize lightened his mood, especially considering how much money he would earn from this tournament.

'The game between Leon Luca Mendonca and Shant Sargsyan ended up in a draw, so that means my point ties with them both. Still, my opponent's average rating is higher, so my tie-break score should be higher, right? If there is nothing wrong, I should be in second place in this tournament, which means I would get 4500 Franc Swiss! Damn! That is around… Fuck! 90 million rupiah?!'

He stopped walking immediately, feeling like his brain was crashing out right now.

90 million rupiah.

It was a lot of money. Hell, Sheva had only ever seen that number either from the statistics or the mathematics exercise during his high school time. Never in his mind did the boy think that he could be so close to getting that in his whole time.

Oh, in Dollar currency, that amount of money was not that much, just around 6000 dollars. Enough to help a person survive for a couple of months, but not enough to make a good living out of it. However, things were pretty different in Indonesia, where the currency was quite weak.

To give everyone here the basic idea of how much that money meant, Sheva's father had been working as a journalist for more than fifteen years in probably one of the biggest news companies in Indonesia, yet it would take his three years' wages to get closer to that amount. Hell, Sheva could've just retired after he came back to Indonesia, and the boy wouldn't even need to work for the next five years anymore. That showed how ridiculous that amount of money meant in Indonesia.

'This is so fucking crazy…' At this moment, Sheva even forgot the sadness and exhaustion he felt after the last game, still trying to get his mind to comprehend the situation right now. 'I shouldn't miscalculate here, right? Let me count once again. 90.000, 900.000, 9.000.000, 90.000.000! Yeah, I am not wrong here!" His eyes shone brightly as the boy confirmed that he didn't miscalculate. "I am fucking rich! Let's go!"

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