Something funny occurs to me: top players are always given cutesy nicknames by the press. The Artist. The Picasso of Chess. The Gambit Mozart. Nolan’s nickname? The Kingkiller. The Kingkiller leans forward, ever so slightly, and his intense, awestruck expression feels much more threatening than a folding chair to my head. “Who—” he starts, and I cannot bear it. “Thank you for the game,” I blurt out,
