"Can I check the cards?"
Right after the rules were explained, Mr. Kouenji from the guest section raised his hand immediately.
Any card game, including Concentration, could involve cheating. A common trick was altering the card backs to send signals.
"Of course, no problem."
The host nodded and handed over two prepared decks of cards to Mr. Kouenji, who then made a phone call. Moments later, an assistant delivered a brand-new deck—identical in style to the ones provided.
He carefully compared the new cards to the game deck. The camera zoomed in on the card backs so TV viewers could compare them too, squinting at the patterns like a game of "Spot the Difference."
"They look the same. Just ordinary cards," Matsushita Chiaki commented confidently. Her friends often used the same kind.
Sure enough, Mr. Kouenji finished his inspection and nodded.
"No issues."
"Thank you for verifying, Mr. Kouenji. Let the match officially begin!"
Staff came forward and shuffled the cards thoroughly, laying them facedown on the table. To ensure fairness, each of the four guest panelists also came down and randomly moved a few cards.
All 108 cards were now neatly arranged. Under the bright stage lights, Kitagawa Ryo and Sakayanagi Arisu stepped onto the stage, facing off across the card grid.
Since Ryo had won the coin toss earlier, he would go first.
But this wasn't a big advantage. In Concentration, the early game was all about memory. With this advanced version, matching two identical cards right away was nearly impossible.
Arisu didn't seem flustered. She was highly competitive, and although she had many questions in her heart, the moment the game began, she returned to her usual composed self.
The first phase of Concentration wasn't about matching, but memorization.
Because the rules allowed continued turns after a match, even if one player fell behind, a perfect streak could create a miraculous comeback.
Ryo flipped two cards: the 3♥ and 5♠. No match.
Arisu memorized their positions and took her turn.
Human memory is limited, especially with pure rote memorization. So players relied on association and recall.
Arisu reached toward the cards, mentally calculating.
She targeted cards that stood out to her—by angle, distance from herself or her opponent, and their overall location. The grid's orderly arrangement helped.
Nine rows, twelve columns, 108 cards. She visualized the table like a chessboard:
[E5, 3♥], [F8, 5♠].
She flipped [E8, K♣] and [A2, 9♦].
Both players moved quickly, flipping cards almost frantically, as if denying each other any time to memorize.
The TV screen split into three views: close-ups of their faces on the left and right, with the center showing the entire 108-card grid.
Soon, thirty cards had been flipped. A successful match seemed imminent.
"Aside from their last moves, I can't remember anything," Chiaki's mother admitted, giving up and instead analyzing Ryo's close-up.
"I remember about ten," Chiaki groaned, rubbing her temples. The identical card backs were starting to blur together.
To avoid losing viewers, the show interspersed interviews with the guests.
"Memory is a key measure of intelligence," said Piaget, holding a card.
"My research shows children over two already form memories. Between two and seven, they start symbolic thinking. That's a cognitive leap."
He clutched his head theatrically:
"This game just gets harder. My god."
At that moment, Ryo flipped over a 3♥.
Dramatic sound effect. Close-up shot. Text on screen: [This card has appeared before.]
"Wait, it has?" Chiaki's mom blinked.
Her husband turned to Chiaki: "Do you remember?"
"Maybe... row five, middle? I can't be sure."
Chiaki pointed to a cluster of cards.
The program helpfully circled the matching 3♥ on screen.
Could he find it?
A brief slow-motion flashback to Arisu's expression—then Ryo calmly flipped the correct matching 3♥.
Ayanokouji Atsuomi clapped as energetic music swelled.
"Ryo's memory is exceptional," he beamed in an interview. "We trained him early in both short- and long-term recall."
Ryo collected the matched pair. Staff replaced them with identical-looking blank cards. Chiaki noticed how easily the blanks blended in. One moment of distraction and their position was lost.
This twist made the game far harder than usual.
Now Ryo flipped a new card: K♥, then another: 9♦. No match.
He returned the cards without flinching.
Before his hand left the 9♦, Arisu lightly touched his fingers, then calmly flipped it again—and found its match.
"When Arisu was little, she was often sick and played alone in her hospital room. That's when she got good at games like this," her father Narimori said proudly in a cut-in.
"Compared to White Room kids, Arisu has a more stable mindset. She can focus without being affected by her surroundings."
1-1.
Each had one successful pair.
"Didn't think you'd actually say something so chuunibyou," Ryo teased.
They weren't banned from speaking. Without mics or earpieces, cameras could show them talking but not hear their words. That gave Ryo confidence to speak freely.
"Didn't you say it first?" Arisu shot back, resting her cheek lazily on her hand. She felt mentally fatigued but wouldn't show weakness.
Ryo flipped two new cards, relaxed.
"This game could end in an instant with the right moment and a bit of luck."
Arisu rubbed her temple, her own memory beginning to blur after flipping four new cards.
"Think you can do it?" she asked.
"Of course."
Ryo suddenly smiled, and Arisu's heart skipped a beat.
"Honestly, I think this game doesn't show your full talent. But it's good for the masses."
"So I hope you show your skills in the next challenge."
"Even though we planned for today's two matches to end in a draw... sorry."
He lowered his gaze.
"I just don't feel like losing today."
He flipped a K♣, remembered it, then flipped its match with ease.
Then, like magic, Ryo matched eight pairs in a row.
The game's beauty was in the snowball effect—more information led to miracles.
Fifty-four total pairs meant twenty-seven or more secured a win.
Score: 9-1.
Ryo flipped another card, then matched it.
"I knew Ryo would win when I saw this. He never made a mistake. That's genius," said Kouenji in a brief comment.
The game sped up.
Arisu's luck dipped. She flipped a new card, then chose a vaguely remembered old one—partly to refresh her memory, partly to avoid helping Ryo.
Few new cards remained. After several rounds, Ryo hit another old card and chained nine more matches.
Score: 18-1.
Victory was tipping decisively toward Ryo.
But Arisu still had a chance to reverse things.
She flipped a 10♥.
[It was here before...]
Recalling her memory, Arisu froze. Ryo had smirked slightly.
Was she wrong?
Doubt spiraled. She struggled to recall clearly—then found it.
Her fingers trembled. She made the match.
Fueled by resolve, she aimed to turn the tide.
But the moment passed, her mind went blank.
Still 108 cards. Twenty pairs gone. Forty blank traps now mixed in.
Her memory palace began to collapse.
She tried to recover by flipping a known card as an anchor.
It was a blank.
Audience gasp.
Ryo completed another eight-pair chain.
Blank card: Arisu skipped a turn.
Ryo continued flawlessly.
When he reached twenty-seven pairs, the game was over.
But Concentration's cruel twist was letting the lead snowball.
Final score: 48-6.
Ryo stood and bowed. Atsuomi applauded enthusiastically.
"He's amazing..." Chiaki mumbled, stunned since Ryo began his streak.
"I'm team White Room now," her dad said, sipping cold tea.
"I already switched," her mom added, knitting while watching. "I wonder if the show accepts fan gifts. Ryo looks so cold in those thin clothes."
Chiaki winced. Was she being replaced?
"Alright! Round one ends. Congrats to Ryo for defeating Sakayanagi Arisu!"
The host returned with a mic:
"But Arisu, don't lose heart. There's a second round coming up. You still have a chance."
"Yes."
Arisu took a deep breath, smiling at the camera.
Only she noticed—when the game ended, Ryo hadn't bowed to the audience. He looked straight at one spot.
As if showing off to a single person. As if winning only for her.
Yuki clapped, raising her hands high.
Time seemed to freeze. Even the host's voice faded:
"And up next, our second match—a fan favorite..."
"Mental Math Sprint!"
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