The Endgame That Never Ends: Karsten Müller and 25 Years of ChessBase Memory

In the winter of 2026, at a small chess club tucked deep in an alley near Nevsky Prospekt, I sat across from an old Russian player. The game had reached move sixty. Only two Kings, three Pawns, and a Knight remained on the board. The old man did not look at me. He simply pushed a Pawn forward one square. I knew immediately that I had lost. Not because he calculated ten moves ahead — something I, with the mind of a young player, always tried to do. He won because he understood something I had never been taught: the endgame is not the leftover part of a game after everything has dissolved. The endgame is its true soul. More than twenty-five years later, in a small apartment in Saint Petersburg, I still remember that Pawn vividly. Every time ChessBase releases a new endgame course, I open my own board. Not to practice — but to listen. Because there are chess lessons that do not teach us how to win; they teach us how to wait, how to be patient, how to understand that even when the position is exhausted, there is still one move that can save the whole game. On August 14, 2026, ChessBase announced a new edition of Endgame Academy — the company's endgame institute — opening with the course Checkmate & Pawn Endgames, authored by Karsten Müller. The announcement was brief. But for those of us in the trade, it was a milestone. ChessBase is no unfamiliar name. Founded in 2026 in Hamburg, the software company has become the gold standard of the chess world over four decades: the largest game database on the planet, the legendary Fritz interface, and a vast library of content from grandmasters. But among all those products, there is one line I have always followed separately: Karsten Müller's endgame courses. Müller — a Doctor of Mathematics, an International Master, but above all the spiritual heir of the classical endgame masters — has been associated with ChessBase since the early 2000s. That is why the headline "25 years ago" appeared in this release. Twenty-five years. A quarter of a century. Long enough for a child learning chess to become a grandmaster, long enough for a generation of his endgame students to grow up and pass it on. But I am not writing this piece to praise a software company. I am writing because in that brief release, one sentence made me pause. Michael Kotyk — a young chess trainer from Hamburg — remarked that "interactive options have become indispensable in any video course." The sentence sounds simple. But behind it lies an entire transformation in the chess teaching industry. And that transformation, for someone who has watched the chess world for half a century, deserves to be dissected. I remember the era when endgames were taught through books. In 2026, I found a copy of Grigoriev's "Rook Endings" at a second-hand bookstore in Moscow. The book was thick, the paper yellowed, the chess notation printed in hand-set black ink. I studied it all winter, sitting by the window watching the snow fall, wondering how a person could calculate with such precision down to a single square at move fifty. That was the age of endgame teachers with no screens, no video — only notation and discipline. Karsten Müller grew up in the transition between those two eras. He was old enough to inherit the discipline of the elders, and young enough to lead the digital age. ChessBase Magazine, his "Endgame Corner" column, the ChessBase courses — all of them form a treasure trove of endgame knowledge that any serious chess student has touched at some point. And now, as ChessBase relaunches Endgame Academy with a new edition, they place Müller at the center. That says a lot. First, the endgame remains fertile ground for chess education — unlike the opening, which is dominated by dry theory tables and engine analysis down to move thirty, the endgame still retains its human quality. Second, ChessBase understands that its audience needs a product with academic depth, not just soulless chess puzzles. In a market flooded with short videos and social media posts, a proper endgame course by Müller is a luxury item. But I must say this frankly: the new edition of Endgame Academy raises more questions than it answers. The key point lies in the curriculum structure. ChessBase chose to open with Checkmate & Pawn Endgames — checkmate and pawn endgames. Pedagogically, this is a choice so correct that it is almost beyond dispute. In chess, every endgame reduces to a pawn endgame. A queen endgame usually ends when one side trades queens, and the position becomes a King-and-Pawn confrontation. A rook, knight, or bishop endgame — as every expert knows — can lead to pawn variations at the decisive stage. If you do not understand pawn endgames, you do not understand endgames at all. And checkmate — the most elementary lesson — is also the most underrated. Most amateur players think: "How hard can it be to checkmate with a King and three Pawns?" But when the clock shows ten seconds left, when the pressure is suffocating, when you know that one wrong move will turn three winning Pawns into a draw — that is when basic checkmate skill reveals itself. That is why I rate ChessBase's curriculum structure highly. They do not begin with complex rook endgames or beautiful classical studies. They begin from the foundation: King and Pawn, King and Queen checkmate, basic checkmate patterns. This is the thinking of a house builder, not a decorator. However, a good foundation is not enough to guarantee the quality of the whole building. And this is where I begin to doubt. ChessBase describes Müller's course as "a combination of premium video lectures" and "interactive exercises." The phrase sounds appealing, but let us look at its essence. First, the video lectures. Müller is an excellent instructor — this cannot be denied. But a video lecture, however good, remains a passive medium. Someone learning the endgame, like someone learning any tactical skill, cannot improve solely by watching. They need to do, fail, correct, and do again. This is precisely why the shift toward interactivity matters so much. Michael Kotyk was right when he said interactive options have become indispensable. But we — those who write about chess — must push the question further: which interactivity, at what depth, and of what quality? A simple interactive exercise like "mark the correct square on the board" may be no different from a multiple-choice test. It does not teach real endgame skill. Real endgame skill requires the learner to calculate on their own, manage moves on their own, face unnamed variations on their own. Müller understands this better than anyone. His method in columns and books always begins with a principle: "There are no shortcuts in the endgame." The learner must count move by move. Must calculate to the last tempo. Must recognize the so-called "waiting move," must understand the concept of "zugzwang" — a position where any move is a bad move. If ChessBase can convert that method into interactive exercises with depth — forcing the learner to calculate to move fifteen, to choose between three subtle variations — then this will be one of the most important chess education products of the decade. But if they only offer simple chess puzzles, then this announcement is merely a marketing gimmick wrapped in interactive terminology. And this is where I must address the submerged part of the iceberg. Look at how ChessBase builds the story around this product. The headline "25 years ago" is not accidental. It is a deliberate storytelling technique aimed at the nostalgia of the long-time chess community. It evokes the image of a long journey, an enduring relationship between a software company and an endgame teacher. And like any nostalgic story, it hides an important question: is this product genuinely new, or merely a re-release packaged carefully? This is not an accusation. ChessBase has every right to celebrate its journey. But as a writer, I must distinguish between two things: the inheritance of a legacy and genuine development. One more thing must be frankly acknowledged. Müller is called an "endgame expert" — entirely accurate. But if we look at his Elo rating, Müller never reached the tier of super grandmaster. This does not diminish his professional value. But it speaks to the nature of his reputation. In chess, there are two kinds of reputation. The first is competitive reputation — born of victories at the board. The second is analytical reputation — born of the ability to explain, the ability to turn dry positions into vivid lessons. Karsten Müller belongs to the second. That is why he is great as a teacher, not as a tournament player. Sports commentators often have an aversion to those who cannot win on the field. But chess is different. In chess, the ability to teach the endgame is a skill completely separate from the ability to play the endgame. Many super grandmasters cannot teach well. Many good teachers are not super grandmasters. Müller is the second case — and that is entirely fine. What I mean is this: Müller's reputation is not absolute. He is one of the best in his field — but that field is communication, not competition. This distinction matters. It explains why ChessBase emphasizes "teaching content" rather than "tournament victories." There is another aspect of the story I consider more important than all: interactivity. Kotyk says interactive options have become indispensable. I agree. But I also want to ask the reverse question: is interactivity still a differentiator, or has it become a minimum standard? Over the past decade, the entire online education industry has shifted toward interactivity. Chessable, Lichess, new chess learning platforms — all have integrated interactive exercises long ago. So when ChessBase says its product has "interactive exercises," is it offering a competitive advantage, or merely catching up with an already existing standard? This is a question that any of my readers — whether in Hanoi, Moscow, or Hamburg — must answer before spending money. And one last thing. A course on the endgame, however exquisitely designed, cannot replace one thing: time spent at the board. No course — not Müller's, not ChessBase's, no matter how expensive — can replace the learner's patience. When the stadium is empty of the ball, memory begins to score. And when the screen goes dark, only the board remains — and the player facing themselves. I still remember that summer night in 2026, when the pandemic forced chess tournaments across Russia to suspend. My newsroom in Saint Petersburg was deserted. It was precisely in that emptiness that I began writing a series on classic endgames — as a way to keep chess memory from being forgotten. The day the heart stops beating, I learned to beat more slowly but more deeply. That is also the lesson of the endgame: when speed is gone, depth emerges. Karsten Müller, with twenty-five years attached to ChessBase, has lived exactly that spirit. He does not chase trends. He does not promise miracles. He only counts, only calculates, only remains patient with each square — the way my old Russian teacher pushed that Pawn in 2026. And that is why I still follow Endgame Academy. Not because I believe it will revolutionize chess. But because I believe that in a world where everything is optimized for speed, there is still room for a teacher who teaches us to count move by move — slowly, precisely, and patiently. Finally, I return to my small apartment in Saint Petersburg. Outside the window, the Neva still flows. The board still lies there. A small Pawn placed beside the King. I ask myself: when a chess course is packaged in an interactive interface, when it is designed to be swiped on a phone screen, will anyone still sit silently at a real board, pushing each piece, counting each square, like the old Russian man in 2026? Perhaps they will. And perhaps those very interactive exercises will help the next generation find the beauty of the endgame faster. But I still believe that endgame chess cannot be learned by clicking. It must be learned with breath, with silence, with the feel of wood beneath the fingertips. The stadium without a ball — memory remains. And the board without an audience — truth remains. Twenty-five years of Müller and ChessBase is a journey worth respecting. But that journey only has value if the learner — whether in Hanoi, Moscow, or Hamburg — still keeps the patience of one seeking beauty in the smallest things. Because as I always tell my students: in chess, the endgame is not where it ends. The endgame is where the truth begins. And that truth, whether taught by video, by yellowed paper books, or by interactive exercises on a screen, will always require a learner willing to sit still and listen. That is why I believe the new edition of Endgame Academy can be a good product. But it is only good in the hands of learners who know that every course, however good, is only a starting point. The rest — is still the board. Still the learner. Still the patience of move sixty. When winter comes, I open the board again. The small Pawn is still there, waiting. And I understand that there are chess lessons that never end — they only slow down, deepen, and become memory.