Chapter 1 — No One Wants to Lose

Part I — The Reluctant Move

"I've registered your name on the competition list," Phung Yen Chi announced, her voice calm as if she was talking about something completely normal, not a bomb just dropped on Nguyen Lam Khe's desk.

"What are you doing?" Lam Khe raised her head from the homework page she was finishing, not believing her ears.

"Internal chess tournament, each class must appoint a representative, no one in our class knows how to play," Yen Chi explained, calmly sitting down on the chair next to her. "Except you. I remember you taught me a few moves in middle school."

"That's self-study through books and a few games online. I've never played an official match," Lam Khe protested, a feeling of anxiety starting to rise in her heart. "You can't arbitrarily register my name like that."

"It's late, the homeroom teacher submitted the list to the school board this morning," Yen Chi replied, shrugging her shoulders calmly. "Besides, there's nothing to worry about, it's just an internal tournament, it's okay if you lose."

Lam Khe remained silent, not saying that "it's okay to lose" was never a concept she could accept easily, no matter the circumstances.

Friday afternoon, when the competition began in the school's small hall, Lam Khe sat down in front of the chessboard, facing another male classmate, his heart beating faster than usual. But as soon as the game began, a strange calmness crept into her mind — a familiar feeling every time she looked at the chess board, where everything had rules, could be calculated in advance, nothing unexpected could happen if she was careful enough.

She plays defense from the first move, consolidating her position, never pushing it too far, never creating a weakness that can be exploited. Her opponent, despite attacking fiercely, gradually ran out of ideas before that solid defensive wall. The match ended in a draw after nearly an hour of fighting.

"You're really good at playing defense," her opponent said, sounding both admiring and a little annoyed. "But you never thought about attacking?"

Lam Khe did not answer immediately, just smiled wryly and tidied up the chess pieces. She had heard that question countless times, from anyone who had ever played chess with her.

From the corner of the room, a tall guy with slightly messy hair was standing and observing the entire match with unusually attentive eyes. That was Vuong Nam Phong, head of the school's Chess Club, who came to watch the internal tournament at the invitation of Mr. Hung, the club advisor, hoping to find some potential faces for the team.

"That friend," Nam Phong walked up to Lam Khe's chess board as soon as she finished cleaning up, his voice full of excitement. "You played surprisingly solid defense. From start to finish, I didn't see a single weakness in your game."

"Thank you," Lam Khe replied, a bit surprised by the sudden attention. "But I think that's not really a compliment, right? A draw is not a victory."

"Not really," Nam Phong said, his eyes shining with curiosity. "But someone who can defend so strongly that no one can defeat him, and has never tried to actually attack, makes me extremely curious. Do you want to join the school's Chess Club? I think you have much greater potential than what you're showing."

"I don't think so," Lam Khe refused immediately, her voice hardening instinctively. "I'm just playing for fun, I have no intention of competing seriously."

"That's a pity," Nam Phong said, not showing any disappointment, just smiling mysteriously. "Our club is in need of more people, especially people who know how to never let themselves fall into a losing position. If you change your mind, we have activities on Tuesdays and Thursdays, in classroom 203."

He turned and walked away, leaving Lam Khe sitting there, still holding the wooden queen in her hand, overwhelmed by that unexpected invitation, and the old question that had just been raised again: whether she would ever be brave enough to play a game of chess without fear of losing anything.

On the way home, Yen Chi kept asking about the conversation with Nam Phong that she accidentally witnessed from afar. "Are you really planning to join the Chess Club? I heard he's the best homeroom teacher in the school these past few years."

"I don't think so," Lam Khe replied, her voice still hesitant. "I don't like serious competition, you know."

"I just feel sorry," Yen Chi said, her voice gentle but full of meaning. "You're so good at chess, but you always draw and never win. Sometimes I wonder if you're limiting yourself."

That sentence made Lam Khe silent the rest of the way, not because of anger, but because it touched on exactly what she had always tried to avoid thinking about.

When she got home, she went straight to her room and sat down in front of the desk where there was still a small old wooden chess board, the only gift left from the days when her father taught her to play chess every night before everything changed. She rearranged the pieces out of habit, playing both sides herself as she always did when she needed to think.

Memories of when she was twelve years old came back, so clear and terrifying - the scene of her father sitting idly in front of the Chinese chess table in a familiar cafe, surrounded by strange men with cold eyes, and the sound of her mother sobbing on the phone when she learned that all the money she had saved for many years to repair the house was gone in just one evening. Her father bet everything on a reckless move, believing he was sure to win, and lost everything.

From that night, Lam Khe told himself that he would never let himself fall into a situation where he had to bet everything on a single decision, whether on the chessboard or in any aspect of life. She learns to always keep a retreat, to always calculate every risk, to always choose the safest path possible, even if it means never truly achieving complete victory.

She looked down at the chess board in front of her, her fingers gently touching the queen, and in her head, Nam Phong's invitation kept echoing, like a vague call toward something she had never dared to try.

There was a light knock on the door, then her father, Uncle Nguyen Thanh Trung, poked his head into the room. "Are you still awake? I saw the light in your room so I came over to see."

"I'm just reviewing a few chess moves," Lam Khe replied, a little startled and quickly pushed the chess board away as a reflex, even though in his heart he knew it was meaningless.

Her father walked in, his eyes stopped on the small chess board for a long time, his face flashed with a complex expression that Lam Khe couldn't fully read. "You still have that chess board," he said, his voice low, not really a question.

"Yes," Lam Khe replied briefly, not knowing what else to say. Since that incident, the topic of gambling, of chess games, has almost become an underground taboo area between father and son, even though no one has ever said it directly.

"I'm sorry for making you keep a distance from what you used to love," her father said, his voice low and full of guilt, something he rarely showed. "I know, after that, you changed your way of playing completely. I noticed that you never play to win anymore, you only play to not lose."

That sentence made Lam Khe stunned. She did not expect her father to realize something that even she had never dared to admit frankly to herself. "I didn't know you noticed that," she said quietly.

"I pay more attention than you think," her father replied, a sad smile crossing his lips. "I hope that one day, you will find true joy in playing chess again, not the fear that I unintentionally planted in your heart."

He left the room immediately afterward, leaving Lam Khe sitting alone in the light of the desk lamp, more disorganized than ever. She looked back at the small business card that Nam Phong had given her before leaving the hall, scribbled down the location and time of the club's activities, and for the first time, she allowed herself to think about the possibility of stepping foot in the door of room 203 next Tuesday.

She texted Yen Chi before turning off the lights and going to bed: "Maybe I'll try watching Chess Club one day. Just watch." The reply message came immediately, accompanied by a series of triumphant laughter emojis, making Lam Khe unable to help but laugh alone in the dark, even though inside her heart was still intact both the fear and a fragile glimmer of hope that she had never allowed herself to feel during the past six years.