Chapter 20 — No One Wants to Lose

For a week after the argument, Lam Khe and Nam Phong hardly spoke to each other, even though they still had to face each other at club training sessions. The atmosphere between them became awkward and distant, completely different from the warm intimacy that had been built over the past few months. Other members of the club, even though they didn't know the cause, also felt that tension, making the overall atmosphere of the team much heavier.

Lam Khe, in that self-created isolation, sank even deeper into a bad state. Not only did she lose her confidence on the board, but she also lost the motivation to try and overcome the fear that was re-occupying her mind. Every practice session became a torture, as she had to try to concentrate while her mind was constantly distracted by the conflict with Nam Phong, because the gap with her father had not yet been completely healed.

"What's going on with you and Nam Phong?" Yen Chi asked one afternoon, when she saw her best friend sitting idly during recess, not touching the lunch box she brought.

"We argued," Lam Khe replied, her voice tired. "He blamed me for playing defense again, telling me not to be scared anymore. I told part of the story to dad, but then left midway without explaining clearly."

"Then why don't you go back and talk to him clearly?" Yen Chi asked, her voice somewhat impatient at her friend's impasse.

"I don't know where to start," Lam Khe admitted, her voice quiet. "I'm afraid if I tell everything, he will look at me differently, will pity me, or worse, will think I'm not strong enough to continue competing."

"You're making up fears that may not be true," Yen Chi said, holding her friend's hand. "Nam Phong is not that type of person, you know that."

Lam Khe remained silent, knowing Yen Chi was right, but she still did not have the courage to step over that psychological barrier. She had gotten used to enduring everything on her own for the past six years, and even though she had learned to open up to Nam Phong in the past, now, when things became more complicated and painful, her old instincts resurfaced strongly, pulling her back to her defensive habits, isolating herself from all potential hurt.

That afternoon's practice session, Mr. Hung held an overall evaluation session before finalizing the official list to participate in the city-level tournament, with the registration deadline only ten days away. Lam Khe, in an unstable psychological state, played extremely poorly in that evaluation, losing two consecutive games to both Thao Vy and Huy - opponents that she could normally defeat easily.

"Lam Khe," Mr. Hung called her back after practice, his voice serious but still caring. "I've noticed that your performance has dropped significantly in recent weeks. Is something going on? Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine," Lam Khe replied, even though they both knew that wasn't the complete truth. "I will try to improve before the official registration date."

Teacher Hung looked at her for a long time, his eyes full of worry but did not want to force her to share if she was not ready. "I believe you can get through this difficult time," he said, his voice encouraging. "But you need to remember, sometimes the strongest thing is not to bear everything yourself, but to know when to seek help from others."

Lam Khe nodded, but her heart was still confused. She left room 203, passed Nam Phong standing in the hallway, the two exchanged a fleeting look full of complexity - both wanting to say something and not knowing where to start - before both quietly walking in the opposite direction.

That night, when she got home, Lam Khe saw her father waiting for her at the dining table, looking somewhat worried. "You don't seem to be feeling well lately," he said, his voice careful. "Is it still about Dad that makes you sad?"

"Not only that, Dad," Lam Khe replied, sitting down, feeling so exhausted that he no longer wanted to hide it. "Nam Phong and I quarreled. I've been playing poorly for the past few weeks. I'm about to lose my spot in the city-level tournament if this situation doesn't improve. Everything seems to be collapsing at the same time."

Her father listened, his face filled with sadness at what his daughter was going through, most of which stemmed from his own mistakes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice choked up. "I know my story has affected you more than I thought. If you need it, I'm willing to go with you to talk to Nam Phong, explain everything, so he can understand you better."

"No need, dad," Lam Khe said, although touched by the suggestion. "This is something I need to handle on my own. I just... I don't know if I have the strength to continue anymore."

She looked down at her hand placed on the dining table, her fingers trembling slightly. "I've tried so hard to become a different person, dad, someone who dares to take risks, dares to attack, dares to believe in himself. But with just one small incident, I find myself right back where I started, as if the past few months of trying had never happened."

"You're not going back to where you started," her father said, with a rare firmness in his voice. "I'm just experiencing a fall, and that's completely different from standing still in the same place forever. In the past, if I fell and gave up, I would never learn how to walk again. But I've learned it, I just need time to get up this time."

That sentence, containing both despair and fatigue accumulated over many weeks, made her father silent for a long time, not knowing how to comfort his daughter enough, when he himself clearly understood that most of that burden stemmed from his own mistakes.

That night, Lam Khe sat in front of the old wooden chess board, looking at the two kings standing across from each other in the middle of the table, and for the first time in many months, she felt a strong temptation to turn her back on everything — the club, the tournament, and her complicated feelings for Nam Phong — to return to the safe, lonely shell she had become accustomed to for six long years before stepping into room 203 for the first time.

She opened the notebook and turned to the last page, where she wrote the proud words after her victory over Hoang Viet: "Today I won because I dared to attack." Looking back at that line, a tear rolled down and fell straight onto the page, blurring a few words.

She flipped back to the previous pages, rereading the entire journey she had recorded over the past few months—from the first lines listing missed opportunities in silent shame, to the later pages recording every small step forward, every game in which she dared to try a bold move. An entire journey of change appeared clearly before her eyes, each stroke a living testament to the fact that she was once a different person, someone who had learned to believe in herself.

But now, looking back at all of that, Lam Khe only feels a strange distance, as if the person who wrote those confident words was no longer her present self, but a different version, a version that had been defeated by the incident with her father, by the conflict with Nam Phong, by the overwhelming pressure of the upcoming tournament.

She texted Yen Chi, not to complain more, but simply to say: "I'm so tired, Yen Chi. I don't know if I still have enough strength to try anymore." Yen Chi answered almost immediately, even though it was late at night: "You don't have to be strong all the time. But I believe, the person who wrote the lines in that notebook, the person who dared to stand up after every small failure over the past few months, is not the person to give up easily. Just rest, think about tomorrow."

Lam Khe looked at that message, not having the strength to feel completely comforted, but not completely immersed in despair like before. She closed the notebook, placed it next to the old wooden chess board, turned off the light, and fell into a fitful sleep with a tormenting, unanswered question: would she still have the courage to continue on the path she had chosen, when everything seemed to be collapsing all around her, with only ten short days left before the official registration deadline for the most important tournament in her chess journey.

Outside the window, the city was engulfed in a quiet night, completely unaware of the silent battle going on in the heart of a young girl, who was halfway through learning to no longer be afraid of losing, but was now facing the risk of losing everything she had worked so hard to build, not because of lack of ability, but because her heart was carrying too many wounds at once to be able to continue moving forward steadily.