Chapter 3 — No One Wants to Lose

On Thursday, Lam Khe returned to room 203 without any prompting from Yen Chi. She found it somewhat strange, but didn't bother to analyze too deeply why her feet automatically turned toward the stairs to the third floor as soon as the school bell rang.

This time, Mr. Hung had prepared an empty chess board in the corner of the room, as if he had predicted she would come. "Let's try a game today, Lam Khe?" he asked, his voice gentle and without force. "My opponent will be Thao Vy, an 11th grade student, she has only been in the club for two months but is progressing very quickly."

Lam Khe looked towards her short-haired friend who was waiting at the chess board, her face was bright, her eyes lit up with the excitement of someone who has just begun to love something. She nodded and sat down, the familiar feeling of facing an empty chess board creeping into her heart, easing some of the tension.

"You can play any opening, I'm not picky," Thao Vy said, her voice cheerful. "Hearing Mr. Phong tell me that you play great defense, I want to try it."

"Don't expect too much," Lam Khe replied, a bit embarrassed. "Just because I didn't lose, doesn't mean I played well."

The match begins. Thao Vy played quite boldly for a newcomer, constantly pushing her pieces forward, creating early pressure in the center of the board. But like always, Lam Khe just quietly strengthened the defense, each move was sure, leaving no loopholes for the opponent to exploit. After twenty minutes, Thao Vy's position gradually became confused as successive attacks failed against that solid wall.

At one point, Lam Khe realized she had a rare opportunity — her rook, if pushed to column f, could put direct pressure on the opponent's king, opening up the possibility of ending the game early with a combination attack. She looked at the chess situation for a long time, the moves appeared clearly in her mind like a complete series of calculations. But as soon as her hand touched the rook, a familiar feeling arose in her heart — a vague fear that if she miscalculated one step, she would open her own defense line.

She withdrew her hand, choosing a safer move, simply strengthening her position instead of attacking.

From afar, Nam Phong was standing and observing the game with a few other members, frowning slightly when he saw her miss that opportunity, but said nothing, just continued to watch in silence.

The game ended in a draw after nearly forty-five minutes, just as Lam Khe always achieved. Thao Vy breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from her forehead even though it wasn't hot. "I thought I was about to lose," she laughed. "You play really well, you can't find any loopholes to poke at."

"Thank you," Lam Khe replied, but in her heart she did not feel the usual sense of relief after a draw. Instead there was a dull feeling of discomfort, like an unanswered question hanging somewhere.

After Thao Vy left to continue another game, Nam Phong pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Lam Khe, his eyes still holding the same thoughtful expression from before.

"Do you see the car's water going up the f column?" he asked directly, without beating around the bush.

Lam Khe was a little startled. "You saw it too?"

"Clear as day," Nam Phong nodded. "If you push your cart up there and combine it with the queen on the diagonal, it only takes four or five more moves to checkmate. I can still see it from afar, can't you see?"

"I see," Lam Khe admitted, her voice quiet. "But I'm not sure I'm going far enough. If Thao Vy counterattacks with a horse, the situation could be completely reversed."

"Can you calculate the counterattack with that knight?" Nam Phong continued asking, his eyes never leaving her.

"...Yes," Lam Khe replied after a short silence. "But I'm not a hundred percent sure."

"So that's exactly what I wanted to say," Nam Phong said, his voice not reproachful, simply pointing out an obvious truth. "You don't lack the ability to calculate. You lack the confidence to act when there is no hundred percent certainty. But chess, or anything in life, never has absolute certainty. A good player is not the one who is always right, but the one who dares to act when the odds are in his favor, even if not completely certain."

Lam Khe was silent, his fingers unconsciously twirling the remaining pawns on the chessboard. She didn't argue, because in her heart she knew he was right, but admitting it out loud was a completely different story.

"I don't mean to blame you," Nam Phong added, his voice softening when he saw the look on her face. "I'm just sorry. A chess game like that ending in a draw, when you could have completely won, is like watching a good movie with the climax cut off."

"Maybe I'm used to not watching the climax," Lam Khe replied, half joking and half serious.

Nam Phong laughed, a comfortable laugh that was not forced at all. "Then let me tell you a little secret — the climax is always the scariest part, but it's also always the most memorable part. If you miss it all the time, it's like missing the whole movie."

That sentence made Lam Khe laugh lightly, even though there was still something heavy in her heart. She looked around the room and saw the other members still focusing on their chess board, no one paying attention to their conversation.

"Is the club really in danger of disbanding if there are no results this term?" she asked, remembering what Nam Phong had said the day before.

Nam Phong nodded, his expression slightly serious. "The school board has cut the budget for extracurricular activities since last year. Any club that does not have an inter-school competition record for two consecutive years will be considered for dissolution to free up funds for other clubs. Last year we missed the qualifying round, this year is the last chance."

"Why didn't you tell me that straight from the beginning? Like, 'My club is about to disband, please help me'?" Lam Khe asked, a little curious about his roundabout approach.

"Because I don't want you to join the club because you pity me," Nam Phong replied frankly, his eyes steady. "I want you to join because you really want to play chess in a different way, a way that you have never allowed yourself to try. If you only join because you feel sorry for the club, sooner or later you will give up, because that motivation is not strong enough for you to overcome your own fear."

Lam Khe did not expect him to think so clearly. She looked at him for a long time, trying to figure out if he was just saying beautiful words to convince her or not, but Nam Phong's eyes did not have any calculation, only a sincerity and straightforwardness rarely seen in a person her age.

"Let me think some more," she said, but this time her voice was much more certain than before, as if the decision had almost formed in her heart, just waiting for a small excuse to blurt it out.

On the way home, Lam Khe passed by a small park near her house, where a few old people were sitting and playing Chinese chess under the shade of a tree, exactly like the scene she had seen her father sitting in the past. She stopped for a moment, looking at the old wooden Chinese chess pieces moving slowly on the table, a complex feeling that was hard to name arose in her heart - both familiar and painful.

She remembered Nam Phong's words about the missed climax, and wondered if her fear was really just on the chessboard, or had silently crept into every other corner of her life - in the way she chose a safe major instead of her true passion, the way she always kept her distance from relationships that could hurt her, the way she never dared to tell her father directly about what she really felt for the past six years.

When she got home, she saw her father sitting in the living room, watching a news program with a pensive look on his face. Lam Khe stood at the door for a moment, intending to say hello as usual, but then stopped, just quietly passed by, carrying a bunch of messy thoughts to his own room.

That night, she texted Nam Phong for the first time, the phone number he gave her from the previous meeting. "I can't promise anything about joining the official club yet. But next Tuesday I'll stop by and play one more game and see." The reply message came a few minutes later, short but warm: "That's enough. Step by step, I promise not to rush you." Lam Khe looked at that line for a long time, a small smile involuntarily appearing on her lips before she turned off the phone, feeling more relieved than any night since that fateful Friday afternoon, although the final decision - the real, official nod - she still wanted to keep to herself a little longer.

She put the phone down on the table, looked at the old wooden chess board still laid out from the previous night, the chess pieces standing silently under the desk lamp. For the first time in many years, she did not rearrange the positions to play by herself, but simply sat and watched them, imagining Nam Phong's face when he talked about the missed climax, and wondering if next Tuesday, when she sat down in front of the chessboard again, she would have the courage not to withdraw her hand a second time.