Chapter 4 — No One Wants to Lose

The following Tuesday, Lam Khe arrived in room 203 fifteen minutes earlier than scheduled, when the classroom was still empty, only Nam Phong was alone rearranging the chess boards for the activity.

"Come so early?" He looked up, a bit surprised but clearly happy.

"I don't like being late," Lam Khe replied, placing her bag on the chair, her voice somewhat stiff to hide the nervousness rising in her heart. She had been thinking all week about today's game, about the missed move, and about Nam Phong's words still echoing in her head.

"Today I think we should play together," Nam Phong said, pulling up a chair to sit across from her at the chess table near the window, where they usually sat. "It's not for me to teach you anything, it's simply a normal game of chess between two players. What do you think?"

Lam Khe hesitated a bit. Playing with Thao Vy is one thing, playing directly with Nam Phong - who she has heard is the best club leader in school for several years in a row - is a completely different story. But she nodded, not wanting to let her fear show.

"You go first," Nam Phong gave her the white piece, a polite gesture but also containing the implicit confidence that whether he went first or last, the result wouldn't change much.

The match begins. Nam Phong played exactly as Lam Khe envisioned - bold, intuitive, constantly creating complex situations that forced the opponent to calculate quickly and accurately. He sacrificed a pawn right from the start in exchange for the initiative, a move that Lam Khe would never have dared to make if she were her.

But true to his ingrained instincts, Lam Khe did not panic before that style of play. She calmly consolidated her position, accepting a somewhat passive initial stance in exchange for absolute safety, refusing any temptation to counterattack early that could have led her to fall into a trap.

Half an hour passed, and the situation gradually became strangely balanced - Nam Phong could not find any gaps in her defense, and Lam Khe, despite stabilizing the position, still did not have any intention of attacking, simply waiting, defending, waiting.

"You have a hanging horse," Nam Phong suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence of both of them. "On e5. If you push your pawn to d4 now, my knight will lose ground, and you can take the d column as well."

Lam Khe looked up at him, confused. "Are you telling me how to defeat yourself?"

"I'm showing you how to see your own opportunities," Nam Phong replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You're very good at calculating, Lam Khe, but you only calculate to defend, never calculate to find opportunities to attack. Those are two completely different ways of looking at the chess board, even though they share the same brain."

Lam Khe looked back at the chess board and indeed realized what Nam Phong had just said. She pushed her pawn to d4 as suggested, forcing Nam Phong's knight to retreat, and for the first time in the game, she felt some real initiative, however small.

But right after that, instead of continuing the offensive momentum, she returned to her usual playing style — consolidating, holding steady, not taking any more risks. Nam Phong took advantage of that silence to reorganize his forces, and the battle once again returned to a state of balance.

Just like that, the game lasted nearly an hour and a half, going through many small reversals, but always ended with Lam Khe retreating to a defensive position as soon as he gained an advantage. At the last minute, when both had only a few pieces left on the board, the game ended in a draw due to repeating the move three times - a result so familiar that it was almost an inevitable fate for Lam Khe.

She sat quietly looking at the chess board, a strange feeling of frustration rising in her heart, different from the relief she usually felt after each draw. This time, she knew she had at least three chances to gain a real advantage, perhaps even win, but she let them all slip away because of her ingrained retreat reflex that she couldn't control.

"Are you angry?" Nam Phong asked, his voice gentle, observing her face.

"I..." Lam Khe hesitated, trying to find words to describe the emotions swirling in her heart. "I don't understand why I did that. I clearly saw the opportunity, I knew I could take advantage of it, but every time it was time to act, my hand automatically retreated to the safest country. It was as if something in my head automatically stopped me."

"It's not your fault," Nam Phong said, his voice lower, more serious than usual. "It's a habit, and habits always take time to change. They can't be done overnight. But I think it's important that you recognize it. Many people who play chess all their lives don't realize their own habit of being too defensive."

Lam Khe looked down at the chess board, most of the pieces had been cleared away, only a few lonely pawns remained and the two kings stood facing each other in the middle of the board - the familiar image that ended all her games, a safe but empty balance.

"I'm tired of always having to get along," she suddenly blurted out, her voice small but clear, as if the words had been waiting to be said for a long time. "I'm tired of seeing opportunities but not daring to take them. I'm tired of knowing I can do better, but I keep letting fear hold me back."

Nam Phong didn't say anything right away, just quietly looked at her, allowing that silence to have enough space to exist without being hastily filled with empty words of comfort.

"Then let me help you," he finally said, his voice sincere without any coloration. "Not to turn you into a reckless person, but so that you learn to distinguish between blind recklessness and calculated risk. Those two things are very different, Lam Khe, even though they look the same from the outside."

Lam Khe looked up at him, his eyes were still as sincere as before, without any pity or pressure. She thought of her father, of the reckless gamble of the past, of the six years she had lived in that silent fear. She thought about the move she missed last week, about the horse today, about the countless other opportunities she had let slip during her chess playing life.

And for the first time, she felt like she really wanted to try — not because Nam Phong convinced her, not because the club needed people, but because of herself, because she was so tired of always standing at the safe line, watching opportunities pass before her eyes without daring to reach out.

"Okay," she said, her voice more certain than ever before. "But I need you to be patient. I don't think I can change right away."

"I have a whole semester to be patient," Nam Phong smiled, his eyes shining with excitement. "Besides, I like difficult challenges."

On the way home, Lam Khe walked more slowly than usual, letting the cool afternoon breeze blow through, bringing with it an unusual feeling of relief after a long day. She thought about what she'd said earlier — I'm tired of always having to draw — and realized it was the first time she'd admitted out loud something that had silently existed in her heart for years.

That night, as she sat at her desk, she replayed today's chess game in her mind, trying to recall each move, especially the moments when she backed away from opportunities. She took an old notebook and began recording each of those moments, as a way to face her own habits frankly instead of continuing to avoid them like she had for many years.

She wrote: "Move 14, knight e5, can take pawn d4 without losing anything — don't dare. Move 22, rook f1, can put direct pressure on the opponent's king — don't dare. Move 31, queen c5, can switch pieces to advantage — don't dare." Looking back at the list of missed opportunities lined up on the page, Lam Khe couldn't help but be startled by that number. She always told herself she was simply "careful," but looking directly at this truth, she realized her caution had gone too far, turning into a form of paralysis before any decision that carried risks, even the smallest and most clearly calculated risks.

There was a light knock on the door. Her father poked his head in, holding a plate of peeled fruit. "I see you're still awake, let's bring you some fruit," he said, placing the plate on the desk, his eyes accidentally glancing at the open notebook with the words about chess moves. "Are you learning a new style of chess?"

"Yes, I just tried to join the school's Chess Club," Lam Khe replied, hesitating a bit before continuing, as if testing to see what his father's reaction would be. "I'm practicing recording the times when I... miss opportunities because I'm afraid of taking risks."

Her father was silent for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the window with distant eyes. “I think that's a good way,” he said at last, his voice low and slow. "I wish in the past I would have stopped to look straight at what I was doing, instead of just rushing headlong without thinking. But you know, between not daring to risk anything and taking blind risks like I used to do, there must be a middle ground, right?"

"I'm trying to find the middle there," Lam Khe replied softly, feeling strangely warm at that unexpected understanding from his father.

"Then I believe you'll find it," he said, patted her shoulder and then stood up and left the room, leaving Lam Khe alone with her notebook, fruit plate, and a feeling of understanding that she didn't know she needed so much.