Chapter 5 — No One Wants to Lose

Lam Khe's notebook gets thicker day by day. For a week after the match with Nam Phong, she went to room 203 regularly on Tuesdays and Thursdays, even though she had not yet officially registered as a club member. She played with Thao Vy, with Duc Anh, even once with Huy — a friend who "hadn't won against anyone for three weeks in a row" — and each time, she wrote a few more lines in the notebook, listing the opportunities she missed.

"Do you know you're the only person in this club who voluntarily records his own mistakes?" Nam Phong asked, sitting next to her on a Thursday afternoon, glancing at the open notebook on the table. "Most people just like to remember the cool moves they used to play."

"I don't think memorizing good moves helps much," Lam Khe replied, without raising his head. "If I want to change, I need to know exactly where I'm going wrong, not console myself with what I did right."

"That way of thinking is both admirable and a bit... harsh on yourself," Nam Phong commented, half joking and half serious.

"I'm used to it," Lam Khe shrugged, but the corners of her mouth slightly curled up into a small smile.

Teacher Hung, who was passing by to check the other chess boards, stopped for a moment when he heard the conversation. "Lam Khe," he said, his voice friendly. "I've noticed that you've been coming regularly for the past two weeks. The club has an official registration form. If you want, I can give you one to fill out."

Lam Khe paused slightly. She glanced at Nam Phong, but he was just silent, not urging, just waiting with a calm expression as if the decision was entirely hers, without any pressure from him.

"I... let me think more," she replied, and Mr. Hung nodded in understanding, continuing to check other tables without showing any signs of disappointment.

After Mr. Hung left, Nam Phong turned to her. "You don't need to answer right away. But I'm curious — what else are you afraid of? You've been coming here almost more regularly than some of the official members of the club."

Lam Khe was silent for a moment, her fingers unconsciously tapping the cover of the notebook. "I think... once I officially register, things will become more serious," she said slowly, trying to properly express the vague feeling in her heart. "I will have to represent the club in competitions, there will be expectations, there will be the possibility of failing in front of more people. For now, I can still see this as just a temporary hobby, a place to experiment without any responsibility."

"So are you afraid of responsibility, or are you afraid of failure and someone will witness it?" Nam Phong asked directly, his eyes never leaving her.

That question made Lam Khe stunned. She had never thought about the difference between those two things, but when Nam Phong asked the question, she immediately realized that the answer lay in the second part.

"I'm afraid of failing with people witnessing it," she admitted, her voice quiet but clear.

"Thank you for being honest," Nam Phong said, not surprised at all, as if he had already guessed the answer. "But let me tell you something I've learned after many years of playing competitive chess — everyone fails with people watching. I've lost countless games in front of hundreds of people, and once even lost in the finals of a provincial tournament in tenth grade, right in front of the whole school. At that time I was so embarrassed that I didn't dare leave my room for a whole week."

Lam Khe looked at him, a bit surprised by that frank admission. She never thought Nam Phong - who was always confident, always bold - would ever experience such an embarrassing moment.

“But you got over it,” she said.

"I overcame it, not because I'm no longer afraid of failure, but because I realized that failure with people witnessing it is not as scary as never daring to try," Nam Phong said, his voice rarely sincere. "If I stopped playing after that loss, I would never know if I could have done better. Do you understand what I mean?"

Lam Khe nodded slowly, a strange feeling rising in her heart - not really determination, but like a door had just opened, revealing a space she had never dared to look into before.

That evening, when she got home, Lam Khe saw that Yen Chi had texted continuously asking about the "Chess Club situation", along with a few curious and teasing emoticons. She didn't answer right away, but sat down at her desk, took out Nam Phong's old business card, the business card she had kept in the drawer for the past two weeks as a small souvenir of the unfinished decision.

She thought about the story Nam Phong had just told, about losing in front of the whole school, about how he stood up afterwards instead of giving up forever. She thought about her own notebook full of "don't dare" lines, about her father's words the night before—there must have been a space in between. And she thought about the past six years, about how she had lived, always choosing the safest path, always keeping a retreat, always letting opportunities pass by because she was afraid of facing the possibility of loss.

She opened her phone and texted Nam Phong: "I've decided. I will officially register to join the club." The message was sent, she put down the phone, her heart beating fast as if she had just made a truly risky move for the first time in her life - even if it was just a short text sent through the phone screen.

The response came immediately: "I've been waiting for this news for a long time. Next Tuesday, bring your card photo make the registration form. Welcome to the Chess Club, Lam Khe."

She looked at that text, a real smile, not forced, spread across her lips. She texted Yen Chi right after: "I just registered for the official Chess Club." Less than ten seconds later, her phone vibrated repeatedly with a series of outrageous celebratory messages from Yen Chi, making Lam Khe unable to help but laugh out loud in the quiet room.

She stood up, walked to the window, looking out at the night sky sparkling with a few rare stars in the city. For the first time in a long time, she felt a genuine sense of excitement, unmixed with any fear — the feeling of someone who has just crossed a threshold that she has been staring at for too long.

The following Tuesday, when Lam Khe entered room 203 with his photo ID in hand, Mr. Hung had already prepared the registration form and placed it neatly on the table near the window. Nam Phong stood nearby, unable to hide his bright smile when he saw her enter.

"Welcome the newest official member of the Chess Club," he said, his voice a bit formal, intentionally amusing. "From today, you will no longer be a guest, but a part of us. Prepare yourself, because I will not hold back in teaching you how to attack."

"I hope so," Lam Khe replied, holding a pen to fill out the registration form, each handwriting certainly not shaky as she imagined. When she filled in the "Reason for joining the club" box, she paused for a moment, thought, then wrote: "To learn how to play a game of chess without fear of losing."

Teacher Hung received the registration form back, read through the words, and nodded in approval. "Good reason," he said. "I think you will suit this club very well."

Lam Khe looked around room 203 - the chess boards, the ticking clock, the pale yellow afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, the familiar faces that had gradually become familiar after two weeks of coming. She realized that this was no longer a strange place she just stopped by to "check out", but had become a part of her life, a door she had officially walked through, even though there were still many things behind that door that she did not know in advance.

And for the first time in many years, when thinking about what lay ahead, Lam Khe felt a real excitement that completely overwhelmed the familiar fear - a new, fragile feeling, but so real that she couldn't bear to let it go.

At that day's event, Mr. Hung spent a few minutes introducing Lam Khe to the entire club, even though most people had known her two weeks ago. "From today, Lam Khe is officially a member of the Chess Club," he announced, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "She will join the team preparing for the upcoming inter-school tournament. Hope everyone welcomes and supports each other."

A sporadic round of applause rang out, accompanied by a few friendly congratulations from Thao Vy and Duc Anh. Huy, a friend who hadn't beaten anyone in weeks, even joked that the club finally had someone "who was worse at attacking than me", making the whole room laugh, and Lam Khe, even though a bit embarrassed, couldn't help but laugh along.

After the activity, when everyone had left one by one, Nam Phong stayed behind to help Lam Khe put the chess board in the closet, a routine job for the person on duty that day.

"How does it feel, official member?" he asked, stacking several boxes of chess pieces on the shelf.

"It's still a bit strange," Lam Khe said honestly, holding up a stack of folded chessboards to place on the shelf. "But it's a pleasant feeling, not like the nervous feeling I imagined."

"That's a good sign," Nam Phong smiled, closing the closet door. "It means you're in the right place for me."

The two people walked out of room 203 at the same time, the sunset dyed the deserted hallway orange. Lam Khe looked out at the schoolyard, where a few students were still lingering around playing basketball, the sound of laughter echoing in the distance, and she suddenly realized that this was probably the first time in a long time that she had left the school without the familiar heavy feeling that often clung to her every time she thought about something related to competition, to winning or losing, to the chessboard.

"See you Thursday," she said, waving to Nam Phong before turning to go home.

"See you Thursday," he replied, the smile still on his lips as he watched her disappear around the corner of the hallway.