I woke up early that day, the hotel room still cloaked in a soft, blue dawn. Instead of heading to the gym, I decided to do something different—jump in the swimming pool. The air outside was brisk, and the pool deck was empty, the water reflecting the pale morning sky. I slipped in, gasping as the cold bit at my skin, but I started swimming laps, letting the shock wake me up and fuel my muscles. Each stroke cut through the water, my body quickly warming as I found my rhythm.
About halfway through, I got a familiar notification on the corner of my vision: [Skill Swimming strokes level 19→20] I grinned, remembering that swimming to running ratio I read about—how 100 yards of swimming equals 400 yards of running. So I swam for about two hours taking little breaks in between and leveling my swimming skills. I enjoyed this session a lot. At that moment, I promised myself that when I had enough money, I'd build a pool at home. The dream didn't feel so far off anymore, not with Flappy Bird crossing three million downloads. The next paycheck was going to be huge.
After drying off and warming up, I joined Dad for a hearty hotel breakfast—eggs, toast, orange juice, and enough coffee to fuel a small army. We chatted about the day ahead, both of us trying to act casual but grinning like idiots. Then we made our way to the auditorium, which was buzzing even more than yesterday. There were more players, more parents, and now news crews with cameras and mics, their bright lights would have made a beginner player nervous but not me. I ducked around them, not wanting to be noticed. My introvert ass didn't want all that attention on me if they asked me something.
Today was the final stretch: four games, and if I won them all, I'd have a shot at the title. With every win, the crowd around my board grew. People started whispering, pointing, and even the arbiters seemed to keep an extra eye on my matches. It was rare for a newbie to win every game, and I hadn't even drawn a single one. Now people knew my name.
Daniel Naroditsky, the grandmaster, was the only other player with a similar score—eight wins and one draw.
Between rounds, I waited in the quiet of the waiting room, meditating to keep my mind sharp. My name was called for the final game, and just as I stood, Dad poked his head in, his eyes shining with excitement.
"They're expecting you, Lucas," he said, almost bouncing on his feet.
I stood, stretching. "Whatever happens, I'm proud of you, son," Dad said, his voice softer than usual.
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Thanks, Dad. I'm good. Let's finish this."
I made my way to the stage, where Daniel was already seated, his posture relaxed but alert. There were many people sitting in chairs waiting for the game to start. He stood to shake my hand, giving me a firm grip and a genuine smile.
"I'm happy there's someone like you here, and try to ignore everyone while playing" he said warmly and gave me advice knowing it was my first time.
I grinned back, not expecting him to be nice. "Thanks. I'm just glad for the challenge."
The auditorium was packed, every seat filled. Our table was on the stage, a digital projection of our game displayed on a giant screen behind us. The audience was quiet, a respectful hush falling over the room as the arbiter started the clock. I had white—lucky me. I opened with pawn to e4, and we were off and quickly used our opening moves not wasting time there.
The game was intense. Daniel played sharp and precise, and I matched him move for move. Every time he pressed forward with a calculated attack, I responded just as quickly, both of us weaving through tactics and positional traps. The tension at the board was palpable; I could feel the eyes of the crowd behind me, their collective breath held with every move. We traded pieces, both of us maneuvering for position, and before I knew it, we were deep into the endgame. I realized, this was my chance—endgames were my strength. After playing so many games, I'd developed a knack for squeezing out wins from the tiniest of advantages, and now my confidence soared.
Daniel seemed to sense it, too. His moves grew more cautious, his eyes flicking up to meet mine as if to gauge my intentions. He started offering trades, angling for a draw, but I couldn't afford it. Thanks to the Buchholz system, he'd win the tournament if we tied, since his opponents had scored higher. (The Buchholz system is a tie-break method in Swiss tournaments that adds up the final scores of a player's opponents. It rewards players who faced and performed well against stronger competition, helping distinguish standings when players have equal points.)
I played for the win, even as the clock ticked down. I had 2:30 left; Daniel, less than a minute. The pressure was mounting, sweat beading on my forehead, but I kept my cool. I started checking his king, forcing him to use precious seconds. The ticking of the clock was loud in my ears, every second feeling like an eternity. With thirty seconds left, he blundered his queen. My heart leapt—I pounced, calculating the sequence instantly. After a few more precise moves, Daniel tipped his king in resignation, then reached across the board to shake my hand.
"Good game," he said, smiling despite the loss. "Hope to see more of you."
"You definitely will," I replied, my heart pounding with adrenaline and disbelief. The audience erupted in applause, and for a moment, I just stood there, soaking it in—the lights, the cheers, the thrill of victory. I spotted Dad in the crowd, his fist pumping the air, pride shining in his eyes. This was the first time I'd ever won a competition, and it felt incredible.
After the final matches of other people, they called me up on stage. I walked up, still in a daze, and was handed a trophy and a check for $4,000 by some organizer I didn't care to remember the name of. Cameras flashed, people clapped, and a reporter cornered me for a quick interview. I answered the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was my strategy, what was next—doing my best to sound humble and not like I was about to explode from happiness. My voice was steady, but inside I was buzzing.
This wasn't a world championship, but it was my first real victory, and I knew it was just the beginning. With my new FIDE rating that I could apply for now, I could enter bigger tournaments, face tougher opponents, and—yeah—deal with more interviews and attention. The path ahead felt wide open.
Dad and I checked out of the hotel, my trophy and check carefully packed away in the back seat. The drive home was quieter than the drive there, both of us lost in thought. The sky was dark, the road illuminated by the headlights and the occasional passing car. I broke the silence first, grinning. "I can't wait to see Mom's face when she hears about this."
Dad didn't laugh right away. He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes a little misty. "I wish your granddad was here to see this, son." He paused, voice thick. "He always wanted me to play like him, but I never gave him the time. Watching you today… It reminded me of him. If he was alive, he'd have pampered you so much."
I could understand his loss of losing a parent from the memories of my past life. How it devastated the other Lucas. My dad always appeared strong and reliable in front of the family, but now I could see how much he actually missed his dad. The pain was there, just beneath the surface.
I felt a lump in my throat seeing Dad being emotional after remembering Grandpa. I remembered something I'd read: "There aren't many moments in life when your father needs your support—when it happens, be the man who stands by him." So I reached over and gave him a quick, tight hug. "I'm here for you, Dad. Anytime." I'm not like other kids who think hugging your parents like that is cringe. I do it whenever I want to.
(A/N: Go hug your parents and show them love because you never know…)
He looked at me, smiled, and ruffled my hair. "I know, son."
I laughed, pushing his hand away. An idea popped into my head, and I grinned. "Hey, Dad—let's go buy a car for me before we go home. I have the earnings from Flappy Bird. What do you say?"
He grinned back, the sadness fading. "Let's do it." He was excited for me, and I could see a spark of youthful mischief in his eyes.
So, before heading home, we stopped by a dealership. The lot was full of options—sedans, SUVs, shiny convertibles. We browsed a lot of cars, debating practicality versus cool factor. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a used Mustang with a freshly taped "For Sale" sign on the windshield. It was a GT premium coupe, custom painted in a sleek black. The previous owner had passed away from old age, and his kids were selling the car. It had plenty of miles on it, but it was in great condition, and the price was right.
I immediately walked toward that car, my heart pounding with excitement. Dad raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about this? Your mom will kill me."
I just smiled and said, "Not my problem, is it?"
The sales guy was good—friendly, not too pushy—and got us a great deal. I handed over almost all the money I had left from the flappy bird, but I remembered the check I'd just won, and I was content. Driving out of the dealership in that Mustang, I felt like I was on top of the world.
By the time we got home, it was already nine o'clock. I parked the car in the driveway and couldn't resist revving the engine a little. The deep, throaty sound echoed through the neighborhood. Mom came out the door, ready to scold what she thought was some reckless teenager pulling pranks. My dad was already out of his car, recording everything on his phone, grinning from ear to ear.
Mom saw it was me behind the wheel and the look on her face was priceless—equal parts shock, disbelief, and exasperation. Dad made the mistake of laughing, and she glared at him, then at me. "Don't tell me that you bought it."
I just laughed and pointed at Dad. "He gave me permission."
She sighed, shaking her head, and ordered us inside. As we walked in, she launched into a lecture about the safety of those kinds of cars. Dad tried to interject, "Dear, he won the chess tournament. He deserves it, and it's his money." Mom just sighed, congratulated me, and said, "Promise me, you will not be stupid with that car."
I grinned. "You know me, Mom. I'm not stupid."
We ate dinner together, and I told Mom everything about the tournament, the games, and the trophy. She listened, pride shining in her eyes, even as she tried to hide her worry.
Later, I Facetimed with Alex. She told me about what happened at school, about homework, I could tell that whatever worry she had in these past few days had faded and I told her how I won the competition. Her reaction was pure happiness, her eyes lighting up with pride and excitement. I said to her, "Tomorrow, be ready at 11. I have a surprise I want to show you."
She asked, "What is it? Tell me!"
"How is it a surprise if I tell you? Just wear something nice for me, " I teased.
She still blushed whenever I said things like that—always easy to tease. Alex fell asleep while we were talking, her breathing soft and peaceful through the phone. I watched her for a moment, smiling, then closed my eyes and let sleep take me. It had been a long, unforgettable day.
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A/N: POWER STONES-WANTED
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