The Spotlight

As I stood on the podium with the trophy in my hands after going on to win the tournament, it felt almost surreal. The cheers of the crowd filled the air, but I stayed still, my face as neutral as ever. Inside, there was a mix of emotions, but I didn't know how to express them. For once, I had a real sense of accomplishment, but I couldn't let it show.

I hadn't trained for this tournament. Chess had always just been something I enjoyed. Since I was five, I'd been playing—learning by myself through the school computer and whatever articles I could find. I'd never cared about competition. But winning this tournament, having all these people talk about me—it was unexpected.

The next day, my name was everywhere. And I couldn't scroll through a feed without seeing someone talk about my win. But it wasn't just my moves that people were noticing.

"This guy is incredible. His play is flawless."

"He looks so calm, like he's not even fazed."

"And wow, he's actually beautiful. How does someone this good at chess look like that?"

"He's got the whole 'chess prodigy' look going on. I need to know who his stylist is."

Reading all of it felt... weird, but also good. People were admiring my chess skills, but they were also talking about my appearance—how beautiful I was. It was strange. I wasn't used to being seen that way. But the more I saw it, the more it sunk in. This was real. I was getting attention—not just for my game, but for how I looked. And it felt good. Too good.

When I got home the other day after the unbearable ride of 6 to 7 hrs, my mom was scrolling through her phone. She looked up when she saw me. "I saw the results. People are all over you now." Her tone was guarded, as usual. "Guess all that time you spent playing chess is finally paying off."

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

She didn't say much more, but there was a hint of surprise in her eyes. She'd never been one for praise unless I proved I could win, and I guess that's what was happening now.

My dad walked in soon after, taking a quick glance at the trophy on the table. "Good job," he said. "Now don't get cocky. You've raised the bar, but don't let it go to your head."

It wasn't the warmest praise, but it was the kind I expected from him. When I'd failed before, I'd been met with silence or disappointment. Now, though, I could tell he was quietly impressed.

Later that night, I got calls from my sisters.

The first was from my eldest sister, the teacher. "So, you're a big deal now?" she teased. "Everyone's talking about you. They say you're the next big thing in chess."

"Yeah, it's crazy," I said, still not fully processing it.

"Don't let it get to your head," she warned. "But seriously, you've always been good at chess. It's about time everyone else noticed."

The second call was from one of my sister overseas. "I showed your match to my friends. They were blown away, not just by your moves but by how... stunning you are. I told them you're my brother, and they couldn't believe it."

"Stunning?" I muttered, feeling the slightest flush creeping up.

"Yeah, you've got this whole 'serious genius' vibe. But also, you're good-looking. People can't get enough of you."

The third call was from my other sister. "Well, the quiet genius has made it," she said with a laugh. "Everyone's talking about how you've got the moves and the looks to back it up."

"Yeah, apparently I'm 'beautiful' now," I said dryly, not sure how to feel about it.

"Hey, if they're noticing, it's all part of the package," she joked. "Just enjoy it."

After the calls, I sat in my room, scrolling through endless posts and comments. People were praising my game, yes, but there was just as much talk about how I looked. My calm, unreadable face had become a topic in itself.

For the first time, I felt like I was more than just a quiet kid who played chess. I was someone people were talking about, admiring. And while it felt strange, it also felt... nice.

The trophy sat on my desk, reflecting the soft light of my room. Fame, attention, even the praise for my looks—it was all new to me, but it felt good. I couldn't exactly show how I felt—after all, I wasn't the type to openly celebrate. But inside, I was enjoying every moment.

-Every single of it-

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