The rain hadn't stopped.
The jasmine scent was gone—replaced by the cold, metallic tang of blood and tension.
The bookstore closed earlier than usual that day.
In the back storage room, Lâm Khả Vũ placed the card down beside an old dagger.
He turned it over—on the back was a black knight, surrounded by three white bishops.
"Endgame…"
he murmured, not sure if he was speaking to himself or someone listening in silence.
An Thư stepped in, this time without tea.
"You're still not going to ask me anything?"
"If you're trying to hide something, asking won't help."
"And if I don't want to hide?"
She smiled—no longer sweet, but sharp, taunting.
From her coat pocket, she pulled out a glass syringe, the label half-torn, its contents unclear.
Lâm Khả Vũ didn't move.
"This poison takes fifteen minutes to enter the bloodstream. Think you're fast enough?"
She lunged. Quick—but he was quicker.
His left hand struck her wrist, sending the syringe flying and shattering on the floor.
She reacted instantly—a roundhouse kick aimed straight at his chest, but he blocked it with his shoulder. A heavy thump echoed.
He stumbled back, blood trickling from the corner of his lips.
"You don't move like an amateur,"
he muttered, eyes beginning to change.
"Because I never was one,"
An Thư said, twisting her wrist and lunging with a sharp punch.
The fight was fast, brutal—barely over two minutes.
Books scattered. Glass shards sprayed the floor.
An Thư stood, breathing hard, her coat torn at the shoulder, hair messy and wild.
Khả Vũ braced himself against a table, blood dripping from a deep cut in his palm.
"You're strong,"
she said, voice half-admiring, half-regretful.
"But I wasn't trying to win today. I just wanted you to know…"
She backed toward the exit, gaze cool but clouded with something unreadable.
"The real performance hasn't started yet."
He didn't stop her.
He sat down instead, picked up the blood-stained card.
Then, with a pen, added one more line beneath the chess piece:
"When pawns start biting, the board turns red."
🥀 Not every punch ends a game.
Some punches… start the show.