Work Text:
I move the pieces.
Advance further.
Beat the next person.
Beat the time limit.
Every single person I beat is shocked, angry, sad, that I won against them. I should feel some sort of satisfaction from winning the games. Proud. Smug. Happy.
I just move on to the next opponent. Stone cold.
I don’t even smile when I get handed my trophy at the end of the tournament. I won. I beat every single kid who is here looking at me. Some cheer. Some sneer. They all clap.
I stand still.
The trophy feels heavy in my hands on the bus ride home. It feels heavy even when I enter the house and show father, a sliver of hope in my heart shines thinking maybe. Maybe father will finally notice me for my accomplishments. For who I am.
“You’re proud of one accomplishment? Tch. Move on to the next one, Zuko. Your pathetic self can’t get too caught up in these silly little things.”
Just as I expected. Just as I get every single day. So why does it hurt so much more this time?
“Wow, sick burn, brother.” I hear Azula say as she pats my shoulder a little too harshly. “Maybe I can have Zuko’s trophy, father?”
But father only scoffs.
“Don’t occupy yourself with such useless things, Azula. You’re a prodigy, not a loser.”
Azula sneers at me with those cat-like eyes that have terrified me since childhood.
I don’t let my face show my deep sadness. I stay stone cold until I’m alone in my room, where I collapse and cry until I pass out.
I recall the earlier tournament. No matter how hard I practice, no matter how many people I beat, no matter how many trophies I get...
Life is still the only game of chess I don’t know how to play.