Chapter 2 Checkmate and Collisions

DENZEL'S POV

Rule #5: If you're going to beat someone, do it so well they never forget your name.

Chess tournaments weren't supposed to feel like boxing matches-but today, I walked into the school auditorium like I was about to land a knockout.

The place had been transformed. Normally used for general assemblies and forced musical performances, the auditorium had taken on the air of a high-stakes battlefield. Banners lined the walls. Folding tables were covered in velvet cloth. Judges circled like referees. And right in the middle, a cluster of players from Mater Carmeli looked like they'd been poured straight out of a glossy sports magazine.

One of them-tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of posture that screamed team captain-stood apart from the rest.

I didn't care. Not about him. Not about his stupid shiny varsity jacket.

"Focus, Denz," Rheiza whispered beside me. She bumped her shoulder into mine. "They look confident, but that doesn't mean they're smart."

"Okay, I know some of them are hot enough to make me blush, but we're unimpressed queens. We don't swoon. Not where they can see it. They're probably not even here for chess," Hannah added, blowing a pink bubble of gum that popped loud enough to make three nearby players flinch.

Unimpressed?

No one would believe they weren't impressed. They kept smiling at every guy who passed, tucking their hair like it was a competitive sport.

Nearly the entire Mater Carmeli volleyball team stopped to stare at me. One particular guy, with monolid eyes and cheeky smile waved at me as if we knew each other. If I wasn't mistaken, he was half-Korean, which gave him that distinct eye shape.

Another guy, the blonde-one, stopped the Korean guy and smiled apologetically at me. I knew them. Specifically them-the four popular men from the volleyball team.

"They're here for volleyball," I muttered. "This is just the warm-up act."

Still, my chest tightened as we stepped onto the floor, like I was walking into an arena, not a match. There was a reason people called me the Queen of Holy Cross-not that I cared for the title. I just didn't like losing.

And today, I was facing Mater Carmeli's top seed: Aprille Biatrice Isidro.

She was already seated, her long fingers tapping against the table edge, a glossy MCS pin glittering on her lapel. She looked expensive. Polished. Unbothered.

We didn't smile when we locked eyes. We didn't shake hands.

We just sat.

And played.

The first ten moves were predictable. Pawns danced. Knights leapt. Her nostrils flared-barely. The first crack in her perfect poker face.

My fingers itched to do something reckless. But I didn't. I played clean. Sharp. Unapologetically aggressive.

The game intensified during the middlegame. Minutes felt like hours. Our match drew a small crowd. Whispers floated in the background. Even the MCS boys wandered over to watch, some genuinely interested, others just... watching me.

I didn't care. Except maybe for one of them.

I caught him watching me from the sidelines-tall, lean, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he was bored. Except his eyes weren't bored. They were locked on the board. On me.

Karl Sebastian Garcia. Mater Carmeli volleyball captain.

"Focus," I muttered.

Across from me, Isidro narrowed her eyes and moved her queen.

Check.

I leaned back, breathing through my nose.

Okay.

I countered with a castle trap, then swept diagonally to lock her out. Her nostrils flared, just a little. It was the most emotion she'd shown all game.

Five moves later, I had her pinned.

"Checkmate," I said.

There was no applause. This wasn't that kind of tournament.

But the silence? The hush that settled over the table when Isidro leaned back in her chair, her fingers frozen above the board? That was better than applause.

"You're good," she said finally.

"So are you."

I meant it. But I didn't smile.

She stood and walked away without another word. And that should've been the end of it.

But then, someone else stepped forward. I looked up. It was him.

Knowing Isidro, she couldn't have been happy with how the game ended despite her effort to stay cool. But I swore I saw her shoulders drop the moment she saw him. I thought I also saw her lips slightly tremble.

Like losing was bad enough, but losing in front of him made it sting a hundred times worse.

Are they... a thing?

Before anyone could spurt out a word, Isidro left.

"Nice game," he said, turning to me.

He wasn't smiling, but his tone wasn't mocking either.

"Thanks," I replied flatly. "You don't look like you know how to play."

"I don't." He shrugged. "But I know how to recognize strategy when I see it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Right. Because staring at a board and actually knowing what's happening are totally the same."

He actually laughed. Quiet. Brief. Like he wasn't used to it.

"I'm Basti," he said.

"I didn't ask."

His smirk faded just a little. "I'll remember that."

Then he turned and walked away.

What was that?

Rheiza returned with two bottled waters and handed one to me. Her eyes squinting in curiosity. "Well, that was interesting."

"I won."

"I wasn't talking about the match."

"The volleyball guy? He said two sentences and walked away."

She gave me a look.

I didn't respond. Because I didn't want to admit that my heart had skipped-not during the match, not when I won-but when I saw him watching me.

Later that afternoon, we gathered in the stands to watch the exhibition volleyball game. Hannah screamed the loudest when Mater Carmeli entered the court.

"Shut up, they'll hear you," I hissed.

"That's the point!" she grinned. "Ooooh, there's Basti again. And the dancer. That must be Luke. Oh, he's pretty."

I followed her gaze.

Luke Rafael Rodriguez. Blonde-streaked hair. Diamond earring. A body that moved like it heard music even in silence.

He winked at the crowd. A group of girls screamed.

I rolled my eyes. "Walking flirt alert."

"Imagine choosing between that," she nudged her head towards the direction of the team captain, "and broody boy Basti."

"I'd choose chess."

Rheiza raised a brow. "Liar."

She wasn't wrong. But I had rules. And I wasn't about to break them-not for a pretty face, not for a dancer, and definitely not for a volleyball captain with too much silence in his eyes.

Or so I thought.