The chess pieces clicked, a sharp, final sound as his father reset them. Alan stared at the board, tears blurring his vision. His small fingers trembled as he reached for a white pawn.

  "Again," he said. His voice wasn't unkind, but it was firm. Unyielding.

  Alan swallowed. Hours had passed. The cheerful sunlight had long faded from the living room windows, replaced by the cool blue of evening. His head ached, and his stomach rumbled a quiet protest.

  "E4," Alan whispered, pushing the pawn forward.

  His father nodded, his own pawn meeting Alan's. "E5."

  The game unfolded. Alan forced his tired mind to see the patterns, to guess his father’s moves. He thought he was holding his own, deep into the middle game, then his hand hovered. A knight, or the bishop? He chose the knight. A breath later, His father’s hand darted out, capturing Alan’s exposed bishop with a soft click.

  "Careless. The whole board, Alan. Always see the whole board."

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  The tears spilled then, hot and shameful. Alan wiped them away, angry at his own weakness. "I'm tired."

  "The mind that conquers is never tired." his father’s voice was softer now, yet the firmness remained. "Your opponents won't care. They will exploit it. Again."

  Alan’s shoulders sagged. He reset his pieces, his movements clumsy with fatigue.

  From the kitchen doorway, his mother watched. She held a plate of sandwiches, forgotten. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked from her husband to her son. She took a hesitant step forward, then seemed to think better of it, retreating into the kitchen’s shadows.

  Later that night, tucked into bed, Alan heard their voices drift up through the heating vent.

  "He's just a child, Richard, seven years old. This... it’s too much."

  "He has a gift, Elizabeth," Richard replied, his tone equally quiet but resolute. "A mind like his… it’s rare. Would you have me let it wither? Let him become ordinary?"

  "I'd have him be happy."

  "He will be. When he understands. When he masters the game."

  Alan clutched his pillow, chess positions still swimming behind his eyelids. The tears had dried. Tomorrow, he would do better. He would see the whole board. He would make his father proud.

  "Again," he whispered into the darkness, openings and defenses replaying in his mind until sleep finally took him.