Long nights passed amidst the echoing clicks of colliding billiard balls, a monotonous melody I willingly submerged myself in. Three hours daily at the local billiard hall became my routine, a journey to rediscover myself through the game. Under the lights, I patiently repeated the most basic straight shots over and over again.
The HIK tournament at Oi Club arrived—my first challenge after a week of practice.
Oi Billiards was tucked away in a small alley, its warm yellow lights radiating from frosted glass windows as if welcoming lost souls. The interior was spacious enough for thirty-seven billiard tables, spaced comfortably apart to offer a sense of privacy without feeling too isolated. Each table was illuminated by a single yellow lamp, casting a gentle glow on the dark green felt.
The air here mingled the scents of wood, cue chalk, and coffee from the small bar in the corner. Soft acoustic music blended with the clicking of balls and hushed conversations, creating an intimate, welcoming atmosphere.
I arrived an hour before the tournament began, trying to get accustomed to the atmosphere and ease my tension. Minh Anh promised to watch me play after finishing her commitments.
"Oh, look who it is," a familiar voice echoed behind me as I adjusted my cue.
"Phi Dang, K-rank, showing up for another tournament?"
The past week has been a nightmare for me. Rumors about entering a tournament and then fleeing because I couldn't even make a break shot had spread throughout Saigon's billiards circles. Each night, I tossed and turned in bed, replaying my escape, the memory coiling into every crevice of my consciousness like small snakes seeking refuge in their dens.
I turned and saw Tung Rau standing there, with his familiar smile. Beside him were two friends, also H-rank players I'd met before. I tried not to betray the trembling that was slowly invading my body.
"Hello, Tung," I said, trying to steady my voice. "Yes, I'm playing in the tournament today."
"Are you sure you don't want just to leave? Save everyone some time, and save yourself some face."
My knees wanted to buckle, but I forced them to stand straight. It wasn't about resisting Tung Rau but fighting against myself.
Tung and his friends walked away, still laughing and chatting. I let out a long breath. Yes, I was still afraid. But at least today, I didn't want to run away anymore.
I continued to observe my surroundings, noting every small detail about the players here, most of whom were H or I rank, possessing superior skills, and watching them move around the table, seemingly without thought, applying force to their shots.
The loudspeaker boomed, announcing the imminent start of the tournament. I checked the draw sheet and found my name, Phi Dang versus Minh, in Table Five. I didn't know much about my opponent, but I guessed they'd be a higher rank.
Minh Lun was already at the table—a small-framed person. Despite their modest stature, they exuded the confidence of an experienced player. Minh Lun was taking a few practice shots, and their cue strokes were smooth and precise.
"Hello, Minh," I said as I approached. "I'm..."
Minh Lun looked at me for a moment, then smiled. Not Tung Rau's sarcastic smirk, but a sympathetic smile.
"Everyone has their tough days. I once forfeited a tournament when I was starting. No one remembers that forever."
Minh Lun's words caught me by surprise. I had steeled myself for mockery, not understanding. Their words were like a cool drop of water in a harsh desert.
"Thank you," I said, my voice sincere. "I'll do my best."
"Do you want to break first?" Minh Lun asked, pointing to the racked balls.
My chest swelled with a deep breath. This was the crucial point. Last time, I had failed on the very first shot. This time, I had to overcome it.
"Okay," I nodded. "I'll break."
I paused for a moment, my hand rotating the cue stick, trying to transfer warmth into the cold wood to calm my trembling. It didn't work completely, but it helped.
I bent down, forming a perfect bridge as instructed. The first break shot had to be powerful, yet controlled. I struck the cue ball, and the collision echoed like the opening chords of a symphony that had waited too long for its conductor.
I straightened up, my heart pounding in my chest. Success! The first break shot in an official tournament was complete. This simple joy might seem amusing to others, but to me, it was as monumental as a triumph.
Minh Lun's eyes held a fleeting hint of approval.
"Good one. I didn't expect your stroke to be so solid—two balls dropped. Keep going."
I bent over the billiard table and focused on the shot path to the corner pocket. Time seemed to slow down—there was only me, the ball, and the forty-five-degree angle I'd practiced hundreds of times. In this moment, the eyes watching me slowly faded away, leaving only the sound of my pounding heart and the decisive strike. The ball glided smoothly, kissed the rail, and dropped into the pocket with a satisfying thud.
Minh Lun nodded approvingly. "You have a better eye for angles than many seasoned players I've met."
It had been a long time since I'd received any praise for my ability, especially from an opponent. A small seed of confidence began to sprout within me.
But then, on the third shot, my hand trembled slightly, and my vision blurred. I missed the cue ball barely touching the four-ball, not with enough force to sink it.
"Your turn," Minh Lun said, and approached the table.
I retreated, focusing on regulating my breathing. It was okay. My performance was much better than last time. At least I'd made two shots. Small progress, but progress nonetheless.
Minh Lun proceeded with their shots. This was an opportunity to observe an I-rank player in action. Their movements were smooth and precise, neither too fast nor too slow, but each shot was meticulously calculated. The cue ball moved precisely to a favorable position for the next shot.
Minh Lun pocketed four balls in a row before making a mistake attempting a difficult shot. "Your turn, Dang." Minh Lun stepped back and took a seat in the waiting area.
I approached the table, feeling the pressure from my surroundings. A few people gathered to watch our match, perhaps curious to see if I'd make a fool of myself again.
I silently reminded myself: only the billiard table and the cue. I aimed for the seven-ball, which lay in a favorable corner. This is an easy shot, I told myself, trying to drown out the murmurs from the growing crowd.
I struck, and the ball rolled straight into the pocket. A faint click echoed from the wooden cue, like a whispered encouragement from my wooden friend. My confidence continued to build. My eyes followed the positions of the remaining balls, stopping at the nine-ball, which lay in a favorable position.
"Good play," Minh Lun commented, their voice sincere.
I smiled, a strange warmth rising within me. My next shot aimed for the eight-ball, but I hit it too hard this time, sending the cue ball quite far.
I had to decide—play it safe and pass my turn, or attempt a difficult shot? My heart told me to choose the safe option, but a small part of me still yearned to prove myself.
"What are you planning?" Minh Lun asked.
My voice came out softly but steadily, "I'm analyzing every option," my eyes still fixed on the ball positions, analyzing angles, distances, and the necessary force.
"A piece of advice," Minh Lun continued, "In this situation, playing it safe is always the better choice."
I nodded slightly, silently acknowledging that their advice was perfectly accurate. I chose a defensive shot, nudging the cue ball into the object ball and leaving it in a difficult position for my opponent.
The defensive exchange went back and forth, turns alternating between the two opponents in an atmosphere of high concentration. My skill was far inferior to Minh Lun's. Yet my performance still surpassed the pessimistic predictions from the crowd. I pocketed five balls before Minh Lun cleared the table and ended the match.
Minh Lun's final score was seven-three. "You didn't play badly at all," Minh Lun commented, extending their hand for a shake.
I grasped their hand, feeling a complex mix of relief and disappointment. I'd lost—that was undeniable. But I'd also finished a complete match, pocketed five balls, and even made decent defensive shots. For someone whose last tournament appearance had ended in complete paralysis, this felt like climbing Everest.
"Thank you," I said, my voice sincere. "This was a great game."
A smile appeared on Minh Lun's face, full of encouragement: "You have potential, Phi Dang. With your theoretical understanding of billiards, you could improve quickly if you could overcome your psychological issues and practice consistently."
"I'm trying," I replied.
Minh Lun paused, seeming to consider their words carefully, then lowered their voice.
"Your grip... it's unusual for someone completely new to the game."
The comment caught me off guard, but before I could respond, Minh Lun simply shrugged with a knowing smile.
"Well, everyone learns differently. Good luck, Phi Dang."
* * *
Leaving Oi Club, I instinctively checked my phone; Minh Anh had sent a voice message.
"How did it go?"
"I lost, but I finished the match," I replied, a strange mix of defeat and pride in my voice.
"I knew you could do it!"
The next message made my heart skip a beat.
"But... I don't think you're ready to meet Master Long yet."
"Why?" The budding excitement within me deflated. "I played the whole match like you told me to."
"One match doesn't prove enough, Dang. I understand Master Long's character. He doesn't just look at the result of one game. He wants to see perseverance—ten matches, twenty matches, even if you lose them all, and you still don't give up playing billiards. That's true passion."
A losing streak challenge? The thought made me reel. My fingers trembled as I typed my response.
"But you enter a game to win, don't you?"
"I know. But sometimes, it's the failures themselves that temper us. Master Long wants to see that you won't collapse under pressure, that you'll keep fighting even when everything seems hopeless."
I stared at my phone screen, processing her words. The weight of what she was asking began to sink in.
"That means... potentially dozens of tournament losses. I don't have enough money for that many entry fees."
The 'seen' notification appeared instantly. Three dots blinked, vanished, then reappeared—a sign of careful consideration from the sender.
"I won the Southern Regional Women's Championship last month. The prize money is substantial. I could sponsor your tournament entries."
I stopped walking, nearly dropping my phone as the implications hit me. A choking feeling rose in my throat.
"I can't accept that. We've never even met. Why would you do this for me?"
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then immediately regretted the directness of my question. The three dots appeared and disappeared several times, as if she was writing and rewriting her response.
Minutes passed. The Saigon sunset cast long shadows across the sidewalk where I stood, motionless, waiting for an answer that might change everything. My mind raced with possibilities—was this some kind of elaborate game? A test? Or could the Queen of Nine-Ball really see something in me that I couldn't see in myself?
The three dots appeared one more time, then vanished completely. No response came.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and began walking home, the weight of unanswered questions heavy on my shoulders. Whatever Minh Anh's motivations were, one thing had become clear: my journey in billiards was far from over. If anything, it was just beginning.