Chapter 12: Big Fish Eat Small Fish, But I Eat Sashimi
⸻
After enduring grueling practice sessions, exhausting enough to make me question my own sanity multiple times, here we were—standing at the threshold of the real competition day.
That morning, everyone woke up while the sky was still a dull gray. I dragged myself to the washroom, catching sight of James yawning so wide it seemed his jaw might detach. Beside him, Jan was muttering about her shirt not drying in time, and Thomas sat meticulously combing his hair in front of the mirror, his expression tense, as if today's contest was less a game and more like a life-or-death university entrance exam.
"Man… anyone who's up before six, I salute you," James groaned, rubbing his tangled hair like it was a nest.
"Stop whining and help me find my trousers, will ya!?" I glanced at him and almost threw his shirt at him when I realized he was wearing it inside out.
Thomas sighed deeply. "Honestly, if we'd been more prepared last night, it wouldn't be such a mess right now."
I looked up from tying my shoes. "Relax, man. No matter the chaos, we still have to face reality. Don't forget, today isn't about just one competition."
Maria arrived at that moment, bag slung like the model student she wasn't really feeling like. Her face was pale, though. "Yes… today's debate, polo, and singing… God, are we really going to embarrass ourselves in front of hundreds of people?"
"A thousand, more like," I whispered with a grin, causing her eyes to widen and smack my arm lightly.
After a rushed breakfast, the table atmosphere was quieter than usual. No one joked around; everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. We dressed in our full regalia and made our way toward the grand courtyard hosting the event.
The closer we got, the more the atmosphere changed. Drums, cheers, and chatter from countless people filled the air. The competition field was adorned with colorful flags fluttering in the wind. Judges in pristine white uniforms sat proudly along the front, while below, the spectators ranged from villagers to well-dressed guests.
"Damn… I thought this was just a village-level contest. They're going all out like it's the Olympics," I muttered, half in awe, half wanting to run away.
"No turning back now," Thomas replied in a calm tone, though I noticed his fists were clenched so tightly the veins stood out.
Jan took a deep breath, lifting her chin as if she were about to walk the stage in a beauty pageant. "I won't lose to them. Bring it on!"
I chuckled dryly. "Take it easy, Queen Bee. The first task is debate, not boxing."
Maria went quiet for a moment, then raised her hands in a prayer-like gesture. "Fine… let me open. If I'm going to die on stage, at least I'll do it with dignity."
I glanced at each friend—some anxious, some putting on bravado—but all of them carried a fiery determination I'd never seen this clearly before.
Yes… this was the real first step for us.
And it would begin with the "debate competition."
Before the match began, we had contingency plans far beyond the near-death rowing practice. I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in my chest, because ever since we moved here, the rival Khwan-Khao and their gang had made life hell—pranks, obstacles, everything to make sure we couldn't breathe easy. So in a large-scale competition like this, with the whole village watching… there had to be some trick up their sleeves.
"Listen up," I said to my friends, sitting in a circle on the bamboo mat under the big Bodhi tree. "Don't just focus on the debate. Keep an eye on the instruments and the polo horses. Someone's gotta make sure no one interferes."
Thomas nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "I'll handle it. We'll rotate our people to guard, no one touches them."
James shrugged but muttered, "I'll watch behind the scenes. If they try anything… I'll whack them with my bamboo stick."
Jan exhaled sharply. "Just make sure we don't get caught and banned from competing."
Maria clutched her scripture, voice calm. "Whatever the reason, let no one destroy our effort. God supports the patient."
I nodded, still feeling the tight weight in my chest, but I had to let it happen.
The arena far exceeded my expectations. The normally empty village square had transformed into a spectacle. A raised wooden stage adorned with fluttering small flags of many colors stood front and center. Chairs for the judges—village elders dressed in elegant traditional Thai clothing—lined the stage. All around, spectators sat on rattan chairs or bamboo mats. Voices mingled with laughter, drums, and brass instruments, creating a lively atmosphere like a grand village festival.
Our families were present as well. Thomas's mother fanned herself with a palm leaf, smiling proudly. James's father stood with arms crossed, stern-faced but with a glint of pride. Jan's grandmother waved her stick loudly, nearly causing Jan to stumble in front of the crowd.
And amidst all that noise… I caught a glimpse of P'Theer standing not far off. That slight smirk from the corner of his mouth made my heart skip a beat.
Ugh… damn, he's so damn handsome!
I shook my head violently, shaking off the wandering thoughts, inhaled deeply. We were about to begin.
No time for crazy daydreams now!
The debate would be organized in pairs. Each team sent two representatives to argue the points set by the judges. Simple rules—speak logically, with skill, a clear voice, and above all, persuade the audience.
We paired as planned, cycling through the initial rounds. Some teams spoke so eloquently the crowd cheered; others stumbled and fell silent. But our mix of humor and relentless banter drew smiles from even the most serious elders. Cheering grew louder.
We passed the first and second rounds, bruised but grinning.
Finally… the semifinals arrived.
Then came the finals. James and I would take the stage as agreed from the start.
Opposite us stood our rivals… Khwan-Khao, dressed in finely tailored bright silk, flanked by a young woman whose name I barely recalled—Nita. She looked serene, but her piercing eyes were just as sharp as Khwan-Khao's.
I pressed my lips together, signaling James to step beside me as we took our places center stage.
The final debate… was about to begin.
⸻
The gong sounded, "Donggggg."
The entire arena fell silent instantly, every eye fixed on the elevated debate stage at the center.
The elderly judge, clad in a striped silk robe, swept his gaze across the four contestants before announcing clearly,
"The topic for the final debate… Attire and social dignity. Which matters more—dressing elegantly as a mark of honor, or living simply with integrity?"
A murmur rippled through the audience. The topic struck a chord; many clasped their hands, waiting, while others whispered amongst themselves.
Khwan-Khao lifted his chin, striding to the center of the stage. He smiled sweetly, yet a glint of mockery flickered in his eyes.
"I shall speak first," his voice sharp but confident. "Ladies and gentlemen! Behold the silk draping my body—not mere fabric, but honor, dignity, and education! Those who dress too plainly show disrespect to society, as if they hold no value worth remembering."
Some in the audience nodded; a few even applauded. Khwan-Khao's chin lifted higher with pride.
James, standing beside me, pursed his lips and muttered under his breath, "Wow… feels like he's trying to sell silk at a flea market."
I almost laughed out loud.
Next to Khwan-Khao, Nita stepped forward, bowing gracefully before speaking in a calm, measured tone,
"I wish to add… attire is a reflection of cultivated manners. Neglecting it appears as disregard for the order and propriety of society."
Another ripple of murmurs. The stage atmosphere seemed to tilt toward our opponents.
James nudged me hard. "Oi, Warun! Don't just stand there smiling—get on with it!"
I inhaled, stepping to the center of the stage. I scanned the audience around the arena, tense and expectant, before raising my voice,
"Thank you for your elaborate words. But let me ask—do those silks shield you better from sun or rain than the old mats of our villagers?"
Laughter erupted.
Khwan-Khao flinched slightly but quickly lifted his chin. "Do not speak with disdain! One must dress appropriately to earn respect!"
I raised an eyebrow mischievously. "If respect comes from clothing alone, then stripping down would strip away all dignity, right?"
The audience burst into laughter; even some judges covered their mouths to suppress smiles.
Nita furrowed her brows and spoke sharply, "Attire is a societal courtesy. To say otherwise undermines order!"
I raised my hand dramatically, pretending seriousness, "And who sets these rules? Those sitting in silk robes, eating with silver trays? And what of villagers wearing checked cloths over their shoulders, or children playing in torn rags? Are they devoid of dignity?"
Thunderous applause shook the arena. Most of the audience rose, cheering.
James stepped forward immediately, wearing his cheeky grin.
"Yes! Let me add—real dignity lies in the courage to speak the truth, not the price of one's clothes! You can wear silk worth a thousand, but if your heart is rotten, no one will bow to you!"
"Woahhh!" The crowd roared, some shouting, "Warun! Warun!"
Khwan-Khao's face flushed red. He ground his teeth. "Your words are mere jabs to amuse the audience!"
I tilted my chin, replying loudly, "And is it working?"
The arena nearly split with laughter and cheers. The judge had to rap the table to quiet everyone.
Clearly, the final stage had turned into a comedy arena. The audience laughed while absorbing the substance, and we could already glimpse victory.
The gong sounded again, "Dingggg!" The elderly judge scanned the arena before speaking firmly,
"The final debate… is not over yet. Any further arguments, step forward!"
Silence fell. Tension thickened in the air. Every pair of eyes in the arena widened, waiting for the next words.
Khwan-Khao inhaled deeply and stepped forward again. His long hair flicked dramatically, drawing every gaze, before he let out a teasing laugh,
"Warun… you speak only to amuse, hoping to win the crowd. But debate is not a stage play! Without proper attire, can society still maintain its discipline?!"
Cheers arose from those supporting him in front. Some even jeered at us.
I smiled faintly, unfazed, and looked around the arena. Then I spoke clearly,
"Elegance alone is not enough! A man wearing silk but corrupt inside—what dignity is that? A poor villager in tattered cloth, raising his parents with all his might—that is true dignity!"
The crowd erupted. Nearly half of the arena stood, applauding, some shouting, "Say it again! Say it again!"
Nita, beside Khwan-Khao, scowled, stepping forward with a solemn voice,
"If society abandons proper attire, it turns uncivilized! Imagine facing elders in worn, torn clothes—what honor remains?"
James rolled his eyes beside me, waving at the crowd.
"Come on, speaking as if torn clothes bring disease! It doesn't!! Dignity lives in the heart, not in four buttons sewn on properly!"
Laughter rolled through the arena, some audience members laughing to tears.
I met Nita's gaze and tilted my head challengingly,
"I understand what you say—but consider this—if we dress splendidly outside, yet our hearts are rotting with envy, is it any different than a fruit shining on the outside while worms gnaw inside?"
The crowd reacted explosively. Some even clapped thunderously.
Khwan-Khao's face paled but he kept his chin high. "You… you speak only to sway the audience! Lacking scholarly reasoning!"
I chuckled softly, then faced the audience,
"So… all of you sitting here, who do not wear silk like me or like him—are you all devoid of dignity?"
Silence… before a collective shout, "No!!!" boomed across the arena.
⸻
James seized the moment, popping up beside me, shouting loud:
"See that! This is the clearest answer—dignity isn't in silk or plaid cloth, it's standing tall and proud as yourself!!"
The arena nearly exploded. Applause and cheers rang so loudly that the judges had to bang the table, bang bang!
The elder judge overseeing the debate scanned both sides, then nodded:
"This debate… will be decided by the applause of the people!"
"Three cheers—" The crowd roared in unison, "Warun! Warun! Warun!"
The applause thundered like an earthquake. Khwan-Khao pressed his lips tight, Nita's face drained of color, while James and I exchanged glances, barely holding back laughter.
Our victory in the first round was complete.
After the cheering subsided, the announcer formally declared:
"The winners of the debate final are… Warun and James!"
Applause continued to echo across the arena. Spectators slowly dispersed, but the heat and thrill still lingered around me.
I stepped down from the stage, breathing softly, lips curled into a satisfied grin—not out of relief, but sheer glee. James walked beside me, mischief written all over his face, whispering:
"See Khwan-Khao's face? Like a fancy flower hiding worms inside, hahaha!"
I almost burst out laughing, but before I could respond, the sharp clip-clop of heels drew near.
Khwan-Khao approached with Nita. Both maintained graceful smiles like highborn ladies, but their eyes… if the crowd weren't watching, I'd probably be a goner.
Khwan-Khao tilted his head slightly, offering a sweet smile with venom in her voice:
"Warun… you're impressive. Truly a favorite of the audience."
She lightly touched her elegant fan as if complimenting, letting out a soft laugh, yet her eyes were daggers.
I bowed slightly, replying with polite tones:
"I cannot claim skill alone… without Khwan-Khao raising the points, I would never have had the chance to respond."
A seemingly courteous remark, but in my mind—full-throttle jab.
Nita interjected, voice calm but sharp:
"Ultimately… what you're trying to do is draw laughter from the villagers, not true scholarship."
James didn't miss a beat. He chuckled, raising his hand in mock salute, eyes sparkling with mischief:
"Villagers are people too… their applause is the heartbeat of this event. This debate isn't staged for a few elite, right?"
For a moment, the atmosphere thickened… every word feeling like a blade turned against each other.
Khwan-Khao still smiled, but the strength behind it tightened slightly, biting her words carefully:
"I hope… in the next competition, you'll be just as lucky."
Oh wow… on the surface, a blessing, but the threat hung thick in the air.
I returned the smile, softening my voice as much as possible:
"Thank you… I also hope you don't stumble along the way."
A bow of respect—but everyone standing there knew it was pure sarcasm.
James glanced at me, biting his lip to suppress laughter, cheeks shaking, while Khwan-Khao and Nita turned their backs, walking away. She still held her head high, hips swaying like a scene from a classical play, but her back was stiff as timber, clearly restraining her fury.
Once they moved out of earshot, James erupted into laughter:
"Hahaha! I almost died—Ray, you're the master of subtle jabs. Each one had the audience holding fans over their mouths but laughing inside!"
I exhaled slowly, lips lifting slightly.
"Don't know… but those perfect masks are starting to crack. Things are only going to get more interesting."
My gaze wandered to the next stage—the polo field being prepped. Hooves clattered across the grass, echoing through the arena, hinting that the next game wouldn't be easy.
⸻
Khwan-Khao's words still echoed in my head: "I hope… in the next competition, you'll be just as lucky."
Her voice was soft, the smile painted as if with a golden brush—but for some reason… the skin at the back of my neck prickled as if a snake slithered past. I tried to shake it off, thinking I was overreacting.
But less than an hour later, that premonition started to materialize.
As we prepared to leave Thomas' house for the event, his confidant ran in, panicked:
"Master! Someone put something into the horses' water…"
Thomas froze. His normally composed face was stunned.
"What!?!"
James and I exchanged glances instantly. My mind flashed through scenes from countless dramas, and I muttered:
"I knew it… this is straight out of a play!"
Jan slapped his forehead—slap! "Crazy! But… damn, it's true. It's perfect timing!"
Luckily, the tampered horse wasn't the one slated for competition. Even better, one of the key event staff witnessed the act firsthand! The culprit was immediately dragged off for questioning.
"Serves them right," Maria huffed, hands on hips. "Not even started and already horsed out!"
⸻
The polo field for the big event stretched wide. Grass trimmed perfectly, sounding crisp under every hoof. Hooves struck the ground—thump thump—reverberating through the air. The mixed scents of sweat and earth clung to the arena. Spectators surrounded the field, chatting, laughing, and cheering intermittently.
Announcers called team names. Each horse was led out neatly by handlers. I glanced at Khwan-Khao's team—it was strange. Despite warnings, they sat elegantly in chairs, not even stepping onto the field.
Thomas frowned.
"Strange… why are they so composed?"
Before I could think further, the horse assigned to us was led out—but my eyes caught it immediately. It was the horse that had been drugged!
I strode toward the judges:
"I request a horse change!"
A murmur swept through the crowd, followed by sneers from the opposing team:
"Oh? Afraid your horse can't beat ours?"
James took a step forward to spit on the ground, but Maria intervened, her voice clear, silencing the arena:
"Not afraid—someone secretly spiked the horse's water!"
The moment she spoke, the entire field fell into sudden silence, as if every sound had vanished.
Nita, sitting beside Khwan-Khao, almost leapt from her chair. Her face remained flawless, but her voice cut sharply:
"Do not falsely accuse! Are you so afraid of losing that you must fabricate lies?"
I stepped forward, expression calm, like negotiating at a funeral:
"I have not yet said who…"
The crowd erupted into whispers, spreading like tidal waves. Khwan-Khao tried to maintain her serene smile, but her eyes hardened dangerously.
⸻
At that very moment, one of the referees leaned as a man whispered something into his ear. He nodded slightly, then turned to us with a brief announcement.
"The culprit is being interrogated as we speak… therefore, we cannot yet disclose details."
The atmosphere struck the rival team like a slap to the face. Khwan-Khao's and Nita's complexions drained pale in an instant, their once-elegant smiles frozen stiff.
The referee raised his hand.
"Permission granted for Warun's team to change horses!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as a handler rushed to bring in a replacement. I exhaled a long, secret breath of relief.
James leaned close, voice trembling with laughter he could barely contain.
"Their faces look like they just swallowed a whole fistful of fresh chilies."
Jan bent forward, shoulders shaking with laughter, while Maria tilted her chin to the wind as if we had already claimed victory without even swinging a mallet.
—
The opening drums boomed, thoom, thoom, thoom, and the crowd roared. Horses from both sides prepared to enter the field. The air was tight, heavy, as though it might crush the lungs out of me.
I tightened the reins in my grip, heart pounding—this was no ordinary match. Every eye was locked on us now.
The polo game was about to begin.
Dust hung in the air before it could even settle. Across the field, Khwan-Khao fixed his gaze on me. His sharp eyes were calm, but that faint smile—damn, it was like he was whispering "Just lucky. Don't get cocky."
"Ray—Warun," Thomas panted heavily, still controlling his horse, "I don't like that guy's eyes. It's like he's telling you—you're already dead."
I let out a dry chuckle. "Let him talk. The truth will be decided here, on this field."
Before I finished, thwack!
The ball was smashed back with such force it made the ground tremble. It shot straight into our midst. James lunged to block but swung too wide—his mallet hooked his own horse's leg. Crash! The horse toppled, James rolled three times through the dust.
"I'm dead!!" he screamed.
Jan shouted frantically. "Hey! Ref! Stop the match! My friend's about to die for real!"
But the referee only barked back, "Time's not over!"
"You brutal bastard!!" Jan cursed.
James scrambled up, coughing dirt, waving his arms. "I'm not dead! Keep playing! Don't you dare cry for me!"
The spectators burst out laughing. The polo field had turned into a comedy stage.
—
The ball rolled to Khwan-Khao again. This time he charged in himself, riding with the grace of a hero from an epic. His mallet swung—crack!—sending the ball rolling clean and true toward our goal.
"Oh shit!" Thomas yelled.
Jan spurred her horse across. "By the power of the Holy Mother!!" She raised her mallet and swung with divine force—
Clang!
The two mallets collided midair. The ball dropped harmlessly to the side.
The audience roared. Some even applauded Maria as if she were a saint descending to save the world.
Thomas shouted, "First time I'm grateful the Holy Mother actually listened to you!"
The game spun on, faster, wilder. Horses thundered like war drums, each rider nearly flung from their saddles three times within five minutes.
The ball came to me. I pushed forward, Thomas guarding the flank, Jan cutting into the center to disrupt the enemy, Maria still chanting bizarre blessings nonstop.
I raised my mallet and struck—
Whack!
The ball flew ahead, but then—crack!
My wooden mask split with a small fracture along the cheek.
I froze for a heartbeat, chest tightening. A strange chill swept me. The echo of Khwan-Khao's words whispered inside me—"I hope in the next match… you'll still be this lucky."
—
The crowd roared as the ball sped dangerously near our goal. The referee lifted his hand, cheers booming louder than thunder.
Thomas screamed at me, voice tearing through the chaos. "Warun!! Wake the hell up! Or we're all screwed!!"
I snapped back, teeth gritted, forcing my horse forward again.
The polo game wasn't over—this war had only just begun.
Thoom! Dust rose in a choking curtain. Every strike of the mallet echoed—whack!—as if the earth itself trembled.
Then—
Crack!
The fracture in my mask deepened, splitting into a jagged line along my cheek, like a fresh wound spreading on its own.
I faltered… my grip on the reins shook, but I clenched harder. If I lost control now, the horse would smash me into the ground.
—
From the edge of the field—
My parents sat rigid, pale as ghosts. Mother nearly rose from her seat when she saw the mask break.
"Warun…!!" Her voice cracked, fingers gripping the chair until veins bulged.
Father's brows furrowed, eyes wide. He bolted upright, shouting. "Referee! Stop this match immediately!"
Beside them, P'Theer stood frozen for a fraction of a second. His composed face hardened, his sharp eyes flickering with unmistakable worry.
He shouted without realizing it. "Warun!!"
The cry turned heads, but from the saddle I met his eyes for just an instant.
I let go of the reins with one hand. For that split second, the world slowed—the crowd's noise muted. Only me, and their eyes.
I raised my fist, then extended my thumb upward. I'm fine.
My gaze told them clearly: Don't come in. Don't stop it. Don't worry.
But my family only shook more. "No… stop, son! Stop now!" My mother's voice broke in sobs.
Father shouted again, desperate. "Referee! End this match!!!"
The arena shook with uproar. Even the referees hesitated, whispering among themselves.
Then—clack, clack, clack—Maria strode forward from the spectator row. Her face radiated confidence. She halted before the referees, tilted her head, smiled sweetly, but her eyes were sharp as blades.
"Referees, there is no need to stop." Her voice rang clear, echoing across the arena.
"A cracked mask isn't a sign of weakness. It's proof of the intensity of this battle. And the rider—" she pointed at me, steady in the saddle, "—still has control. There is no reason to end the game."
Murmurs rippled through the audience. Some nodded in agreement, others looked unsure.
I met P'Theer's eyes again. This time he stayed still, stern, lips pressed tight, words swallowed down.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again—resolve glimmering. His gaze sent me one message.
Fight, Warun.
The match pressed on. Dust hung heavy, hooves thundered, cheers surged like a tidal wave.
I drew a deep breath, clenched the reins once more, and drove forward into the madness that awaited.
The crowd exploded into a roar—Wooooo!!!
—
But the rival team didn't yield—
One of them charged like an arrow, hair flying, smirk taunting across his pale face. I knew instantly—he was here for payback.
His mallet whipped down—thwack!—the ball snapped direction, ricocheting across the field.
"Shiiit!" James cursed, jerking his horse so sharply he nearly crashed into Thomas.
Thomas bellowed, "Watch it, damn it! You trying to kill me too!?"
But James didn't care, still yelling as he charged. "Bastards!!"
⸻
The sound of hooves clashed in chaos, like a battlefield erupting in the middle of an open field.
On one side—it was us, pushing forward with every ounce of strength.
On the other—Khwan-Khao's team, blocking every path, resisting with all they had.
Whack! Whack!
The mallets cracked loud against the ball, echoing like gunfire. Riders collided with such force that it felt like someone could be knocked off their saddle any second.
I gritted my teeth, feeling the raw power of my horse trembling beneath me, each stride shaking through my bones. Sweat slid down my temple, mixing with the dust that blew harshly across my face.
⸻
On the sidelines—
The crowd roared like thunder, loud enough to shake the earth. My family was restless, their nerves frayed.
My mother nearly jumped up again, but P'Theer, sitting right beside her, reached out with a steady hand, gently holding her back while shaking his head. His eyes never once left me on the field. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his gaze weighed heavy with worry he tried to hide.
Maria stood off to the side, arms crossed, her face unusually stern. She looked less like a friend and more like a team manager, ready to leap in and fix everything. Under her breath she muttered, "Come on, Waran… show them what you're made of."
Back in the field—
The ball darted like lightning, passed from mallet to mallet. I pulled the reins hard, my horse surging forward, its black mane glistening under the sun. The wind whipped across my face, stinging my eyes.
I raised my mallet high and swung with all my strength. Whack!!
The ball shot forward, racing straight toward the opponent's goal.
The crowd screamed—but before it could score—
Whack!
A girl from Khwan-Khao's team stormed in, smashing the ball away with a brutal strike. It veered off course, skimming so close past my horse's muzzle that my heart nearly tore out of my chest.
The game didn't stop.
Hooves thundered. Mallets clashed.
Players cursed, yelling so loud the referee had to blow his whistle almost every minute.
James was already screaming at Thomas.
"I told you to go left! Left! Not right, dammit!!"
Thomas spun back, snapping, "You were blocking me, you idiot!!"
I almost shouted back, "Shut up already and play!!"
It was as if the entire field had turned into a warzone. Nobody backed down. Everyone clenched their jaws and forced their horses forward like their lives depended on it.
And this—this was only the beginning…
The ball shot ahead. Khwan-Khao's team wasn't giving in, they tried to slow the play down. But me and my friends—we weren't letting them. James struck fast, his swing sharp as lightning. The ball ricocheted. Thomas yanked his horse's reins so violently that the beast nearly toppled sideways.
"Holy shit, I almost died!" Thomas yelled, his voice cracking. He clenched his teeth, gripping the reins like his life depended on it.
Jan spurred her horse, closing in on an opponent, lifting her mallet high and striking. Whack! The ball bounced straight toward me. I twisted in my saddle, lifted my mallet, and hit it again, sending it flying downfield. The wind slapped against my face, sweat and dust blinding my eyes.
"You guys still holding up?!" I shouted across the field.
James yelled back, "Yeah! But Khwan-Khao's not making this easy!"
And then… their dirty trick came out. Khwan-Khao's riders pressed harder, using rough tactics. Their horses boxed us in, nearly crushing our pace. I barked out a signal for everyone to slow slightly and coordinate tighter swings.
"Watch the left!!" I roared.
"Got it!" James shouted back, knuckles white around his mallet.
Thomas adjusted his reins, nudging his horse into position.
Jan jerked her horse's tail rein, forcing it into a sharp sidestep to dodge.
Maria was still at the sidelines, her voice rising above the noise: "Rhythm! Keep the rhythm! Fight on!!"
⸻
The pounding of hooves merged with the stomping of the crowd. It was like one overwhelming drumbeat, pushing our hearts faster and faster.
Each time the ball came our way, we moved together—like one body, one will.
"Jesus! This one's coming too damn strong!" James yelled as his horse nearly collided with another.
"Swing! Swing it, don't let it slip!!" I bellowed back.
The ball almost made it through the goal—but the opponent swerved and intercepted at the last second. One slip, and we nearly lost a point.
I clenched my teeth, eyes stinging. Tears mixed with the dust on my face as I looked up—Khwan-Khao was smirking, like he was amused, though his eyes stayed sharp, unreadable.
"That bastard…" I thought bitterly.
But we didn't let up.
James swung again—hard. The ball shot clean into the goal.
The crowd exploded.
Maria jumped up, yelling, "That's it! That's our team!!"
But before we could even celebrate, Khwan-Khao's team launched forward again, their horses tearing across the field. The ball broke free, and we had to dive back into the fight immediately.
"Keep the rhythm! Don't lose it!!" I shouted, waving signals.
Thomas wrestled his reins, fighting for control.
James hammered the ball again, relentless.
Jan intercepted with fierce blocks.
I steered, shouting directions, pushing the ball where it needed to go.
We were no longer individuals. On the field, we were one.
No time to think. No time to breathe.
The cheers swallowed everything—blending with the thunder of hooves, the crack of mallets, the shouts of opponents, the rush of wind carrying dust across the pitch.
⸻
And then—
Our team found the perfect rhythm.
It was as if we had trained for months just for this moment.
The ball cut through the air with precision—straight into the goal.
The crowd erupted like an earthquake.
P'Theer shot up from his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs.
My family threw their hands into the air, on the verge of tears.
But me—
My eyes stayed locked on Khwan-Khao.
He didn't flinch. Didn't smile.
His body was still.
But his gaze—his gaze had sharpened, colder, harder.
This wasn't over.
⸻
I gritted my teeth and smiled inwardly. This—this was our rhythm.
Thomas sat tense on his horse, legs gripping the sides, one hand holding the tail firmly, the other on the reins. He adjusted the horse's pull and direction precisely along the track. The polo ball bounced unpredictably, forcing him to kick to maintain balance without breaking the rhythm. His hands were slick with sweat, yet his eyes followed every move of the teammates ahead.
Jan rode in the middle, her hands swinging the polo mallet with rapid force and rhythm. She had to coordinate her gaze with James, since the ball kept coming forward at intervals. Her hands trembled from the horse's jolts, yet she kept the striking rhythm steady. A quick nod signaled James: "Ready." Her voice cut sharply across the wind and pounding hooves: "Left! LEFT!!!" The shout blended with the wind and pounding hooves, tension threading through the entire field.
James rode on the opposite flank, yet on our team. His right hand gripped the mallet tightly, and as his horse leaped, he jerked himself in rhythm, adjusting his weight to maintain balance. His left hand guided the ball straight toward the goal. He swung with full force. "Thwack!" The ball hit the goal perfectly. His eyes sparkled with satisfaction, but he remained vigilant, scanning for opponents approaching from the sides.
I led from the front, scanning the path ahead and behind, shouting signals:
"Turn left! Veer right! Keep it fast, keep it tight!"
My heart raced, sweat stinging my eyes, but I had to control both the horse and the polo ball. Left hand gripped the reins; right hand signaled the middle flank.
The pounding of hooves hit the ground in rhythm, dust and sweat scattering in the air.
"Watch the left!" I shouted.
Jan leaned low, striking the ball precisely.
"Got it!" James yelled back, striking the ball in continuous flow.
Thomas pulled the horse back into alignment, body trembling from the impact.
"Almost fell!" he shouted, gritting his teeth, eyes scanning the ball flying toward the branches.
He adjusted, jumping and balancing, the horse almost flipping—but a faint grin appeared: "It's okay, we'll survive this."
James continued the relentless strikes. The ball flew high, as if shot from a spring. He crouched with the horse's movements. Dust exploded under the horse's hooves.
"Haaa!! Oof!!" He yelled, heart racing with exhilaration, and I couldn't help but laugh.
Jan pushed the ball further, almost losing balance, struggling to keep the horse steady. Her mallet swung out of sync, and she screamed: "Aaargh! Dammit horse! Dammit ball!" Yet she kept striking, hands and body shaking from the horse's jolts.
I tried to signal everyone to stay sharp, but the tremors nearly threw me off the front.
"Turn left! Veer right!!" I yelled.
Maria stood at the sideline, rhythmically clapping and shouting like a battle commander:
"Faster! Push! Rhythm!!"
Her voice rang out, boosting our morale. We laughed at the absurdity, controlling the horses, swinging the mallets, barely staying upright.
Then came the high-flying ball. James struck hard, almost toppling from the horse, but the ball hit Jan's mallet and bounced out. She leaped, almost falling, yet held her mallet.
"Oooooff!!" she screamed, laughing at the audacity of it all.
Thomas struggled to control the horse and ball at the tail end, nearly losing the point as the ball splashed in water.
"I can't control it!! Someone grab it!!" he yelled.
I glanced down—James leaped after it, sending screams of exhilaration from everyone.
Finally, after multiple bounces, near-falls, splashes, dust, and wet chaos, I saw the perfect moment:
"James!! Shoot straight to the goal!!" I shouted.
He leaned low, struck the ball full force, and it flew true. Lifting his head, laughter erupted across the field.
Jan struck to assist the goal. The horse pounded the ground, almost losing balance, yet the team laughed through exhaustion.
Thomas guided the tail one last time. The polo ball landed perfectly in the goal.
Cheering erupted, everyone embracing in exhaustion and joy.
Maria ran in, yelling: "Amazing! Our team did it!!"
I laughed, tired but happy. Wet and muddy, horses exhausted, yet our hearts were full. The field reverberated with laughter, shouts, and heavy hooves.
This—this was the thrill, the chaos, and the fun of the fiercest polo match. In the end, victory was ours.
As the final ball hit the goal, cheers thundered. A faint whisper floated from the sidelines:
"That side…played too hard, didn't they…?"
It nudged some spectators to question the match:
"Feels like someone might get hurt…"
Foreign viewers familiar with polo nodded, faces saying: 'Whoa, that's insanely rough!'
Khwan-Khao and his team paled, lowering heads to regain focus, sweat dripping from their temples. They knew we weren't playing maliciously, but it looked utterly insane.
Our side paid no mind. I blinked at my teammates. James smirked: "I'm just playing the game."
Jan laughed dryly, brushing wet hair from her face: "You're no less intense yourself!"
Thomas nodded: "My horse almost kicked them the other way! Ha!"
Maria ran along the sideline, voice hoarse but still keeping the rhythm:
"Don't slip! Focus on the ball! Push! Push!"
I laughed inwardly. Even in the chaos, the team teased each other endlessly, making the field alive with mischief and intensity.
The game raged on. We struck, controlled, spun, and flipped. Eventually, our team claimed second place.
I looked toward the first-place team. Seniors with unmatched polo skills, moving their horses as if part of their bodies. Their precision, speed, and control were awe-inspiring.
"Okay… they earned that victory," I murmured to myself.
⸻
James laughed, "Well, at least we snagged second place with total chaos on the field! Hahaha!"
Jan splashed water at a friend's face playfully. "Hey! I'm soaked now!"
Thomas looked up at the sky. "My horse is exhausted too. I think we should save the rest for practice next time."
I glanced around the edge of the field and saw Khwan-Khao with his team still pale-faced, but there was a glint of awe hidden in their eyes.
"Hmph… they're really crazy," Khwan-Khao muttered under his breath.
The laughter of friends, the pounding of horse hooves, the clack of polo mallets, and the cheers from the sidelines still echoed in my mind.
Even if we didn't take first place, today we had a story full of sheer madness and pure excitement.
I let out a long sigh, looking at our team, tired but smiling from ear to ear.
"Yeah… second place is pretty damn good. Hahaha."
After the polo match ended, the cheering, the hooves stamping the ground, and the laughter of friends gradually faded. My teammates and I made our way to our families.
My family practically collided in a rush to reach me. My father, usually reserved, now seemed genuinely flustered. Even as he awkwardly raised his hands, his eyes betrayed a hint of worry.
But faster than anyone was P'Theer. He ran straight to me, arms wrapping around me tightly.
"Waran! Are you okay? Any injuries? Do we need to stitch anything?"
His voice was full of concern, eager almost to shield me from everything.
I couldn't help but smile softly, noticing my dad trying to maintain his usual cool exterior while subtly tensing and furrowing his brow. My chest swelled a little… yeah, he really does worry.
I glanced at Khwan-Khao on the sidelines, whose expression had darkened, slightly annoyed that P'Theer seemed excessively concerned about me. I stifled a laugh and murmured:
"Just a little bump on my temple… not sure if it's a cut… check it for me, P'Theer."
He leaned down, eyes full of care, hands gently brushing my head.
"Ah… just a slight red mark. Not too deep. You're fine, Waran."
I froze for a moment, then let a mischievous smile spread across my face. He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before ordering someone to bring ointment.
Our families began chatting with the families of our friends. Thomas' parents looked pleased. Maria and James' parents laughed softly as they conversed.
I looked around and noticed P'Theer still beside me, his hand lightly on my shoulder, silently saying, "I'm right here."
The atmosphere shifted toward preparations for the final event in the evening—a small dinner event. I was confident this time, our team would take the win.
Meanwhile, James' assistant ran over, whispering urgently.
"Ray… someone tried to find the instruments, but we hid them all. Don't worry."
I nodded to my friends, exchanging a sly smile.
P'Theer remained close, speaking softly to encourage me.
"Waran… give it your all. You can do this."
I glanced at my friends and returned the smile.
"Yeah… we won't lose today. Let's see how chaotic this gets."
Laughter erupted again from friends. James and Jan jokingly fidgeted in their chairs, while I saw Maria walking around, organizing everyone and calling for readiness.
The event atmosphere grew livelier. The twinkling lights of the small stage reflected on the faces of the audience. Everyone was dressed elegantly, standing in anticipation in their uniforms. Khwan-Khao's team remained at the sidelines, as always, letting their team play first.
I looked back at P'Theer. He smiled, giving a subtle nod of encouragement.
"Waran… you've got this today."
I took a deep breath, looking at my friends, all ready. The crowd's cheers, the determined eyes of my teammates… it felt like a cinematic scene ready to explode with fun and chaos simultaneously.
The event began under the twinkling lights. Guests' quiet conversations echoed softly through the large hall, with the high ceiling adorned with shimmering glass chandeliers. Men wore perfectly tailored suits with bow ties, women in long evening gowns with sequins sparkling in the lights. Their eyes reflected the chandeliers' glow, and the scent of perfume mixed with the aroma of fine food made the atmosphere warm and luxurious.
Tables were set elegantly with cream-white cloths, fresh flowers, and colorful fruits. International guests held wine glasses, walking gracefully. Smiles and nods exchanged politely. The atmosphere was filled with sophistication and anticipation.
Khwan-Khao's team began performing first. The instruments were purely Thai: the three-stringed saw (traditional Thai fiddle), khlui (bamboo flute), and ranad (xylophone). Simple yet captivating. Some guests nodded appreciatively, others scribbled notes. The soft chatter quieted to listen.
While their small ensemble played classic Thai melodies, I used the break to adjust our instruments slightly to fit our intended arrangement.
After a short while, the staff surprised us by placing our instruments in front. We exchanged glances, knowing it was time to fully focus. I bent over the piano, fingers testing the keys gently, checking that every note was intact. Then I made minor adjustments to sync with the rhythm I had planned.
⸻
My left hand pressed the chords while my right danced along the melody. The clear notes of the piano threaded through the grand hall, bouncing off the wooden walls, stirring the atmosphere into life. Each note vibrated slightly, almost as if it had its own heartbeat. I leaned forward a little, singing with confidence but a gentle softness, as if narrating a story with every tone.
James carefully set his viola down. The wooden frame tapped lightly against the strings, a sound delicate yet decisive. He lifted the piccolo flute to his lips and blew out a sweet note that wove seamlessly with the piano, like wind drifting through a backyard garden. That delicate sweetness carried the distinct power of Thai music. His fingers moved fluidly to match the rhythm, eyes focused, sparkling with a tiny thrill.
Jan lifted her violin, bow sliding confidently over the strings. She hummed softly along the melody, adding subtle touches that breathed life into the piece. She glanced at me with a small smile, and a faint laugh slipped into the rhythm, reminding me that this team was perfect in every way.
Maria stood at the corner of the stage, her hands gliding over the strings of a Thai khim (hammered dulcimer). The metallic resonance sparkled, the simple melody infused with energy. She waved gently, guiding us to adjust the timing, acting as the bridge between Thai and Western sounds.
A slight tension lingered in the audience, but we remained relaxed, exchanging glances and nods—"Let's begin."
I emphasized the high notes of my vocal line. James lifted his piccolo higher, Jan sharpened her violin's edge, and Maria struck the khim with assured rhythm. Every sound intertwined perfectly. Reflections off the wooden walls, the mingling of Thai and Western essence, made listeners close their eyes, imagining themselves strolling through an ancient garden.
The faint tap of the judges' footsteps reached us, along with whispers of admiration from the audience: "Waran… incredible." Some swayed slightly to the music's rhythm.
I chuckled inwardly, proud of everyone's collaboration. Even James and Jan, usually jokesters, were fully focused, and Maria, though not directly competing, managed every beat like a professional.
The song flowed on. Every note, every sound, merged into one. Highs and lows alternated with warm Thai motifs. The flute soared like a gentle breeze; the khim echoed faintly. The hall vibrated with excitement and awe.
We smiled at each other during the final passage, hands moving in perfect harmony as if sharing one breath. My piano played the last notes, soft but precise. Flute, violin, khim—all ended together.
The audience erupted in applause. I stood straight, hand lifted slightly, glancing at my teammates. Faces pale from exertion, exhaustion painted in subtle lines, but grins stretched across them all. James and Jan laughed quietly; Maria's proud gaze told me—we had already won. Not just the performance, but the victory over ourselves.
I looked toward Khwan-Khao at the edge of the hall. Her face had paled slightly, eyes flickering as she tried to mask disappointment. Yet, a faint smile lingered at the corner of her lips—an involuntary grin, eyes still brimming with excitement.
"Waran… not bad at all," she whispered, making me chuckle softly.
"Ha… thanks, Khwan-Khao," I replied with a grin, though I wasn't about to get sentimental. Some teasing was necessary.
After chatting with our families for a bit, the warmth of the moment mingled with laughter and playful jabs from my friends. We moved to the dining table. Sitting in a row like a misfit club, we joked about the match, lied about strategies, and laughed at each other's chaos.
Suddenly, an uninvited guest slid into the seat beside me—P'Theer. He guided my napkin across my face to wipe it gently, acting as both protector and mischief-maker, which made my friends laugh endlessly.
"Waran, look, P'Theer's taking care of everything," James sputtered, splashing water from laughter.
"Stop laughing!" I said, hiding a small grin.
Dishes slowly emptied, but the atmosphere remained full of fun. Laughter echoed around the table.
A small band took the stage, the melody urging people to dance. I rose with my friends, spotting P'Theer extending his hand.
"Come dance with me, Waran," he said. I laughed softly before taking his hand. He guided my movements gently, adjusting my posture, spinning me across the polished wooden floor. Candlelight reflected across our outfits, flickering with every turn.
My friends followed, dancing, laughing, teasing. Thomas and James tried silly steps, Jan and Maria matched Thai rhythms with Western fusion seamlessly.
He cupped my hand, whispering, "Be careful not to lose your balance." I nodded, smiling, feeling both safe and exhilarated.
The song ended. P'Theer and I stopped spinning, bodies still tingling from the lively rhythm. I exhaled, feeling tired, happy, and warm all at once. In a corner of my vision, I saw Khwan-Khao watching, and I laughed quietly at the thought—both relief and amusement mingling in my chest.
After the small dinner concluded, everyone began to leave. My friends and I stayed at my house as usual, the quiet post-battle calm settling in. Exhaustion from the day's activities weighed on us all.
We bathed, laughing softly when teasing broke the silence. The scent of soap and warm steam enveloped the space. James and Jan barely spoke; fatigue fully claimed them.
After washing, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out, seeing my friends sprawled across the beds. I smiled, resting my head on a pillow, sensing warmth and safety.
"Sleep well tonight… tomorrow's the real challenge," I murmured, partly as a warning to myself.
Their breathing steadied, blending with the soft sound of wind outside the window. I closed my eyes, my exhausted body releasing tension. Everything around me became still.
I drifted into sleep, dreaming of the racetrack I would drive and the river we'd navigate. Tomorrow would be decisive, but for now… the world paused in this small bedroom.
The candlelight reflected softly on my face, golden edges like a scene from a movie. Silent, yet a quiet tension lingered beneath my skin.
And finally, I surrendered to sleep, preparing myself for the long day of racing and rowing that awaited.