The game master's gaze fell on her son.
Her lips parted, and after a brief pause that stretched just a little too long, she spoke.
"I believe Jane gets the seat."
The decision landed cleanly, almost too cleanly.
For a second, there was a small gap of silence, like the crowd needed a moment to settle into it.
Then the clapping started. Some smiled, some nodded, a few glanced at each other as if to confirm it felt like the right call.
It wasn't a serious game.
Just something to keep the kids entertained.
Jane was a new face so letting her win felt like it would satisfy the majority. And based on the fact that the people here was evenly split between both Jane and her son, it would feel like favoritism if she chose him instead.
But when the game master looked back at her son—
He didn't move.
"..."
Then he adjusted his position in the chair with Jane, his head slightly lowered. His grip had loosened from the backrest, but his fingers still hovered there, as if he hadn't fully accepted that it was over.
His eyes stayed fixed on the ground in front of him, unfocused, like he was still trying to replay the moment and find where it had gone wrong.
For a child, he couldn't understand it.
He blinked once.
A small, uneven breath left him, and he straightened just enough to look up.
Not at Jane.
At his mother.
His brows pulled together, and he wore an expression between confusion and anger. Maybe something sarcastic in between.
His lips parted like he wanted to speak, to argue, to atleast convince someone.
But nothing came out.
He knew better.
The way his mother was looking at him now, jaws tight, was enough. There was no space for a tantrum, a room to push back without consequences waiting afterward. So whatever he felt stayed contained, pressed down into something quieter, something that showed itself in tightness around his eyes.
A tear gathered at the edge of his eye, catching the light for a brief second before he blinked it back.
His mother was already looking at him.
There was no softness in her expression nor was there quiet reassurance.
Just disappointment and expectation.
A silent demand to accept it.
To accept it. To accept it. To accept defeat. To behave.
To not make this into something bigger than it was supposed to be.
It's just a game.
It's just a game.
It's supposed to be a game.
It should be.
"You never choose me."
The words barely left his mouth, soft and uneven, too quiet to carry beyond the space between them.
The game master didn't react.
Whether she hadn't heard or chose not to, it was impossible to tell. Her attention had already shifted back to the crowd, to continue the game.
Her son held her gaze for another second, as if waiting for something to change.
Nothing did.
His shoulders dropped, just slightly, the tension in them giving way to something heavier. He stood and turned without another word and walked away from the circle, each step slower than the last, until he reached a small corner near the back where the lights didn't reach as strongly.
He stopped there.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves, tight, knuckles pressing against the cloth. They trembled, small and uneven, like he was holding something back that refused to stay contained.
Around him, the noise returned.
The game resumed.
None of it reached him.
He kept his head down, staring at the ground as if it might offer an answer, or at least somewhere to place the feeling building in his chest.
It was unfair.
He knew what he felt in that moment, the certainty that he had been there first, that he had earned it. But certainty didn't matter if no one else saw it the same way.
And no one did.
No one.
Not even his friends.
He just hoped that they wouldn't come to him joking about his situation.
Because he knew.
That to them, it was just a game.
His legs shifted slightly, like they might give out, but he locked them in place before they could. His lips pressed together, trembling once before going still.
The tears didn't fall.
He wouldn't let them.
He lowered his head further instead, avoiding the sight of the game continuing without him.
...
[ 3 players remained with 2 chairs left ]
The music picked up again, filling the space where the tension had settled. The remaining players moved quickly now, no longer pretending to take it slow. Their steps were tighter, closer to the chairs, eyes fixed on the exact distance between them.
A young girl, barely older than eight, stayed close to one of the seats. Her arms hovered slightly at her sides, ready to turn the moment the sound cut.
Her focus didn't waver.
...
[ The music stopped. ]
She moved immediately, turning and dropping toward the nearest chair. But just as she lowered herself, a sudden force hit her from the side. It wasn't strong enough to knock her over, but it shifted her balance just enough to throw her off.
Her feet stumbled, but she caught her balance.
By the time she looked again, the chair was already taken.
Her head snapped toward the second one.
That too was occupied.
She froze in place, her breath catching as the realization settled in.
[ 2 players left. Only one can claim victory. ]