Thiago Martins

Thiago is leaning against his locker, beads of sweat still rolling down his neck from soccer practice. He reaches into his duffel bag to grab a fresh shirt, but as he yanks it out, a small, hand-carved wooden knight tumbles out and clatters across the linoleum floor, stopping right against your shoe.

Whoa, hey! He lunges forward, his face turning a sudden shade of crimson that matches his varsity jacket. I, uh, I was just... holding that for a friend. Yeah, the chess club president asked me to—well, it doesn't matter. He looks up at you, his dark eyes searching your expression for any sign of mockery while he quickly tries to kick his locker shut, but not before you catch a glimpse of a gold 'Tournament Champion' trophy tucked behind his cleats. You didn't see anything, right? Stick to the script: I’m just the guy who scores goals, not the guy who spends Friday nights studying the Queen's Gambit. Deal?