Tùng hadn't slept.
His room was dark except for the fluorescent light leaking through the blinds. His phone buzzed every few minutes—notifications, messages, gossip threads.
He didn't open any of them.
He didn't need to.
He already knew.
Everyone was talking about Minh again.
But this time, they weren't talking about what Minh did.
They were talking about what **Tùng didn't do**.
"…ba thằng Lê Quý Đôn chạy khỏi trường như thấy ma."
(...three guys from Lê Quý Đôn ran out like they'd seen a ghost.)
"Tùng nhờ tụi nó xử Minh mà tụi nó lại bị hù chạy."
(Tùng asked them to handle Minh, and they got scared instead.)
"Ủa, vậy ai mới là người đáng sợ?"
(So who is the one scared now?)
"He couldn't even scare Minh properly."
He could hear those words even with his headphones on.
Tùng sat hunched on the edge of his bed, fists pressed against his forehead, nails digging into the skin.
"How… HOW is he still standing…?" he hissed.
He had orchestrated everything—
The insults.
The rooftop.
The rumors.
The outsiders.
Everything.
And still—
That autistic kid, Minh, survived.
Worse—
Minh wasn't alone anymore.
Tùng saw it with his own eyes from across the yard:
Minh walking with that basketball dumb-dumb, Lâm.
Lâm shielding him.
Teachers looking at Minh with concern instead of contempt.
And Long—
Useless, shaking, pale, telling Tùng:
"Đại ca ơi… Minh… không phải bình thường đâu…"
(Big bro… Minh… he's not normal)
Tùng smashed his phone into the wall.
"Chó đẻ!"
(Dog born )
Long flinched, covering his face. "Tao… tao nói thiệt! Ba thằng kia chạy như gặp quỷ—"
(I… I mean it! Three of them runnin' like seeing a demon—)
"VÌ TỤI BÂY BẤT TÀI!" Tùng roared.
(BECAUSE Y'ALL USELESS!)
But his voice cracked.
His throat was tight.
His hands trembled.
He hated it.
Hated that his body betrayed him.
Hated that every time he thought of Minh's face, he felt a pulse of something he couldn't name—fear, shame, anger mixing together into something sour.
"Minh…" he muttered. "Mày làm tao thành trò cười…"
(You make me a clown…)
He grabbed Long by the collar.
"You opened the gate for them. You said everything would be fine."
"Đ-Đại ca! Em đâu biết nó… nó điên tới thế!"
(B-Big bro! I wouldn't know… he's crazy like that!)
"Tao đéo cần biết!!!"
(I don't care!!!)
He shoved Long away.
Long stumbled, almost falling. "Tùng à… dạo này mày… sao ấy…"
(Tùng… you're different… recently…)
"CÂM MIỆNG!!!"
(SHUT UP!!!)
Silence.
Only Tùng's ragged breathing filled the room.
Long backed toward the door, face pale. "Tùng… nghỉ ngơi đi. Tao… tao về trước."
(Tùng… take a rest. I… I head back first.)
Tùng didn't answer.
He didn't look up.
He just stared at his own shaking hands.
---
At school the next day, whispers followed him.
"Tùng nhìn bực dữ."
(Tùng looks angried)
"Nghe nói Minh bị đánh mà vẫn đứng dậy?"
(Heard that Minh got beat but still standing?)
"Lâm đi theo Minh suốt luôn."
(Lâm followed Minh all the time.)
"Ủa rồi Tùng tính sao?"
(So what about Tùng?)
"Hồi trước ai cũng sợ Tùng… giờ sợ Minh hả?"
(Everyone used to fear Tùng… now fears Minh?)
Tùng's jaw clenched.
Each word felt like a stone thrown at his spine.
Minh walked into the courtyard with Lâm beside him.
Not limping as much.
Not hiding.
Standing straighter.
Tùng saw it.
And something in his chest snapped.
"Minh…"
His voice was low.
Almost shaking.
"…mày nghĩ mày thắng rồi hả?"
(…you think you win?)
Minh stopped walking.
Not confrontation.
Not bravado.
Just quiet exhaustion.
"I don't want to fight you, Tùng."
That sentence hit harder than a punch.
His identity clawed at him:
Who am I if Minh isn't scared of me?
Who am I if people stop listening?
Who am I if I'm not the strongest?
He chewed his lip until blood hit his tongue.
He hated Minh for causing this.
And hated himself more for not stopping it.
"You…" Tùng took a step forward, "…don't get to say that."
Lâm moved instantly between them.
Tùng's nostrils flared. "Mày tránh ra."
"No," Lâm said simply.
The courtyard held its breath.
Minh whispered. "Stop. Please. I don't want this."
"You don't WANT?" Tùng spat. "Tao đéo quan tâm mày muốn gì."
(I don't care what you want.)
His eyes were wild now—bloodshot, sleepless, shaking with confusion, humiliation, and something darker.
"Everything was fine," Tùng snarled. "Rồi đột nhiên mày dở chứng. Mày làm tao mất mặt. Mày làm tụi Lê Quý Đôn chạy như gặp ma. Mày làm tao thành thằng hề trong trường."
(Then you changed. You made me lose face. You made the Lê Quý Đôn guys run like they'd seen a ghost. You turned me into a joke at school.)
"Tùng—" Minh tried.
"CÂM MIỆNG!!!"
(SHUT UP)
A tremor ran through Tùng's fist.
He didn't hit anyone.
Not yet.
But every student watching could feel it—
He wasn't stable.
He wasn't thinking.
A crack had formed.
And Minh was standing right in front of the breaking point.
The courtyard froze.
Students formed a loose circle, whispering. Minh stood behind Lâm, exhausted and pale. Lâm positioned himself like a wall between Minh and danger. Tùng's fists trembled visibly.
"Tránh. Ra."
("Move. Now.")
"No."
("No.")
More phones lifted. More whispers.
"Trời, Lâm đứng chắn luôn kìa…"
("Wow, Lâm is actually blocking him…")
"Tùng điên rồi…"
("Tùng has completely lost it…")
Tùng stepped forward, rage shaking his voice.
"Mày nghĩ mày ngon hơn tao hả, Lâm?"
("You think you're better than me, Lâm?")
"I think you need to stop."
("I think you need to stop.")
Minh whispered weakly:
"Làm ơn… đừng nữa…"
("Please… stop…")
Tùng didn't hear him. Fury drowned everything.
He raised a hand—
And a voice like thunder crashed into the courtyard:
"Ê! TỤI BÂY LÀM CÁI GÌ ĐÓ?!"
("HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!")
Every student froze.
The DisciplineGiám thị** stormed across the courtyard, keys rattling, shoes slapping the tiles. His face was red, eyes blazing with the anger of a man who'd been waiting all morning to destroy someone.
"Bộ tụi bây hết chuyện làm chưa?! MUỐN LÀM LOẠN CÁI TRƯỜNG NÀY HẢ?!"
("Are you all out of your minds?! Trying to turn this whole school upside down?!")
He jabbed a finger at Tùng.
"TÙNG! ĐỨNG IM ĐÓ!"
("TÙNG! DON'T MOVE!")
Tùng stiffened, stunned.
The Giám thị's voice hit like a hammer.
"Mày bị điên chưa?! SÁNG SỚM MÀ BÀY ĐẶT HÙ DOẠ, ĐÁNH LỘN?! BỮA TRƯỚC BỊ MỜI PHỤ HUYNH CHƯA ĐỦ NHỤC HẢ?!"
("Have you lost your mind?! Causing fights first thing in the morning?! Was getting your parents called LAST TIME not humiliating enough?!")
The crowd buzzed.
"Trời… thầy nói vụ phụ huynh luôn rồi…"
("Damn… the teacher brought up his parents…")
"Tùng tiêu đời rồi."
("Tùng is finished.")
The discipline teacher snapped at the crowd:
"CÒN TỤI BÂY! TẮT HẾT ĐIỆN THOẠI! XÓA HẾT CLIP! ĐỨA NÀO CÒN QUAY LÀ LÊN PHÒNG GIÁM THỊ NGAY!"
("AND YOU LOT! PHONES DOWN! DELETE ALL VIDEOS! ANYONE STILL RECORDING WILL GO STRAIGHT TO MY OFFICE!")
Phones dropped instantly.
Then the discipline teacher turned back to Tùng.
"**LÊN PHÒNG GIÁM THỊ! NGAY LẬP TỨC!**"
("TO THE DISCIPLINE OFFICE! RIGHT NOW!")
Tùng's face burned with humiliation.
He glanced at Minh—hurt, confused, angry, desperate.
Minh looked down.
Lâm held Tùng's gaze with calm contempt.
Tùng took one step toward the office—then stopped.
The discipline teacher exploded again:
"TAO NÓI ĐI LÀ ĐI! MUỐN TAO DẮT TAY MÀ ĐI LUÔN KHÔNG?!"
("WHEN I SAY GO, YOU GO! WHAT, YOU WANT ME TO DRAG YOU THERE BY THE HAND?!")
Students gasped, half-horrified, half-fascinated.
Tùng finally walked.
Fast.
Stiff.
Crushed.
The discipline teacher followed closely behind him, still muttering threats under his breath.
The courtyard erupted into whispers the moment they disappeared.
"Xong đời rồi…"
("He's done for…")
"Giám thị mà la kiểu đó là nặng lắm…"
("When the discipline teacher yells like that, it's serious…")
"Ba mẹ Tùng chắc lên trường nữa quá…"
("His parents are definitely coming again…")
Minh shrank back, overwhelmed by the eyes staring at him.
Lâm placed a steady hand on Minh's shoulder.
"Không sao. Có bố mày ở đây."
("It's okay. 'Your dad' is here.")
Across the courtyard, unseen by the others, the watcher leaned casually against a pillar.
Observing.
Silent.
Smiling faintly.
The fall had begun.
The walk to the discipline office felt endless.
Every step heavy.
Every breath hot.
Students whispered as Tùng passed.
"Hổng ngờ thầy giám thị chửi dữ vậy…"
("Didn't think the discipline teacher would scream like that…")
"Tùng hết thời rồi đó."
("Tùng's reign is over.")
He heard it all.
He pretended he didn't.
His jaw locked.
His shoulders stiffened.
But the words followed him like shadows.
---
The office door slammed shut.
"Ngồi xuống."
("Sit down.")
He sat.
Giám thị towered in front of him, voice still thundering.
"Mày tưởng trường này của mày hả?"
("You think this school belongs to you?")
Tùng stared at the floor.
"Dọa đánh bạn giữa sân trường…"
("Threatening to attack a student in the courtyard…")
"…để cả đám học sinh quay lại…"
("…with half the school recording it…")
"…trong khi mày đã có hồ sơ đánh nhau trước đó…"
("…when you already have a fight record…")
Giám thị slammed a stack of papers.
"Ba mẹ mày CHẮC CHẮN sẽ lên trường chiều nay."
("Your parents WILL be coming to school this afternoon.")
Tùng's stomach twisted.
He wanted to argue.
Say Minh provoked him.
Say it wasn't like that.
But no voice came out.
Just air.
Shaky.
Thin.
The Giám thị leaned forward, voice razor sharp.
"Hôm nay tao cho mày biết cảm giác NHỤC trước mặt cả trường là sao."
("Today I made sure you learned what it feels like to be HUMILIATED in front of the whole school.")
Something cracked inside his chest.
But he didn't argue.
He couldn't.
---
When Giám thị left, silence drowned the room.
The lights hummed softly.
His pulse thundered violently.
He stared at his hands.
They were still shaking.
"…Minh…"
He whispered the name like a confession.
Not with anger.
Not with hatred.
Just confusion.
Guilt.
Pain.
He never meant for it to go this far.
Not the rooftop.
Not the outsiders.
Not this morning.
He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.
Did he want Minh to break?
Did he want him gone?
Or did he just want things to go back to when he was in control?
But things weren't going back.
Minh wasn't the weak one anymore.
Minh wasn't alone anymore.
Minh wasn't scared anymore.
And that terrified Tùng more than anything.
He pressed both palms over his face.
He saw Lâm blocking him.
He saw Minh avoiding eye contact.
He saw the crowd watching.
He saw himself.
Pathetic.
Small.
Loud.
Breaking.
A fallen king screaming in the ruins of his own throne.
The humiliation burned so deep he felt dizzy.
He didn't know if he wanted to cry or punch something.
So he did neither.
He just sat there.
Breathing wrong.
Thinking wrong.
Feeling wrong.
Waiting for something worse.
Because something worse was coming.
He could feel it.
The discipline office door clicked shut behind him.
Tùng stepped out into the hallway, eyes unfocused. The fluorescent lights hummed above his head, too bright, too sharp, cutting into his skull.
His parents were coming.
The discipline teacher had said it with too much satisfaction.
"Ba mẹ mày sẽ lên trường chiều nay."
("Your parents will be coming this afternoon.")
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Hard.
Harder.
He tasted blood.
---
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Every sound echoed wrong.
Every shadow felt heavier.
Students nearby stepped aside—not out of fear,
but pity.
PITY.
It stabbed deeper than a punch.
"Tội nghiệp ghê…"
("Damn, I actually feel bad for him…")
"Nó bị la quá trời."
("He got destroyed by the teacher…")
"Nó hết làm đại ca được rồi."
("He can't act like a boss anymore.")
Their voices weren't mocking.
They were worse.
Soft.
Sympathetic.
Dismissing him like he was irrelevant.
He wanted them to fear him again.
He wanted them to look away.
He wanted anything except this numbness chewing at his ribs.
His hands curled into fists.
"…Minh…" he whispered.
A name, a wound, a question he couldn't answer.
---
He left the school building.
The courtyard was quieter now.
Students had dispersed.
Teachers walked by without glancing at him.
He was invisible.
Or worse—noticed only as a problem.
He walked to the far corner of the yard, where the old banyan tree cast a jagged shadow across the concrete. He sat with his back against the trunk and dropped his head into his hands.
His breathing shook.
His throat tightened.
The world refused to slow.
He squeezed his temples, digging his nails into his scalp to stop the thoughts.
But they wouldn't stop.
Minh looking at him with tired eyes.
Lâm blocking him without effort.
The discipline teacher screaming in front of everyone.
His parents being called.
The crowd whispering like a storm in his ears.
And beneath all of it—
A fear he couldn't name.
A fear he refused to name.
A fear that looked like Minh.
---
Footsteps approached.
Tùng looked up sharply.
Long.
Of course.
Long stood a few meters away, wringing his hands. "Mày… mày ổn không?"
("Are you… are you okay?")
A stupid question.
Tùng scoffed. "Ổn hả? Nhìn tao giống ổn không?"
("Okay? Do I LOOK okay?")
Long swallowed hard.
"Tại… tao chỉ muốn…"
("I just wanted to…")
"Mày muốn gì?!"
("What do you want?!")
Long flinched.
"Tại… tao thấy mày buồn…"
("I just… saw you were upset…")
"CÚT."
("GET LOST.")
The word cracked like glass.
Long backed away immediately, face pale.
He didn't argue.
He didn't try to help.
He didn't even look back.
He just fled.
Leaving Tùng alone again.
---
Silence.
It pressed into his ears.
He wasn't angry at Long.
Not really.
He wasn't even angry at Minh anymore.
The truth sat heavy in his lungs:
He was angry at himself.
Angry that he lost control.
Angry that he couldn't scare Minh.
Angry that he cared too much about what people thought.
Angry that he didn't understand why Minh wasn't breaking.
Angry that he was the one breaking instead.
He slammed a fist into the tree bark.
"KHÔNG LẼ… tao thua thiệt rồi sao…?"
("Is it really… that I've lost?")
He hit it again.
Harder.
Skin split.
Blood smeared across the rough bark.
His breathing turned ragged.
He pressed his forehead against the tree, eyes squeezed shut.
He didn't want to cry.
Not here.
Not anywhere.
But the pressure inside him felt like a metal bar twisting through his chest.
---
A voice cut through the quiet.
Not Minh.
Not Lâm.
Not Long.
A man.
Calm.
Low.
Watching.
"Đau quá thì nghỉ tay đi."
("If it hurts that much, stop hitting the tree.")
Tùng spun around.
The tall man in the black jacket—the one students whispered about earlier—stood a short distance away.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes unreadable.
Expression almost curious.
Tùng stiffened. "Chú là ai?"
("Who are you?")
The man smiled faintly.
"Người coi."
("A spectator.")
Tùng's confusion deepened. "Coi gì?"
("Spectating what?")
"Coi một thằng nhóc tự làm mình nát bét."
("Watching a boy tear himself apart.")
Tùng's breath caught.
"Chú muốn gì?"
("What do you want?")
The man tilted his head.
"Không phải tao muốn gì."
("It's not about what I want.")
"Là mày muốn gì."
("It's about what YOU want.")
His voice was gentle, almost kind—and that unsettled Tùng more than anger ever could.
"You're at a crossroads," the man added softly.
"Hoặc đứng dậy… hoặc chìm luôn."
("Either you stand up… or you drown.")
Tùng's throat tightened.
He opened his mouth—but no words came.
The man turned away.
"Nghe cho kỹ này, Tùng."
("Listen carefully, Tùng.")
"Người mày ghét nhất…"
("The person you hate most…")
"…không phải Minh."
("…is not Minh.")
He paused.
"It's mày."
("It's yourself.")
Then he walked away.
And Tùng broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly—
like a dam releasing water it could no longer hold.
He sank to his knees beside the tree, fists trembling, chest tight, breath unsteady.
The humiliation.
The guilt.
The fear.
The self-hatred.
All of it tangled together until he couldn't untie any of it.
He buried his face in his arms.
And for the first time in years—
Tùng cried.