Rain fell over Dạ Nam Gym like the city was trying to wash itself clean.
It failed.
Minh arrived soaked, breathing hard, eyes empty in a way Phong had not seen before.
Phong was closing the gym. He looked at Minh once and kept wrapping the chain around the door.
"Go home."
"Train me."
"No."
"Then make me stronger."
Phong stopped.
The rain filled the silence.
Minh's hands were shaking. Not from cold.
"They broke his hand," Minh said. "They ambushed his team. They smiled during the match. He still played. He still protected them. He still lost."
Phong turned slowly.
"And?"
Minh stared at him.
"And?"
"Yes. And?"
The word hit harder than a punch.
Gomboc rose like heat under Minh's skin.
"Let me answer..."
Minh stepped forward. "I need power."
"No," Phong said. "You need permission."
Minh froze.
Phong's expression was almost bored, but his eyes were sharp.
"You want someone older to tell you revenge is discipline. You want someone to dress your anger in training clothes."
"They hurt Lâm."
"Yes."
"They used him to get to me."
"Yes."
"Then why are you standing there like it doesn't matter?"
Phong smiled faintly.
"Because pain mattering does not make your conclusion correct."
Minh's breath broke.
"What was the point of control if everyone I care about gets hurt anyway?"
For the first time, Phong looked interested.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The real question."
Minh lunged.
He did not decide to.
His body moved with rage, khí burning through his arm.
Phong dropped him in one motion.
Minh hit the mat hard enough to lose breath.
"Again," Phong said.
Minh pushed up, snarling.
Again.
Phong dropped him.
Again.
Dropped.
Again.
Dropped.
By the seventh time, Minh could barely stand. Gomboc screamed for release. Phú barked corrections that Minh could not follow through the red haze.
Phong crouched in front of him.
"Rage is borrowed strength," he said. "It always collects interest."
Minh coughed. "Then teach me real strength."
"Why?"
Minh's answer came broken.
"Because if I go like this... I'll become what Lao wants."
Phong's smile vanished.
Good answer.
Not noble.
Not clean.
But useful.
Phong stood.
"I will train you tonight."
Minh lifted his head.
"Not to kill. Not to punish. Not to feel better." Phong pointed to the center of the mat. "I will train you so when you stand in front of Lao, your anger obeys you."
Minh dragged himself upright.
"What do I do?"
"One breath. One intent. One movement."
"That's it?"
"If you need more, you already lost control."
------
Hours passed.
Phong attacked from every angle.
Minh's task was not to win.
It was to move once.
Only once.
Block and stop.
Step and stop.
Strike and stop.
Every extra motion belonged to Gomboc.
Every hesitation belonged to fear.
At dawn, Minh finally did it.
Phong's palm came toward his chest.
Minh breathed.
One intent.
Stop the strike.
His forearm rose, redirected the force, and froze.
No follow-up.
No rage.
No hunger.
Phong nodded.
"Một Nhịp."
"One Beat," Minh whispered.
"Again tomorrow."
Minh collapsed to his knees, exhausted beyond thought.
Phong watched him with quiet amusement.
The question had become worth answering.