The school courtyard at sunset felt strangely hollow.
Students drifted out of classrooms in noisy waves, laughing, shoving, talking about homework and snacks.
But Minh moved through it all like a ghost.
His breath stuttered.
His chest pulsed with that same burning pressure—
deep under the sternum, like something pushing outward.
He pressed a hand there, trying to massage it down.
"Stop… not again…"
But it didn't stop.
His vision blurred.
The hallway lights stretched and warped in his eyes.
He grabbed a railing to steady himself.
Someone noticed.
"Em Minh?"
The voice was soft, confident, and unexpectedly familiar.
Minh blinked hard and looked up.
Hạ Yên stood a few steps away, holding a clipboard, the school's counselor badge pinned neatly on her blouse.
She was calm, composed—
the kind of woman the whole school whispered about.
Boys adored her.
Students confided in her.
She was the counselor intern everyone knew.
Minh swallowed.
"…Cô… gọi em?"
("…You were calling me?")
She stepped closer, her expression sharpening with concern.
"Mặt em tái quá. Thở khó hả?"
("You're really pale. Trouble breathing?")
Minh tried to answer, but his breath hitched again.
Hạ Yên immediately reached out, steadying his shoulder.
"Đi theo cô chút."
("Come with me for a moment.")
"I'm fine," Minh muttered weakly.
"You're not."
Her tone was gentle, but firm.
"Let me check you quickly. It's okay."
She guided him into a small, quiet room near the administration office.
Soft lighting.
Neatly organized shelves.
A kettle for tea.
Posters about mental health.
The kind of room meant to make someone breathe easier.
Minh sat on the couch, still clutching his chest.
Hạ Yên pulled a chair close.
"Cho cô xem nhịp thở nha?"
("Let me check your breathing, okay?")
He nodded hesitantly.
She watched carefully:
- shallow inhale
- trembling exhale
- uneven rhythm
- pulse slightly too fast
This wasn't simple stress.
But she didn't jump to conclusions.
"Em có hay bị như vậy không?"
("Does this happen to you often?")
"…Gần đây…" Minh whispered.
("…Recently…")
"Có ai làm em căng thẳng không? Ai bắt nạt không?"
("Is someone stressing you? Anyone bullying you?")
Minh's hand tightened around his shirt.
He didn't answer.
She didn't push.
---
Outside the counseling building, across the concrete quad,
a man leaned casually near the wall.
Wearing a simple PT jacket from Dạ Nam Gym.
Hands in pockets.
Just a personal trainer, always in the background, adjusting equipment or moving weights.
But right now—
his eyes were fixed on the counseling room window.
Sharp eyes.
Too sharp.
He watched Minh carefully,
as if reading something invisible.
"…Lệch nhịp nữa rồi."
("…His rhythm slipped again.")
He murmured it under his breath.
No one heard.
He didn't approach.
Didn't knock on the window.
Didn't reveal himself.
He only watched.
Measured.
Waited.
---
Back in the counsellor office, Hạ Yên scribbled quietly:
- panic response?
- overactive fight-or-flight
- dissociative signs
- possible trauma trigger
- breathing instability
- psychosomatic chest tightness
She looked up at Minh.
"Minh," she said softly.
"Em đang chịu nhiều thứ hơn em nghĩ đó."
("You're dealing with more than you realize.")
Minh lowered his eyes.
"I just… can't breathe sometimes."
"I know."
She leaned closer.
"Nhưng không phải lỗi của em."
("And it's not your fault.")
Something in Minh's chest tightened—
not the pain,
but the ache of being understood for the first time.
Suddenly—
A sharp jolt struck his chest.
Minh gasped, gripping the couch edge.
Hạ Yên immediately reached him.
"Minh? Em sao? Nhìn cô nè!"
("Minh? Are you okay? Look at me!")
He tried to breathe—
but the inhale snagged halfway,
turning into a painful stutter.
Outside—
The man at the bike racks straightened immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
His posture shifted slightly—
predator to alert stance.
"…He's close to breaking."
He stepped one foot forward—
Then stopped.
He wasn't supposed to act yet.
Not until it was necessary.
Not until someone called for him.
He retreated back into the shadow of the school building.
She placed a steady palm on Minh's back.
"Thở theo cô… được không?"
("Breathe with me… okay?")
Minh forced a nod.
"In… 2… 3…
Giữ… 2…
Thở ra… 3…"
("In… hold… out…")
Slowly—
the tremor eased.
His chest still hurt,
but the panic receded enough for him to stay conscious.
Hạ Yên exhaled in relief.
"You're okay now."
Minh looked down at the floor, embarrassed.
"…Sorry."
"Không có gì phải xin lỗi."
("There's nothing to apologize for.")
Her voice was warm.
"Just let me help."
Minh finally nodded.
For the first time in days—
he felt the smallest flicker of stability.
Not safety,
not comfort,
—but stability.
The sun had already slipped behind the school buildings by the time Minh stepped out of the counseling office.
Evening shadows stretched long across the courtyard.
The air felt heavier.
Quieter.
Minh paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame as if steadying himself.
His chest still throbbed—
a dull, rhythmic ache, like something pulsing against bone.
Hạ Yên stood behind him.
"Nhớ là… đừng đi một mình nữa."
("Remember… don't walk alone anymore.")
Minh nodded without turning back.
"…Dạ."
("…Okay.")
He walked away.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just enough to look normal.
But he wasn't normal.
His breath trembled with every step.
His senses felt stretched thin—
like the world was too sharp, too loud, too close.
---
A quiet PT from Dạ Nam Gym adjusted his shirt and pushed off the wall.
He didn't approach Minh.
Didn't follow directly.
Didn't acknowledge him.
But his eyes tracked every unsteady step.
"…Nó không trụ được lâu nữa."
("…He won't hold together much longer.")
He exhaled through his nose.
A long, controlled breath.
The kind of breath a trained fighter used to calm the body.
He muttered:
"Để coi… ngày mai nó còn đứng vững hay không."
("Let's see… whether he's still standing tomorrow.")
Then he turned away, blending into the dispersing students.
Not gone—
never gone—
Just somewhere Minh couldn't see.
---
Meanwhile, across District 5…
The smell hit first—not cigarettes or old concrete,but rubber flooring, sweat, and disinfectant.
A kickboxing gym.
Hidden behind a row of closed electronics shops,its neon sign flickered weakly:
"CLB Kick Boxing + Gym – Kickboxing + Gym."
Inside, bags swung from steel frames.Muffled thuds echoed from the back as someone worked the mitts.
Tùng stepped in, fists trembling despite his best attempt to look calm.Long followed closely, wiping his palms on his pants.
A man stood near the center mat, wrapping his hands with athletic tape.
Not a thug.Not a street rat.
A trained fighter.
Lê Quý Đôn High uniform shirt tied around his waist,sleeves of a compression top rolled high,showing sharp forearm definitionand a faint scar near his eye —the kind earned from sparring rings, not street accidents.
When he looked up, his gaze was cold, evaluating.
Dã Lao.
He smirked.
"Nghe nói mày muốn mạnh lên?"
("I heard you want to get stronger?")
Tùng swallowed, throat tight.
"Muốn đánh lại thằng nhóc kia ở trường mày?"
("Want to beat that kid from your school?")
Tùng's jaw tightened.
"…I do."
Lao laughed under his breath.
"Vậy thì đơn giản thôi."
("Then it's simple.")
He stepped forward.
"Chịu đau."
("You endure pain.")
Tùng flinched—but didn't back away.
Long smirked, satisfied.
This was the beginning of something darker.
Something irreversible.
---
Back in District 8—
Minh crossed the street toward the bus stop.
Evening traffic hummed around him.
But each sound pierced his skull:
the echo of motorbikes
the clang of distant metal
the thump of footsteps behind him
His heartbeat stumbled again.
Thump—
…
… THUMPTHUMP—
He grabbed his chest.
"Không… bây giờ đừng…"
("Not… not now…")
He leaned against a lamp post, breath shuddering.
The faces of students passed by him, blurry and uncaring.
Minh clenched his teeth.
He refused to collapse in public.
Slowly—
painfully—
he forced himself upright and kept walking.
But the world vibrated faintly around him.
As if something inside him beat out of rhythm with reality.
---
Back inside the counseling building,
Hạ Yên stood by the window, watching Minh's distant figure.
She held her clipboard tightly against her chest.
"…Minh…"
She whispered his name like a worry she couldn't voice.
Her instincts screamed that this was more than trauma.
More than stress.
Something inside him was unraveling.
And she couldn't let him face it alone.
She pulled out her phone.
Tomorrow, she decided—
she would escalate this.
Even if she had to drag him to the medical ward herself.