Dung quietly slipped out of sight, darting toward a deserted corner of the campus. In one swift motion, he drew the pistol tucked behind his back and fired a shot into the air.
Screams erupted.
The crowd scattered in panic as the gunshot rang out, memories of recent grenade attacks and political assassinations still fresh in everyone's mind. Police responded by hurling tear gas canisters, trying to disperse both the protesters and curious onlookers. Chaos spread like wildfire. People shoved, clashed, got dragged away all along the main road outside Văn Khoa University.
"Perfect," Dung muttered, pulling a scarf over his face and making a beeline toward his real target.
In the heart of the protest sat three student activists—ringleaders of the hunger strike. Now they were trying to stand, but two days without food had left them too weak to handle the chaos. One of them collapsed after getting bumped hard by a passerby. His friend struggled to keep him upright. The last one, a boy with dimples, was still dazed and swaying when a masked figure struck him down and carried him off like dead weight.
Tear gas stung Dung's eyes, making everything blur. On top of that, the weight of the body slung over his shoulder slowed him down. He hadn't even cleared the danger zone when he felt someone coming up fast behind him.
"Stop! Put him down!"
"Damn it!" Dung cursed under his breath and picked up speed. But the voice chasing him wouldn't let up.
"Should I just knock the guy out?" Dung thought, but before he could act, he felt someone yank the back of his rocker-style vest. It had no buttons, so one side slipped clean off his shoulder. The tug spun Dung around, face-to-face with the boy chasing him. And for a split second, shock nearly made him blurt out, "Út."
"Put him down!" the boy shouted again.
"Damn it," Dung hissed, weighing his options. "Screw it—just knock this kid down." Instead, Dung shoved Đông Anh hard enough to topple him, hoping to make a clean escape.
"Damn it. He can't see my face." Dung bolted, eyes scanning the area like a hunted animal. A flash of color caught his eye—a map of the school campus. In a split second, he veered right, sprinting down a corridor and ramming through the door of the university infirmary.
.
Đông Anh chased after the kidnapper, silently grateful for his years at the seminary. Back then, he'd jog every morning up and down the steep hills of Dalat. Thanks to that, he had just enough stamina today to keep up with the strange figure in flared jeans. The moment the man disappeared through the infirmary door, Đông Anh felt his strength begin to waver. Gritting his teeth, he rushed in after the man—only to trip over something and go sprawling across the floor.
Groaning, he pushed himself up and looked back, he'd stumbled over a body. A jolt of fear clutched his chest. He scrambled over and placed a hand near the person's nose, praying for breath.
"Thank God—still breathing," Đông Anh murmured, his heartbeat slowing just a little. His eyes scanned the room for the man in flared jeans. The image of the handgun tucked into that waistband flashed through his mind. What if the guy was still here, hiding somewhere, gun aimed right at Đông Anh? But the room was still. No third person in sight—only a wide-open window swinging in the breeze.
Đông Anh bolted toward it, leaned out. Just beyond the windowsill lay a small ornamental garden. The distant sounds of chaos still echoed from the protest site, but of the strange man—there was no trace.
Đông Anh turned back to the unconscious body and, gritting his teeth, lifted the person onto the infirmary bed. He had barely managed that when the door burst open again. This time, it was a whole group of bruised and bleeding students stumbling inside.
"Give me a hand!" the man in the white blouse shouted, struggling to support a student with blood streaming down his arm.
Luckily, Đông Anh had some basic first-aid knowledge. That made him an instant right-hand man to the white-blouse man. This man barked out orders non-stop—fetch antiseptic, grab gauze, soak a towel for someone stinging from the tear gas, help clean out scrapes and bandage up bruises. Đông Anh flew back and forth like a spinning top, and yet he never once forgot about the unconscious boy lying on the bed.
"Sir… could you take a look at this student too?" Đông Anh asked, gesturing to the still figure.
"What happened to him?" the man asked.
"He fainted during the scuffle," Đông Anh replied, careful not to mention the chase with the strange man in flared jeans. No need to start more panic. "And… he hasn't eaten in days. He was on hunger strike."
The man in blouse frowned and walked over to the bed. "Ah, this troublemaker again," he muttered, placing his stethoscope to the boy's chest.
Đông Anh turned back to his duties. The infirmary buzzed with movement—students coming in, others being helped out. It seemed the clash outside had injured more than a few.
Time slipped by unnoticed. When Đông Anh finally managed to sit down and take a sip of water, the clock had already struck noon.
"Hey kid, what's your name?" the man in blouse called out.
"Sir… It's Đông Anh."
The man repeated the name under his breath, then squinted at the boy. "You've got such a bright face, how come I've never seen you before? You a freshman or something?" A beat passed, then he snapped his fingers. "Aha! You're the new transfer, aren't you? The kid whose dad owns that huge nightclub."
Đông Anh gave a sheepish nod. He never liked bringing up his background.
"Huh. Not bad—for a rich kid, you're pretty handy. Next time there's a mess in this infirmary, I'm putting out a loudspeaker call for you."
Đông Anh gave a half-laugh, unsure what to say.
"It's lunchtime. You going to eat?"
"No thank you, I'd rather stay," Đông Anh said, pointing to the boy still unconscious on the bed. "I want to keep watch over him."
The man glanced at the bed. "That kid'll be up soon. But tell me, are you two actually friends?"
"Um… we just met," Đông Anh mumbled. Truth was, he hadn't even spoken a word to the guy. But for some reason, he couldn't stop worrying about him.
"Well, I'm off to lunch then." The man gave Đông Anh a pat on the shoulder and headed out.
Now there were only two people left in the infirmary: one unconscious on the bed and one quietly sitting beside him.
Đông Anh sat quietly beside the bed, gazing at the boy he had just nursed back to life. His mind drifted to the moment he first saw him—in the middle of the protest crowd. The boy had been perched cross-legged on a raised platform, eyes closed in complete stillness. There was no anger in his face, yet something about him radiated the quiet courage of a born leader. Đông Anh wondered what had caught his attention so deeply: the boy's presence, that air of defiance wrapped in calm—or perhaps it was simply how out of place his gentle beauty had looked amid the chaos, like a trace of poetry scrawled across a jagged battlefield.
Đông Anh reached out and placed a hand gently on the boy's forehead, checking for a fever. The sharp scent of alcohol on his fingers must've stirred him, because the boy began to blink awake.
"You're up," Đông Anh said softly. "How are you feeling?"
The boy propped himself up on one elbow, eyes flicking from Đông Anh to the IV line taped to his arm.
"Who are you? Where's the infirmary doctor?"
"He went out for lunch," Đông Anh replied. "And me? I'm… just helping out."
"You work here?"
"No, I'm a student. I know a little first aid, so I pitched in."
The boy nodded, then winced and reached for the back of his neck.
"Did I hit my head? It's sore as hell."
"You don't remember? During the chaos, some masked guy knocked you out and tried to carry you off."
"What did he look like? And… how'd I end up here?"
"He looked weird—denim vest, flared jeans. Total rocker vibes. I saw him take you down and ran after him. He dumped you here and ran off when I got too close." Đông Anh pointed to the window, where the man had likely escaped.
The boy studied Đông Anh for a moment, then smiled.
"So you're the one who saved my life."
"It… was just a coincidence." Đông Anh scratched his head, bashful. "But you should be careful. If that guy didn't get you this time, he might try again. He was carrying a gun."
"A gun?" the boy asked, startled. "He threatened to shoot you?"
"No. I saw it during the scuffle. It was stuck in the back of his pants."
The boy fell silent, eyes fixed on nothing, deep in thought. Suddenly, the school's loudspeaker crackled to life:
"Student Kim Đông Anh, please report to the main office. A family member is waiting. Repeat—student Kim Đông Anh…"
Đông Anh shot up. "Crap! My ride. I forgot he was waiting for me. I've gotta go. You rest up, okay?"
"Thank you," the boy said.
"And stop the hunger strike. It's bad for your health. Take care!"
Đông Anh waved goodbye and dashed out the door.
The boy raised a hand to wave back, then murmured to himself:
"See you soon, Kim Đông Anh."