For the first time in his life, Đông Anh had to set foot inside a police station.
After the chaos at the military camp, the semester had been temporarily suspended. The press was ablaze with coverage, one headline after another. The embarrassment this caused the authorities sent them scrambling to find the ringleader. People were being summoned to the station in waves. Some were "invited," like Đông Anh—thanks to his family name. Others were simply dragged in.
Dung pulled Đông Anh aside just in time as two officers hauled in a skinny boy kicking and screaming about his innocence.
All around them, small groups had gathered, huddled together in corners, eyes flitting with anxiety. Đông Anh scanned the crowd, trying to spot familiar faces—and there they were, Hiền's trio. His anger flared at the memory of Hiền's betrayal, but that didn't mean he wanted any of them hurt. Đông Anh made a move to step toward the trio but was stopped by Dung.
"No need to find a seat. We won't be here long. Just stay tucked in right here."
Dung nudged Đông Anh into a narrow corner of the room, a perfect little nook to avoid nosy stares. Then he stepped in front of him, shielding him from view. That's when Đông Anh noticed the black bag in Dung's hand.
"What's in the bag?" he whispered.
"Nem chua." (a kind of Vietnamese fermented pork snack.)
"You brought snacks here?"
"Thought you might get hungry," Dung replied matter-of-factly.
"I'm not three years old," Đông Anh muttered, giving him a playful poke in the back.
Dung chuckled and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Then let me use it for something else."
"Something else?"
"Just wait and see. This isn't the place for questions."
Đông Anh shut up, curiosity now gnawing at him. "Is it really just snacks? Or is this some kind of gift? Bribery, maybe? But who bribes a cop with fermented pork? Unless… there's something else inside?"
"Your hair's tickling me, sir," Dung said.
Startled, Đông Anh realized he'd been leaning in so close, his head nearly resting against Dung's back, all because he couldn't take his eyes off the bag.
"Sorry." He stepped back and turned his gaze elsewhere.
Across the room, a wiry student was getting yelled at by a uniformed officer. The man suddenly slapped him—hard. Đông Anh stared, something about the boy striking a familiar chord.
"Dung, that guy looks familiar."
"You don't remember? That's the one who tried to shoot you."
"You mean that mock drill back at the camp?
Dung nodded, scoffing. "Now he's getting his turn. Serves him right."
"It was just a staged shooting! How can you hold such a grudge over something that wasn't even real?"
Dung rolled his eyes. "You'd be dead ten times over by now if I weren't around."
Before the conversation could continue, a uniformed officer stepped forward and invited the two of them into a private room for questioning. As they left the room, countless eyes followed, heavy with nothing but hatred.
"Those two bastards are probably just gonna buy their way out," Phú grumbled.
"Mind your own neck first. What's the point of being jealous?" Hưng replied.
Hiền stayed quiet, eyes locked on the interrogation room where Dung and Đông Anh had disappeared. A knot twisted in his stomach. The whole time since the incident, he still hadn't had a chance to speak with Dung. That made everything unpredictable. Who knew what that guy might say behind closed doors?
Hưng nudged Hiền with his elbow and whispered, "You think we'll make it out of this?"
"Stick to the story. Exactly how we agreed," Hiền said.
"But we've got no one backing us. I'm still scared…"
The mention of that made Hiền think of Dung. If that guy could somehow cover this up, then maybe Hiền's group would be spared too. After all, they were in the same boat—one lit the fire, the other threw the grenade. "And Đông Anh…" Hiền thought, "he got caught up in this mess too. Dung has to protect him if he wants to keep it all quiet." A twinge of guilt rose in Hiền's chest, because he had treated Đông Anh like a mere lucky charm.
Footsteps echoed on the station floor—sharp, deliberate. Dung emerged from the interrogation room with a swagger, followed by a few officers and Đông Anh. He stopped right in the middle of the station lobby, letting every envious eye rake over him. Then, with a devilish grin, he held up the black bag.
"Got some Nem Chua here—anyone wanna share?"
From the long string, Dung plucked a single roll and slowly began peeling back the layers of banana leaf. When the reddish meat was fully exposed, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed theatrically.
"Smells good. Anyone know where these are from?" He swept a glance around the room. "But y'know, after a while, it starts to smell kinda… suspicious."
With a sudden twist, Dung cracked the Nem in half—revealing a tiny roll of film tucked inside.
The entire station froze.
Dung casually stepped over to Hiền and held the broken snack right up to his face.
"Tell me, between disrupting a training camp and spying for the enemy… which one gets you locked up longer?"
Hiền's heart thundered in his chest. The threat was crystal clear.
"Is this yours?" Dung asked.
"No," Hiền answered firmly.
Dung snorted, then turned to Phú and Hưng.
"How about you two? Recognize it?"
Phú snapped, "You piece of shit—don't you dare throw mud like that!"
"I'm just asking. No need to panic," Dung teased, voice mockingly sweet.
Having rattled Hiền's crew, Dung marched over to the scrawny kid who had once taken aim at Đông Anh. The boy was now slumped over a desk, face bloodied and bruised. Dung grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up.
"This yours?"
The boy, though battered, glared back without a word.
"You keep your mouth shut, I'll smash your skull in," Dung snarled.
The kid spat straight at Dung. Immediately, one of the nearby officers grabbed the boy by the collar and slammed him back into the chair.
"You're a tough one, I'll give you that," Dung growled, wiping off the spit. "But you messed with the wrong person. If you hadn't laid hands on my Út, I wouldn't have smelled that damn kerosene on you—and that led me straight to your room, where I found this little gift pack."
Whispers buzzed through the station.
"The fire? That was your doing too," Dung added.
The kid thrashed, trying to speak, but Dung silenced him with a punch square to the jaw. Blood sprayed across the floor.
"If I were you, I'd pray to die now and skip the interrogation," Dung muttered coldly before turning back to the center of the room.
"We've got the spy," he announced, "but the owner of this bag? Still a mystery."
An officer held up a second black bag and dumped the contents onto the floor.
"Well, well—nothing but protest banners. Must belong to some student leader, huh? What do you say, officers?" Dung said, eyes gleaming as he steered the narrative.
Dozens of heads turned toward Hiền's group. Three officers moved in and grabbed them roughly. As Hiền was dragged past Dung, he thrashed hard, trying to knock Dung over but failed.
"You bastard!"
Dung leaned in close, voice calm and dangerous.
"Don't worry," Dung said softly, half-joking, half-deadly serious. "Student protest? That's just a few months in a cell. A hell of a lot better than rotting away for arson or espionage, don't you think?"
The police station had just settled down from the earlier chaos when screeching tires pierced the air outside.
Heads turned.
Through the front door stormed Madame Kim—none other than Đông Anh's grandmother. Clad in her silk Áo Dài, she marched in like she owned the place, eyes sweeping the room for a certain someone.
"Grandma? What are you doing here?" Đông Anh rushed to her.
"Heavens, my poor baby, are you hurt? Come, let me see you!" she cried, spinning him around and checking him head to toe for injuries.
"I'm fine, really!" Đông Anh protested, trying to calm her down under the amused stares of everyone present.
"My poor grandbaby. I've come to take you home."
Flushed red with embarrassment, Đông Anh glanced at Dung for help. Dung stepped forward gently, voice polite:
"Ma'am, I assure you, Mr. Út has been safe all morning. I've been with him the whole time."
But before he could finish, Madame Kim slapped him—hard.
"I told you to look after my grandson! And now he ends up in this godforsaken place?"
"Grandma, please, what are you doing?!" Đông Anh threw himself between them.
The room, just moments ago tense, now filled with barely stifled chuckles. After the fright Dung had given them all earlier, it was cathartic to see him publicly humiliated like this.
"You okay?" Đông Anh whispered, reaching out to touch him but Dung pulled back. His face darkened. He kept his eyes on the floor and murmured:
"My apologies, ma'am."
Đông Anh was about to say something more when a gunshot cracked through the room. Instinctively, Dung pulled Đông Anh behind him. A body hit the floor. Blood splattered across the tiles. The air reeked with the sharp, metallic stench of blood.
"That damn spy—he shot himself!" someone shouted.
The officer who had been sitting with the man turned pale. In one distracted moment, disaster had struck.
"He grabbed my gun!" the officer yelled, kicking the lifeless body in rage.
"Út! Út, what's wrong? Oh God, baby—wake up!" Madame Kim's voice rang out in panic as Đông Anh stumbled forward and collapsed, fainting right behind Dung.
Đông Anh hadn't lost full consciousness, but the dizzying shock left his vision blurred. His senses dulled—except for the feeling of strong arms lifting him up. His head came to rest against a solid chest, warm with the scent he knew too well.
Somewhere in that haze, Đông Anh thought he called out a name. And maybe—just maybe—someone was calling his name back.