Minh didn't move.
Lâm instantly stepped forward, shoulders squared, ready to swing.
The watcher walked out with slow, controlled steps—hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing supernatural.
But impossibly calm.
His eyes slid over Lâm…
then settled on Minh.
Not kindly.
Not aggressively.
Just… evaluating.
"Xin lỗi. Nhưng chuyện này không dành cho cả hai."
("Sorry. But this matter isn't for the two of you.")
Lâm snapped.
"Ông là ai?!"
("Who the hell are you?!")
The watcher didn't answer.
He didn't even look at Lâm.
He only watched Minh—
as if Minh were a puzzle piece that didn't fit anywhere.
Or a weapon someone forgot to lock away.
"You look calmer than I expected."
"I'm not calm."
The watcher lifted an eyebrow.
"That's better."
Before Minh or Lâm could speak again—
A loud crash echoed from downstairs.
Weights slamming.
Metal falling.
A man shouting in pain.
A VERY real sound.
Lâm spun around instantly.
"Chết rồi—để tao xuống coi!"
("Shit—someone's hurt! I need to check!")
Minh grabbed his arm.
"Đừng—!"
("Don't—!")
But Lâm pushed him toward the wall.
"Ở yên đây! Tao lên liền! Nếu có gì lạ thì chạy!"
("Stay here! I'll be right back! If anything weird happens—run!")
Then he sprinted down the stairs.
The moment he vanished, the crashing below stopped.
Silence filled the room again.
Minh turned back slowly.
"…Did you do that?"
The watcher shrugged lightly.
"Trùng hợp thôi."
("Just coincidence.")
But he said it with a faint smirk—
a smirk that made Minh's stomach twist.
The man was lying.
Casually.
Effortlessly.
But not in a supernatural way.
In a human way.
A dangerous way.
The watcher took a step closer.
Minh tensed.
"Relax."
"I can't."
"Understandable."
The watcher's tone stayed soft, but his eyes sharpened—
like a blade hidden behind calm water.
"Con biết… tại sao tôi ở đây không?"
("Do you know… why I'm here?")
Minh didn't answer.
The watcher continued:
"Hôm qua, Khí của cậu bùng lên giữa sân trường."
("Yesterday, your Ki erupted in front of everyone.")
Minh's breath stopped.
"You saw that…?"
"I observe."
His voice was flat.
Cold.
Not helpful.
Not encouraging.
Just factual.
"Và khi Khí của ai đó trồi lên mà không có môn phái đứng sau…"
("And when someone's Khí rises without a sect behind them…")
"…people like us take notice."
Minh swallowed, throat dry.
The watcher stepped closer.
"You made me curious."
"…Về cái gì?"
("…About what?")
The watcher tilted his head slightly.
"About what category of danger you fall into."
Minh froze.
"I'm not dangerous."
The watcher smirked.
"Mấy đứa nguy hiểm đều nói vậy."
("Dangerous ones always say that.")
He circled Minh slowly—
not touching him,
not threatening him,
just studying him with the cold precision of someone who had judged hundreds before.
"Không có tập tấn pháp."
("You don't have stance training." )
"Không có dấu chai tay."
("No knuckle calluses.")
"Không biết điều Khí."
("You don't know how to guide Khí.")
"Tâm lý bất ổn."
("Mental instability.")
"Phản ứng nhanh bất thường."
("Unusually fast reflexes.")
He stopped in front of Minh.
"Nhưng không nói dối."
("But you're not lying.")
Minh's heartbeat spiked.
The watcher had dismantled him like a machine.
Piece by piece.
Until only one question remained.
"So… what are you?"
Minh whispered:
"I don't know."
The watcher watched him quietly.
No sympathy.
No kindness.
No hostility.
Just weighing him on an invisible scale.
Then—
He turned away.
"Alright. I understand enough."
"What… do you plan to do?"
The watcher slid his hands back into his pockets.
"Tạm thời? Không gì cả."
("For now? Nothing.")
Minh blinked.
"What…?"
"Chưa thấy lý do để giết hay giúp cậu."
("I don't see a reason to kill or help you yet.")
Minh felt a chill run down his spine.
The watcher walked past him—
"But you're interesting." He paused at the staircase. "So I'll watch a little longer."
Minh whispered:
"…Watch me for what?"
The watcher gave him one last look— calm, sharp, amused.
"Để xem cậu sẽ trở thành thứ gì."
("To see what you're going to become.")
He walked in a slow circle around Minh again—
not threatening,
not friendly,
just observing from different angles.
"Earlier I only checked whether you were the dangerous type."
"…And now?"
The watcher stopped behind Minh.
"Now I check what type you are."
A chill climbed Minh's spine.
He didn't know what that meant.
But the watcher's tone was too calm to be comforting.
Without warning— something small flew past Minh's cheek.
A soft whistle in the air.
Minh jerked back instinctively.
The object hit the mat beside him.
A piece of chalk.
From the gym's broken supply bucket.
Minh's voice trembled.
"Chú làm cái gì vậy?!"
("What are you doing?!")
The watcher stayed expressionless.
"Phản xạ tự nhiên."
("Your natural reflex.")
"You moved the right way.
Không theo bản năng người bình thường."
("Not like a normal civilian's instinct.")
Minh swallowed.
"I was just… scared."
The watcher smirked.
"Tốt. Sợ mà vẫn né được."
("Good. Being scared and still dodging is good.")
The watcher stepped closer.
"Mở tay ra."
("Open your hand.")
Minh hesitated.
"Làm đi."
("Do it.")
Minh slowly opened his right hand.
The watcher extended a finger—
not touching Minh,
but hovering close enough for Minh to feel warmth.
"Giữ hơi thở."
("Hold your breath.")
Minh obeyed.
The watcher's finger moved slightly—
a tiny shift in posture, a subtle transfer of weight onto his right foot.
Nothing supernatural.
Nothing flashy.
But Minh felt a faint pressure—
like the air thickened around his palm.
He gasped and closed his fist.
The watcher observed silently.
Minh stepped back.
"What was that?!"
"You react to it."
The watcher nodded.
"That's why it's interesting."
The watcher spoke quietly.
"Ở sân trường, khi cậu né cú đánh của thằng nhóc kia…"
("In the schoolyard, when you slipped past that boy's swing…")
"…tim cậu có đập nhanh hơn bình thường không?"
("…did your heart beat faster than normal?")
Minh blinked.
He remembered it—
the moment he failed to get hit,
the moment the world slowed,
the moment his body moved without thinking.
"…I don't know. Everything… blurred."
The watcher nodded.
"Nghĩa là đúng."
("That means yes.")
Minh frowned.
"How can you tell…?"
"Vì chỉ người có mầm Khí mới phản ứng vậy."
("Because only people with a Ki seed react that way.")
The watcher circled again, stopping at Minh's back.
"Có lúc nào cậu muốn giết ai chưa?"
("Have you ever felt like killing someone?")
Minh froze.
"No!"
The watcher's tone softened unnervingly.
"Không cần ngại. Ai có Khí mạnh đều từng có ý niệm đó thoáng qua."
("Don't be shy. Anyone with strong Khí has had that thought at least once.")
Minh shook his head violently.
"I wouldn't kill someone!"
The watcher listened closely—
not to the words,
but to Minh's breathing.
Then—
"You're not lying."
The watcher stepped in front of Minh again.
"I classify you as non-threatening."
Minh exhaled in relief.
"Nhưng chưa phải vô hại."
("But not harmless.")
Minh's breath caught again.
The watcher continued:
"Cậu có mầm Khí.
Mềm yếu.
Thiếu sức.
Tâm lý bất ổn."
("You have a Khí seed.
Weak.
Unstable mind.
Poor body foundation.")
"But still a seed."
("Nhưng vẫn là mầm.")
Minh looked down at his hands.
"…So what happens now?"
The watcher turned away.
"Now… I keep watching."
Minh frowned.
"For how long?"
"Until I find you useless…"
The watcher gave a small, amused smile.
"…or worth paying more attention to."
Then he headed toward the stairs.
Without looking back, he added:
"Đừng chết sớm quá."
("Try not to die too quickly.")
The watcher was gone.
His footsteps faded down the stairs, swallowed by the noise of the crowded gym below.
But Minh still felt his presence—like a shadow pressed against the back of his neck.
Lâm grabbed Minh by the wrist.
"Đi. Rời khỏi đây liền."
("Come on. We're leaving right now.")
Minh followed him on unsteady legs.
His mind buzzed with fragments:
Khí.
Seed.
Dangerous.
Worth watching.
Don't die too early.
None of it made sense.
The moment they stepped onto the first floor, the real world slammed back into Minh.
Music blasting.
People shouting.
Weights dropping.
Sweat and chalk filling the air.
A complete contrast to the suffocating silence upstairs.
Lâm muttered under his breath:
"Đù má… cái gym này có vấn đề thiệt."
("Damn… this place really has issues.")
Minh didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His head felt too full.
Night had settled fully.
Streetlights flickered.
Vendors packed up.
Motorbike engines hummed like restless insects.
Lâm finally stopped walking.
"Minh… nói tao nghe chuyện gì đã xảy ra."
("Minh… tell me what happened.")
Minh lowered his eyes.
"Không có gì."
("Nothing.")
Lâm stepped in front of him, blocking the sidewalk.
"Đừng. Tao nhìn mặt mày là biết có chuyện."
("Don't. I can see something happened.")
Minh clenched his jaw.
What could he say?
A stranger tested him?
Evaluated him?
Talked about "Khí" and "seeds" and "danger"?
Classified him like an animal?
That he felt something awaken in his body the night of the fight?
That he wasn't normal?
No.
He couldn't say any of that.
"Chỉ… chỉ là hiểu lầm thôi."
("Just… a misunderstanding.")
Lâm exhaled sharply.
"…Minh, nếu ông đó đe dọa mày—"
("…Minh, if that guy threatened you—")
"Ổn mà."
("It's fine.")
Minh forced a smile.
A weak, shaking one.
Lâm didn't buy it, but he didn't push further.
He just sighed and patted Minh's shoulder.
"Tao sợ mất mày thôi."
("I'm just scared of losing you.")
Something inside Minh cracked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, tired fracture.
"…Tao không sao đâu."
("…I am fine.")
But he didn't believe himself.
From across the street, hidden behind a small drink stall, the watcher leaned against a lamp post.
Hands still in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
He watched Minh's posture.
The way Minh walked.
The tension in his shoulders.
The tremor in his hands.
He wasn't looking for weakness.
He was looking for patterns.
Confirmation.
Assessment.
"He's fragile," the watcher murmured softly to himself. "But he doesn't break."
A small, quiet amusement crossed his eyes.
Lâm kept talking about gym accidents, stranger danger, kidnappings—real-world logic.
Minh barely heard any of it.
His mind replayed the watcher's voice:
"A weak seed… but still a seed."
"I'll keep watching."
"Don't die too early."
Minh whispered to himself:
"…Why me?"
Lâm glanced over.
"What?"
"Không… không có gì."
("Nothing… nothing.")
At a crossroads, Lâm stopped.
"Nhắn tao khi mày về tới nhà."
("Text me when you get home.")
Minh nodded.
As Lâm walked away, Minh remained standing there, staring at the dark street ahead—unsteady, exhausted, and feeling the world tilt in ways he couldn't understand.
From the opposite sidewalk, the watcher stepped into an alley and vanished.
But Minh felt him.
Watching.
Evaluating.
Waiting.
Like a predator in tall grass.
Minh whispered to himself:
"…What am I being pulled into?"
No answer came.
Only the night.