Morning did not arrive gently.
It pressed down on Minh like a weight, dragging across his ribs with every breath.
He walked through the school gate as though someone else was moving his legs for him—
a puppet whose strings were fraying.
His eyes burned.
His breath skipped.
His pulse hammered out of sync.
Lâm spotted him instantly.
"Ê Minh! Mày đi kiểu gì vậy? Nhìn như sắp gục luôn."
("Minh! What's with you? You look like you're about to collapse.")
Minh didn't answer.
Because the air suddenly folded inward—
a silent pressure sucking the sound out of the hallway.
His chest seized.
THUMP—
…
... THUMPTHUMP—
His vision blurred at the edges.
Colors stretched.
Shadows warped.
Whispers rippled from the students nearby:
"Nó bị gì vậy?"
("What's wrong with him?")
"Lại lên cơn nữa hả?"
("He's having another tantrum?")
"Nhìn ghê quá…"
("Creepy as hell…")
Minh's knees buckled.
Lâm grabbed his shoulder.
"Minh! Mày nghe tao không?!"
("Minh! Can you hear me?!")
But Minh didn't hear him.
Because—
There it was again.
That presence.
A cold whisper brushing the back of his skull.
An unseen gaze sliding across his spine.
Someone… watching him.
He whipped his head around.
No one.
But the pressure remained.
His breath fractured.
He stumbled, falling to one knee—
And two steady hands caught him.
Not gentle.
Not warm.
Just precise.
Hạ Yên.
Her expression was calm—
too calm for the situation.
"Don't stay here. Come to the counseling room."
She didn't ask if he was okay.
She didn't try to comfort him.
She simply took control.
The crowd parted as she walked him down the hallway.
Lâm followed, pale and shaking.
Hạ Yên did not look back.
Not even once.
But if Minh had been conscious enough to notice—
He might have seen her eyes narrow
ever so slightly
as if analyzing a specimen.
When they reached the counseling room, Hạ Yên closed the door quietly.
The latch clicked.
Minh's chest tightened again—
a sinking, instinctual fear.
Like he had just walked into something
designed specifically
for him.
The counseling room door shut behind them with a soft, final click.
Minh sat heavily on the sofa, breath dragging like sandpaper inside his lungs.
The air here felt thicker—like it carried weight, or intention.
Lâm hovered close, panicked.
"Cô… bạn em bị gì vậy? Nó thở không nổi!"
("Miss… what's wrong with him? He can't breathe!")
Hạ Yên raised a hand.
"Tạm ra ngoài được không, Lâm?"
("Can you step outside for a moment, Lâm?")
Lâm froze.
Fear and loyalty tugged inside him.
She tilted her head slightly.
"Chỉ một lát thôi."
("Just for a moment.")
Lâm swallowed hard and stepped out.
The door closed behind him.
Silence wrapped the room.
Hạ Yên turned back to Minh.
Her eyes no longer held that "counselor kindness."
They were focused.
Evaluating.
She pulled a small penlight from her pocket.
"Nhìn vào đây."
("Look here.")
The beam cut across Minh's pupils.
He flinched—vision fracturing into white streaks.
She watched every reaction.
Every twitch.
"Tim đập lệch… nhịp thở hỗn loạn…"
("Heart irregular… breathing disordered…")
She murmured it like notes.
Like data.
Minh's voice trembled:
"Cô… em bị gì vậy…?"
("Miss… what's happening to me…?")
"Em thấy gì?"
("What do you see?")
"…bóng… người…"
("…shadows… someone…")
"Ở đâu?"
("Where?")
"…đằng sau lưng… nhưng quay lại thì không ai…"
("…behind me… but when I turn around there's nobody…")
Her eyes sharpened.
Hallucinations.
Peripheral Khí-sense activation.
Classic instability pattern.
"Còn tiếng trong đầu?"
("Any sounds in your head?")
Minh's breath shook.
"…em… không biết…"
("…I… don't know…")
He grabbed his chest suddenly—
THUMP—
THUMPTHUMP—
... THUMP—
The rhythm was wrong.
Not human.
Hạ Yên leaned forward, expression tightening—not with fear,
but recognition.
"Ổn rồi. Để cô thử cái này."
("It's alright. Let me check something.")
She placed two fingers gently against his sternum.
The moment she touched him—
A shock of heat burst under her fingertips.
Her eyes widened.
"…Đúng rồi. Phản ứng của Khí."
("…Yes. Ki reaction.")
Minh didn't understand.
He only felt burning.
His fingers curled into the sofa fabric.
"Em… không kiểm soát được…"
("I… can't control it…")
Hạ Yên's tone softened—
but only on the surface.
"Không sao. Thả lỏng nào."
("It's okay. Relax.")
Inside her mind, the assessment was precise:
Subject displays early Khí rupture signs.
Instability level: high.
Collapse risk: imminent.
Intervention required.
Minh gasped—
a sharp, broken inhale.
Then his body jerked forward violently.
The sofa shook.
His vision snapped between black and white.
"Em… sắp chết rồi sao…?"
("Am… I dying…?")
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pulled her phone from her pocket.
Her voice dropped low—urgent, controlled.
"…Alo. Em tìm được rồi."
("…Hello. I found him.")
She glanced at Minh, still trembling.
"Ừ. Triệu chứng đúng như dự đoán."
("Yes. The symptoms match exactly.")
Another pause.
"Ừ… Em cần anh tới."
("Yes… I need you to come.")
She ended the call and stepped closer to Minh.
"Em sẽ ổn. Có người… sẽ giúp em."
("You'll be fine. Someone… will help you.")
Her tone was gentle.
Her eyes were not.
Because this wasn't reassurance.
It was preparation.
The "someone" was already walking across the schoolyard,
heading toward the counseling room—
dragged into this mess
only because Hạ Yên called.
---
A small, run-down kickboxing gym rattled under the weight of evening traffic.
Sweat. Rubber mats. The metallic tang of blood in the air.
Tùng stood in the center of the ring—
shirt drenched, breathing ragged, arms shaking uncontrollably.
Lao didn't look impressed.
"Đứng thẳng lên."
("Stand up.")
Tùng tried. Failed. His leg buckled.
Lao's foot slammed into his ribs.
THUD.
Tùng collapsed hard, coughing air.
Long winced outside the ropes.
"Ê… ông đánh mạnh quá, nó chịu không nổi đâu!"
("Hey… you're hitting too hard, he can't take it!")
Lao didn't even look his way.
"Nếu chịu không nổi thì biến."
("If he can't take it, he can leave.")
He grabbed Tùng by the hair and yanked him up.
"You said you wanted strength."
"Thì đây."
("Then this is it.")
Another punch—
A clean cross straight into Tùng's solar plexus.
Tùng gagged, fell to his knees, tears burning.
Lao studied him the way a mechanic studies a malfunctioning engine.
"Yếu. Lỏng. Không có hơi thở."
("Weak. Loose. No breath control.")
Long shouted:
"Vậy sao ông không dạy nó?!"
("Then why don't you teach him?!")
Lao smirked.
"Tao đâu phải huấn luyện viên từ thiện."
("I'm not a charity trainer.")
He walked to his gym bag.
Pulled out a small white packet.
Pictography characters. Ancient words.
Faded.
Cheap.
Tùng's eyes widened.
"…Cái đó là gì…?"
("…What's that…?")
Lao tossed it at his chest.
"Thuốc. Uống mau."
("A pill. Take it.")
"Để làm gì?"
("For what?")
Lao stepped closer.
"Để mày không gục sau ba cú đấm nữa."
("So you don't collapse after three more hits.")
Long panicked.
"Ông cho nó uống gì vậy?! Lỡ có chuyện—"
("What are you giving him?! What if something—")
Lao silenced him with a glare.
"This one is expired. Might be worthless. Might kill you."
"Drink it."
Tùng stared at the packet.
Long trembled.
"Đừng uống… Tùng, đừng."
("Don't drink it… Tùng, don't.")
Tùng's fingers tightened.
His humiliation.
Minh's dodge.
The rooftop.
The way everyone looked at him.
Something inside cracked.
He tore the packet open
Swallowed the pill dry.
Long shouted in horror.
"TÙNG!!"
Lao leaned back against the ropes, arms crossed.
"Rồi. Chờ đi."
("Good. Now wait.")
It hit fast.
Heat exploded under Tùng's skin—
burning, swelling, tearing through every nerve.
His breath vanished.
His heartbeat spiked into a rhythm that didn't feel human.
Long grabbed the ropes.
"Tùng!! Are you okay?!"
Tùng screamed—
A raw, animal sound ripped from the bottom of his lungs.
The lights above flickered.
And then—
BOOM.
A burst of air cracked outward from his chest.
Not controlled.
Not focused.
Raw Khí.
Lao straightened.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"…Ờ. Được rồi đó."
("…Yeah. That's it.")
Tùng shook violently, eyes bloodshot, veins bulging.
He wasn't stronger.
He wasn't stable.
He was surviving the pill by sheer hatred alone.
Lao stepped back into the ring.
"Giờ thì…"
("Now then…")
He lifted his gloves.
"…mày chịu được thêm mười cú."
("…you can take ten more hits.")
Tùng panted—
rage, pain, adrenaline burning together.
He stood up.
Barely.
But he stood.
Lao smiled wider.
Because now—
he had a durable punching bag.
---
The streetlights flickered as Minh walked home, each step heavier than the last.
His breath wasn't breath anymore.
It was static.
Broken rhythms.
Cold air scraping against the inside of his lungs.
Every few seconds—
a pulse slammed against his ribs.
THUMP—
... THUMPTHUMP—
… THUMP—
He grabbed the railing of a bridge, knuckles white.
"Đừng… nữa…"
("Not… again…")
The world tilted sideways.
Cars blurred into lines of color.
He felt weightless—like he was slipping out of his own spine.
A whisper slid through the back of his skull:
Someone is watching.
He spun around.
Nothing.
But the pressure didn't fade.
His breathing collapsed.
He slumped against the wall, fingers trembling.
"…Mình… chết thật rồi sao…?"
("…Am I actually dying…?")
Another pulse tore through him—
This one hot, violent, like his chest was about to erupt.
He choked.
And somewhere behind him…
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
But when he looked—
no one was there.
Only the empty street.
Only the hum of streetlamps.
Only the hollow echo of a presence refusing to leave him alone.
---
Inside the dim, nearly abandoned gym, Tùng staggered to the locker room sink.
His reflection looked wrong.
Veins along his neck bulged like black wires.
Eyes bloodshot.
Sweat dripping like fever.
Long hovered behind him, terrified.
"Ê… mày ổn không? Nhìn mày… ghê quá."
("Bro… are you okay? You look… messed up.")
Tùng didn't answer.
He stared at his own shaking hands.
He could still feel the pill burning inside him.
Still feel Lao's strikes echoing through bone and muscle.
Still hear the faint ring of Raw Khí screaming inside his chest.
His pulse throbbed violently.
Minh's voice flashed in his mind—
the way Minh dodged.
The way he made him look weak.
Tùng slammed his fist into the mirror.
CRACK.
Long jumped back.
"Ê! Bỏ đi, Tùng!"
("Hey! Stop it, Tùng!")
But Tùng only panted.
"…Tao sẽ không thua nữa."
("…I won't lose again.")
His breath steamed in the cold air.
Raw Khí flickered again—
weak, unstable, but real.
Long swallowed hard.
"Tùng… you're getting scary…"
Tùng's lips curled.
"…Good."
Behind them, Lao leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
His voice was cold amusement:
"Ngày mai quay lại. Tao chưa xong đâu."
("Come back tomorrow. I'm not done with you.")
Tùng didn't even flinch.
He nodded.
Because pain no longer scared him.
Only losing did.
---
Across the city, inside Dạ Nam Gym,
Lãnh Phong lied on the chest bench, arms folded, expression unreadable.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
From Hạ Yên.
"Thằng nhóc sắp gãy. Tới đi."
("The kid is about to break. Come.")
Lãnh Phong exhaled.
Long. Slow. Annoyed.
"…Phiền phức."
("…Annoying.")
He hadn't wanted involvement; but just observation.
Not with Khí anomalies.
Not with awakened teens.
Not with unstable subjects.
But Hạ Yên rarely contacted him directly—
and never without reason.
If she said "break," she meant collapse.
Internal rupture.
Khí implosion.
The kind that kills.
He stood up, grabbed his leather jacket, and muttered:
"…Mai đi xem tình hình."
("…Tomorrow, I'll check the situation.")
Not to save Minh.
Not because he cared.
But because if the boy died—
Hạ Yên's entire research cell would fall apart.
And he'd be dragged into the fallout anyway.