Minh woke to the soft hum of an air purifier.
A white ceiling.
A faint smell of antiseptic.
Warm light instead of the harsh fluorescents of a hospital.
His throat felt dry.
His body felt like stone.
He tried to sit up—but a sharp pain crawled across his ribs, forcing him to freeze.
A gentle voice broke the silence.
"Đừng cố."
("Don't move.")
Minh turned his head.
Hạ Yên sat beside him—legs crossed, clipboard balanced on her knee, glasses reflecting soft light. Her expression was calm. Too calm. Clinical calm.
Behind her, Lâm lay on another bed, wrapped with bandages, unconscious but breathing evenly.
Minh's voice cracked.
"...What happened...?"
Hạ Yên didn't answer immediately. She closed her clipboard, set it aside, and leaned forward—hands folded, as if delivering the results of a test she already knew the answer to.
"Em tỉnh được là tốt rồi."
("It's good that you're awake.")
There was a strange softness to her tone, but not kindness.
More like… satisfaction.
As if he was data.
A completed experiment.
Minh swallowed hard.
His memories returned in broken flashes:
Tùng's face twisted with rage.
The mat covered in sweat and blood.
Khí exploding out of his body like fire.
A shadow stepping through the doorway—
Lãnh Phong.
The world went black after that.
Hạ Yên watched his eyes change.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
"Felt what…?"
She stood, walked to a small cabinet, pulled out a black vial, and held it up between two fingers.
The Awakening Pill - Pictography characters. Ancient words. Laser-imprinted. Luxury.
"Ingest the pills," she said.
Matter-of-fact.
Emotionless.
"Do it, now."
The words hit him like a punch. Minh stared at her, stunned. Look at the pills in his hand; hesitated; but, Minh swallowed it in brief.
"You… what? Why?"
Hạ Yên tilted her head, studying him the same way she studied the Khí chart on her clipboard.
"You have potential."
Her tone was terrifyingly calm.
"Your Khí was dormant. Weak. Undirected. But the moment it flared in the previous fight… I knew."
Minh felt his heartbeat spike.
"You… planned this?"
"No," she replied. "But you needed a push."
Her expression stayed perfectly neutral.
"And you survived. That means I was right."
Minh clenched the sheets, anger mixing with fear.
"You used me."
Hạ Yên didn't deny it.
She simply placed the vial back into her drawer.
Before Minh could speak again, a knock sounded.
Then the door opened.
Lãnh Phong stepped in.
Still wearing simple gym clothes.
Still carrying that unreadable expression.
Still radiating a pressure that made the air feel heavier.
He glanced at Minh.
At the bandages.
At the exhaustion in his eyes.
"You're better."
He moved closer, hands in pockets.
"Rest a few days," he said.
"Then training begins."
Minh's breath caught.
"Training…? With you?"
Phong didn't nod.
Didn't smile.
Didn't change expression.
He simply answered:
"If you don't want to die next time."
Minh felt a chill run up his spine.
Hạ Yên's eyes glimmered.
As if everything was unfolding
exactly
as she wanted.
Phong turned to leave.
Before stepping out, he added:
"Don't forget—your Khí is unstable. Rest."
The door closed behind him.
Minh stared at Lâm's still body.
His best friend.
Kidnapped.
Beaten.
Because of him.
His chest tightened painfully.
He whispered:
"Lâm… tao xin lỗi…"
His voice cracked.
A faint stirring came from the second bed—
but Lâm didn't wake.
Outside, footsteps faded.
Inside, Hạ Yên quietly took notes.
Minh suddenly felt more alone than ever.
The next morning, Minh walked through the school gates feeling like every pair of eyes was a blade.
His ribs still hurt.
His shoulder throbbed beneath the bandages.
His Khí pulsed strangely—stable, but… alive.
The sun felt too bright.
The world too loud.
Students glanced at him—then quickly looked away.
Not out of respect.
Out of fear.
"Ê, nó đó…"
("Hey, that's him…")
"I heard he snapped…"
"Không, mày ngu quá, nó chơi thuốc á."
("No idiot, he was on drugs.")
"Nó đập thằng Tùng bể mặt luôn."
("He broke Tùng's face.")
Minh kept walking. Eyes forward.
But the whispers followed him like shadows crawling along the floor.
At his locker, someone had scrawled:
**"MÀY ĐIÊN CMNR."**
("YOU ARE DEFINITELY CRAZY.")
Minh stared for a moment.
Then closed the locker quietly.
He didn't erase it.
He didn't have the strength.
—
Inside the classroom, the atmosphere tightened even more.
The moment Minh stepped in, conversations cut off mid-sentence.
Chairs shifted backwards.
Even the teacher paused at the sight of him.
"À… Dạ Minh… em ngồi xuống đi."
("Ah… Minh… please take your seat.")
But her voice trembled.
Minh sat.
Slowly.
Silently.
He could feel the distance around him—everyone subtly leaning away as if he carried a disease.
Or a bomb.
Thiên Phú murmured inside his mind.
"Get used to it. Your path has begun."
Minh clenched his pen until the plastic creaked.
He didn't feel stronger.
He felt hollow.
Empty.
And watched.
—
During break time, teachers hovered near him more than usual.
Two discipline teachers passed by his classroom door, whispering.
The counselor's office—Hạ Yên's door—opened slightly as he walked past.
He didn't look inside.
He didn't want to see her.
Not now.
His classmates still stared.
Some with pity.
Some with curiosity.
Most with fear.
Minh wondered if Tùng felt like this
before everything collapsed.
The thought made him sick.
—
A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder from behind.
Minh flinched.
"Ê! Mày sao vậy?!"
("Hey! What's wrong with you?!")
It was Lâm.
Awake.
Bruised.
Still bandaged.
But standing.
Minh exhaled shakily.
"Lâm… mày ổn chưa?"
("Are you okay?")
Lâm grinned despite the swelling on his cheek.
"Ổn cái đầu mày."
("Your face is the one that's not okay.")
Then he slung an arm around Minh's shoulder—careful, gentle.
"Mày đổi gió giùm tao."
("You need a change of air, bro.")
"Where?"
"The basketball court. We're doing mock practice before the league."
Minh hesitated.
He could barely breathe without pain.
But Lâm's grin softened.
"Đi cho tao vui cái."
("Come for me at least.")
Minh nodded.
For the first time that day
the air felt slightly less suffocating.
—
The afternoon sun hung low over the school's outdoor court, casting long shadows across the faded paint lines.
The sound of bouncing balls, sneakers screeching on concrete, and boys shouting plays filled the air—alive, warm, familiar.
A world far from Khí, pills, and blood.
Minh followed Lâm slowly toward the court, each step sending a dull ache through his ribs. Students practicing noticed them immediately.
Some stopped dribbling.
Some stared.
Some whispered—
But Lâm didn't let Minh hesitate.
He walked straight into the group and clapped loudly.
"Ê tụi bây, cho Minh tham gia tí."
("Hey guys, let Minh join for a bit.")
A few boys exchanged glances.
One spoke quietly.
"Ổn không đó…? Nó mới… kiểu… đánh lộn—"
("Is that safe? He just… y'know… fought—")
Lâm shot him a glare.
"Nó là bạn tao. Không có vấn đề gì."
("He's my friend. No problem.")
That shut them up.
The team resumed practice, but their eyes still drifted toward Minh between plays.
Minh tried a half-hearted layup. His body protested. His balance wobbled.
Minh watched the ball bounce in Lâm's hands, and a memory flickered—
two kids on a dirt court behind their old apartment building.
Back when Lâm was small, skinny, awkward.
Back when Minh was the one who introduced him to basketball.
Back when life was simple.
—
Minh whispered:
"Remember when we were kids…I could shoot harder than you."
Lâm laughed.
"Yeah, and who ended up getting recruited? Who got praised for strength? Not you."
Minh forced a smile.
He remembered the day the school club tested them.
Lâm jumped higher.
Ran faster.
Shot cleaner.
Minh wasn't jealous—just painfully aware.
"That day… I knew I was weak."
Lâm's expression softened.
"Not weak. You just chose a different path."
"No. I knew where I belonged."
Minh stared at his hands.
"The club chose you. I stepped back. Focused on studying."
He didn't say the rest:
Because strength wasn't for him.
Because talent wasn't his.
Because he always felt like a shadow beside Lâm.
But now, after the fights and Khí awakening, the roles were reversed in a way that terrified him.
—
Lâm tossed him the ball.
"What kind of weak guy beats someone like Tùng?"
Minh froze.
Lâm smirked.
"Don't tell me you're not strong. I saw it."
Minh looked away.
"That wasn't strength… that was… something else."
Lâm dribbled twice, then gently nudged the ball back.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is you're still here."
They began passing the ball.
Slow.
Steady.
Familiar.
Minh's ribs hurt.
His shoulder stung.
But the rhythm calmed him.
For a brief moment, they were kids again.
But Lâm came beside him, guiding his arm.
"Here. Slow down."
They passed the ball back and forth.
Simple.
Rhythmic.
Almost healing.
For a moment—Minh forgot the Khí swirling inside him, forgotten the whispers, forgotten the blood on the mat.
It was just him and Lâm.
Like normal kids.
After ten minutes, Lâm flopped onto the bench, sweaty and breathless.
Minh sat beside him.
Lâm nudged him with an elbow.
"You know… I thought you were dead."
Minh stared at the ground.
"I thought so too."
Silence settled between them.
Then Lâm exhaled, long and tired.
"Minh… you don't have to carry everything alone."
Minh's fingers tightened; knew that Lâm didn't understand about Khí and all the mess which had happened
"I dragged you into this."
"Không." Lâm shook his head.
"Tao lao vô để giúp mày. Khác nhau."
("No. I stepped in to help you. Different.")
Minh's chest constricted painfully—not from injuries, but something deeper.
The guilt he'd been choking on since the fight finally cracked open.
"Lâm… nếu mày bị gì—"
("Lân… if something happens to you—"
"Nếu tao bị gì, ít nhất tao biết mày không bỏ tao."
("If something happened to me, at least I know you wouldn't abandon me.")
Both sat on the old bench.
Sweat cooling.
Silence comfortable.
Lâm leaned back.
"You always say you're weak. But you're the one who brought me into basketball. You're the one who first taught me how to dribble."
Minh blinked.
"Really? I forgot."
"I remember everything."
Lâm glanced at him—serious for once.
"Mày không phải cái bóng của ai hết."
("You're not anybody's shadow.")
Minh's chest tightened.
The words hit deep.
Deeper than any punch today.
He swallowed, unable to answer.
Lâm changed the subject lightly, patting Minh's shoulder.
"Còn nữa… giải sắp tới. Tao muốn mày coi tao thắng."
("And besides… the league is coming. I need you to see me win.")
For the first time today, Minh smiled—small, tired, real.
"Yeah. I'll be there."
"Good."
They stood and headed out of the court, sweat cooling in the late afternoon air.
The moment felt peaceful.
Too peaceful.
A calm before something neither of them could predict.
—
The sky was turning orange when Minh and Lâm left the basketball court, sweat still drying on their shirts.
Lâm bumped Minh's arm lightly.
"Đi uống gì không? Tao khát nước vãi."
("Wanna grab a drink? I'm thirsty as hell.")
Minh nodded.
They headed toward the small coffee shop across the street—
a cramped, old-looking place surrounded by motorbikes and plastic chairs.
The smell of roasting coffee drifted through the air.
But something felt off.
Even before they reached the door, Minh sensed tension—
a pressure in the air, like Khí but… messier.
Chaotic.
Inside, voices echoed sharply.
Not friendly ones.
Minh and Lâm exchanged a look.
Then stepped in.
—
Four boys in Lê Quý Đôn uniforms circled a smaller student.
The kid was kneeling on the floor, hands covering his head, shaking.
One bully grabbed the boy's hair.
"Thằng đầu khất. Mày nghĩ mày chạy khỏi tao được hả?"
("Dickhead. You think you can run from us?")
Another kicked him in the ribs.
Hard.
The boy curled tighter.
Customers pretended not to see.
The barista stared at the counter, frozen.
Minh felt his jaw tighten.
Lâm whispered:
"Hey… this is bad."
Minh didn't wait.
He stepped forward.
"Stop."
The bullies turned.
Eyes narrow.
Smirks forming.
One scoffed.
"Ê tụi bây… nhìn coi. Anh hùng mới tới."
("Hey guys… look. A hero just arrived.")
Another raised an eyebrow; recognized their school uniform.
"Ủa… nó là thằng đánh bể mặt Tùng phải không?"
("Isn't he the guy who broke Tùng's face?")
They laughed.
Minh didn't.
The smallest bully—skinny but wild—walked toward Minh.
"Ủa? Mặt mày còn băng kìa. Muốn bị đánh lần nữa không?"
("Oh? Your face is still bandaged. Want another beating?")
Minh didn't move.
The bully shoved him.
Minh barely flinched.
Lâm stepped protectively beside him.
"If you want trouble, pick me."
The bully sneered.
"Ngon lắm."
("Tough guy.")
He swung.
Lâm blocked.
The room exploded into chaos.
—
Minh ducked a punch, instinct kicking in.
Thiên Phú's voice murmured inside him:
"Giữ nhịp thở. Quan sát chân. Nghiệp dư thôi."
("Control your breathing. Watch their feet. They're just amateurs.")
Minh sidestepped another swing.
He grabbed a wrist—
twisted—
and slammed the attacker onto a table.
The wooden legs snapped.
Another rushed him.
Minh ducked—
A knee shot upward.
Precise.
Fast.
CRACK.
The bully collapsed, clutching his nose.
Lâm held his ground against two more, landing a clean hook that sent one skidding across the floor.
Within seconds, the atmosphere flipped.
The bullies—energized moments ago—were now scrambling.
One hissed through clenched teeth:
"Đờ mờ… hai thằng này… không bình thường…"
("Shit… these two aren't normal…")
Another grabbed the beaten boy's backpack and threw it aside.
"Go! Go now!"
They dragged their injured friends out, cursing under their breath.
The coffee shop fell silent.
Minh exhaled slowly.
Lâm rubbed his knuckles.
"Trời… mới tập về xong giờ đánh lộn nữa."
("Damn… we just finished training and now we're fighting again.")
Minh crouched beside the boy on the floor.
"Hey… you alright?"
The kid looked up—
round glasses cracked, lip bleeding, eyes sharp behind dust and fear.
"Thank you… both of you…"
He tried to stand.
Then froze—
because someone was blocking the shop's doorway.
A quiet, composed boy in glasses.
A notebook in one hand.
Uniform neat.
Expression calm.
Minh sensed something about him—
not strength
but presence.
He approached slowly.
The bullied student bowed his head.
"Anh Thuận…"
("Thuận, big bro…")
The kid nodded weakly and limped behind him.
Then Thuận turned to Minh and Lâm.
His tone was polite.
Too polite.
"Cảm ơn hai người đã giúp người của tôi."
("Thank you for helping my boy.")
Minh blinked.
"Người… của mày?"
("Your… boy?")
Thuận adjusted his glasses.
"Phải. Tôi là người đứng đầu nhóm còn lại của Lê Quý Đôn. Không phải phe Lao."
("Yes. I lead the other faction of Lê Quý Đôn. Not Lao's side.")
Lâm frowned.
"Phe? Ở trường mà cũng chia phe?"
("Factions? You guys have factions in school?")
Thuận gave a thin, tired smile.
"Trường nào cũng vậy thôi."
("Every school does.")
He looked at Minh longer than necessary.
"You're Minh. The one who defeated Tùng."
Minh stiffened.
Thuận continued.
"After that fight, Lao is furious. Lost face. Humiliate."
He glanced at the path where those bullies had escaped.
"This is only the beginning."
A chill ran down Minh's spine.
Thuận bowed slightly.
"I owe you both a favor. We'll meet again."
He tapped the shoulder of his injured boy.
"Let's go."
The two walked out.
The remaining customers still enervated of the situaiton.
Lâm sighed deeply while both of them were walking out of the scene.
"Ờ… đi uống gì ta? Trà đào?"
("So… where should we go drink? Peach tea?")
Minh didn't answer.
Because something inside him knew—
Thuận was right.
This wasn't over.
It had barely begun.
—
Night fell over District 5.
A hot, stale wind carried dust through the empty streets. Neon lights flickered across puddles. Somewhere in the distance, a karaoke speaker buzzed with static.
But in a small alley by an abandoned convenience store—
A boy stood alone.
Tùng.
His eyes were hollow.
Face still swollen.
Lips cracked.
Breathing unsteady.
His body twitched from Khí withdrawal—
the Awakening Pill had burned through his system like acid.
That mysterious guy who sealed the eruption kept him alive—
But it also crippled him.
He couldn't activate Khí anymore.
Couldn't feel the flow.
Couldn't even sense his own center.
To Tùng, it felt like someone had ripped out his soul.
He stared at the metal baseball bat in his trembling hands.
His voice cracked into the empty night:
"Nếu tao không còn gì nữa… thì mày cũng đừng mong sống yên."
("If I have nothing left… then you won't live peacefully either.")
The humiliation replayed endlessly:
Minh beating him.
Lâm being saved.
Lao kicking him out in disgust.
"Đồ phế vật. Cút đi."
("Useless trash. Get out.")
Those words repeated like a curse.
Tùng's breath hitched.
Then he snapped.
—
Noon at Lương Thế Vinh High.
The cafeteria roared with life—
tables shaking under piles of lunches,
students yelling over each other,
the clatter of trays echoing through the tiled hall.
Minh sat with Lâm near the center, picking at fried rice.
Every now and then, he felt eyes glance toward him—
then quickly look away.
Whispers traveled like smoke.
"Nó đó… thằng đánh Tùng…"
("That's him… the one who beat Tùng…")
"Nhìn mặt nó kìa. Băng đầy luôn."
("Look at his face. All bandaged.")
"Nghe nói nó điên rồi."
("I heard he snapped.")
Lâm nudged Minh's shoulder.
"Kệ tụi nó. Ăn đi."
("Ignore them. Eat.")
Minh forced a nod.
For one brief moment—
it felt normal.
Until the cafeteria doors slammed open.
BANG.
The entire hall went silent.
Tùng stood in the doorway.
Sweating.
Breathing hard.
Eyes sunken.
Uniform stained.
Hands shaking violently.
And dragging behind him—
a metal baseball bat.
SCRAAAAAPE.
A chill crawled through the room.
Someone whispered:
"Vãi… nó bị gì vậy…?"
("Holy… what happened to him…?")
Another stepped back instinctively.
Tùng didn't see them.
He saw only Minh.
His voice cracked out of him—raw, broken:
"MINH!!"
Dozens of students flinched.
Then he charged.
Long sprinted in from the hallway, panic in his eyes.
"TÙNG! Ngừng lại!! Đừng làm bậy!!"
("Tùng! Stop!! Don't do this!!")
Tùng didn't even slow down.
He swung the bat.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the cafeteria.
Long collapsed instantly—
blood splattering across the floor tiles.
Screams erupted.
"TRỜI ƠI!!"
("OH MY GOD!!")
"ĐỤ MÁ NÓ ĐIÊN RỒI!!"
("SHITS HE GONE CRAZY!!")
Students scrambled under tables.
Others grabbed their phones, recording in trembling hands.
Tùng stepped over Long's unconscious body—
eyes locked onto Minh like a predator.
—
Lâm stood up, blocking the path.
"Tùng! Are you insane?!"
"MOVE!!!"
The bat swept toward Lâm.
Minh shoved him aside—
The metal whooshed past.
Thiên Phú's voice exploded inside Minh's mind:
"GIỮ NHỊP THỞ! ĐỪNG ĐỂ HẮN CHẠM VÀO!"
("Keep your breathing steady! Don't let him connect!")
But Tùng was relentless.
He swung again—
Minh ducked behind a table, sending bowls flying.
Students screamed and climbed over benches to escape.
Tùng smashed the table in half.
Wood and plastic exploded across the floor.
Minh staggered back.
The next swing came low—
He tried to jump—
He wasn't fast enough.
CRACK.
Pain shot up his shoulder as the bat clipped him.
Blood dripped down to his elbow.
"MINH!!"
Lâm shouted, trying to help.
"No—đừng lại gần!!"
("No—don't come closer!!")
Minh's vision blurred.
Gomboc whispered from the darkness:
"…để tao giúp…
để tao nuốt hết nỗi sợ này…"
("…let me help…
let me consume this fear…")
Minh gritted his teeth.
"No…"
He stepped back—
The bat rose again.
And just as it came down—
A hand caught it.
Metal thudded into flesh.
But it didn't move.
Hạ Yên stood between them.
Calm.
Perfectly composed.
Eyes cold as winter water.
Her grip locked around the bat like iron.
"You planned to kill someone during lunch break?"
Tùng froze.
His lips trembled.
"N… nó phá hủy cuộc đời tôi…"
("H… he ruined my life…")
He tried to pull the bat back—
He couldn't.
Hạ Yên didn't shift even a millimeter.
Her voice lowered to a razor edge.
"Let go."
Tùng's fingers uncurled involuntarily.
Two discipline teachers arrived and grabbed him by the arms.
"That's enough!!"
Tùng erupted—
"BUÔNG RA!!
TAO PHẢI GIẾT NÓ!!
NÓ PHẢI CHẾT!!"
("LET ME GO!!
I HAVE TO KILL HIM!!
HE HAS TO DIE!!")
His screams echoed through the cafeteria as they dragged him away.
Students watched in horror.
Some sobbed.
Some filmed.
Some backed into corners, trembling.
Minh dropped to his knees, blood trailing down his arm.
His breathing was ragged.
His body shook uncontrollably.
Hạ Yên knelt beside him, steadying him with a hand on his back.
"Minh. Look at me."
He struggled to focus.
Her face was gentle—
but her eyes studied him like a living experiment.
Khí pulsed under his skin.
Unstable.
Hot.
Growing.
"Được rồi… em an toàn rồi."
("It's okay… you're safe now.")
But Minh wasn't sure.
Not with the way she looked at him.
Not with the way her fingers pressed into his Khí meridian points with surgical precision.
His vision darkened.
The screams faded.
The cafeteria blurred.
Hạ Yên whispered something he barely heard:
"Sleep. We have much to do."
Then everything went black.