Morning hit like a slap.
Not gentle sunlight. Not warmth. Just the harsh brightness through Minh's window reminding him that sleep didn't erase anything.
His body felt like a borrowed corpse—aching in places he didn't know had nerves. His back stiff from rooftop training, legs heavy from holding stance, head still buzzing from the flare.
He sat up slowly.
Every movement made him wince.
"…I'm alive," he whispered. "Barely."
He dragged himself to the bathroom. The mirror showed the truth:
red eyes pale face bruises blooming under the collar tremor under the skin
He splashed water over his face.
It didn't help.
Phú materialized behind him—silent, arms crossed, watching him with the same sharpness as a drill sergeant.
"You slept poorly."
"No shit," Minh muttered. "Sorry. I mean… yeah."
"You must learn to rest whether your mind agrees or not."
Minh scoffed. "Easy for a ghost to say."
Phú ignored the jab. "You will experience instability today."
"I already feel unstable."
"Not from fear," Phú said. "From attention."
Minh blinked. "Attention?"
"Yes. Your flare was not quiet."
Minh's stomach twisted. "You mean… people heard it?"
"People felt it."
He wanted to throw up.
---
At school, the hallways buzzed with whispers.
Not subtle whispers.
Loud ones.
"Is that him?"
"Bro, I heard the rooftop cracked."
"No joke, Long said he felt something push him."
"He's cursed."
"Damn… poor Tùng. No wonder he's pissed."
"That kid's eyes turned black. BLACK!"
Minh kept his head down, gripping his backpack straps so tight his fingers hurt.
This was worse than any bullying.
Attention always was.
He walked faster, but the students parted around him like he was radioactive.
Some stared. Some stepped aside. Some looked terrified.
A group of girls whispered frantically:
"Don't go near him."
"My cousin said ghosts cling to people like that."
"He looks sick…"
"Or possessed."
Minh clenched his teeth.
His chest tightened.
"Don't panic," Phú murmured beside him. "You trained. Use your breath."
Minh inhaled—but the air felt thick.
He tried again.
He couldn't get a full breath.
"Focus," Phú ordered. "Four in. Two hold. Four out."
Minh obeyed.
Slowly…
The world steadied.
A little.
He turned the corner—
And froze.
Tùng stood at the end of the hall.
Hands stuffed in his pockets. Shoulders tense. Eyes locked on Minh with a mix of anger, confusion… and something uglier.
Fear.
Not fear of pain.
Fear of *not understanding* what he saw yesterday.
Long's two friends whispered into Tùng's ear nervously, pointing.
Tùng's jaw tightened.
He stepped forward.
Minh instinctively stepped back.
The ghost beside him stiffened. "Do not run."
"I'm NOT running," Minh whispered. "I'm just—preparing an exit strategy."
Phú didn't respond.
Tùng stopped about three meters away.
Students fell silent. Watching.
Waiting.
Tùng's voice came out low, controlled… too controlled.
"Lâm Dạ Minh."
Minh swallowed. "Yes…?"
"You did something yesterday."
Here it comes.
"You embarrassed me."
Minh tensed.
"You made me look weak in front of everyone."
"Tùng, I didn't—"
"And today," Tùng continued, voice cracking slightly, "the whole school's talking like YOU'RE dangerous? You?!"
Minh opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"I'm not dangerous. I'm just—"
"I don't believe you," Tùng said.
Silence.
A few students backed up in case he charged.
Tùng took another step.
But his next words weren't shouted.
They were whispered—barely audible.
"…What are you?"
Minh's heart stopped.
"I'm not— I'm just— human."
No one believed that.
Least of all Minh.
Tùng stared at him for several seconds.
Then he did something unexpected.
He stepped back.
Just half a step.
But everyone saw it.
And that half-step was enough to explode the rumor mill.
"Dude… he's scared of Minh…"
"Holy crap…"
"That's not normal."
"No way…"
Minh felt sick.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want power.
He didn't want fear.
He wanted to disappear.
But Phú spoke calmly:
"Stand your ground."
"I AM STANDING," Minh whispered. "Barely."
Tùng shook his head, angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at Minh most of all.
"This isn't over," he muttered. "If you try anything again… I'm coming for you."
He turned away, fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.
Minh sagged.
His legs almost gave out.
Students backed away like a wave.
Someone murmured, "He's gonna blow any second."
Minh wanted to scream, "I'M JUST TIRED!"
Instead, he walked to class, vision blurry, breath tight.
This wasn't fear anymore.
This was isolation.
A complete, perfect circle closing around him.
---
During break, Minh went to the far back of the school near the old storage buildings—the only place quiet enough to breathe.
He sat on a concrete block, head in his hands.
"This is getting worse," Minh muttered. "Everyone thinks I'm a monster."
"You are not a monster," Phú said.
"It feels like it."
"It should not."
Minh shook his head.
"People are scared of me. Teachers stared. Tùng—he looked at me like I was… something else."
"Fear is normal."
"No. Fear changes things. People get hurt because of fear."
Phú hesitated.
That alone scared Minh.
"…Minh," the ghost finally said, "you are correct."
A chill ran down Minh's spine.
"People will move around you differently now. Either away… or against."
Minh looked up weakly.
"So what do I do?"
"Survive the day," Phú said. "Then tonight, we train harder."
Minh groaned. "Harder than yesterday?!"
"Yes."
Minh buried his face in his hands. "I'm going to die."
"No," Phú said softly. "You are going to change."
Minh didn't know if that was a promise or a warning.
A shadow moved behind the storage shed.
Someone was watching.
The shadow behind the storage shed moved—slow, deliberate.
Minh froze.
"…Phú," he whispered. "Someone's watching."
"Yes," the ghost replied. "But this one… carries no hostility. Only hesitation."
A figure stepped out.
Not older.
Not mysterious.
Not a stranger.
It was Hoàng Lâm.
The same tall, athletic boy Minh had seen around school before—jersey always hanging out of his bag, hair still damp from training, broad shoulders that came from endless basketball drills.
Lâm looked… irritated.
But beneath that irritation was something else:
Concern.
"Con chó này..." Lâm said quietly. "This bastard... Why the hell are you hiding back here?"
Minh blinked in disbelief. "…Lâm? What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing?" Lâm stepped closer. "I should be asking you that. You've been walking around like a ghost all day."
Minh avoided his eyes. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
The word hit harder than any punch.
Lâm looked him over—slowly, from the trembling hands to the bruises fading under his collar to the way Minh kept shifting his weight off his injured leg.
Then he exhaled sharply.
"…I should've been there."
Minh frowned. "For what?"
"For everything." Lâm's voice tightened. "The rooftop. The rumors. The way Tùng is hunting you like a mad dog."
Minh swallowed. "You weren't there because you had practice."
"That's not an excuse." Lâm stepped even closer. "I'm on the basketball team, not blind. I heard what happened after practice. Everyone's terrified of you. And you're… you're just walking around beaten up like nothing's wrong."
Minh lowered his head. "I don't want to drag anyone in."
Lâm's expression darkened.
"So, what? You let them beat on you alone?"
"I didn't let—"
"Con mẹ mày (Your mom)." Lâm's voice softened. "Look at me."
Minh reluctantly raised his eyes.
Lâm wasn't angry at him.
He was angry at himself.
"I'm supposed to be someone who steps in," Lâm said quietly. "That's who I am. I don't watch you get hurt."
Minh whispered, "…You didn't know."
"I should've." Lâm clenched his jaw. "And I should've been the one stepping between you and Tùng. Not standing on a stupid court shooting hoops."
Phú murmured, "This boy feels responsibility he does not owe."
Minh shook his head. "It's not your fault."
"Then why are you avoiding me?" Lâm shot back. "Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone? You think I'm useless? You think I can't handle Tùng?"
"It's not that—"
"Then what?!"
Minh's voice cracked. "I didn't want you to get hurt!"
Silence.
Lâm stared—surprised, confused, something soft flickering behind his eyes.
"…Minh," he said slowly. "I'm stronger than you."
Minh's cheeks heated. "I know."
"I mean physically stronger," Lâm clarified, tapping his own chest. "I take hits. I push back. I'm not someone who breaks easily."
Minh looked away. "That's exactly why I didn't want you involved."
"Explain."
"If something happens to you because of me…" Minh swallowed hard. "I don't think I could live with that."
Lâm's expression changed.
Anger faded.
Annoyance faded.
Only quiet seriousness remained.
He stepped directly in front of Minh—close enough that Minh had to tilt his chin up.
"Minh," Lâm said softly. "Let me make something clear."
He pointed to his own chest.
"I am your friend."
Minh's breath hitched.
"And whether you like it or not," Lâm continued, "I'm not letting you fight this alone. Not anymore."
Minh shook his head. "Lâm, you don't understa—"
"I understand enough." Lâm cut him off. "Tùng is losing it. Everyone sees it. And you're walking around like a target taped to your back."
Minh's voice trembled. "I'm managing."
"You're collapsing."
Minh flinched.
Lâm softened again. "…Why don't you ever ask for help?"
Minh whispered, "…I don't know how."
Lâm nodded slowly. "Then learn."
He took a step back and sighed.
"One more thing."
Minh looked up.
"Tùng is planning something. Something big." Lâm's tone darkened. "I heard two guys talking outside the gym. They said he's not scared anymore. He's… angry. Really angry."
Minh's stomach dropped.
"Lâm… what did you hear?"
"That he wants to 'end it.' Whatever that means."
Minh felt cold.
Lâm continued, "If he comes for you again, tell me. I'm done standing on the sidelines."
Phú murmured, "This boy… he means what he says."
Lâm turned to leave—but paused.
Without looking back, he said:
"And Minh? You don't have to earn my help. You already have it."
Minh's throat tightened.
"Thank you…" he whispered.
Lâm lifted a hand in a small wave and walked off toward the gym.
The moment he disappeared—
Heavy footsteps echoed from behind the shed.
Not Lâm.
Not a student.
Three silhouettes.
Trouble.
The three silhouettes stepped out from behind the old storage building.
Minh immediately noticed something wrong.
Different uniforms.
White shirts with thin blue lines. Blue jackets tied around the waist. The crest of Lê Quý Đôn High School stitched near the collar.
Not students from here.
Not supposed to be on this campus.
Minh's heart sank.
"…Phú," he whispered. "They're not from our school."
"Yes," the ghost replied. "Outsiders. Which means someone let them in."
A fourth figure lingered behind them briefly—
wearing Lương Thế Vinh uniform.
Smirking.
Long.
He gave Minh a quick mocking salute, then slipped away before the trio walked forward.
Minh felt his stomach twist.
Long had opened the back gate.
He let them in.
For Tùng.
"Great…" Minh breathed.
The three Lê Quý Đôn boys approached with sloppy confidence.
Not killers.
Not hardened delinquents.
Just typical district bullies trying to look tough.
The tallest stepped forward, cracking his knuckles dramatically.
"Ê, mày là Minh đúng không?"
(Yo, your Minh?)
Minh didn't answer.
The boy grinned. "Tao nghe Tùng nói mày làm nó ê mặt lắm."
(I heard Tùng said you made him lose face.)
"Tụi tao tới giúp nó 'nói chuyện' với mày," the second added, shoving Minh's shoulder lightly. "Đơn giản thôi."
(We come to help him "talk" to you. Simple as that.)
Minh stepped back. "I don't want trouble."
"Ừ, nhưng tụi tao muốn."
(Yea, like we wanted.)
Another shove. Harder.
Minh stumbled into the wall.
The third boy circled behind him.
Not coordinated—just loud and messy.
"Tùng nói đúng, nhìn mày yếu thấy mẹ."
( Tùng was right, you look weak as hell.)
"Gầy như cây tăm."
(Thin as a toothpick.)
"Lát quay clip cho nó coi."
(Film it for him to watch.)
They started crowding him.
Shoving from one side.
Pulling his collar.
Laughing.
Nothing precise.
Just typical schoolyard intimidation—
but in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Minh tried to push past them.
"Move."
"No."
A fist hit his ribs.
Minh gasped, folding halfway over.
A second punch hit his thigh.
Pain shot up his leg.
"Không né hả? Yếu vậy?"
(Don't dodge? Weak?)
Minh braced himself. "Stop."
They shoved him again, laughing harder.
One grabbed his backpack strap and yanked.
Minh snapped forward—jaw hitting a shoulder.
"Đụ mẹ, đau quá!" the boy hissed. "Giữ nó lại."
(Damn it, that hurts. Hold him.)
Two grabbed him—one by each arm.
Minh struggled, panic rising.
"Phú—!"
"I'm here," the ghost said. "Listen carefully. Do not let fear spike."
A fist drew back.
Minh closed his eyes.
The punch landed across his cheek.
He staggered, but the boys kept him upright so they could hit him again.
They weren't thinking.
Not planning.
Just enjoying control.
They pushed him against the wall.
"Yếu quá, đánh thêm miếng nữa coi."
(Too weak, hit me one more time.)
Another hit.
Another shove.
Minh's breath broke.
Then—
The whisper stirred.
"…they hurt you… let me rise…"
Minh choked. "No… no…"
The trio didn't hear him—they were too busy laughing.
"Tới lượt tao!"
(My turn!)
Another swing.
"MINH!" Phú barked. "BREATHE!"
Minh inhaled sharply—
The flare pulsed.
A sharp pressure burst out from his chest.
Not big—just enough.
But enough.
The two boys holding him recoiled.
"What—?!"
"Ê tao thấy lạnh sống lưng—"
(I felt a cold chillin down the spine.)
The air thickened for half a second.
Like something unseen exhaled.
Then it vanished.
Minh dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
The boys scrambled backward in panic.
"Ma—má ơi, nó bị quỷ nhập!"
(G-ghost, he's been haunted!)
"Điên rồi!"
(Crazy!)
"Biến thôi!"
(Get out!)
They tripped over each other trying to reach the back gate.
In their panic, one shouted:
"Long! Mở cửa! Nhanh lên!"
(Long! Open the door! Fast!)
Minh heard Long curse, fumble with the latch, and swing it open.
The trio bolted out into the alley, screaming.
Long stared at Minh from the gate entrance—wide‑eyed, pale.
For the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.
Then he slammed the gate shut and ran.
Minh's arms shook as he tried to steady himself.
His breath came in short, broken bursts.
He wasn't triumphing.
He wasn't victorious.
He felt sick.
He felt wrong.
He felt like something inside him kept getting closer to the surface.
"…I almost lost control again," Minh whispered.
"Yes," Phú said. "But you pulled it back. Quicker this time."
"That's not comforting…"
"It should be."
Footsteps pounded behind the shed.
Sharp, fast, urgent.
Minh flinched—
And then he heard it:
"MINH!"
Lâm sprinted around the corner.
Sweat from practice still clung to his neck.
His jersey was still tied at his waist.
His bag dangled from one hand.
He froze when he saw Minh on the ground.
"Trời đất… Minh…"
(My god... Minh...)
Lâm dropped beside him immediately. "Who did this to you?!"
Minh shook his head. "Just… some guys."
"Those Lê Quý Đôn punks? I saw them running like crazy down the street!"
Minh looked away. "I'm fine."
"You're NOT fine."
Lâm gently lifted Minh by the arm, checking his face, his ribs, his leg.
His eyes darkened with fury.
"They hit you," he muttered. "Tùng got outsiders involved now? What the hell is wrong with him…"
"It's not Tùng's fault," Minh whispered.
Lâm's jaw clenched. "Minh. Don't defend him."
Minh's throat tightened.
"I don't want you involved."
"Well, tough luck," Lâm said, standing and pulling Minh up. "I'm already involved."
He slung Minh's arm over his shoulder, supporting him.
"Next time," Lâm said quietly, "I'm getting there before they land a single hit."
Minh swallowed. "You can't protect me from everything."
"Watch me."
As they started walking, Lâm stopped suddenly.
A silhouette stood far down the alley.
Tall. Calm. Watching.
Not moving.
Not threatening.
Just observing them.
Lâm tensed. "That guy again…"
Minh whispered, "Don't. Don't approach him."
"For once," Lâm muttered, "I agree."
They turned away.
The watcher stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, eyes following them until they disappeared into the brighter street.
The rest of the school day passed in a fog.
Minh sat through class with bruises burning under his uniform. Every movement reminded him of the Lê Quý Đôn boys' fists. Of Long smirking as he let them in. Of the flare he barely held back. Of Lâm pulling him up like he weighed nothing.
Of the watcher.
The hallways whispered louder than ever.
"Someone said three outsiders got in."
"They came for Minh?"
"Why?"
"He's cursed, I swear."
"No wonder Tùng is losing it."
"I heard Long opened the gate—idiot."
Minh kept his head low.
He saw Lâm at every break—either leaning against a column, waiting outside class, or pretending to talk to someone just to stay within sight.
Minh felt guilty.
But also… safe.
He wasn't used to either feeling.
---
When the final bell rang, Minh stepped outside.
Lâm was already at the gate.
He tapped his gym bag against his leg. "Let's go. I'm walking you."
Minh sighed, defeated. "…Okay."
As they headed out, Minh noticed Long across the street—half-hiding behind a parked motorbike, eyes darting nervously.
The moment Minh and Lâm looked his way, Long bolted.
Lâm snorted. "Coward."
Minh didn't respond.
---
They walked down the narrow sidewalk together. Stray cats weaving between motorbikes. Street vendors calling out last sales. A sluggish evening breeze dragging at their clothes.
Lâm kept glancing at him.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm tired."
"Minh… those guys were from Lê Quý Đôn. They don't come here unless someone sends them."
"I know."
"I'm guessing that someone rhymes with 'Tùng.'"
Minh didn't answer.
Lâm exhaled sharply. "I can't believe he dragged outsiders into this. What is he trying to prove?"
Minh whispered, "…That he's not afraid of me."
Lâm stopped walking.
"Minh. No one should be afraid of you."
Minh stared at the ground. "They are."
"Then they're stupid."
Minh almost smiled. Almost.
Lâm resumed walking, slower this time so Minh didn't limp too hard.
---
Halfway home, Minh felt it.
A presence.
His skin prickled.
"…Phú," Minh whispered internally. "Is he here?"
"Yes," the ghost said calmly. "He has been here since you left school."
Minh's throat tightened. "Why?"
"I do not know."
Lâm noticed Minh's sudden tension. "What is it?"
Minh didn't get the chance to reply.
A tall figure leaned casually at the mouth of an alleyway.
The same man from before.
Hands in pockets.
Expression unreadable.
Watching.
Not approaching.
Not hiding.
Just observing.
Lâm immediately moved half a step in front of Minh—instinctively protective.
"That guy again…" Lâm muttered. "Is he following you?"
"I don't know," Minh whispered.
The man tilted his head slightly, not threatening—just acknowledging.
Then he pushed off the wall and walked away without a word.
Lâm's shoulders stayed tense long after the man vanished.
"Minh," Lâm said, voice low. "This is bad. Outsiders, stalkers… whatever that was… you need to tell someone."
"I can't."
"Then tell me."
Minh looked down. "…I don't know what to say."
Lâm didn't force him.
He just sighed, frustrated but gentle.
"Fine. But you're not walking alone anymore. Even if I have to ditch practice."
"Lâm—"
"No arguments."
Minh shut his mouth.
---
The boys reached a phở shop - Minh's home.
Lâm waited at the gate, arms crossed. "Text me when you're inside."
Minh groaned. "…You're annoyingly responsible."
"No," Lâm said. "I just don't like seeing you hurt."
Minh swallowed. "…Thanks."
"Tomorrow," Lâm said, stepping back, "stick with me. No more back alleys."
Minh nodded weakly.
He slipped inside, climbed the stairs, and closed the apartment door behind him.
Only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding.
His body trembled—not from the pain, not from the flare—but from the weight of the day.
From Long's betrayal.
From outsiders attacking him.
From Lâm seeing everything.
From the watcher in the shadows.
Phú appeared by the window.
"You survived," the ghost said.
"Barely."
"That is enough."
Minh sank onto his bed, face buried in his arms.
"…Is tomorrow going to be worse?"
"Yes," Phú said without hesitation. "Rumors spread. Pride cracks. And boys like Tùng shatter loudly."
Minh's hands shook.
"What do I do?"
"Stand. Breathe. Train."
Minh exhaled shakily.
"Will Lâm be in danger?"
"Not yet."
"Not yet…?"
Phú didn't answer.
The night pressed against the window.
The storm was coming.
But for now—
Minh was home.
Alive.
And not alone.