For once, school didn't feel like a battlefield.
He walked through the gates with quiet confidence… and that was the first thing Tùng noticed.
Minh didn't lower his gaze.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't cower.
He simply walked past him.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Alive.
Tùng's jaw tightened.
Something inside him cracked.
"No way… that motherfucker thinks he's safe now?"
His humiliation throbbed like an infected wound.
If he couldn't scare Minh directly… he'd go after the next best thing—
Lâm.
---
Afternoon sunlight cut across an indoor basketball court, painting long shadows over the green plastic surface.
Sneakers squeaked.
Shouts echoed.
Sweat hit the polished wood floor in sharp drops.
The Lương Thế Vinh basketball team was in peak grind mode.
District league: two weeks away.
Coach: screaming.
Players: exhausted.
And right in the center—
Lâm.
Fast footwork.
Solid passes.
Jokes between breaths.
Every movement clean and practiced.
"Chuyền cho tao! Nhanh!"
("Pass to me! Faster!")
His teammates encouraged each other.
Normal. Ordinary.
But Lâm's smile didn't reach his eyes today.
The image of Minh's trembling fingers in the hallway…
the way he gripped his chest…
the blank, haunted stare…
It wouldn't leave Lâm's head.
"Minh… mày đang giấu tao chuyện gì vậy?"
("Minh… what are you hiding from me?")
He didn't know he would regret not asking harder.
---
Footsteps entered the indoor basketball court.
Ten shadows slipped inside.
Not Lương Thế Vinh students.
Lê Quý Đôn High.
Tall. Strong. Street-hardened.
Behind them—
Long.
Eyes down. Hands shaking.
And then—
TÙNG.
He didn't look like a student anymore.
He looked like a problem someone forgot to clean up.
Bruises.
Khí flickering around his shoulders.
Jaw tight like he'd been grinding his teeth for hours.
All eyes turned toward the court.
Toward Lâm.
---
Practice ended with a whistle blast.
Players grabbed towels and bottles.
Lâm wiped sweat from his forehead, turning toward the bench—
A hand grabbed his collar.
SLAM.
His back hit the wall behind the bleachers.
"CÁI—!?"
("WHAT—!?")
Two more boys pinned his arms.
A knee pressed into his ribs.
His teammates froze.
"Ê! Làm gì vậy!?"
("Hey! What are you doing!?")
A tall boy stepped forward—
and kicked a metal bench across the floor. The rest took out their metal bats, pointing at bystander.
The BANG shut everyone up.
"Không dính tới mấy người."
("This doesn't involve you.")
Fear spread fast.
Even the coach froze.
Bystander paralysis—real and brutal.
Despite the pain, Lâm reacted.
Elbow to the face.
Headbutt to the nose.
A knee strike.
He broke one hand free.
"You picked the wrong guy!"
"Chọn sai người rồi!"
But then—
A precise Khí strike hit his ribs.
Not a punch.
Not a kick.
A pressure attack.
Lâm gasped violently.
His breath vanished.
His legs collapsed.
"What… was… that…?"
Tùng crouched in front of him.
Up close, his Khí trembled uncontrollably.
His eyes were hollow.
"Hey, Lâm."
"Are you insane, Tùng!?"
Tùng ignored it.
"He cares about you, doesn't he?"
"…who?"
"Minh."
Lâm froze.
"You don't need to do this."
"I don't need to listen to anyone."
Then quieter:
"Especially not his best friend."
Lâm, thus, saw him - Long - who looked away, guilt eating his spine. Fear louder than conscience. Because of vengeance, he had to do everything.
"Bắt nó đi."
("Take him.")
Four hands lifted Lâm.
He kicked.
Twisted.
Fought.
Second Khí strike—
Everything went numb.
His thoughts blurred.
His final thought:
"…Minh… hy vọng mày ổn…"
("…Minh… hope you're okay…")
Darkness took him.
---
Thirty minutes later—
Minh's phone vibrated in class;
stared at the message around 15:00 PM.
A photo.
Lâm.
Tied.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Then the text:
"Tan học. Gym + Kickboxing. Quận 5. Chia sẽ định vị.
Đi một mình."
("After school. Gym + Kickboxing. District 5. Location is shared.
Come alone.")
Minh's breath shattered.
Gomboc:
"ĐẾN LÚC RỒI."
("IT'S TIME.")
Dương Thiên Phú:
"BÌNH TĨNH!!"
("STAY CALM!!")
"…Lâm…"
And the Khí inside him cracked.
His desk vibrated under his grip.
The teacher's voice vanished.
The class shrank into nothing.
There was only the image.
And the location.
Minh stood so hard his chair toppled.
He didn't stay to explain.
He already knew where he had to go.
---
Minh sprinted through the corridor.
Students jumped aside as he blasted past them.
Some whispered.
"Gì vậy…? Nó cúp học hả?"
("What the…? Is he skip class?")
"Nó chạy như có thằng nào dí…"
("He's running like someone's chasing him…")
Minh barely heard them.
His chest burned.
His breath came fast.
His Ki pulsed in unstable waves.
Gomboc:
"ĐÚNG RỒI. ĐẾN ĐI.
ĐỂ TAO LÀM PHẦN CÒN LẠI."
("YES. GO.
LET ME DO THE REST.")
Dương Thiên Phú:
"KHÔNG! TẬP TRUNG VÀO HƠI THỞ!"
("NO! FOCUS ON YOUR BREATH!")
Minh skidded down the stairwell railing, nearly tripping.
He pushed through the school gate.
Then—
he ran.
---
The Kickboxing Club was already infamous in the district.
Dim neon signs.
Graffiti on the walls.
The smell of sweat and leather even outside.
A place where boys turned into fighters—
and fighters turned into something worse.
Real combat happened here.
A place where violence was normal.
The presence of Minh excited many men inside.
Perfect.
He stepped through the back door.
Dim lights.
Punching bags swaying.
Concrete floor stained from years of sparring.
And at the center—
Lâm.
Tied to a chair.
Face swollen.
Rope cutting into his wrists.
His head lifted slightly.
"…Minh…?"
("…Minh…?")
And beside him—
Long.
Eyes hollow.
Regret written all over his shaking hands.
Behind them—
Tùng.
His aura unstable.
Like a flame shaking in a storm.
And watching from the sidelines—
arms crossed, expression carved from stone:
Lao.
Observing.
Judging.
Silent.
This wasn't just a fight.
This was an evaluation.
"Tao tên Lao- "
(My name is Lao-)
His voice cut through the silence.
"Luật đơn giản."
("The rule is simple.")
"If you win, you walk out of here."
"If you lose… Tùng decides what happens to you."
Minh swallowed.
The room pulsed.
His Khí surged painfully again.
But he stepped forward.
Because he had no other choice.
Tùng took one slow step.
Eyes locked on Minh like a predator marking prey.
"Mày đến thật."
("You actually came.")
Minh said nothing.
Tùng's voice cracked—
rage and something broken leaking through.
"Mày lúc nào cũng được người khác QUAN TÂM."
("You're always the one people care about.")
"Mày lúc nào cũng có bạn bên cạnh."
("You always have someone beside you.")
"Nên tao sẽ cắt nó đi."
("So I'll cut that away.")
The kickboxing club fell silent.
No music.
No talking.
Just the faint creak of leather and the undercurrent of violence humming in the room.
Minh stepped into the center of the mat.
His legs trembled.
His chest burned.
His Ki pulsed wildly—as if trying to burst out of him.
But he faced forward.
Toward Tùng.
Toward the boy who used to be loud, insecure, annoying—
but human.
Now, Tùng looked nothing like a schoolboy.
His posture was wide and grounded.
His shoulders rolled with trained aggression.
His fists clenched with practiced tension.
His eyes had become something else.
Cold.
Desperate.
Unhinged.
Tùng raised his hands into a fighter's stance; And, as Minh stepped into the center of the ring—
Khí unstable, voices clashing in his skull,
heart shaking with fear—
but eyes locked on the only thing that mattered.
Saving Lâm.
---
Lao's voice cut the air:
"Bắt đầu."
("Begin.")
Tùng lunged.
No hesitation.
No warm-up.
Just raw, violent speed.
A straight punch aimed right at Minh's jaw.
Minh barely dodged—
Thiên Phú shouting in his mind:
"NÉ SANG PHẢI!"
("DODGE TO THE RIGHT!")
Minh ducked.
The punch grazed his ear, slicing skin.
Pain shot across his face.
Before he could breathe—
A leg swung upward.
A clean, sharp kickboxing roundhouse.
Minh raised his forearm—
and the impact sent him sliding across the mat.
He gasped.
"Tốc độ… mạnh quá…"
("His speed… too strong…")
Tùng's Khí flickered violently with each breath.
The unstable awakening pill burned through his system.
His voice broke into a cracked laugh.
"Mày yếu quá Minh ơi…"
("You're so weak, Minh…")
"Mày đến để chết hả?"
("Did you come here to die?")
Minh gritted his teeth.
His breathing was uneven.
His stance sloppy.
But something inside him—
something not Gomboc—
refused to fall.
The moment Minh tried stepping forward—
Gomboc surged.
"ĐỂ TAO LÀM.
MỘT ĐÒN LÀ GÃY XƯƠNG HẮN."
("LET ME HANDLE IT.
ONE STRIKE AND HIS BONES WILL BREAK.")
Minh flinched.
His vision flashed red.
"No… không phải lúc này…!"
("No… not now…!")
Tùng saw the hesitation and attacked again.
A flurry of punches.
Hooks.
Kicks.
Pressure.
Minh blocked.
Dodged.
Absorbed.
Barely.
And then—
Dương Thiên Phú cut through the noise like steel on glass:
"ĐỪNG HOẢNG LOẠN!
HẠ THẤP TRỌNG TÂM!
ĐẨY HẮN RA!"
("DON'T PANIC!
LOWER YOUR CENTER!
PUSH HIM OFF!")
Minh obeyed instinctively.
He dropped his weight—
pivoted—
and shoved with everything he had.
Tùng stumbled back one step.
A tiny victory.
But Tùng's smile… sharpened.
"Ồ… biết đánh hả…?"
("Oh… you can fight…?")
He cracked his neck.
"Vậy thì vui rồi."
("Good. This will be fun.")
---
From the sidelines, Lao watched with the eye of a seasoned fighter.
He saw everything.
The raw terror in Minh's stance.
The monstrous Khí imbalance inside Tùng.
The emotional desperation poisoning both boys.
His eyebrow twitched once.
But he didn't interfere.
A rule was a rule.
He only muttered:
"Sống chết là chuyện của chúng nó, đây là kịch vui cho chúng ta"
("Live or die is their business, this is a drama for our fun.")
---
Tùng exhaled sharply.
Then he sprinted in.
Fast.
Clean.
Kill intent blazing.
Minh stepped in too.
Not by choice—
but by Thiên Phú dragging his instincts forward.
They clashed—
Fist to fist.
Forearm to forearm.
Knee against rib.
The shockwave cracked through the mat.
Both boys staggered back.
Tùng licked the blood from his lip.
"Mày cũng biết đau hả Minh…?"
("So you knows how it hurts, Minh…?")
Minh wiped his mouth.
His breath shaky but stable.
"…Tao không bỏ chạy đâu."
("…I'm not running.")
Tùng's smile died.
He lowered his stance.
Khí rose like a blade being unsheathed.
"Mày SẼ chạy như một con chó."
("You WILL run like a dog.")
Tùng exploded forward.
Not a fighter's charge—
a wounded animal's frenzy.
Left hook.
Right elbow.
Push kick.
Knee.
The kind of barrage meant to end a fight, not win it.
"DIE, MINH!!"
Minh tried blocking—
but each impact felt like steel slamming bone.
His ribs screamed.
Vision flickered.
Feet slid backward—
until his back hit the ropes.
A trapped position.
Gomboc surged immediately:
"ĐỂ TAO RA!
CHỈ MỘT GIÂY TAO SẼ XÉ NÁT HẮN!!"
("LET ME OUT!
ONE SECOND AND I'LL TEAR HIM APART!!")
Minh's nails dug into his palms.
"No… I don't need you…"
But Tùng's fist smashed into his stomach.
The air tore from Minh's lungs.
He doubled over—
the world white with pain.
Just before the next kick connected—
Thiên Phú's voice cut through the agony.
Sharp. Precise. Commanding.
"NGẢ NGƯỜI! ĐỠ GỐI! LĂN BÊN PHẢI!!"
("LEAN BACK! CHECK THE KNEE! ROLL RIGHT!!")
Minh—instinct, reflex, memory not his own—
moved.
The knee whooshed past his face.
Minh dropped to the mat, rolled, and sprang up again.
Lao's eyes narrowed slightly; amused.
Tùng spun, frustrated he missed.
He threw a wild roundhouse.
Thiên Phú again:
"CHẶN! CHÉM VÀO SƯỜN!"
("BLOCK! CUT THE RIBS!")
Minh lifted his arm—
absorbed the hit—
then stepped in and drove his fist
straight into Tùng's ribs.
A dry CRACK rippled across the gym.
Tùng gasped.
He staggered back three steps.
Silence.
Lâm, barely conscious, forced his eyes open at the sound.
Long flinched.
Lao muttered:
"…Được đấy."
("…Good.")
Minh's fist was shaking—
from pain, adrenaline, fear—
but he didn't back away.
For the first time—
Tùng looked unsure.
But uncertainty turned into rage.
His Khí flared violently—
hot, unfocused, unstable.
He clutched his chest.
"Cái… gì… trong người tao…"
("What… is inside me…")
The white pill was burning too fast.
Lao raised an eyebrow.
He knew that feeling:
Khí tearing through channels that weren't ready.
Tùng's scream cracked:
"TAO SẼ GIẾT MÀY!!"
("I'LL KILL YOU!!")
He charged again, faster, unhinged.
Minh barely dodged the first strike.
But the second—
a spinning backfist fueled by desperation—
connected squarely with Minh's cheek.
His body twisted.
He collapsed onto one knee.
Blood dripped down his chin.
The room shook.
His vision doubled.
The mat swayed under him.
Gomboc whispered in the cracks of his consciousness:
"MÀY SẮP CHẾT.
ĐỪNG CỐ NỮA.
CHỌN TAO ĐI!"
("YOU'RE ABOUT TO DIE.
STOP RESISTING.
CHOOSE ME!")
Images flashed—
of tearing flesh
of broken bones
of bursting hearts
of surrender.
Minh's hands trembled violently.
Then—
Thiên Phú roared, louder than ever:
"ĐỪNG QUÊN LÂM!!
NẾU NGÃ, CẬU THUA!!"
("DON'T FORGET LÂM!!
IF YOU FALL, YOU LOSE!!")
Minh's pupils shrank.
He forced his trembling legs to stand.
Pain screamed across every nerve.
But he rose.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Tùng stared.
"…Mày… vẫn đứng được…?"
("…You're… still standing…?")
Minh wiped the blood from his mouth.
His voice broke—
shaking, small, but unyielding.
"…Tao đã hứa… Tao sẽ cứu bạn tao…"
("…I promised… I'd save my friend…")
He lifted his guard again.
Khí flickering.
Body breaking.
Heart refusing.
Lao's expression shifted—
for the first time.
Respect.
Fear.
Recognition.
"…Thằng này… máu chó đấy."
("…This kid… had that blood[1] in him.")
Tùng felt it too.
His jaw tightened.
His stance dropped lower.
For the first time—
he realized Minh wasn't prey.
He was a threat.
A real one.
---
The mat felt like a battlefield soaked in invisible blood.
A broken boy stood on one side—
Minh, shaking, breath shredded, eyes burning with refusal.
A corrupted boy stood on the other—
Tùng, panting like an animal, Ki flaring in unstable bursts under his skin.
Lao finally uncrossed his arms.
His voice was flat.
"Được rồi… giờ là khoảnh khắc quyết định."
("Alright… now we reach the deciding moment.")
Long, pale in the corner, whispered:
"Đừng thua… làm ơn đừng thua…"
("Don't die… please don't die…")
Lâm lifted his head slightly—
eyes swollen, dazed, unfocused—
but he was awake.
He saw Minh.
And whispered:
"…đừng bỏ cuộc…"
("…don't give up…")
Minh heard it.
It nearly broke him.
Or saved him.
Tùng's body jerked once.
His Ki surged too fast.
Too violently.
Too unstable.
A painful scream tore out of his throat—
"AAAAAHHHHH!!"
He charged.
Not like a fighter.
Not like a human.
But like a rabid beast who'd forgotten pain, forgotten reason.
Minh barely raised his arms—
Tùng smashed into him.
A shoulder tackle with enough power to crack ribs.
Minh flew backward—
hit the mat hard—
vision exploding in static.
His ribs felt like they were splitting.
He couldn't breathe.
Gomboc whispered:
"ĐỂ TAO GIẾT HẮN."
("LET ME KILL HIM.")
Minh coughed blood.
"No… không…"
("No… not…")
Tùng grabbed Minh by the collar—
dragged him upward—
and slammed a fist into his cheek.
Then another.
Then another.
Each hit worse than the last.
Minh's head snapped to the side—
blood flicking across the mat.
His vision blurred.
His ears rang.
He felt himself slipping.
The next punch never landed.
Dương Thiên Phú roared inside Minh's skull—
"NGHIÊNG QUA TRÁI!!"
("LEAN LEFT!!")
Minh's body moved before his mind could follow.
The punch grazed his face instead of shattering his jaw.
Minh twisted—
slid under Tùng's arm—
and elbowed Tùng's ribs with everything he had.
CRACK.
Tùng stumbled.
Caught off guard.
A gap appeared.
Small.
But real.
Thiên Phú guided the next movement:
"DỌN TRỌNG TÂM!
ĐẤM NGANG!
VÀO CẲM!"
("SHIFT YOUR WEIGHT!
CROSS STRIKE!
HIT THE CHIN!")
Minh clenched his fist—
and threw the strongest punch of his life.
Not with technique.
Not with Khí.
With emotion.
With desperation.
With fear.
With love for his friend.
His fist slammed into Tùng's chin—
a clean, stunning uppercut.
Tùng's head snapped back—
his legs buckled—
and he fell to one knee.
Silence.
Even Lao looked impressed.
"…đòn đẹp đấy."
("…nice strike.")
Tùng's body convulsed.
His hands clawed at the mat.
His breathing turned animalistic.
Then—
a violent surge of Khí ripped through him.
Unstable.
Self-destructive.
Burning him from the inside.
Tùng forced himself upright—
a puppet of rage and pain.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His voice cracked into a broken scream.
"TAO… CHƯA XONG!!!"
("I'M… NOT DONE!!!")
He staggered forward—
Ki spiraling uncontrollably.
Minh's eyes widened.
Dương Thiên Phú shouted:
"TRÁNH ĐI!!"
("MOVE!!")
But Minh was too slow.
Too injured.
Too exhausted.
Tùng's knee slammed into Minh's stomach.
Everything inside Minh twisted.
The world folded inward.
His breath vanished.
His body collapsed.
He tasted blood.
He felt ribs grind.
He saw stars.
He was losing.
---
Minh lay on the mat, coughing, trembling, vision fading.
Gomboc began to push through the cracks:
"CHỌN TAO.
TAO SẼ CHẤM DỨT ĐAU ĐỚN.
TAO SẼ GIẾT HẾT CHÚNG."
("CHOOSE ME.
I WILL END THE PAIN.
I WILL KILL THEM ALL.")
Minh's fingertips twitched.
The floor under him vibrated with a dark pulse.
Gomboc's shadow pressed against his consciousness.
For a moment—
Minh felt it.
Power.
Feral.
Limitless.
Cruel.
He felt the temptation.
He felt the hunger.
He felt the promise.
He felt the fear.
From the chair—
weak, bruised, dying—
Everything froze.
The monster in Minh's mind paused.
The temptation cracked.
Minh's breath returned in a gasp.
He whispered:
"…tao sẽ không…
thành… quái vật…"
("…I won't…
become… a monster…")
He slammed his fist into the mat—
forcing himself upright again.
Broken.
Shaking.
Bleeding.
But standing.
Minh lifted his guard.
Eyes sharp.
Breath controlled.
Khí flickering but stable.
Tùng snarled, stumbling forward—
his own Khí tearing him apart.
Lao leaned forward.
The room held its breath.
This was it.
This wasn't a fight anymore.
It was survival.
It was identity.
It was the moment both boys would break—
or something inside them would awaken.
Tùng roared; surged all in.
Minh waited for a split seconds.
THUD
Minh's uppercut connected with a brutal, desperate snap.
Tùng's body lifted off the mat—
crashed down
and lay still.
His Khí spasmed, unstable, tearing him from the inside.
Minh stood trembling—
Unconscious.
Tùng's chest expanded unnaturally.
Veins bulged.
Teeth clenched.
Eyes rolled back.
The pills backlash was detonating.
Lao muttered:
"Quá liều… thằng này sắp nổ thật…"
("Overdosed… this kid's about to rupture for real…")
But Lao did not move.
A rule was a rule.
He watched the boy die.
Until—
the air shifted.
A cold pressure rolled across the gym.
Like a storm entering a closed room.
---
A silhouette stepped into the gym.
Calm.
Measured.
No wasted breath.
The anonymous personal trainer from Dạ Nam Gym stepped in the room.
But now he moved with the unmistakable presence—
of someone who had killed before.
He caught Minh's falling body in one smooth motion.
As if he'd known precisely when and where to stand.
Lâm whispered weakly:
"…anh… là ai…?"
("…who… are you…?")
Phong ignored the question.
He touched Lâm's ropes—
one finger—
and the knots fell apart like rotten thread.
A technique no ordinary man can perform.
Lao's men—sparring fighters from the club—noticed too late.
They stepped forward aggressively.
Lao raised a hand.
"Wait."
He walked forward slowly, expression unreadable.
"Ê.
Mày là ai?"
("Hey.
Who the hell are you?")
Phong didn't answer.
He adjusted Minh on his shoulder.
Lao clicked his tongue.
"Đây là địa bàn của tao.
Máu của tao.
Luật của tao."
("This is my territory.
My blood.
My rules.")
He smirked.
"Mày nghĩ mày bước vô đây… bế người của tao đi… mà dễ vậy hả?"
("You think you can walk in here… take my people… that easily?")
He snapped his fingers.
Eight fighters surrounded Phong.
Hands raised.
Stance tight.
Predators locking onto prey.
Everyone expected Phong to move.
Everyone expected a fight.
The room changed.
Every fighter felt it—
Phong's presence wasn't "dangerous."
It was predatory.
Something beyond street-level violence.
Something the human body instinctively feared.
Phong finally looked at Lao.
Just a glance.
A cold, minimal shift of the eyes.
It was worse than a threat.
Lao's instincts screamed.
But he held his stance.
Phong walked over to Tùng.
He didn't kneel.
He didn't speak.
He placed two fingers on Tùng's chest.
The Khí spiral flattened instantly—
like turning off a storm with a switch.
Tùng fall unconscious.
Phong stood again.
Lao lowered his head with a bow.
"Đã đắc tội, xin hỏi quý danh của cao thủ."
("I have offended you—may I ask for the esteemed master's name?")
Phong said nothing.
He picked up both boys—
Minh limp, Lâm clutching his shoulder—
and turned toward the exit.
Lao didn't stop him.
He only called out:
"Tụi mày là người của võ lâm nên nhớ quy tắc của giang hồ."
("Y'all from the martial world should remember the rules of it.")
Phong stepped into the darkness.
His answer was soft.
"Có những loài hoa không nên hái, có những con vật không nên săn."
("Some flowers should not be pick, some animals should not be hunted.")
The door closed.
And the night swallowed them.
[1] more like a ignorance to endure pain.