Chapter 6 — From Collapse to Brilliance: I Don't Need You

The interview to assess the ability to change majors took place at the Dawn Biotechnology Research Institute building, a modern greenhouse located in the far corner of the campus, completely separate from the old medical lecture hall. Diệu Kỳ stood in front of the bronze sign engraved with the name of the institute, clearly feeling the difference in the atmosphere here - clean, modern, filled with natural light shining through large glass panels, completely different from the ancient, quiet atmosphere of the medical laboratory building that she had been familiar with for the past three years.

She was led into a small conference room, where a three-person interview panel was already seated. The person in the middle, who seemed to be the chairman, was a much younger man than Diệu Kỳ imagined — probably just over thirty, tall, sharp face with deep eyes and a calm look that made it difficult to guess the emotions inside. He wore a simple white shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows, in front of him was an open laptop and Diệu Kỳ's file.

"Please sit down," he said, his voice low and calm. "I am Nhan Bách Sơn, lecturer in charge of applied biotechnology, and also participating in the evaluation committee for transfer applications today." Diệu Kỳ sat down and nodded to all three members of the council. She had heard Nhan Bách Sơn's name before — not only was he a famous young lecturer in the industry, but he was also known as a sharp investor who founded a startup incubation fund associated with the Breaking Dawn Institute, supporting many applied research projects that successfully transformed into real commercial products. Among students, he was considered a rare role model who combines both serious academic thinking and the acumen of a businessman.

"I read the essay explaining your reason for changing majors," Bách Sơn said, flipping through a few pages of documents on the table. "Quite interesting. Most students applying to change majors from Medicine to Biotechnology often write about their desire to apply science to disease treatment in an indirect way, but your essay places a lot of emphasis on transparency and the ability to independently verify research data. Can you explain this more clearly?"

Diệu Kỳ was startled inwardly. She wrote that essay based on the traumatic experiences of her past life — the fear of data being manipulated, distorted, and the terrible consequences of having no way to prove her innocence against accusations based on falsified "evidence." She didn't expect that detail, which she thought was just a small highlight in the essay, was the first thing this lecturer noticed.

"I think," Diệu Kỳ replied, choosing each word carefully, "in scientific research, especially in experiments directly related to human health, the transparency of the data is as important as the research results themselves. No matter how correct a result is, if it cannot be independently verified, without a mechanism to protect against unauthorized intervention or editing, it still poses a huge risk — not only to research participants, but also to including the people who do that research."

Bách Sơn looked at her more attentively, his eyes revealing an attention that he did not try to hide. "You say this as if you've seen the consequences of a lack of data transparency."

Those words made Diệu Kỳ's heart skip a beat. She tried to keep her face calm. "I have read some cases in the industry, sir. Errors in clinical trial data management sometimes lead to very serious consequences, not only scientifically but also legally and ethically." One of the two other members of the committee, an older female lecturer, nodded. "This is quite an insightful perspective for a third-year student who has never studied biotechnology in depth. Do you have any background in programming or data analysis?"

"I recently taught myself some basic knowledge about biostatistics," Diệu Kỳ replied, "and I believe that I have the ability to quickly absorb new knowledge if given proper guidance." The interview continued with a series of questions about background knowledge, motivation to study, and future career orientation. Diệu Kỳ answered frankly, sincerely, without exaggeration but also without timidity, showing the true nature of a person who has gone through enough hardships to understand the true value of what he is pursuing.

During the interview, Bách Sơn observed her more than asked questions. He paid attention to the way Diệu Kỳ answered — not the rote answer of a student trying to impress, but the way of speaking of someone who had truly pondered deeply about the issues she was presenting, with a maturity far beyond her age. There was something in her eyes—a silent wariness, an experience that didn't match the youthful appearance of a third-year student—that made him curious.

After the interview ended, when Diệu Kỳ left the room, the older female lecturer turned to Bách Sơn. "What do you think about this candidate?"

"There's potential," Bách Sơn replied, lightly tapping his finger on the table, his eyes still following the door where Diệu Kỳ had just walked out. "But it's not just the academic potential. The way she talks about data transparency, about the risks of data tampering — that's not knowledge that can be read from a regular textbook. It's the kind of understanding that one only has when one has faced the consequences directly."

"Do you think something happened to her?" the other lecturer, a middle-aged man, asked.

"I don't know," Bách Sơn said, closing the file. "But I have a feeling that this candidate is not as simple as her profile shows. If accepted, I want to closely monitor her learning process." A few days later, the interview results were announced — Diệu Kỳ was officially accepted to transfer to the Biotechnology major, starting next semester. She stood in front of the notice board, looking at her name on the approved list, feeling relief mixed with a fragile but genuine hope.

This is the first turning point in her plan - a turning point that takes her out of the dangerous cycle of the medical lab, and opens the door to a completely new environment, where she has the opportunity to be recognized based on her own abilities and efforts.

She did not know that, during that interview, she unintentionally left a deep impression in the heart of the man who would become her most important ally, and later, her life partner in the arduous journey ahead. Nhan Bách Sơn, with the keen eye of an investor who has witnessed countless successful and failed projects, recognized in Diệu Kỳ something different - a depth of experience, a deliberate caution, which he is sure is not accidental.

He didn't know exactly what the story behind that girl was. But I know, I will find out.

On the first morning of the new semester, Diệu Kỳ entered the lecture hall of the Dawn Institute with a feeling of both strangeness and excitement. The classroom was spacious, with tables and chairs arranged in a staircase leading down to a small stage where the lecturer presented, completely different from the traditional lecture halls of the Faculty of Medicine. On the large screen in front were words introducing the introductory course on molecular biotechnology, the first subject in the conversion program that she had to complete.

She chose a seat in the middle row, placed her new notebook - this time a regular study notebook, completely separate from the secret diary she kept in a locked drawer in the dorm - on the table, mentally preparing herself for a completely new amount of knowledge that she would have to learn from the beginning.

Around her were unfamiliar faces, no one knew the story of Tôn Diệu Kỳ, who was once a shining star in the immunology lab. Here, she was simply a student changing majors, having to prove her ability from the most basic introductory exercises. That feeling, although somewhat unsteady, brought her a strange relief - no one looked at her with heavy expectations like Professor Tuan, nor did anyone had preconceived notions or complicated relationships like in the old lab.

In that first lesson, Nhan Bách Sơn appeared as a teaching assistant to guide practice, not as the main instructor. He walked along the rows of desks, observing how students approached their first simple gene sequence analysis exercise. When he arrived at Diệu Kỳ, he stopped for a moment, looking at the way she took notes - not only recording the formula, but also asking critical questions in the margins, drawing diagrams of connections between concepts.

“You take notes quite systematically,” he commented, his voice as calm as in an interview. "It's not the same as what a beginner student would do."

"I'm just trying to understand the nature of the problem before memorizing the formula," Diệu Kỳ replied, a bit surprised to see him paying attention to her among dozens of other students.

Bách Sơn nodded, did not say anything more, but his eyes, when he left her table to continue checking on other students, still had a hint of unanswered curiosity. Little did Diệu Kỳ know that, from that moment, she had officially entered the special sight of the man who would play the most important role in her upcoming journey - not only as a teacher or colleague, but gradually, even more.