Chapter 3 — Hockey Stars Can't Overcome My Figure

The Woman No One Mentioned Her Name

The annual Fan Festival sponsored by Viet Thinh Group was held right in the main hall of Bach Ho Ice Palace, where giant banners with images of key players hung from the ceiling, and thousands of fans lined up to get autographs and take photos with their idols. This is the most important event in the media calendar before the new season, where Pho Dinh Khang - the team's CEO - personally supervises every detail to ensure the team's image is most perfectly conveyed to sponsoring partners.

Yen Thao stands in the backstage area, in charge of coordinating the appearance schedule of each player on the main stage - the "technical" job that she often undertakes in big team events without anyone naming her official title. She was reviewing the program script one last time when Mai Bao Tram rushed over, still holding a walkie-talkie.

"Yen Thao, something's wrong," Bao Tram said, her voice unusually tense. "At the main gate, there was a woman demanding to enter the VIP area, saying it was related to Mr. Duy. The security guard couldn't stop her, she was causing a ruckus right in front of the reporters."

"There's nothing strange about fans being so excited," Yen Thao replied, her eyes still glued to the script.

"Not a fan," Bao Tram lowered her voice. "She was carrying a child, and she told the security guard that it was Tong Bao Duy's child."

Yen Thao raised her head, her hand still holding the script, but there was a brief silence in her head, as if all the sounds around her had just been muted. "Say it again."

"I don't know anything else, I just heard the security team report over the radio." Bao Tram held her friend's hand. "Are you okay?"

Before Yen Thao could answer, the noise from the main gate spread to the backstage area. A small group of reporters, who always had the instinct to sniff out sensational news better than anyone else, began to flock toward the gate, cameras raised at the ready.

Yen Thao walked out of the backstage area and stood next to a large pillar at the edge of the hall, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to see the whole scene clearly. She saw Dinh Ha Vy - a woman with a sharp face, dressed elegantly to the point of calculation, holding in her arms a boy about three years old wearing a small blue jacket, with light curly hair similar to Bao Duy's hairstyle in his youth in old photos that he sometimes showed her.

"I just want to meet him," Ha Vy said to the security guard, her voice just loud enough for nearby cameras to fully record. "I'm Dinh Ha Vy, and this is Tong Bao Duy's son. Bin, say hello."

The child, seemingly tired of waiting, just nuzzled his mother's shoulder and said nothing. But Ha Vy's words were enough to create a small earthquake right in the middle of the event hall. The sound of chatting was loud and the sound of taking pictures continuously rang out like the sound of insects in summer.

Pho Dinh Khang, standing near the main stage, received the news through his headphones less than ten seconds later. His face turned visibly pale. He quickly signaled the security team to take Ha Vy into a private room, trying to prevent the situation from escalating right in front of the camera, but it was too late - at least three online newspapers had already published the photo and a short status line: "The woman claiming to be the mother and son of star Tong Bao Duy appeared at the event of Team Bach Ho Bang Giang."

Yen Thao stood silently behind the pillar, her hand clenching the program script so tightly that the corners of the paper wrinkled. She clearly felt her heart beating faster than usual, but strangely, the first emotion that invaded her was not jealousy or fear, but a cold question, of the nature of someone used to analyzing data: why during the four years of knowing each other, Bao Duy never once mentioned the name Dinh Ha Vy?

She looked for Bao Duy right after and saw him being quickly pulled into a private dressing room by two security guards. His face was pale and his eyes were wide open like someone who had just seen a ghost from the past come to life in the middle of the day.

"Bao Duy," she called, standing in front of the dressing room door before he could close it. "Who is that woman?"

He looked at her, his lips moved but no sound came out for a few seconds. In the end, he could only say a short sentence, his voice trembling: "I need time, Yen Thao. Give me a little time."

"That child..." she tried to keep her voice calm, "is that your child?"

"I don't know," he replied, clutching his head. "We broke up seven years ago. If the baby is really three years old, then the timing doesn't match when we were still together. But I don't know for sure, Yen Thao. I need to check again."

In that moment, Yen Thao realized something more painful than Ha Vy's sudden appearance: that Bao Duy, the person she believed had shared everything for four years, had hidden an important chapter of her life from her - a love deep enough that, even though it had ended long ago, it could still come back and shake everything up in just one afternoon.

Pho Dinh Khang appeared soon after, his face so tense that every vein on his forehead was clearly visible. "Bao Duy, I need you to stay calm and absolutely not say anything to the press right now. Let the media department handle it first. We cannot let this affect the sponsorship contract renewal signing ceremony with Viet Thinh Group next week."

"What about my child?" Bao Duy asked, his voice had regained some composure but was still shaking.

"We will clarify later," Pho Dinh Khang replied, his eyes quickly glancing at Yen Thao standing next to him, a glance that clearly implied that her presence was not part of his plan to handle the media crisis at this time.

Yen Thao took a step back, understanding that this was not the time to argue. She left the backstage area, walked through the main hall where the crowd was still chatting, passed by the giant banner with Bao Duy's image that she had seen hundreds of times before, which now suddenly became strange and strange.

She found a hidden corner behind the equipment warehouse area, sat down on an old plastic chair, trying to breathe evenly. Her phone vibrated constantly — messages from Mai Bao Tram asking questions, from a few curious colleagues, but no messages from Bao Duy.

She opened the notes app on her phone, where she usually saved her tactical analysis, and suddenly typed in a line that had nothing to do with hockey: "Four years, and I never knew her name until today." She looked at that text for a long time, then deleted it, not wanting to leave any trace of weak emotions, even in her most private space.

That night, when the event ended in an awkward atmosphere, when the reporters had scattered with the photos that would soon fill the newspapers the next morning, Yen Thao stood alone in the empty main hall of Bach Ho Ice Palace, looking up at the giant banner still hanging from the ceiling. She didn't cry. She just stood there, clearly feeling that the foundation she had worked so hard to build over the past four years, the first brick had just been shaken by a hand she never knew existed.

The next morning, she woke up before the alarm could ring, opened her phone and saw as expected: a series of sports and entertainment news sites had published the story, with headlines written in all sorts of sensational ways. "The earth-shattering secret behind the star Bach Ho Bang Giang", one newspaper wrote. "Who is Dinh Ha Vy that made Tong Bao Duy dumbfounded in the middle of the event?", another headline ran with a close-up photo of his pale face. Not a single article mentioned Yen Thao's name, which in other circumstances would have been a relief, but at this moment it only made her more aware of how invisible she was in the story surrounding the person she loved.

She arrived at the training office early and saw her father sitting there, in front of him was a stack of newspapers printed out by the secretary according to old habits, his eyes were heavy.

"Dad, have you read it all yet?" she asked, placing her bag on the chair.

"Dad read it." Dai Trong Nghiep folded the newspaper and looked at his daughter. "How are you?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, sitting down across from him. "I don't know what to believe, what to ask, what to do now."

"The Board of Directors had an emergency meeting this morning with representatives of Viet Thinh Group." He sighed, his voice filled with the anxiety of a person standing between two impossible responsibilities. "They want to handle things smoothly before the sponsorship contract renewal signing ceremony takes place. Pho Dinh Khang is under great pressure."

"What about Bao Duy?" she asked softly.

"Dad hasn't seen him this morning." He looked at his daughter and spoke slowly as if he were considering each word. "Yen Thao, I'm the head coach of this team, and I'm also your father. I won't pretend that I'm not scared. I'm worried about you, and I'm also worried about the team I've built for nearly twenty years. I'm sorry that I can't simply be a father right now."

Yen Thao nodded, understanding the struggle in her father's heart better than anyone else. She stood up and looked out the office window, where she could see trucks carrying television equipment filling the parking lot in front of the main gate—a clear sign that this day would be much longer and more taxing than she had imagined.