Chapter 11 — I Shall Never Set Foot in Nam Thanh Again

Less than ten minutes later, a message from Tan Tu Bach arrived on my screen. "Are you arguing with my mother again? You have upset her so much that her blood pressure has spiked. Nguyen Thanh Chi, you were not like this before." I stared at the words "you were not like this before," and a wave of profound listlessness washed over me. I replied simply: "The Nguyen Thanh Chi from before is dead." This time, it was his turn to fall silent. He did not send another message for the rest of the night. I had foolishly hoped he would finally learn to keep quiet. Little did I know, as the clock struck midnight, chaos would erupt at the training camp. His old injury had flared up again.

The news reached me through a call from Aunt Chu. She was sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath. "Thanh Chi, Tu Bach has injured his leg again. Please, quickly tell your father to come here right away." I sat up in bed and checked the time. It was 12:42 AM. It was exactly the same as in my previous life. At this precise hour, Tan Tu Bach would be taken to the infirmary at the training center. Aunt Chu wept as she spoke, "He is in such agony. The medics say it might be a recurring tear in his hamstring. Your father is the only one who truly understands these injuries. Please, call him now!" I did not answer immediately.

"Why would his muscle tear again?" I asked. Aunt Chu was stunned by my cold response. "They said he was doing extra training when he suddenly felt something wrong." "And who told him to do extra training?" "Is now really the time for questions like that?" she shrieked, her voice frantic. "Thanh Chi, this is a matter of life and death! How can you be so calculating? Tu Bach is in such pain—can’t you just get your father to come over first?" A matter of life and death. A recurring muscle tear was hardly life-threatening, but Aunt Chu had always possessed a gift for blowing things out of proportion. In my past life, I had been terrified by those four words. Without even putting on my shoes properly, I had rushed to knock on my father’s door. But this time, I remained perfectly calm.

"Aunt Chu, my father is not Tan Tu Bach’s private physician." The other end of the line went deathly silent, as if someone had hit the mute button. A few seconds later, she asked in utter disbelief, "What did you say?" I repeated myself, my voice steady. "My father is not his private physician. The training center has its own team doctors. If the situation is serious, they should take him to the hospital." Aunt Chu’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "Nguyen Thanh Chi! How can you be so heartless?" I gripped the phone tightly. Outside my window, the darkness was thick and viscous, like an impenetrable black shroud. On that night in my previous life, I had been so anxious that cold sweat had drenched my skin. Tan Tu Bach had clutched my hand in agony, while Manh Tri Ha had hidden in a corner, weeping. Aunt Chu had clung to my father, begging him to find a way to fix it. Everyone around me had been in a state of panic, and I was the only one who failed to realize the truth: that was the first time they had dragged my family into Tan Tu Bach’s endless messes. There would be a second time. A third. Countless times thereafter, until my entire life was inextricably entangled in their wreckage.

"The one who is heartless is not me," I replied. Aunt Chu was trembling with rage. "Are you still jealous because of that girl, Manh Tri Ha? Thanh Chi, look at the state Tu Bach is in!" "That is exactly why he should see a doctor." She was about to retort, but the phone was snatched away. Tan Tu Bach’s voice came through, heavy with pain and an unconcealable, simmering fury. "Nguyen Thanh Chi." I remained silent. His breathing was ragged on the other end. "Do you really intend to just ignore me?" If this were my previous life, those words alone would have shattered my heart. I would have wept, I would have been heartbroken, and I would have scolded him for not training carefully—only to then beg my father to save him. But now, I found his words utterly absurd. "Your leg is not my responsibility." "Your father can take care of it." "My father has no obligation to do so." Tan Tu Bach’s voice rasped, "Must you be like this?" "Like what?" "Do you really have to force me to bow down to you before you’re satisfied?" I closed my eyes. His logic remained as ridiculous as ever. He was the one who had chosen to overtrain, and he was the one who was injured.