Chapter 12 — Music Sent After School

Before leaving the room, Duy stuck a note on the mixing desk: "Don't increase the volume just because other people are talking softly." Nhien finished reading, adding below: "And don't lower your voice to reassure others." Lam looked at the two sentences and said that they were about to turn the radio room into a place to hang famous quotes. Khang covered it with tape, but still smiled.

Timestamp on the tape

The Ha Audio storage room is located in the basement of the new building, where there are no windows and the lights are always bright white. Minh Quang led Nhien through two classes. Duy stood next to him, keeping his hands in his pockets as if even touching the wall would be considered trespassing.

“He's in the club,” Nhien introduced.

“I know.”

Minh Quang looked at Duy without calling his name. Duy didn't say hello either.

The archive room has thousands of tape boxes, hard drives and contract printouts. An employee gave Minh Quang a list. He scrolled through, stopping at code H-AU-17-04.

“Canceled,” he said.

“But the record exists,” Nhien replied.

“Device destruction does not mean the data is legitimate.”

"I didn't ask legally. I asked where it was."

Minh Quang looked at her. “Of course.”

Duy walked to the shelf. “This code has a creation date.”

Nhien read the number line. H-AU-17-04: April 17, 2014, test room 04. Data with timestamp 16:32, right when students finished school.

“The music can be recorded at school,” Duy said.

“Yes,” Minh Quang replied. “The project was originally environmental recording.”

“So why was it deleted?”

“Because the partners are not consistent.”

“Who deleted it?”

Minh Quang did not answer. He opened a file box and took out the incident report. Short content: **Unfinished recording was accessed illegally. The system is temporarily paused.** Handling signer: Minh Quang.

Nhien read it again. “Dad signed the process, but didn't record who accessed it.”

“The legal department then said there was not enough evidence.”

“So Father Duy's name was removed from the release because there was not enough evidence?”

Minh Quang tightened his grip on the paper. “No one erased Huy's name.”

Duy took an old print ad from the shelf. Above is the list of collaborators; The name Le Quang Huy is left blank, the technical section reads "Reus Records team".

“So what is this?”

“The advertisement has not been approved.”

“But released.”

“I don't know.”

Duy smiled faintly. “The person signing the contract doesn't know what the company is issuing?”

Minh Quang turned to his daughter. “I'll take him away.”

“No. Dad has to answer.”

This was the first time Nhien stood between her father and someone other than a family member. She felt afraid, but fear was no longer enough to keep her quiet.

Minh Quang went to the last shelf and picked up a box of tapes without a code. He placed it on the table. "I kept this copy because Huy requested it. I've never heard the last part."

Duy looked at the box. “So who cut it?”

"After the project stopped, the Moss Records warehouse was handed over to an employee named Vu Thanh Dat. He was responsible for transporting items. The records disappeared."

“Dat is using a blue motorbike,” Nhien said.

Minh Quang paused. “You met?”

"No face yet. But someone delivered the device."

“Don't look for him.”

"Why?"

“Because Dat doesn't do it alone.”

The answer made the room colder. Minh Quang opened the box and showed them a tape labeled **After School Frequency — 03**. The timestamp on the label is 17:10, not 16:32. Nhien realized that 5:10 p.m. was the club's current program time.

“Who rewrites now?” Duy asked.

"Don't know."

“Dad knows more than he says.”

“Because dad is trying to hold on others out of danger."

“My father passed away. Danger no longer changes that.”

Minh Quang is quiet. Nhien saw his eyes were red, but there were no tears. He placed his hand on the tape box.

“Huy wanted me to publicize the fact that the recording was taken. I didn't.”

"Why?" Nhien asked.

“Because the company is on the brink. If the incident is admitted, hundreds of employees will lose their jobs. I think it can be resolved internally.”

“Dad chose the company over him.”

“Dad chose to avoid a breakup.”

“But other people live in that brokenness.”

Minh Quang bowed his head. “I know.”

Duy took the tape box, but Minh Quang kept it. “Not yet.”

“That's my father's tape.”

“It is proof, not a gift.”

“Dad speaks like a lawyer.”

“Because Dad worked too long with lawyers.”

Nhien spoke up: “Let us make copies in our room, don't bring the original. We accept the status quo.”

Minh Quang looked at her, then nodded.

They use specialized equipment to convert tapes to audio files. While waiting, Nhien read the technical records. A line in the system log made her stop: **April 17, 2014 — 17:16 — logged in from M.Q. — access the HUY_PRIVATE folder.**

“Dad logged in at 17:16?”

Minh Quang looked at the screen. “Maybe. I don't remember.”

“Dad's account accesses Duy's father's private folder.”

“Dad, check the copyright.”

“How about you get the recording?”

“Of course!”

Duy looked at the data but did not speak. A hash string of the original file appears: 8e7a…91c. The hash string in file 03B in the field is the same as the first eight characters.

“The music at school is a copy from the Ha Audio system,” Khang had said correctly on the previous call. Duy doesn't need more.

Minh Quang turned off the screen. “You are not allowed to give this data out.”

“If not, the school will close the room.”

“Dad will handle it.”

“I've had twelve years to figure it out.”

The words fell very softly, but made Minh Quang look down. He did not get angry. That hurt Nhien more.

On the way home, Duy followed Nhien. Both did not speak. When I left the building, it was already dark, the street lights were on in rows. Duy gave her a USB.

“The copy has the hash,” he said.

“When did you get it?”

“Kang copied it. I keep a copy.”

“You believe me?”

“I trust the data.”

“And you?”

Duy looked at her. “I'm studying.”

Nhien's phone vibrates. SoundSeed sends an official invitation letter to the club to participate in the sponsorship program, with a deadline to sign within 48 hours.

At the bottom of the email there is an audio file. File name: **M.Q_final.wav**.

Nhien clicked to listen right on the sidewalk. Minh Quang's voice on the tape said: "If I have to choose, I choose to protect the company."

Duy grabbed the phone and turned off the file.

“Don't listen to this alone,” he said.

“I'm not alone.”

But at the beginning of the alley, there was a person standing under the awning. The person was wearing a baseball cap, holding a box of bandages and looking straight at them.

When the car lights passed, the person disappeared.

The car drove past, the person wearing the hat disappeared behind the billboard. Duy did not chase. He took out his phone to take a picture of the location, then called Ms. Mai. Nhien saw that he had less instinctive reactions; the process is becoming a new reflex.

The next day, they used the copy in room 3C, with the lawyer and Ms. Lan attending online. The tape shows that Huy wants to return the song to the contributors. Minh Quang did not agree to sell, but let Vu Tan walk through the door. When Duy heard that sentence, his hand clenched.

“What if it turns off here?” Miss Mai ask.

Duy nodded. They stopped, recorded the time, then rested for ten minutes. No one forced him to continue listening to "come to a conclusion".

During the break, Lam brought bread, Khang made water. Nhien stood in the hallway watching students pass by. No one knew they had just heard a part of history, only a group of people were silent.

As it goes, the finale doesn't have as big a secret as the threat. It only has the sound of the door, the sound of Huy saying "don't take it", the sound of Minh Quang calling the employee's name, and the sound of tape being pulled. Truth does not create beautiful moments; it creates responsibility.

Duy decided not to make it public. He wanted to listen to Ms. Lan and Bao first. Nhien supports it, even though that means the rumors will continue to live on.

Khang creates a hash chain for the original, saving it on three devices in three places. Nhien made a record of who heard it. Lam put the tape box in the cabinet and labeled: **Do not open without authorized person.**

At the end of the day, Minh Quang sent a document admitting errors in the process, but did not claim rights to the article. Nhien read and edited the two promotional sentences into simple language. He accepted immediately.

Duy asked: "Do you think your father has really changed?"

"I don't know. But I see you're doing things you avoided before."

“It's new data.”

“You can call it hope.”

Duy smiled very lightly. “Studying.”

Nhien wrote that sentence in the notebook, but did not turn it into a big promise. She knows that people can learn and forget, they can apologize and then repeat. So every change needs a trace: text, log, co-auditor.

In the afternoon, the school received a request from a news site wanting to interview Duy. He refused because he was not ready to talk about his father. Nhien composed a general response, stating only that the program was protecting the rights of the creator. Lam read, skipping sentences that sounded like advertisements.

Some of you are disappointed that there is no “behind the scenes”. Lam said the backstage is not public property. Students begin to understand that personal matters do not make stories less interesting; it makes the story have decent limits.

Khang backs up the tape to an offline storage drive. Nhien checked the hash chain, Duy signed the record. They use two different colored boxes to distinguish the original and the working version. The working version is cut according to license, the original is not edited.

Minh Quang sent a long email apologizing for the incident in 2014. Nhien read it twice, then only replied: "Dad, please say this to everyone affected, not just me."

He agreed.

In room 3C, Lam scheduled a private listening session with Ms. Lan. Duy did not open the tape before she was present. Waiting no longer makes them restless; it becomes part of the process.

He agreed.