Chapter 4 — Music Sent After School

Three seconds are cut off

“Don't let them do anything?” Quynh Lam asked.

Duy placed the phone face down on the table. "Don't know."

“Please open it again.”

“Opened ten times.”

“Eleven times no one dies.”

"No need."

Lam propped his chin. “The more you say you don't need it, the more it needs it.”

Room 3C has an additional table fan borrowed from the medical room. The fan blades clicked, creating a backdrop for the morning meeting. Nhien sat opposite Duy, in front of Khang's laptop. She didn't get enough sleep because of what her father said. Ha Minh Quang did not explain the device code. He just called his assistant and told him to cancel the sponsorship schedule in Binh Minh. Something so fast made Nhien even more suspicious.

“Where was the file sent from?” she asked.

Khang opens the information section. “No address. Hidden account. But the file is compressed with an old codec.”

“How old is the codec?”

“Old enough that its creators hate modern computers.”

Lam crossed his arms. “Duy, does your father use that type of compression?”

“My father recorded it on tape, not compressed.”

“But replicants can.”

Nhien suggested analyzing the sound spectrum. She opened a free software, dragged the file in. The screen shows three frequency streaks: ticking, background hiss, and voice. The final vocals were not cut due to errors; it is cut off at the exact point where the speaker pronounces the word “they”.

“Someone edited the file,” she said.

“How do you know?” Duy asked.

"The sound wave of the last word is compressed, and the silence behind is completely flat. If the speaker naturally stops, the background fan or room sound continues. Here the background is replaced by a clean silence."

Khang came closer. “Do you guess by eye or do you have data?”

"There are data. Look, the background amplitude on both sides is -42 dB, the last part drops to -96 dB in one hundredth of a second."

Khang raised his eyebrows. “I take back the phrase 'scolding the machine'.”

Lam picked up a cookie. “So someone intentionally hid the rest.”

“Or want us to think someone did it on purpose,” Duy said.

“Can you stop doubting everything for five minutes?”

"Are not."

Lam turned to Nhien. "You've chosen the right companion. This person has the ability to turn buying bread into a financial investigation."

Ms. Mai brought in a box of old documents. She asked the administrative office for permission for the club to look up the records of the 2014 sound festival. In the box there was a list of students, a studio diagram and a record of equipment handover. The last sheet reads: **Device H-AU-17-04, status: temporarily detained for testing; handover person: Le Quang Huy; recipient: Ha Audio.**

Duy read the name of the handover person and his hand stopped.

“My father.”

Nhien looked at the text. Duy's father's name is next to her father's company name. It's no longer an accidental stamp. The other player used to belong to a project between the two of them.

“What did your company do with the school that year?” Nhien asked himself.

“Ha Audio sponsors the studio for the festival,” Ms. Mai replied. "But the project stopped after an incident. The records do not clearly state."

“What incident?” Duy asked.

Miss Mai shook her head. “I was not in charge of the club at that time.”

Khang turned the record over to the back. A piece of paper was attached, written in pencil: **Huy's demo tape is not on the handover list.**

Duy stood up. The chair hit the wall.

“Maybe the tape is still at school.”

“Maybe,” Ms. Mai said. “But you don't open the warehouse arbitrarily.”

Lam raised his hand. “If we ask permission, is it okay?”

“Okay, during my time.”

That afternoon, the group went to the basement warehouse. The smell of damp paper and rusty iron was so strong that even though Lam wore a mask, he still sneezed. Khang held the list, Duy checked each box of equipment. Read the serial number. They found two old tape boxes, a microphone set, but no H-AU-17-04.

“Is the warehouse map wrong?” Nhien asked.

"Are not." Duy sat down and looked at the cement floor. “Someone took it out after the handover.”

Behind the filing cabinet, a small door leads to the ventilation passage. There are new paint stains on the lock. Khang used a flashlight to find a red wire stuck to the hinge.

Lam sighed. "Red wire again. This case is branded."

Duy took the rope, but Nhien stopped him. "Don't touch. Take a picture first."

“Have you ever watched investigative movies?”

“I used to work with the legal department.”

Lam looked at her. “This sentence makes me more scared.”

They recorded the scene, then reported to Ms. Mai. Security checks hallway cameras. The basement camera broke three months ago; Ventilation door in correct position without rotation angle. But during the same hours last night, a delivery person passed through the side gate. That person was wearing a hat, covering his face, and in his hand was holding a bag with the logo of a company transporting audio equipment.

The logo is not Ha Audio. It is **Reus Records**, a small record label that collaborated with the school during the 2014 festival.

Duy typed the company name into his phone. “The company is closed.”

“Where is the old address?” Nhien asked.

“Four streets away from Aunt Huong's counter.”

Lam jumped up. "Let's go."

Ms. Mai did not let them go during school hours, but after school, she agreed to let Duy and Nhien go to the old address with a commitment. Lam and Khang followed because Lam declared that "an investigation without an MC is like bread without filling."

Moss Records is located in a closed two-story house. Faded green signs, rolling doors covered with painted advertisements. Aunt Huong knows this place. She was repairing a radio in the counter when she heard the company's name and immediately put down the screwdriver.

“Are you looking for Huy's tape?”

Duy was stunned. “You know?”

"Huy sent her a copy before the warehouse was liquidated. But she didn't give it to her because she thought the matter was over."

She opened the wooden cabinet and took out a box of bandages wrapped in cloth. On the label is handwritten: **Music sent after school — draft 03.**

Touch the edge of the label. The word “03” is the same as the file name after_school_03.

“Have you heard?”

"Listen once. Huy said this song is not for the company, nor for the festival. He wrote it for a child who often waits at the gate after school."

Duy swallowed hard. “That child is me.”

“I know.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

"Because at that time I was still young. A song can be a gift, it can also be an anchor that pulls people back to the place where they hurt."

Lam looked at the tape box. “Is this version related to school equipment?”

Aunt Huong pointed to the back. There is a silver stamp that has half peeled off, similar to the stamp Duy kept.

Nhien looked at Duy. He did not turn to her.

“We have to listen.”

Aunt Huong shook her head. "My tape player only runs once. The belt is old."

“Once is enough,” Duy said.

They sat around a small table. Aunt Huong pressed play. Hiss sounded, then the acoustic guitar. Familiar melody but longer. In the middle, a child's voice laughed, followed by a man's voice saying:

“An Nhien, count how many hours it rains.”

Nhien stiffened. That voice was her father.

In the tape, a little girl miscounted and giggled. Duy looked at Nhien, and she looked at the rotating camera. The music doesn't just belong to Father Duy. It is a shared memory of two families, from before she knew she had a child another path between them.

At the end of the tape, the door closed. A woman's voice said very softly: "Don't let Minh Quang know."

The sound suddenly distorted. The last three seconds were cut clean, like a phone file.

Machine stopped.

Outside the alley, there was the sound of a car braking suddenly. A person stood under the light, looked at the counter, then left before Duy could run out.

On the table, the ice box was still warm. Aunt Huong turned to Nhien.

"Your name was said on the tape. Perhaps the sender wanted you to remember it."

Nhien doesn't know what she forgot.

But when she arrived at the school gate, she saw a newly posted piece of paper on the bulletin board, with only one line:

**THIS SONG IS NOT BY DUY. ASK AN NHIEN.**

Lam removed the paper from the bulletin board, but did not crumple it. She put it in a folder, wrote down the time of sighting and who was present. Khang protected the corner of the paper with clear tape, as if this were a fragile record.

“We will not respond with another piece of paper,” Nhien said.

“Yes,” Duy replied. “I responded with a program.”

They prepared handouts about things that were cut from the story: a student whose sentences were missing, a cleaning lady who was filmed without permission, a song whose credits were taken away. Lam interviewed each person, asking them what they wanted to hear. One person asked to only use the sound of knocking on the table. The cleaning lady wanted to give up her name. Duy wrote correctly.

Nhien created a comparison table before and after tuning. She intentionally kept the fan and shoe sounds so listeners wouldn't think the recording was created in a sterile room. Khang added a time note, while Lam removed three jokes because they lightened the character's discomfort.

The broadcast did not mention Father Duy's song, but everyone understood. After the program, a student sent a letter: "I once had my apology cut out in a class video. Today I know I have the right to request a fix."

Ms. Mai posted the letter on the wall. Duy looked at it for a long time, then said: "If the room is closed, where will these sentences go?"

Nhien replied: "We keep it in the listener's warehouse."

That night, she called her father again. Minh Quang did not answer the phone. An hour later he sent a message: “I'm looking for someone to keep the records.” Nhien texted back: "I'm also looking, but I won't override anyone's authority."

In room 3C, the speaker did not play any more files. The silence this time didn't feel like a threat. It's like someone waiting to see if they did what they said they would do.

That night, Lam sent the group a list of words that could not be used in the program: "murderer", "ghost", "thief", "lady", "poor boy". She explained those words, causing listeners to choose sides before they finished listening. Duy added one word: "definitely". Nhien added: "forever".

Khang asked what if the story needed a conclusion. Ms. Mai replied: “The conclusion is only valid if it withstands the next question.” The whole group saves messages to the process folder.

Lam closed the folder, reminding everyone to go home on time. Nhien wrote down the name of the person present, then locked the phone. Another day ends without anyone becoming a villain. She sees it as progress.