Chapter 9 — Music Sent After School

Nhien came to the broadcasting room earlier than usual, carrying a paper notebook instead of a tablet. She wrote three lines at the top of the page: listen enough, ask the right questions, don't rush to conclusions. Duy saw it and said that those three lines were like the rules of a club that specializes in making people lose sleep. Nhien replied that losing sleep because of curiosity is better than sleeping peacefully in a story that has had important parts cut out.

They retested the tape in a room with the lights off. The sound of a train passing by sounded like a thread stretching between two silences. Khang adjusted the filter, Lam sat on the floor recording each milestone, and Ms. Mai stood outside the door to make sure no one eavesdropped. When the hissing sound appeared, Duy raised his hand to stop. He didn't want them to turn a small sign into big evidence.

“What if it's just an error in the beginning?” Duy asked.

“Then I would say it was an error in the beginning,” Nhien replied. “The truth doesn't have to be more beautiful to be worth hearing.”

In the afternoon, a tenth grader sent a question about recording the voices of friends. Lam wanted to read it right in the program, but Nhien asked permission to call back first. She explains how to get consent, how to delete a recording, and how to make it clear what the listener will use it for. The other person was silent for a long time and then thanked him. There is no climax, no background music, but Nhien realizes that this is also part of what they are building: a place where people can believe without being turned into content.

The rain burned the engine

The rain that day did not come slowly. It hit the schoolyard right in the middle of the last period, causing the corrugated iron roof of block C to vibrate like an out-of-control drum set. The club had to collect the fourth number in conditions where all equipment was at risk of moisture.

Khang spread his raincoat on the table, Lam used a plastic bag to cover the microphone, and Duy placed a towel under the window. Nhien checked the electrical outlet three times.

“If you check again, the electrical outlet will feel offended,” Lam said.

“It could short out.”

“Okay, safe insult.”

The theme of the issue is “people who make schools run on time”. Lam wants to interview the security guard, the janitor and the canteen seller. Each person only has twenty seconds, enough to hear a sound they are familiar with. The security guard chose the sound of the gate lock. The cleaning lady chose the broom sound. The cafeteria lady chose the sound of boiling oil.

Duy went to collect in the hallway. Nhien sat in the room, listening to every signal. The rain was so thick that human voices were drowned out. She increased the gain, then decreased it just as a bolt of lightning caused the system to jump to the red line.

“Don't use electricity when lightning strikes,” Duy said.

“If it's all withdrawn, the program won't play.”

“Safety first.”

“If we wait for the rain to stop, time will run out.”

“No one dies because they miss a show.”

“But a club can die because it doesn't play regularly.”

They looked at each other. Nhien realized that the two were not arguing about the machine; they argue about fear. Duy is afraid of losing something that is difficult to keep. She was afraid that she would be left out again because she did not know how to live in poor conditions.

Ms. Mai walked in, heard the two arguing, then placed a battery-operated tape recorder on the table. "There's no need to stream live. After recording, play when the system is okay. Listeners don't know if you recorded in rain or shine."

Lam pointed. “You just taught us the art of lying.”

“I teach them to do post-production responsibly.”

They switched to battery-operated machines. Khang used an old curtain to block the rain, creating a temporary autumn corner in the hallway. The security guard told a story about a student who once forgot his bicycle; cleaning lady laugh when remembering a cat sleeping in a cardboard box; The cafeteria lady said the sound of boiling oil let her know a new day had begun.

During autumn, a flash of lightning struck close by. The school-wide speaker system flashed, then turned off. Khang's computer restarted and the unsaved data disappeared.

Khang hugged his head. “My three hours of collection…”

“The original is still on the recorder,” Duy said.

“But the editorial calendar is gone.”

Looking at the board, remember the order of the paragraphs. She redraws the timeline with a red pen. Lam reread the script from memory. Maintain the program directly on the recorder. By the time it was finished, the electricity in the room turned on and off three times.

“I suggest broadcasting it in the hallway using portable speakers,” Lam said.

“The club's loudspeaker is at the gym,” Khang replied.

“Then bring it back.”

Khang and Duy ran in the rain. Nhien and Lam hold the tarp. Two minutes later, Khang returned with the speaker wet as if he had just swam across a lake.

“Is it still active?”

“If you speak softly.”

“So Lam keep quiet.”

Lam held the microphone and stood in the middle of the hallway. The students took shelter from the rain and returned. She lowered her voice and introduced the program. The speaker made a crackling sound, but the security guard's voice was still clear. When we got to the boiling oil part, a friend behind us laughed, and then the whole hallway laughed along. No one left.

Nhien stood next to Duy, using a towel to wipe the water off the connector. She saw him smile when he heard the cafeteria saleswoman say: "Boiling oil taught me not to let my hunger make decisions."

After the program, Khang checked the speakers. A fuse burned out.

“You said it works if you speak softly,” Lam chided.

“It worked for seven minutes.”

“Seven Minutes a Show.”

“So it completed its mission.”

Ms. Mai let everyone leave early, but Duy stayed behind to dry the equipment. Nhien helped him remove each machine cover. In the yellow light, the sound of rain was light. Duy placed the H-AU-17-04 player on a dry towel.

“Of course, have you heard the 03D file?”

"Already."

“Don't listen again.”

“Are you afraid I'll remember you?”

“I'm afraid the sender wants you to remember it their way.”

Nhien said her father asked her to leave the club. Duy quietly turned a screw.

“If you leave, I won't blame you.”

“If you say it again, I will consider it dismissal.”

“I don't chase.”

“Then don't say anything that makes me have to save myself.”

Duy looked up. "Okay."

It was a short promise, but Nhien believed it more than the long promises of adults.

That evening, the club mailbox received another audio file. This time, the sender was an address named: **after.school.archive**. The file contains the sound of rain on a corrugated iron roof, but at 42 seconds there is the sound of metal hitting each other. Khang used sampling software and discovered that the sound matched the sound in the original tape at Aunt Huong's counter.

“There was someone recording at the counter right when the tapes were being played,” he said.

“They followed Aunt Huong?” Lam asked.

Duy clasped his hands. “Or she knows more than we think.”

Nhien didn't like the way he looked at the radio counter through the screen. Aunt Huong was the one who kept the tape for ten years. Maybe she protected them, or maybe she kept part of the story because she was afraid it would hurt Duy.

The next morning, Ms. Mai announced that the school board would hold a meeting with representatives of Ha Audio about the SoundSeed program. Ha Audio still wants to sponsor even though Nhien's father said he's not sure.

“If they enter the school, they will control the equipment,” Duy said.

“If they don't come in, the room can be closed,” Lam replied.

Nhien looked at the distribution schedule. The remaining three days in message 03B have passed. The sender is doing nothing, or is waiting for them to walk in on their own trap. trap.

At the end of the hour, she received a call from a private number. A man's voice said: "The music is not to save the radio room. It is proof that your father betrayed someone."

“Who are you?”

“He kept the last part.”

“What do you want?”

“Let me ask my father a simple question: why is his signature on the contract, while Duy's father's name is removed from the release?”

Call off.

On the other end of the line, in a short moment, Nhien heard the sound of a blue motorbike starting up.

Nhien did not call back strange numbers. She recorded the call according to phone regulations, captured the time and forwarded it to the school attorney. Duy wanted to find the caller, but Ms. Mai reminded him that a phone call was not enough to confront himself.

The group created a “known and unknown” table. Already known: the player has the code Ha Audio, the original tape has the name Huy, the device used to be at Reu Records, the threat mentioned Minh Quang. Unknown: who called, who cut the file, who has the key, why the song was played in the school.

Lam added a column "things we must not do": do not follow the car, do not call in bulk, do not post the address, do not play the tape alone. Khang finished reading and said this table was longer than the program script.

“The incident also lasted more than three minutes,” Lam replied.

They played a short number on how to handle pressure calls. Do not mention the caller's voice, do not create suspenseful sounds. Lam told listeners to save evidence and find a trusted adult. Ms. Mai puts the school's counseling contact number at the end.

After the program, a friend sent the engine sound and asked if he could identify the car. Khang replied that sound was not enough to identify people or vehicles, then instructed him not to share private license plates.

Minh Quang sent Nhien Ban a list of former employees. The names Trong, Bao, Ngoc and Dat are highlighted. One line was blacked out, leaving only the symbol "V.T.". Nhien asked, he said it was the person related to Vu Tan, but there was not enough evidence.

“Dad also has an unknown column,” she texted.

“I'm learning not to fill things in haphazardly.”

The message made her smile, even though the problem was still serious.

That night, Nhien reopened the list of old employees and marked those who had access to the warehouse. She didn't look for social media accounts or home addresses; she just compared the work schedule. The datapad didn't give her answers, but calmed her.

Duy sent a message from Aunt Huong's counter that the clock was two minutes late. If the file uses a clock hour as a reference, the time in it may be wrong. Nhien replied: “One more reason not to draw conclusions from one sound.”

He sent back a recording of the second hand running slowly. It's clumsy, but has its own rhythm. Nhien saved it in the map folder with Aunt Huong's conditions.

“The incident also lasted more than three minutes,” Lam replied.

“Dad also has an unknown column,” she texted.

“I'm learning not to fill things in haphazardly.”

The message made her smile, even though the problem was still serious.