Chapter 9 — Summer Rescuer

After the rescue of the family of four, a new habit formed between Thao Nhi and Bach Duong that neither of them actively suggested — every late afternoon, when her shift ended and he finished collecting data for the day, they would meet by chance on the deserted stretch of beach between Bai Duong and Mui Sa Den, and then walk together along the edge of the waves until it was completely dark.

That evening, the sea breeze blew gently, bringing a pleasant coolness after a day of scorching sun. Thao Nhi walked barefoot on the sand, letting the small waves lick her ankles, while Bach Duong walked beside her, carrying a pair of sneakers and her pants rolled up to her knees.

"You know," Thao Nhi said, breaking the comfortable silence between them, "when I was little, this was my favorite stretch of road. My dad often took me out here on his afternoons off, taught me to recognize seashells, and showed me the little crabs hiding under the sand."

"Sounds like a beautiful childhood," Bach Duong said, his voice gentle.

"Yes, until it's no longer beautiful," she replied, but without the bitterness in her tone like the previous times she mentioned the past. "I used to think I would never be able to walk on this beach without thinking about the day my father died. But lately, for some reason, I feel more comfortable when I'm with you."

Bach Duong was silent for a moment, feeling the weight of that confession. "Maybe because I don't look at this sea only through the lens of tragedy," he said carefully. "I look at it through the numbers, the curves of the flow, but I also see its beauty — at the same time as the danger. Maybe you need someone who looks at the sea in a different way from you, so that you can temporarily put the pain aside without betraying the memory of your father."

That sentence made Thao Nhi stop and turn to look at him with eyes of surprise and emotion. No one, not even those closest to her, had ever expressed it so precisely.

"You know me better than I thought," she said softly.

"Maybe because I also had to learn to look at something I loved in a different way, after that thing was no longer the same," he replied, his eyes looking far out to sea. "After my shoulder injury, I hated the swimming pool for almost a year. I didn't dare look at the water, because every time I looked, I remembered the dream I had lost. But then I realized, if I kept avoiding it, I would never find any meaning from that passion again."

They continued walking in silence for a while, with only the sound of the waves and the wind for company. Finally, Bach Duong spoke, his voice becoming more serious.

"Miss Thao Nhi, I need to tell you something, even though I don't have complete evidence yet." He stopped, turned to look at her. "Yesterday, when I asked Gold Coast Group for the initial flow impact assessment report — which is required before they can get a construction permit — they gave me a document, but I found some irregularities in it."

"How unusual?" Thao Nhi asked, her attention immediately focused on his words.

"That report stated that the survey was carried out over three months, with measurement data at twelve points along the coast," Bach Duong explained, his voice gradually becoming sharp as if he were analyzing a technical problem. "But when I compared it with publicly available hydrometeorological data for the area, I found that during the period they announced the survey, there were two major monsoons that were not mentioned in the report — something that would have been very clearly noted if the survey actually took place continuously during those three months."

"You mean that report is fake?" Thao Nhi asked, her voice tense.

"I don't dare say for sure," Bach Duong replied cautiously, but his eyes showed that he was also leaning towards that possibility. "But there is a high possibility that this report was drafted abridgedly, and it is possible that most of the data is deduced from general theoretical models, not a full field survey as they claim. This is a fairly common behavior in some projects that want to speed up the process - hiring a consulting unit to make a report just for the sake of it, enough to pass the paperwork appraisal stage, without actually investing in a serious survey."

Thao Nhi felt a familiar anger welling up in her heart, a feeling she had learned to control but had never truly gone away. “Exactly like eight years ago,” she said, her voice shaking. "Phu Vinh Sea Sand also has full licenses and impact assessment reports, but no one checks whether those reports are substantive or not."

"That's what worries me," Bach Duong said, his voice low. "If it is true that history is repeating itself, then this is no longer just a technical issue. This is a system, a way of operating that has been proven effective in circumventing safety regulations, and is likely still being used by those involved."

"Do you think there is a connection between Phu Vinh Sea Sand eight years ago and the Gold Coast now?" Thao Nhi asked, her heart beating fast.

"I don't have proof yet," Bach Duong replied, "but if you can find more information about the people behind Phu Vinh Sea Sand, I can help you compare it with Gold Coast's current legal records. Sometimes, such companies change their names and structures, but the people behind them are still the same faces."

Thao Nhi nodded, feeling both worried and full of determination. "I'll ask Uncle Dat again. He said he once saw the name of a young CEO in Cat Bien Phu Vinh's papers, but couldn't remember clearly. Maybe if I ask more carefully, he'll remember more details."

They stopped at the end of the beach, where the first rocks of Cape Sa Den began to rise from the sand. The first moonlight of the month shone on the water, creating a shimmering silver strip of light, and in that moment, both were silent, letting the stillness of the night sea envelop them.

"Thank you for believing in me," Thao Nhi said softly, turning to look at Bach Duong. "Not only believe what I say about the flow, but also believe the story about my father."

"I not only believe, I also feel compelled to do something," Bach Duong replied, his eyes looking at her in the dim moonlight, containing an emotion that neither of them dared to name. "From the day I met you, I realized my job is not just about numbers and technical reports. It's also about the real people behind each of those numbers — like you, like the family of four we saved the other day, like your father."

The sea breeze blew past, causing Thao Nhi's hair to blow gently in front of her face, and in a brief moment, Bach Duong reached out to gently tuck that strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so natural that neither of them had time to realize its intimacy until his hand gently touched her cheek.

The two stood still, the distance between them seeming to narrow in just a breath. But then Thao Nhi stepped back slightly, not because she didn't want to, but because a part of her was still afraid of these new emotions, while she was carrying too many burdens on her shoulders.

"It's late," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I should go home."

"Yes," Bach Duong replied, also taking a step back, but his eyes still did not leave her. "I will be in touch as soon as I have more information about the impact assessment report."

Before turning onto the road leading to her mother's shop, she stopped for a moment, looking back at Bach Duong who was still standing in the same place, his figure silhouetted against the sand under the moonlight. She remembered the first morning he appeared at the rescue station, with his reserved civil servant appearance and principles of "scientific objectivity" that annoyed her. Only two weeks had passed, but now she couldn't imagine what the coming days of this summer would be like without his presence — not just because of the numbers and measuring equipment he carried, but because of the way he looked at her, listened to her, not as a victim to be pitied, but as a true companion in this war.

She thought of Mr. Dat's advice - be careful, because the people behind this are not average. She knew he was right, and now that Bach Duong had begun to get deeper into the investigation, her worry was no longer just for herself, but for him as well — someone from another place, without the protection of the town community like her, could easily become a target if those in power felt threatened.

But even with that worry, she still couldn't help the gentle smile that appeared on her lips when she thought about the way his hand touched her cheek, gentle and hesitant, as if he was fumbling through a new emotion just as much as she was.