Chapter 4 — Swept into the Wave of Love

The preparation area for athletes was located behind a row of white canvas tents set up along the edge of Ghenh Rang beach, where only those with access cards were allowed to step through the temporary fence. Viet Khoi, with his card as a defending champion athlete, had no trouble getting through the security checkpoints, but when he arrived, he realized that finding someone who was intentionally hiding his face among hundreds of other athletes was not as simple as he thought.

He stopped in front of the information board listing the tents of each group, searching for the name "Khue" among the dozens of squares with the names of the teams. Finally he saw a small tent in the most hidden corner, with no sponsorship banners, no group name, only the number "07" written in handwriting. The tent's canvas door was closed, leaving no gaps to see inside.

Viet Khoi stepped forward, stood in front of the canvas, hesitated for a moment before calling out. "Excuse me, is anyone in there?"

There was no reply. He waited a few seconds then called again, his voice more patient. "I'm Viet Khoi. I just want to ask a few questions."

Still silent. He stood and waited a while longer, clearly feeling a very slight movement behind the canvas, as if someone was holding their breath, trying not to make any noise so that he would think the tent was empty. Finally, a logistics worker passed by and saw him standing hesitantly and spoke up.

"Are you looking for number 07? You probably went for a post-competition medical check-up, the medical area is right at the main gate."

Viet Khoi thanked him and turned away, knowing that standing any longer was useless. He walked around the registration area, stopped by the reception desk where athlete records were kept, and tried to ask for more information about athlete No. 07 with the excuse of wanting to send an invitation to interact after the tournament, but the staff on duty shook his head and pointed to a red-stamped note on the computer: "The file was specifically approved by the Organizing Committee, personal information is kept confidential at the request of the athlete. Sorry, I am not allowed to reveal more."

He stood there for a moment, his fingers lightly tapping the table, then asked another question seemingly aimlessly. "Who approved this file?"

The employee glanced at the screen and replied, sounding somewhat surprised. "It was Chairman Lu Khac Bon who signed it directly. It's very rare, usually these special cases are handled by deputies."

Viet Khoi nodded his thanks and left, but that answer kept lingering in his mind all the way back to the resort. Why was an anonymous rookie athlete with no achievements and no background personally approved by the head of the organizing committee for a special application? That doesn't make sense, unless there was some reason why Lu Khac Bon was particularly interested, or especially concerned, about the true identity of the person named Khue.

In the afternoon, Viet Khoi sat in his room, replayed the video recording of the morning's match on the sports news site, and watched it over and over again countless times. He paid attention to every little detail: the way Khue tilted her head when observing the waves before rowing out, the way her shoulders were slightly hunched when she was concentrating hard, and especially a very small gesture - her left hand always unconsciously rubbed the crescent-shaped scar on the back of her hand every time she stood waiting for the wave, as a habit to reassure herself.

He clearly remembered that the night at Vong Trieu restaurant, the strange girl had exactly the same gesture, gently rubbing the scar every time the conversation touched on something that made her uncomfortable. A small detail, seemingly meaningless to outsiders, but to Viet Khoi, who spent an entire night observing her every move under the moonlight, it was irrefutable evidence.

He called Uncle Long and told him everything he had observed, not even hiding the story of the night at Vong Trieu restaurant. The other end of the line was silent for a long time before Mr. Long spoke, his voice completely serious.

"Are you sure you're not just imagining it because you lost the battle and feeling self-satisfied?"

"I'm sure," Viet Khoi replied decisively. "The voice, the scar, even that habit of rubbing his hands. It can't be that much of a coincidence."

Uncle Long sighed over the phone. "If that's true, then it's complicated. That girl deliberately hid her identity so well that President Lu Khac Bon himself had to sign and approve the file. This is not as simple as a girl who is afraid of the media, Khoi. Be careful, don't do anything too hasty."

Uncle Long's warning made Viet Khoi pensive all evening. He was not a person easily swayed by vague doubts, but there was something about this whole series of events that made him feel deeply uneasy, as if he were standing at the edge of an underground wave that had not yet appeared, only feeling its pressure building up under his feet without seeing its true form.

On the way to the restaurant for dinner, he happened to meet Cao Boi Nghi, a familiar female sports reporter who has been closely following the tournament in recent seasons. She sat alone at the table on the porch, laptop open, typing continuously on the keyboard. When she saw him, she immediately waved and called back.

"Today's champion doesn't look happy," she said, her joking tone familiar to a veteran journalist, but her eyes observed him quite carefully. "Losing for the first time in three seasons must be very unpleasant."

"It's normal," Viet Khoi sat down opposite, trying to keep his voice gentle. "Have you written an article about athlete number 07?"

Cao Boi Nghi laughed and closed the computer. "I tried but couldn't get anything out of it. The organizers locked the documents more tightly than when transferring star players. I asked around the logistics staff and only knew that she registered from an address in the North, submitted the application by mail, and did not come directly to the mandatory interview as usual."

"Didn't come to the face-to-face interview but still got approved?" Viet Khoi frowned.

"That's right, it's very strange. Normally, the organizers are strict about this matter, anyone who doesn't come to the interview is considered straight. But this time there's an exception, and it's also handled by boss Bon himself." Cao Boi Nghi lowered his voice and looked around as if afraid someone would hear. "I suspect there's something going on, but there's not enough evidence to write about it. Do you know anything else? Tell me, consider it an exchange of information."

Viet Khoi shook his head, not wanting to reveal what he knew right now, even though in his heart the reporter's questions only reinforced the unusual feeling growing inside him. He excused himself early, using the excuse that he had to rest for the next round, but in reality his mind was confused with a series of unanswered questions, and an increasingly clear determination that he had to find the truth himself, and could not rely solely on fragmentary pieces of information from others.

That evening, he decided to try a different approach. Instead of going to the crowded preparation area, he hung around the beach area reserved for athletes near the beach, where many people often go to enjoy the fresh air after a stressful day of competition. He guessed that if Khue really avoided crowds and cameras, maybe she would go to deserted places similar to Vong Trieu restaurant the night before.

Your guess is not wrong. Far away on the sand, under the faint light from the resort, he recognized a familiar figure sitting alone, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes looking out at the night sea. No hat, no goggles, just long hair flowing in the wind. Viet Khoi stood still for a moment, his heart beating faster, then slowly walked forward, trying not to make any noise that would startle her and run away.

But when he was about ten steps away, she turned around, as if she had a sixth sense warning of someone else's presence. The two people's eyes met in the twilight, and in that moment, Viet Khoi knew without a doubt that his hunch was correct.

"You," she said softly, her voice full of alarm, quickly standing up as if planning to leave.

"Wait," Viet Khoi raised his hand, his voice softer than he thought he could be in this situation. "I don't mean to bother. I just... I need to know the truth, that's all."

She stood still, not running away but not coming closer either, keeping a careful distance between the two of them, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight both showing defense and a hint of deep fear that she was trying her best to hide.

"What truth?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly even though she tried to remain calm.

Viet Khoi looked straight into her eyes, each word uttered slowly and firmly. "The truth is that you are the person I met at Vong Trieu restaurant the other night."

The air between the two seemed to freeze for a few seconds. The ocean waves were still crashing steadily in the distance, the wind was still blowing through the coconut trees, but between them, time seemed to stop, waiting for the answer that would reshape everything between the two of them from this moment onwards.

Viet Khoi stood still, not taking any further steps, giving her enough distance and time without feeling pressured. He realized her hands were clasped together in front of her stomach, her thumbs unconsciously rubbing over and over the crescent-shaped scar, the same gesture he had observed in the morning video. That small detail, in the midst of this tension, made him even more certain than ever that he was not mistaken.

The sea breeze tonight is colder than last night, carrying moisture signaling that a shower could come at any time. In the distance, the lights from the athlete's rest area cast a pale halo, enough for Viet Khoi to clearly see her fiercely struggling face, between continuing to deny and facing the exposed truth. He waited, patiently the way he always waited for the right wave, knowing that forcing her now would only make her retreat deeper into the defensive shell she had built up over the years.