Chapter 15 — The Finish Line of Years Gone By

Uông Đắc Thành's office was on the twenty-fifth floor, two floors higher than Khue's office and twice as large—a not-so-coincidental arrangement in the group's hidden power structure. Khue walked in and saw him sitting behind his desk, flipping through a stack of financial reports without bothering to look up when she entered.

"Sit down," Mr. Thanh said, his voice cold, still not taking his eyes off the stack of papers. "I just took a look at this month's expense report for the marathon project. Three hundred and sixty million for the survey of the track, one hundred and twenty million for the contract with the track and field club. Do you think these numbers are reasonable?"

"All expenditures are within the budget approved at the beginning of the quarter," Khue replied, her voice maintaining professionalism even though she clearly felt the implicit attack in the question. "Surveying the running track is a mandatory step to ensure the safety of athletes, and the contract with Bạt Phong Club will bring great media value, because they have young athletes who are attracting attention from the running world."

"Bạt Phong Club," Mr. Thanh repeated, his voice a bit sarcastic. "I heard that the head coach there is an old acquaintance of yours, from high school. Is that true?"

Khue paused for a second, not expecting that personal information to reach Mr. Thanh's ears so quickly. "That's right, but that does not affect the decision to cooperate. Bạt Phong Club is chosen based on professional criteria, not personal relationships."

"I hope so." Mr. Thanh put down the stack of papers, looked straight at Khue, his eyes cold. "Because if the Board of Directors discovers that this project worth tens of billions of dong was decided partly for your personal feelings, not only will the project be at risk, but your reputation within the company will also be seriously affected. I say this for your good, not to threaten you."

"I understand what you mean," Khue replied, trying to keep her voice calm even though anger was rising in her heart and was difficult to suppress. "But I also hope you understand that I have worked in this industry long enough to know the difference between professional decisions and personal emotions."

Mr. Thanh looked at her for a moment, then shrugged slightly, switching to a more conciliatory tone but still containing a clear warning. "I'm just reminding you. This project is still more than eight months away, and there are still many risks that can occur. If close to the competition date and the financial numbers do not meet expectations, I will have to propose to the Board of Directors to reconsider the entire thing, including cutting the budget midway."

Khue left Mr. Thanh's office with a heavy feeling on her shoulders, not only because of financial pressure, but also because of the feeling that all her actions, no matter how professional, could be viewed through the lens of suspicion just because of a personal relationship in the past.

She returned to the office and called Ky in to vent her feelings, an old habit that both of them had kept since they were students.

"Mr. Thanh really knows how to choose the right time to humiliate others," Ky said, after listening to Khue tell the whole story, her voice was full of resentment for her friend. "But you also have to be careful, Khue. Not because he's right, but because in this company, if there's even a small loophole for others to suspect, they will dig into it immediately."

"I know." Khue sighed, sat down on the chair, rubbing her aching temples. "But is it because I'm afraid that others will think badly that I have to choose a lower quality club to cooperate with? Bac Phong is really the best choice professionally, I'm not biased at all."

"I believe you," Ky said, her voice softened. "But there's one thing I wonder about, not related to work. What do you and Son think? Do you keep your distance at work when it's clear that both of you still have feelings for each other?"

Khue was silent, did not answer immediately, her eyes fixed on the distance outside the window. "I don't know, Ky. Ever since the day he left, I've wondered whether it was because of my family, because of my father's construction site, that everything turned out this way, even though he never said it."

"You think he blames your family?" Ky asked, frowning.

"I'm not sure," Khue replied, her voice trembling a bit. "But every time we talk about the company, I still see something different in his eyes, like he's trying to suppress something. I'm afraid, if we really want to get back together, the shadow of that past will always stand between us, and I don't know how to remove it."

"Then let's talk frankly with each other." Ky advised, his voice firm. "If you keep leaving things in limbo like this, it will only make both of you more tired."

"I know." Khue nodded, but her heart was still filled with so many worries that she couldn't find a way out.

***

At the same time, at Bạt Phong Club, Son is also facing doubts from within his own team. One of the club's main sponsors, after hearing about the cooperation agreement with Khang Vinh, called to express concern.

"Mr. Son, I am not opposed to cooperation, but I am concerned about the level of commercialization of this tournament." The sponsor representative spoke over the phone. "Khang Vinh is a real estate group. They organize the race mainly to promote their brand and polish their image after a difficult period. I'm afraid the club's athletes will only become marketing tools, not treated in the true spirit of pure sportsmanship." Those words touched on a dull worry that Son kept in his heart but had never said out loud - since his early days in professional sports, he had witnessed many cases of young athletes having their images taken advantage of by brands and commercial events without really caring about their training process and long-term health. The memory of his family having to face a power disparity before a large corporation - even though Mr. Vinh handled it properly that time - also made it impossible for him to completely let go of that reservation.

That evening, when Huan stopped by Son's office to discuss work, he noticed his friend's unusually pensive look.

"Are you worried about the Khang Vinh case?" Huan asked directly.

"Partly," Son admitted, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "I don't want the kids on the team to become advertising tools for a corporation trying to revive its image after a business crisis. They deserve to play for passion, for real achievements, not for advertising banners."

"But you also have to admit, Khue is not like those who work in pure commercial media," Huan said, his voice sincere. "I see the way he works, he really cares about professional quality, not just focusing on image."

"I know." Son sighed, unconsciously referring to himself in the third person as if talking to himself. "But this is not just about trusting Khue. This is about having to trust an entire system, a corporation that I once had... not very pleasant memories of."

Huan remained silent, clearly understanding what Son was talking about - his father's accident, even though it was handled properly, still left a psychological scar in Son's heart that cannot be easily erased, especially now that he has to work closely with that same corporation.

"Are you going to talk about this with Khue?" Huan asked.

"Not yet." Son shook his head. "We haven't been able to talk to each other about more important things, let alone this. I'm afraid that if I talk, he'll think I still blame his family, when in fact I don't."

"Then you should say it sooner." Huan advised, his voice serious. "The longer a misunderstanding lasts, the harder it is to clear up, you know that, right?"

Son did not answer, just silently looked out the window, where the city lights were starting to come on at dusk, and in his heart, the question of whether he should open up and say everything he was holding or continue to keep silent as he had been used to doing for many years, still had no clear answer.

He remembered that night in the hospital last year, when he told Khue on the phone that he needed time to organize his mind, and she respected that, waiting for him without forcing him. Now, thirteen years later, he realized he was still repeating the same old habit — keeping silent, bearing all his concerns on his own, instead of trusting and sharing with the person he cared about most. Perhaps, that is the biggest lesson that the time apart has not yet taught him, even though his body has matured, even though his career is much more stable than that of that poor student.

"Okay, let me go first." Huan stood up and patted his friend's shoulder one last time before leaving. "Think carefully, but don't wait too long. Time waits for no one, Son, we're not young anymore to keep hesitating like we were when we were seventeen."

Huan's words still echoed in Son's head long after his friend had left the office. As the city lights came on outside, Khue was also struggling with concerns not so different from his own.