Chapter 16 — The Finish Line of Years Gone By

Two weeks after the signing meeting, Khue went to Bạt Phong Club to directly observe a training session, at the request of the media department who wanted to record documents to introduce the athletes who will participate in the Bình Minh International Marathon. Son welcomed her in the lobby, leading her to the running track area, where a small group of athletes were warming up.

"This is Nhật Tiến, the youngest but also the most promising face of the current club." Son introduced, pointing to a tall, skinny guy who was intently performing stretching exercises with a concentration rarely seen at the age of nineteen. "He's only nineteen years old, but his personal half marathon record is already one hour and fifteen minutes, a respectable figure for his age."

"Hello sister." Nhật Tiến walked over and bowed politely to Khue, his eyes shining with youthful enthusiasm, sweat still beading on his forehead even though the official practice session had not yet begun. "I heard Mr. Son talk about the upcoming tournament, I'm looking forward to it."

"Thank you." Khue smiled, impressed by the young athlete's maturity, a maturity rarely seen at the age of nineteen, when most of his peers are still engrossed in other youthful concerns. "I hope to see you play your best at the tournament."

While filming, a young woman wearing a sports jacket with the club logo printed on it walked up, holding a clipboard, and exchanged a few short sentences with Son about Nhật Tiến's diet before turning to greet Khue.

"This is Diễm Khanh, the club's sports nutritionist." Son introduced. "She is in charge of developing the menu for the entire team, especially the pre-competition carbohydrate loading period, which is very important for long-distance athletes."

"Nice to meet you." Diễm Khanh smiled friendly and shook Khue's hand, without any awkwardness or scrutiny, even though Khue knew clearly, through Ky's brief statement earlier, that this woman had a period of attachment to Son. "I heard that this Bình Minh tournament has a separate nutrition station for professional athletes. I look forward to coordinating with the tournament's medical team to calculate appropriate diets."

"I will send detailed information soon," Khue replied, trying to maintain a natural attitude, although inside he could not help but feel a little curious about the relationship between these two colleagues.

After Diễm Khanh left to continue work, Son invited Khue into his small office to discuss more about the preparation plan for Nhật Tiến — nutrition plan, gradually increasing intensity training schedule, and regular medical check-ups to ensure he did not suffer injuries due to overtraining, an always-present risk for young athletes who are enthusiastic but sometimes lack experience in controlling their own limits.

"This week we let Tien run twenty-five kilometers of tempo training at threshold speed, combined with leg strength training twice a week to increase the stability of the knee joint," Son explained, pointing to the practice schedule hanging on the wall, full of technical symbols that took Khue a while to fully understand. "Eight months until competition day, there is still enough time to build a solid physical foundation without fear of injury due to impatience."

"You calculated it very carefully." Khue commented, truly impressed.

"This profession does not allow you to be careless," Son replied, his voice serious. "A mistake in a lesson plan can cause a young athlete to suffer a serious injury, or even end his career before it even starts. I don't want the kids to have to go through that."

"He reminds me of myself when I was seventeen or eighteen," Son said, his voice a bit nostalgic as the two sat in the office, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window creating long streaks of light on the floor. "The same enthusiasm, the same desire to prove yourself, even though your background is nothing special."

"Is Nhật Tiến's family also having difficulty?" Khue asked, curious.

"His parents worked as farmers in a mountainous district. He was the first person in his family to pursue professional sports." Son nodded. "I accepted him into the club with a full scholarship, because I understand better than anyone that talent does not differentiate between rich and poor, but the opportunity for that talent to be nurtured always favors those with more means."

That statement made Khue thoughtful, looking at Son with different eyes — not only admiration for a talented coach, but also a deeper understanding of the journey he has gone through, of how his own experiences have shaped his later work philosophy.

"You know," Khue said, her voice quieter, "every time I see you working with young athletes like that, I think of the way you used to treat yourself in the past — always trying to stand on your own two feet, not wanting to rely on anyone." Son was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly, his distant eyes as if recalling an old memory. "I still remember the sentence my father once told me, when I first started knowing you - if you want to be with anyone, you must first stand on your own two feet. That sentence, I carried with me throughout my career, and now I also teach it to the kids on the team."

"Your father is a profound person," Khue said, smiling slightly.

"YES." Son nodded, then hesitated for a moment, as if considering something. "Khue, I have a question, perhaps a bit sudden. After my family moved away, did you... did you try to find me?"

Khue looked up at him, her eyes slightly surprised by the sudden question, then nodded slowly. "Yes. I asked Mr. Khuong to inquire, and even asked my driver to drive to Hòa Điền once to inquire at the hospital, but no one was willing to provide information because of confidentiality regulations. I also sent a letter, but it probably didn't reach you."

"I also sent a letter," Son said, his voice low. "Four letters, during the first four months. But my family had to move twice due to circumstances, so probably all your letters sent to the old address were lost."

The two looked at each other and were silent for a long time, as if they were piecing together the pieces of an unfinished story that for the past thirteen years, each person only held half the truth, no one knew the other half.

"So no one is at fault," Khue spoke softly, her voice choked with emotion, feeling like a heavy rock that had been pressing on her chest for many years had suddenly been somewhat relieved.

"Maybe so," Son replied, but there was still something incomplete in his eyes, as if there was something he didn't dare say yet. "But I think, there are still more things we need to talk about, not just about lost letters."

Before Khue could ask more, Son's phone rang - a call from the team doctor announcing a routine health check for the athletes next week. The private moment that had just opened between the two was interrupted by the reality of work, and Son, after answering the phone, returned with his expression returning to his usual professional composure.

"Sorry, I have to prepare for the medical exam next week," he said, standing up. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Okay." Khue nodded, even though in her heart she still had the unfinished feeling of the conversation not having reached its end.

On the way to the parking lot, she passed by the track area and saw Nhật Tiến still diligently running a few extra laps even though the main training session had long ended, sweat soaked his shirt but his steps were still determined and steadfast. She stopped for a moment, observed him, then suddenly realized that the image reminded her of an early morning thirteen years ago, on the slope of Bến Cá, when she first saw a poor student running alone in the morning dew, with no one to cheer him on, with nothing but a borrowed stopwatch and an extraordinary will.

Perhaps, she thought, that was what made her fall in love with Son from the first days - not his appearance, not his pure talent, but the way he faced difficulties with silent perseverance, without complaining, without demands, just silently trying his best. And now, seeing how he passed that spirit on to another generation of young athletes, she was even more certain that he, despite many ups and downs, still retained the good core that she had loved since her student days.

She left the club that day with a mixed feeling — both relieved to partly understand the truth behind thirteen years of silence, and worried about something Son was still keeping secret, something her hunch told her would not be easy for him to say.