Chapter 2 — The Finish Line of Years Gone By

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the sunlight slanted through the phoenix canopy, leaving shadows of dappled leaves on the clay track. The Vọng Hải school's athletics team had a total of twelve people, standing in two horizontal rows in front of teacher Khuong. Their gym uniforms were faded from frequent washing, and some even had their shoulders patched because the threads were torn.

"This year's regional tournament is held earlier than usual, twenty days from now." Teacher Khuong stood in front of the line, his voice was steady but powerful, causing the whole team to fall silent. "Our school registered four events: men's 800 meters, men's 1500 meters, cross country relay, and women's long jump. Whoever is on the list knows what they have to do."

Son stood in the front row, along with the 800 and 1500 meter teams, of which he was the only person to register for both. Next to him, Huan stood straight, eager to show off because this was the first year he was able to compete in the relay instead of just running the 400 meter single.

"What facilities do we have? Teacher has said it many times," Teacher Khuong continued, his voice a bit bitter and familiar. "There's no track on the field, there's only one usable stopwatch left, everyone has their own shoes. I can't promise you better conditions, I can only promise that I won't give up before you." No one said anything. That was almost a familiar opening sentence every time the team met, and all twelve people standing there were familiar with it, just like they were used to the fact that the track had potholes, used to the fact that during the rainy season the field was flooded and had to move the practice session to the classroom hallway.

"Teacher." A girl's voice rang out from behind the sparse audience - only a few curious students were watching, including Khue, standing next to another tall girl with short hair and sharp eyes as if observing everything with a critical eye.

Teacher Khuong turned around, squinting slightly because he didn't know the face. "Are you a new transfer student to class 11A2?"

"Yes, I'm Khue." The girl took a few steps forward and stood at the edge of the field, not daring to step completely inside because she knew it was the team's territory. "I want to ask you to help my team with something. It's not running, I'm very bad at running." She laughed, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "I see that the team only has one stopwatch, and for one person to coach and take notes, it must be very difficult for you. I would like to be the secretary, record achievements, and monitor the training progress of each student, is that okay, teacher?"

The whole team turned their heads to look at the strange girl, there were a few small whispers. Son stood in line, his heart beating a little faster than usual, for some unknown reason.

Teacher Khuong was silent for a moment, evaluating the new student with the eyes of someone who had been coaching for nearly twenty years, enough to recognize the difference between a temporarily curious child and someone who really had serious intentions.

"Do you know how to record achievements? It's not just about writing numbers on paper and that's it," he asked, his voice still testing.

"I used to study at my old school's athletics club in the city. I didn't compete, but I was in charge of the books for two years in a row," Khue replied without hesitation, clearly having prepared this answer. "I know how to create a time tracking table for each session, calculate the percentage of improvement, and also how to analyze which athletes are at risk of injury due to overtraining." The answer made Mr. Khuong raise his eyebrows slightly, clearly surprised. He nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll let you try for a week. If you don't do well, no one will blame you." He pointed to an old plastic chair under the phoenix tree, where a notebook and ballpoint pen were placed in front of him - the team's only working corner. "That's your seat." Khue smiled brightly, nodded vigorously, then turned around and waved to her short-haired friend to wait. "Ky, come here, I'll introduce you."

The girl named Ky walked over, crossed her arms across her chest, and looked around the yard with an unimpressed expression. "Are you sure you really want to do this? Sit all afternoon in the sun recording data, while your friends in the city are having milk tea."

"I like it," Khue replied briefly, sat down on the chair, opened the old notebook and looked through the pages of Mr. Khuong's scribbled notes from before. "Besides, aren't you happy? There's an entire system to reorganize, such meager numbers."

Ky shook her head, but still sat down next to her friend, pretending she would stay and watch for fun. "Hey kid, it's true that an occupational disease was inherited from your old man."

The team began practice, divided into groups according to competition content. Son and three other friends ran intervals on a clay track — six laps of four hundred meters, resting ninety seconds between each lap. This is the exercise he hates the most because it feels like his lungs are suffocated in the fourth and fifth rounds, but it's also the exercise that teacher Khuong always says "decides who will come first and who will come second" in a mid-range race.

In the third round, when Son ran past the phoenix tree area, he heard Khue calling out the time, her voice clear and decisive, without hesitation like a person new to the job:

"Son, one minute twenty-eight! Three seconds slower than the previous round, keep your breathing steady!"

He didn't have time to respond, he could only nod while panting, but inside he was a little surprised. She wasn't just reading numbers — she was comparing, analyzing, just like what she promised Mr. Khuong.

At the end of the practice session, the whole team gathered under the phoenix tree to listen to Mr. Khuong's summary. Khue gave him the notebook, in which she had drawn up a neat table, with one row for each athlete, one column for each lap, and red notes at places where time had slowed down abnormally.

"This girl is fine." Teacher Khuong flipped the notebook back and forth, nodded, then looked up at the whole team. "From now on, everyone who practices must look at this board to know where they are. Don't practice based on your feelings anymore."

Son stood at the end of the line, took advantage of the time when everyone gradually dispersed, then walked closer to where Khue was packing up the books. He was still shy, not used to talking to girls, especially one he had just met that morning in such a strange way.

"Thank," he said, his voice a bit stiff. "Because of this morning, and also... because of today."

"Nothing." Khue looked up and smiled. "I feel like our team lacks people to do this job, and I also like it," She paused for a moment, then added, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. "What is your best time in running 1500 meters?"

"Four minutes twenty-two," Son replied, not hiding it. "Four seconds away from the school record."

"So twenty days from now, at the regional tournament, are you going to break that record?" Khue looked straight into his eyes, not like a polite question, but like she was really waiting for a serious answer.

Son paused for a second. No one had ever asked him that question in such a direct way, including Mr. Khuong, who always understated it so he wouldn't be pressured too soon.

"I will try," he replied, then corrected himself immediately, his voice firmer. "I will destroy it." Khue nodded, as if that answer was exactly what she expected. "Then I will record each of your training sessions carefully, so that twenty days from now you will know exactly how much you have improved."

From far away, Ky was waiting, calling back: "Khue, the driver's car is here, let's go home, I have to study more at night."

Khue quickly put the notebook in her pocket, greeted Son, and ran away. Son stood watching as a familiar black car waited outside the school gate. The driver expertly opened the car door for her, as if it were a habit he had repeated hundreds of times.

Huan walked over, patted his shoulder, and grinned. "Hey, you're really rich. I asked the class 11A2, those three kids are the owners of Khang Vinh construction group, the company that is building a new urban area outside the fishing port."

Son was silent, in his mind suddenly appeared the image of the large construction site outside the fishing port where his father still went to work every day - the tall scaffolding, the loud sound of concrete mixers from morning to night, and the large sign standing in front of the construction site gate with the words "Vọng Hải Urban Area Project - Investor: Khang Vinh Group" that he still passed by every time he cycled from home to school.

"My father works at that construction site," he spoke softly, half as an announcement, half as if reminding himself of the distance that already existed between the two of them, but he had never paid close attention until today.

Huan fell silent, not knowing what else to say, just patted him on the shoulder, then they both quietly walked their bicycles to the school gate, the afternoon sunlight began to turn yellow on the red dirt road leading to Bến Cá hamlet, where low-roofed houses were close together, no more than five kilometers away from the new urban area that was growing every day out there, but as if they belonged to two completely different worlds.

That night, when Son returned home, his mother - Mrs. Bùi Thị Nhu - was sitting on the porch picking water spinach to bring to the market to sell the next morning. The yellow compact light shone on her face, which was already covered with many wrinkles even though she was not yet fifty. His father, Mr. Hồ Bá Đảnh, hasn't returned yet, probably working overtime at the construction site to earn some extra money working overtime.

"Have you eaten yet?" She asked, without raising her head, her hands still nimbly separating each vegetable stem.

"No, I'll leave the portion for dad and eat later," Son replied, parked his bike in the corner of the yard, then sat down on the steps next to his mother, helping her pick vegetables. "Mom, today a new kid transferred to my class. His family is the investor of that construction site outside the fishing port," Mrs. Nhu paused for a moment, then continued her work, her voice calm but somewhat reserved. "Is that so? Don't get involved too much with people who are different from your class, it's tiring."

"I don't have anything to do with anything, I'm just a classmate," Son replied, but for some reason, there was a slight resistance in his heart to his mother's words, even though he himself did not clearly understand why.

Mrs. Nhu did not say anything more, just sighed very softly, like the sigh of someone who is too used to having to defend against good things that have a flashy appearance, because her life experience teaches that flashy things often come with prices that poor people cannot afford.

Son sat there, still picking vegetables, eyes looking out into the dark yard, far away, at the end of the dirt road, the lights of Khang Vinh construction site still glowed all night, like a streak of light that never went out in the middle of the dark poor neighborhood.