Chapter 20 — The Machine of Dreams

Two weeks before the national finals, the organizing committee stipulated that every competing team had to complete its robot design in the final version and submit official technical documents; major structural changed would not be allowed after the deadline. This was the last comprehensive test before packaging the robot, a final check of all functions, especially the new object-stacking mechanism that the whole team had devoted all its efforts to perfecting over the past three weeks.

The atmosphere in the factory that afternoon was suffocatingly tense, not only because of deadline pressure, but also because of the still-unhealed rift between team members. Hoàng Nam arrived nearly half an hour late, her face so pale and tired that Bảo Châu, even though she still kept her distance, couldn't help but feel worried when she saw him.

"Sorry for being late," he said, his voice hoarse, without explaining the reason further. "Let's start testing."

The whole team quickly got into position, Tấn Phát sat in front of the control computer, Đức stood next to him ready to intervene if there was a mechanical problem, and Bảo Châu and Hoàng Nam watched from opposite sides of the test field, the physical distance between them seemed to accurately reflect the distance in their hearts right now.

The robot started up and moved through the first obstacles with a steady performance as always. But when it came to the new challenge stage—stacking three blocks of objects on top of each other with high precision—the robot arm began to show signs of abnormality; its normally smooth movements became jerky and inaccurate.

"Something's wrong," Đức said, frowning and observing. "The arm movement is not as smooth as it was during testing this morning."

"Continue testing," Hoàng Nam ordered, his voice tense. "Maybe it's just a small mistake."

But when the robot arm tried to place the third block of objects on top of the pile, there was a sudden loud crack, and the entire arm mechanism collapsed, the block clattering to the floor, dragging the previously stacked pile of objects with it toppling to pieces.

"ARE NOT!" Hoàng Nam shouted, rushed over immediately, knelt down to check the robot lying motionless, its arm partially broken, metal and plastic debris scattered all over the floor.

The whole team gathered around, dumbfounded by the scene before them. Đức, after a few minutes of careful examination, looked up with a pale face. "The arm's main axis of rotation is completely broken," he said, his voice shaking. "It's not a software error, it's a physical structural error. This part needs to be rebuilt from scratch."

"What does it mean to build from scratch?" Tấn Phát asked, his voice panicked. "How much time do we have left before we have to submit the final technical documents?"

"Three days," Hoàng Nam replied, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes still glued to the broken arm. "Only three days left."

The silence covered the entire factory, so heavy that Bảo Châu could clearly hear her heart beating rapidly. They had three days to redesign, build, and test the most important part of the entire robot system—a nearly impossible task, especially while the team was still struggling with unresolved internal rifts.

"How did this happen?" Tấn Phát asked, his voice filled with confusion, turning to look at Đức. "This part isn't newly installed. We've been testing it for a week now."

"It's probably due to metal fatigue accumulated through repeated testing," Đức explained, his voice shaking with self-blame. "I should have checked the material's durability more carefully after each test."

"It's not your fault," Hoàng Nam said, standing up, trying to regain composure despite clearly struggling to control his own emotions. "It's my fault. I should have checked this design more carefully before accepting it, but I..." he stopped, not finishing his sentence, just clenching his fists, gritting his teeth.

Bảo Châu, standing there looking at that scene, felt her heart ache with both pity and helplessness. She knew clearly that the deeper cause of this incident was not simply metal fatigue — but the consequence of many weeks of Hoàng Nam's absence and lack of concentration, leaving the whole team to fend for themselves without meticulous technical supervision like before. But this was not the time to blame, when time was running out minute by minute.

"We need to calm down," she said, trying to keep her voice steady even though she was panicking on the inside. "Blaming each other right now won't solve anything. We need a plan."

"What's the plan now?" Tấn Phát asked, his voice almost desperate. "Three days is not enough to redesign such a complex part from scratch, not to mention testing to ensure it works properly."

Teacher Vinh, as soon as he heard the news, rushed to the factory and stood looking at the ruined scene before his eyes. His face could not hide his deep concern. "I will ask the school board for permission to let you use the workshop day and night for the next three days if necessary," he said, his voice trying to be reassuring. "But you need to work together, really together, if you want any chance of finishing in time."

The whole team looked at each other, everyone with tired, worried faces, and in that moment, Bảo Châu realized more clearly than ever that they were standing at an important crossroads — not only the crossroads that would decide the robot's fate and the chance to compete in the national finals, but also the crossroads that would decide whether the rifts that had been forming over the past few weeks, between her and Hoàng Nam, between Hoàng Nam and the whole team, could be mended in time or not, before everything they had lost. What they built together collapsed completely, not only on the field of play, but also in the relationship between people who once trusted each other absolutely.

Before leaving the factory, Hoàng Nam lingered alone at the work table, carefully picking up every broken piece of metal and plastic from the robot arm, arranging them neatly in a box as if trying to preserve some remnants of the past months of effort. Bảo Châu, although her heart was still troubled, could not bear to leave without saying a word in this situation.

"Do you need any help?" she asked, her voice softer than she expected, standing just the right distance from him.

Hoàng Nam looked up, a bit surprised to see her still there. "No need," he replied, but his voice was no longer as tough as the previous refusals, but carried a tired and exhausted tone. "Thank you."

"Hoàng Nam," she called his name, waiting until he looked up at her before continuing. "No matter what's going on, no matter how you decide to retreat or not, I want you to know that I won't give up on this robot. And I don't think you should give up either, at least not in the next three days."

Hoàng Nam looked at her for a long time, his eyes complicated with a mixture of gratitude, hurt, and a deep fatigue that she had never seen so clearly before. "I don't know if I have the strength to continue," he admitted, his voice so soft that it almost melted into the stillness of the late-night factory.

"Then let us help you bear that burden," Bảo Châu said, boldly taking a step forward, even though her heart was still filled with the pain from the previous argument. "It's not now to talk about the past between us. Just, for the next three days, let us fight together with you, okay?"

Hoàng Nam nodded slowly, not saying anything more, but his eyes softened somewhat, as if that simple suggestion had lit a small ray of hope in the thick darkness of failure and fatigue.

On the bike ride home that night, under a starless sky because dark clouds were gathering to signal the coming rain, Bảo Châu let her tears roll down without trying to hold them back anymore. She cried because the robot was broken, because the three short days left before the deadline were almost impossible, because the fragile relationship between her and Hoàng Nam had not yet been fully mended, and because of the vague fear that everything she had loved most this school year - the Robotics Club, the friendship with her teammates, and even the love for Hoàng Nam - might be broken like the pieces of metal scattered on the factory floor, with no way to save it anymore.

Returning home, she quietly entered her room, without turning on the light, sat down at the desk in the dark, looking out the window where the first drops of rain began to patter on the neighbor's corrugated iron roof. She thought about what Mr. Vinh had said a few days ago—that sometimes things needed to get worse before they could get better—and wondered if tonight, with a broken robot and a team ravaged by internal rifts, was the worst point they needed to reach before finding a way back. She didn't have a certain answer, she only knew that tomorrow, no matter how tired and hurt she was, she would still return to the factory, because giving up was never an option she was willing to accept, not with this robot, and even less with the boy who taught her to understand the true value of belonging somewhere.