Chapter 16 — The Stage of the Unsaid

Ten days before the regional festival, when the whole club was putting all its energy into the final practice sessions, another pressure began to weigh heavily on Anh Thu's shoulders - the deadline to submit early university admission applications was approaching, and her father, although his tone was softer than before, had not completely given up hope that his daughter would choose Law.

"Have you decided yet?" Mr. Duc Thang asked during dinner, his voice trying to remain calm even though his eyes were still full of familiar concern and worry. "The application deadline is less than two weeks away."

"I've decided, dad," Anh Thu replied, his voice more determined than before. "I will apply to the Film Screenwriting major. I know this is not the safe path you want, but this is the path I really want to pursue."

Mr. Duc Thang was silent for a long time, put his chopsticks on the table, his eyes were complicated and difficult to predict. "I've been thinking a lot since the audition," he said finally, his voice low. "I realized, perhaps my biggest fear is not that you chose the wrong career, but that I'm afraid of losing another person in my life along an uncertain artistic path, like what your mother once dreamed of but never fully realized."

That sincere, hurtful confession made Anh Thu stunned, for the first time fully understanding the deep source of the anxiety that her father had been expressing for the past two years. "I understand, Dad," she said, her voice choking. "But I think the best way to remember my mother is not to avoid the path she was passionate about, but to continue it, in my own way."

Mr. Duc Thang looked at his daughter, his eyes filled with rare tears. "I'm proud of you," he said softly. "Dad will support your decision, even though I still have a lot of worries in my heart."

That conversation, although filled with tears, also brought Anh Thu great relief, removing part of the psychological burden that she had silently carried for many months. But that joy didn't last long.

The next afternoon, when Anh Thu arrived at the club, she immediately noticed an unusual change in Kien's attitude. He still completed the scenes exactly as scripted, but his eyes became distant, lacking the genuine emotional connection that once made the play so special.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Thu asked during the break, clearly noticing that abnormality.

"I'm fine," Kien replied, his voice somewhat forced, avoiding her eyes. "Just a little tired."

Anh Thu did not completely believe that explanation, but she also did not want to put more pressure on him during this important sprint period, so she decided to temporarily put aside her worries, hoping it was just a temporary state of fatigue.

But that change did not subside in the following days. Kien became increasingly quieter, frequently asking permission to leave rehearsals early for vague reasons, and one afternoon, when it was his turn to perform the climactic scene in act four, he suddenly stumbled on an important line — something that hadn't happened since his difficult first weeks.

"Sorry," Kien said, his voice filled with confusion, pausing in the middle of the scene. "I... I need to rest for a bit."

Ms. Huong, observing from the director's chair, could not hide her worry. "Okay, let's take a ten-minute break," she announced, her eyes following Kien as he hurried off the stage, walking to the back of the hall.

Anh Thu, unable to contain his worry, followed him out. She found Kien standing alone next to the wall at the back of the hall, his hands covering his head, his breathing as rapid as the first panic-filled days when he first started practicing Duc.

"Kien, what's going on?" she asked, her voice filled with sincere concern, placing her hand on his shoulder. "This is nothing like the you of the past weeks."

Kien looked up at her, his eyes filled with a deep fear that he had tried to hide for the past few days. "I don't know how to tell you," he admitted, his voice shaking. "There's something going on, something I'm afraid that, if I say anything, things will get a lot worse, not just for me, but for you, and for this show."

That vague but heavy confession made Anh Thu's heart tighten, a strong premonition of insecurity rose, signaling that the real storm that they both feared had now officially arrived.

It all started four days ago, when Kien received a message from an anonymous account on social networks, with the sender's identity unknown. Attached to the message was a link to the exact video of his fourteen-year-old stage meltdown — something he thought had long been forgotten in the darkest corners of the internet.

“I know you are the boy in this video,” the message read, cold and threatening. "If you don't want the whole school to know about this past right before the festival, you should find a way to withdraw from the main role as 'naturally' as possible, before competition day."

Kien read and re-read that message countless times, his hands shaking, feeling like all the horrors of four years ago were vividly reliving in his heart. He didn't know exactly who was behind that anonymous account, but he could guess that this must be someone closely connected to the club, someone who had enough time to observe and piece together clues to realize his true identity.

For the past four days, Kien has been alone struggling with that painful decision — between continuing the role he worked so hard to achieve through overcoming fear, or withdrawing to protect himself from being exposed in front of the whole school again. He didn't dare tell anyone, afraid that if Anh Thu knew, she would blame herself and try to intervene in a way that could make things worse.

But now, facing Anh Thu's sincere and worried eyes, Kien realized that he could no longer keep this secret alone. “Someone is threatening me,” he said, his voice shaking, finally letting the confession slip out. "They knew about my past, about the old video, and they asked me to withdraw from the role before the festival, otherwise they would make it public in front of the whole school."

Anh Thu stood dumbfounded, feeling like the whole world around her suddenly collapsed before that shocking information. "Who could do such a cruel thing?" she asked, her voice filled with anger mixed with fear.

"I don't know for sure," Kien replied, his voice filled with fatigue. "But the message was sent from an anonymous account, without any information that could identify the actual identity."

Anh Thu held his hand tightly, his eyes filled with strong determination mixed with deep worry. "We'll find a way to solve this," she said, her voice firm even though she couldn't help but feel confused at this unprecedented and serious situation. "You don't have to face it alone anymore."

"But if I don't back down, and they actually publicize that video," Kien said, his voice filled with bewilderment, "I'm afraid everything will repeat exactly like four years ago. The ridicule, the malicious gossip, and this time, I'm not sure I have the strength to endure it again."

"But this time it's different," Anh Thu replied, his voice resolute. "Four years ago, you were just a fourteen-year-old kid, facing everything alone. Now, you are not alone. You have me, Duy Anh, Ngoc Diep, Ms. Huong, and the whole club standing behind you. If that video is really made public, I believe, everyone will see not a boy who failed last year, but a boy who bravely faced and overcame his own fear to stand firmly on stage once. anymore."

Those words, filled with absolute trust, made Kien feel a new strength gradually rising in his heart, even though the fear was still there, smoldering and persistent. "Do you really think so?" he asked, his voice still a bit skeptical.

"I know that for sure," Anh Thu replied, without hesitation. "But regardless, we need to find out who is behind this threat, and stop them before they can do any real harm."

The two stood there, at the back of the hall, planning the next steps together, even though in their hearts they both understood clearly that the road ahead, with less than ten days left before the festival, would still be full of unpredictable challenges that they would have to overcome together, if they wanted to protect both the show and the fragile happiness they had built together over the past months.