Chapter 11 — The Test Has No Name

Vice Principal's Chair

Khanh Thu chose to study Education at a large university, a decision that made her father - who still expected her to study Business Administration to later inherit the family company - unable to hide his disappointment.

"Are you planning to be a teacher all your life?" he asked during dinner, his voice not hiding his annoyance. "Dad made sure you were qualified to do bigger things, why did you choose a low-paying job like this?"

"I want to do something meaningful, not just for income," Khanh Thu replied, her voice more determined than she had ever shown her father in her eighteen years of life. She did not explain further that this decision originated from an afternoon in an empty classroom last year, from the disappointed eyes of a classmate of hers who had never dared to tell the truth.

During her four years in college, Khanh Thu studied more seriously than anyone else, not to compete for the top position like in high school, but as a way to silently repay her debt for something she had never confessed to anyone. She does in-depth research on educational ethics, on student rights in disciplinary processes, and on how school boards should be built to avoid irreversible mistakes. Her graduation thesis, although not naming any specific cases, revolved around the topic "Responsibility of witnesses in school disciplinary cases" - a topic that surprised the instructors because of its unusual depth compared to a student who had never experienced real work.

In her third year of university, once by chance surfing the internet, Khanh Thu came across a short article mentioning Huynh Dang Nguyen's name in the list of successful self-taught young faces in the field of technology. She read and reread the article many times, her heart beating fast, her fingers hovering over the screen to type a message to try to contact her, but then she deleted it, wondering what she would say after all these years of silence, and whether a late apology via text message would have any meaning or would just pointlessly reopen old wounds.

She also heard sporadic news about Chu Dinh Vy through a few old classmates who still kept in touch—he had completed his university degree abroad, then returned home to work in an educational scholarship fund, a job that, according to the story, he pursued with unusual seriousness, as if trying to make up for something none of the narrators knew well.

In her final year of university, at a regional educational conference, Khanh Thu accidentally met Chu Dinh Vy for the first time in many years - he returned home to attend as a young representative of a scholarship fund that had just started working. The two stood facing each other in the hallway, an awkward silence lasting a few seconds before Vy spoke first.

"Long time no see," he said, his voice much more mature than the nervous teenager, but his eyes still flashed with a familiar avoidance. "Are you still fine?"

"Still healthy," Khanh Thu replied, trying to keep her voice normal, even though a complicated feeling arose in her heart that was difficult to name - both wanting to ask him directly about that afternoon, and fearing the answer she might receive. "Do you work at a scholarship fund? That sounds like a good fit for you."

"Yes, I want to do something useful," Vy replied, his eyes avoiding looking at the floor. "Maybe to make up for something in the past."

That unfinished sentence made Khanh Thu's heart clench, but before she could ask more, a group of Vy's colleagues came to call him for the next meeting, and that unfinished conversation never had a chance to continue, until many years later.

After graduating from university, instead of accepting a job offer at an international educational organization in a big city - where the salary and advancement opportunities were much better - Khanh Thu applied to teach at Vong Khe High School, a decision that surprised many acquaintances, including her father.

"What are you doing there? There's nothing there for you to develop," Mr. Khuong asked, although now, after many years of witnessing his daughter being steadfast in her choice, his voice is less harsh than before.

"I want to go back to the place where I studied and do something better for the students in the future," Khanh Thu replied, which was a correct but incomplete answer — the part she didn't say was the feeling that she needed to return to the place where she once failed to speak up, as the only way to redeem herself, even though the person who needed to hear that apology the most was no longer there.

Six years of teaching at Vong Khe passed at a pace that was both slow and furious. Khanh Thu quickly became loved by her colleagues and students thanks to her dedication and absolute fairness in grading and handling small disciplinary cases in her homeroom class - she was always determined to verify thoroughly before drawing any conclusions, a habit that no one knew originated from a memory she had carried with her for many years. She was promoted to head of the professional team, then Vice Principal in charge of the subject when this position became vacant, a quick step forward compared to her age but no one doubted her true ability.

On the day she received the appointment decision, Mr. Khuong suddenly arranged his work to be present at the small ceremony held on campus, standing among the crowd of parents and colleagues, his eyes following his daughter with a pride that was no longer hidden like in previous years. After the ceremony, he held her hand, his voice unusually low.

"I thought you chose the wrong path," he said. "Now I understand, there are values that cannot be measured by money or position in the company. I'm sorry for not supporting you from the beginning."

Khanh Thu hugged her father, tears suddenly flowing out of her eyes, not necessarily because of that late apology, but because it suddenly reminded her of another apology she still owed to someone, never had a chance to say it.

Ms. Bich Loan, still working at the school during those years, had now become a close colleague of Khanh Thu, even though the two had never mentioned Nguyen's story directly since that afternoon under the phoenix tree. But sometimes, during meetings to discuss student disciplinary procedures, Khanh Thu realized that Ms. Loan's eyes lingered on her longer than usual, as if the old teacher still held a question that had never been fully answered.

One afternoon at the end of the school year, during an open board meeting to prepare for upcoming anniversary activities, the current principal - the successor after the old principal retired a few years ago - announced news that caused a stir in the entire meeting room.

"Next year, our school will celebrate its 20th anniversary," he said, opening his laptop to show the preliminary plan. "The school board plans to organize a series of major events, including a thematic week called School Integrity Week, inviting outstanding former students to share, and organizing seminars on ethics and integrity in modern education. Ms. Thu, in her professional role, will head the organizing committee for this series of events."

Khanh Thu nodded to accept the task, not knowing that this would be an event that forced her to face the very thing she had been avoiding for nearly a decade.

That evening, while drafting a preliminary list of outstanding alumni who could be invited to the event — based on suggestions from many sources, including suggestions from Ms. Bich Loan herself and a few of the school's sponsors — Khanh Thu scrolled through each familiar name, until her eyes stopped at a brief note: "Huynh Dang Nguyen — founder of the educational technology platform Minh Tinh EDU, expert in the field of school integrity, alumni of the course..." — Includes a link to his most recent interview in a technology magazine.

She sat motionless in front of the computer screen for a long time, her hands shaking slightly on the keyboard, feeling like all the years of trying to bury her past had just been overturned by just one name appearing on a normal list of suggestions.

She clicked on the link, re-read the entire interview from beginning to end, stopping for a long time at the portrait photo of Nguyen - his face was much more mature than she remembered, his eyes still maintained the familiar steadfastness but deep down inside seemed to carry something heavier than before. She closed her laptop and turned off the desk lamp, but that night she couldn't sleep, knowing that from this moment, she had no way to continue avoiding her own story any longer.