Chapter 18 — The Test Has No Name

The Truth Cannot Apologize

The opening ceremony went more smoothly than Nguyen expected. He stood on stage and read a speech that was significantly shortened from the original draft — only talking about his self-study journey, about the importance of a transparent education system, without mentioning any personal details related to the old incident. He felt like he was playing a well-rehearsed role, maintaining a calm expression while inside the storm from the morning's unfinished conversation was still intact.

During a break between afternoon seminar sessions, Khanh Thu went to the speakers' lounge, where Nguyen was sitting alone, while Nhat Khoi went out to meet a few partners interested in the company's products.

"Can I talk to you again?" she asked, standing at the door, not daring to enter without permission.

Nguyen looked at her for a moment, then nodded, pointing towards the chair opposite.

Khanh Thu sat down, placed her hands on her thighs, trying to stay calmer than in the morning but still could not hide the trembling in her voice. "I want to finish what I said this morning. I'm sorry, Nguyen. Not a formal apology, but the apology I've owed you for the past fifteen years."

"Apologies can't give me back what I've lost," Nguyen said, his voice no longer as restrained as it had been in the morning, carrying a blunt sharpness he rarely showed in his work. "Do you know what my mother had to endure? People called her the mother of a thief right in the middle of the market, right in front of her, when she had done nothing wrong. Do you know how many nights I had to live wondering if I really deserved to be treated like that, even though I knew I was innocent?"

"I don't know the details, but I can somewhat imagine," Khanh Thu replied, her voice choked.

"No, you can't imagine," Nguyen interrupted, stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to her for a moment before turning back to look her straight in the eyes. "She grew up in a house where every problem could be solved with money or relationships. She had never experienced the feeling of standing in the middle of a room full of adults, all of whom believed that she was a liar, while she knew for sure that she was innocent but had no way to prove it."

Khanh Thu bowed her head and did not refute, because she knew everything he said was right.

"I lost the scholarship that was supposed to be mine," Nguyen continued, his voice gradually becoming shaky even as he tried to keep it steady. "I had to leave the place where I was born, living my first years in the city in such poverty that I had to skip breakfast to save money to learn programming. I had to rebuild my entire life from scratch, while Vy - the one who actually committed the crime - studied abroad, built a decent career, and she, who knew the truth, continued to live her life as if nothing had happened."

"It's not like nothing happened," Khanh Thu countered, her voice suddenly stiffening even though tears were still on her cheeks. "I've lived with that feeling of guilt every day for the past fifteen years. I chose to major in Education because of it. I returned to this very school to teach because of it. I don't say that to ask for your sympathy, I just want you to know, I'm not as indifferent as you think."

Nguyen was silent for a moment, his anger did not subside but he could not deny the sincerity in her voice. He sat down again, his hands resting on his knees, sighing heavily.

"What are you going to do next?" he asked, his voice softened somewhat, though the reserve still remained.

"I will tell the truth, publicly, in front of the whole school, at the closing session tomorrow," Khanh Thu replied, without hesitation, as if this was a decision she had secretly prepared for a long time. "I have prepared the content of my speech, planning to present it to the board of directors and the guests present. I know that I cannot correct your old transcript, cannot return the years you have lost, but at least, it is the only thing in my power to do right now."

"Have you told anyone about this?" Nguyen asked, his voice somewhat wary. "The school board? Your father? Vy?"

"I informed the principal in advance, although he advised me to consider carefully because it would affect the school's image," Khanh Thu replied. "I haven't told my dad yet. He will object vehemently, I know that for sure. And Vy..."

She paused, biting her lower lip. "I haven't told him directly, but I think he should be the one to decide his own part in this story. I won't mention his name if he doesn't say it himself, but I also won't hide the truth if someone asks directly."

"Do you think he'll leave you alone to do that?" Nguyen asked, remembering Vy's panicked eyes at the party last night when he let out a vague statement about his speech.

"I don't know," Khanh Thu admitted. "But that's not something I can control. I can only control my part."

Nguyen looked at her, trying to find a sign of calculation in her eyes, but only saw a genuine determination, mixed with clear fear at what she was about to face.

"Did you do that for me, or for your own conscience?" he asked bluntly, a sharp question that he felt necessary to ask.

The question made Khanh Thu pause and think carefully before answering, because she knew this was not a question that could be answered lightly.

"Probably both," she replied, her voice brutally honest. "I can't completely separate the two. But I think, even if my motives are mixed with the need to clear my conscience, that doesn't make the truth I'm about to tell any less valuable. The truth is still the truth, no matter who says it, or for what reason."

Nguyen nodded slowly, not a gesture of complete agreement, but a recognition that her answer, while not perfect, was at least more honest than anything she had ever told him before.

"I can't forgive you right now," he said, his voice slow but decisive. "Perhaps I will never fully forgive you the way you want. But I will not stop you from doing what you think is right tomorrow. If you truly tell that truth, it will be your own decision, not in exchange for forgiveness from me."

"I understand," Khanh Thu replied, her voice more relieved though not completely at peace. "I don't want anything in return. I just hope that, no matter the outcome, you know that I tried to do the right thing, even if I was late."

She stood up, bowed and left the room, leaving Nguyen sitting alone in the quiet room. The feeling in his heart was not any lighter after the conversation, but at least, a part of him, even though he was not ready to admit it, began to see the difference between an eighteen-year-old Khanh Thu who had chosen to stay silent, and a thirty-three-year-old Khanh Thu who was preparing to face the consequences of the truth, even though it could destroy the position and reputation she had worked so hard to build. build.

A few minutes later, Nhat Khoi returned to the room and immediately realized the heavy atmosphere remained. "Are you okay? You look like you just went through a battle."

"What a real battle," Nguyen replied, briefly recounting the content of the conversation to his friend, his voice still filled with emotion.

"Do you believe she will actually do it tomorrow?" Nhat Khoi asked, his voice mixed with skepticism and hope.

"I'm not sure," Nguyen replied, looking out the window, where the afternoon sunlight was spreading across the schoolyard. "But if she actually does it, I think it will be the hardest thing she's ever had to do in her life. Standing up and admitting her mistake in front of hundreds of people, knowing full well it could destroy everything she's built — not everyone has the courage to do that, no matter how late."

"It sounds like you're starting to understand her," Nhat Khoi commented, his voice cautious.

"Understanding does not mean forgiving," Nguyen replied, his voice decisive. "I still have a lot of things that need time to get over. But at least, I no longer see her as the absolute coward I thought she was for the past fifteen years."

Nhat Khoi nodded, didn't say anything else, just sat down next to you, patting his shoulder as a way to share silently. Outside the window, the hall's loudspeakers rang out, announcing that the afternoon seminar was about to begin again, bringing both of them back to the reality of a long day that had not yet ended.