Chapter 20 — Two Sides of an Argument

Six days had passed since that fateful practice session, and with each passing day, the gap between Hạ Vy and Việt Bách seemed to get a little wider, even though neither of them really wanted that.

Hạ Vy used the excuse of being busy studying for exams to not go to two consecutive training sessions of the club, an absence that everyone understood the real reason behind even though no one said it out loud. She knew she couldn't hide forever, but every time she thought about entering that room again, standing next to Việt Bách in front of the eyes of those who witnessed the moment she was hurt so severely, she felt a tightness in her chest, an instinctive defense that she didn't know how to overcome.

Mỹ Duyên told her, her voice filled with worry, that Việt Bách still came to practice sessions regularly, but had almost become a silent shadow in the club, sitting in a corner, no longer participating as actively as before, his eyes always looked tired, one day he even arrived late with dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't had enough sleep for many nights. Hồ Tuấn Kiệt also tried to talk to him a few times, but according to Mỹ Duyên's story, each time Việt Bách only responded with short, evasive sentences, as if he were locking himself in a shell that no one could touch, not even his closest friend.

"I don't know what's going on with him," Mỹ Duyên said during recess, sitting next to Hạ Vy on a familiar bench in the corner of the school yard. "But looking at him these days, I see... I feel like he's tormenting himself terribly. It's not that I'm defending what he did, it's just... I also feel a little sorry for him."

Hạ Vy didn't answer, just looked down at her hands clasping the hem of her uniform, her heart mixed between the still fresh hurt and a small, very small, part of sympathy that she didn't want to admit to herself. She'd spent the past week trying to sort out the chaotic emotions inside her, but the more she tried, the more she realized she couldn't find a clear, definitive answer to the question that kept repeating in her head: whether she should continue or not.

That night, while eating dinner with her mother, Hạ Vy couldn't hold back any longer and told the whole story, from the fateful big practice session to Việt Bách's clumsy apology at the bus stop. Her voice was monotonous, as if she were narrating someone else's story rather than her own, even though her tears still quietly fell into the bowl of rice in front of her.

Her mother listened without interrupting. When Hạ Vy finished speaking, she put down her chopsticks and looked at her daughter with both sad and pensive eyes. "Do you remember when you first transferred schools, what did I tell you?" she asked, her voice gentle. "That this world needs both types of people, those who know how to move the heart and those who know how to convince with the mind, and the important thing is to make the two complement each other. I still believe that to be true. But I also think, there is something I forgot to tell you: for those two things to truly complement each other, both people must respect each other, even in the most difficult times, not just when things are going well. If a person, for whatever reason, If you are willing to trample on the weakest part of the other person just because of your own pressure, then you have the right to ask whether that relationship is really worth continuing to put your trust in or not.

"So do you think I should back out?" Hạ Vy asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't think that's something I can decide for you," her mother replied, reaching out to gently rub her daughter's back. "I just want you to remember that, whether you choose to continue or stop, you deserve respect, and you don't have to prove anything to anyone to have the right to choose what's best for yourself. You are strong enough to move on after last year. No matter what you choose this time, I believe you will be strong enough to move on."

Those words didn't give Hạ Vy a clear answer, but they made her feel somewhat relieved, as if she was being allowed, for the first time since that fateful practice session, to truly listen to herself instead of trying to figure out what was most "right" according to other people's expectations.

That night, Hạ Vy lay awake for a long time, thinking about everything she and Việt Bách had built together - the late training sessions filled with clashes that gradually became compatible, the moment they celebrated their first victory against a hypothetical opponent, the nights they sat and edited every word in each other's presentations until late at night, and the cold sentence that had stuck deep into her heart like a knife. She thought about what Mr. Sơn had said, about the approaching deadline, and finally, as the first light of dawn began to filter through the window curtains, she realized she had made the decision, not in a moment of clear awakening, but in a quiet weariness, a feeling that she no longer had the strength to endure a partnership that could hurt her so deeply again.

The next morning, Hạ Vy went to see Mr. Sơn right from the first recess and found him alone in his room, preparing lesson plans for the upcoming lesson.

"Teacher," she called, her voice shaking a bit but trying to stay as calm as possible. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Teacher Sơn looked up, immediately realizing from her serious expression that this was not a normal conversation, nodded for her to sit down.

"I've been thinking a lot these past few days," Hạ Vy began, her voice shaking slightly but still trying to stay coherent. "And I think... I think I want to withdraw from the national preparation team, teacher."

That sentence, even though she had prepared it in her mind all night, when it was actually said out loud, it still made her throat tight, as if she didn't completely believe that she had just said it.

Teacher Sơn was silent for a long time, his eyes did not show any surprise, as if he had anticipated this possibility for many days, but his face still showed a deep concern. "I understand why you made this decision," he said slowly, "and I won't blame you for it, not one bit. What you've been through is not small, and no one has the right to ask you to continue suffering if you feel you no longer have the strength."

The teacher stopped, gently rubbed his chin, his eyes looked out the window for a moment before looking back at her. "But I also want you to know a few things clearly before you make your final decision. If you officially withdraw at this time, our school will no longer have time to prepare any other teams for the national preparation round — not because they are not worthy, but simply because there is not enough time left for any other pair in the club to reach the necessary level in just a few weeks left. The only competition spot that the whole club has been fighting for together since the beginning of the school year until now, along with The accompanying budget for the following years will almost certainly be left empty. I don't say this to put more pressure on you, Hạ Vy. I just want you to have full information before deciding, because this is not just about you and Việt Bách."

Hạ Vy bowed her head, clearly feeling the weight of what the teacher had just said on her shoulders, a burden she had never really thought about when she only focused on her own pain. She thought of Mỹ Duyên, of Hồ Tuấn Kiệt, of all the club members who had followed and supported her throughout the season, and of herself a year ago, who longed for a second chance to prove the value of the debating style she pursued.

"I... I don't know what to do, sir," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm still very hurt. Every time I think about having to stand next to Việt Bách and practice with him as if nothing had ever happened, I feel like I can't breathe. But I also don't want to be the one who makes the whole club lose this only opportunity."

"I won't let you make a decision in such a confusing time," Mr. Sơn said, his voice soft, full of sympathy. "I will not accept your withdrawal application today, Hạ Vy. I think both you and Việt Bách need a little more time, not to hide, but to really look back at everything as clearly and calmly as possible. The deadline for the school to ask me to submit an official list is four days from now. I will give both of you exactly those four days. If by then, you still maintain your decision to withdraw, I will respect that, even if I sincerely do not want to withdraw." I want to witness that scene. But I hope you, and Việt Bách, will use these four days to think carefully, not only about what happened, but also about what you really want for yourself, and for those who have come a long way with you until now."

Hạ Vy nodded, even though her heart was still as chaotic as when she entered Mr. Sơn's room. Four days, she thought, was not long enough to heal a wound that had just deepened into an old wound that had never fully healed, but also not short enough for her to avoid facing the very question that was tearing her apart.

Leaving Mr. Sơn's room, she walked out into the hallway, seeing far away, at the end of the row, the figure of Việt Bách standing alone by the window, looking out at the schoolyard with a distant expression, unaware of what she had just talked to the club head teacher. She stood still for a moment, looking at him from afar, noticing more clearly than ever the dark circles under his eyes, the sagging of his shoulders, different from the decisive confidence she had seen in him during their first training session, and for a brief moment, she wondered if behind the cold wall he had built up over the past weeks, there was someone who was suffering as much pain as she did.

But that question, although it somewhat softened the hardness in her heart, was still not enough to erase the feeling of betrayal that was still fresh, still aching every time she remembered every word of the sentence he uttered in the middle of a crowded room that day. She turned and walked in the opposite direction, not approaching him, not saying a word, leaving behind her an open future, a national tournament spot hanging on the brink, and a partnership that neither of them knew if it still had a chance to be repaired, with only four days left to decide the fate of everything they had built together during the past tumultuous semester.

That afternoon, after school, Hạ Vy passed by the club's living room and saw that the door was still closed, different from the bustling atmosphere usually seen at this time in previous weeks. She stood in front of the familiar wooden door for a long time, her hand gently touching the doorknob but not having the courage to open it, then finally turned around and walked away, carrying in her heart an unanswered question, an insecurity that lingered all the way home: would the next four days be enough for her to find what she had lost, or was this simply the final countdown before everything—from friendship and trust to even the dream of standing on stage—was completely destroyed? The dream that the two had built together seemed to have closed without trumpet or drum, in the midst of a spring that should have been more brilliant than anything else.