Chapter 23 — Two Sides of an Argument

The next morning, Việt Bách went to school earlier than usual, but not to review as usual. He stood in the corner of the hallway near Mỹ Duyên's class, waiting until she appeared, holding a stack of books, her expression still cold when she realized he was waiting for her.

"What do you want?" Mỹ Duyên asked, her voice not hiding her caution.

"I need to find Hạ Vy," Việt Bách said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he knew he had no right to demand anything from Mỹ Duyên right now. "Not to argue, not to convince her to come back to the team. I just need to apologize to her properly, and I think she deserves to hear it in person, not via text."

Mỹ Duyên stared at him for a long time, as if considering whether he was sincere or not. "Do you know how much you hurt her?" she asked, her voice still harsh.

"I know," Việt Bách replied, not avoiding her eyes. "I know better than you think."

Perhaps it was the certainty in his voice, not an excuse or a plea, that made Mỹ Duyên sigh softly, her eyes softening a bit. "He didn't go straight home this afternoon," she said, her voice reluctant. "He often stops by the small park near Hoang Dieu Street and sits alone for a while before returning. But if you hurt her again, I won't let it go."

"I understand," Việt Bách said, nodding. "Thank you."

The whole day passed uncomfortably slowly for Việt Bách. He sat in class with his mind drifting somewhere, trying to rearrange in his mind what he wanted to say, knowing that this was not a debate where he could prepare every argument and every backup argument. This was something else entirely — something that required him to be brutally honest, with no room for his usual rhetorical finesse.

When the school dismissal bell rang, he didn't go home right away but went straight to the small park Mỹ Duyên had mentioned. He found Hạ Vy sitting on a stone bench under the shadow of a large almond tree, her head slightly bowed, her phone in hand but her eyes looking far away at the flow of people outside, as if her mind was in a completely different place.

He stood a few steps away from her, not daring to come closer immediately, afraid of startling her or making her feel cornered. "Hạ Vy," he called softly.

She looked up, and in a moment, Việt Bách clearly saw the change that flashed across her face — from surprise, to wariness, and then finally stopping at a purposeful coldness, like a layer of armor she put on to protect herself. "What are you looking for me for?" she asked, her voice monotone.

"I'm sorry for coming so unexpectedly," Việt Bách said, trying to keep just enough distance, not too close so that she felt overwhelmed. "I only ask for a few minutes. If you want me to leave after that, I'll leave right away."

Hạ Vy didn't answer, but she also didn't get up to leave. She nodded slightly, a small gesture but enough for Việt Bách to understand that she was giving him a chance, even though it was very slim.

He sat down on the other end of the stone bench, keeping a respectful distance, his hands clasped together in his lap, trying to find the right words he had been struggling with all day. "I'm not going to say 'I'm sorry' and call it quits," he began, his voice slow but firm. "Because I think you've heard enough superficial apologies in your life, and you deserve to hear a truly meaningful apology."

Hạ Vy remained silent, but her eyes shifted, no longer looking away but looking straight at him, waiting.

"What I said to you at practice that day was not a spontaneous statement in anger," Việt Bách continued, forcing himself to tell the truth no matter how difficult it was. "I chose every word, even though at the time I fooled myself into thinking it was just a purely strategic criticism. But the truth is, I remember very clearly the night you told me about the judge at your old school — how he stood in front of the entire auditorium and said you were 'too emotional, lacking in science, only good at moving people's hearts, not having solid arguments'. I remember how your voice trembled as you recounted each word, and how it took you a whole year to dare to return to debating after that. And at practice that day, when I stood in front of the whole club, under pressure from my father, I used that sentence almost verbatim about you. It was not by chance that I knew exactly what I was doing, where it would hit, or how much it would hurt—you trusted me enough to tell me that, and I turned that trust into a weapon against you."

Hạ Vy took a breath, her eyes shining with something between surprise and old pain being reopened. She didn't say anything, just sat there, letting him continue.

"I won't blame it on the pressure from my father," Việt Bách continued, his voice beginning to tremble with emotion but he didn't let it interrupt him. "It's true that my father threatened to withdraw his sponsorship of my early admission application if I didn't return to a purely rational argument. That's the truth, and I say it not to make you feel sorry for my situation, but just so that you understand the context, because you deserve to know the whole truth. But that context is not an excuse. I can oppose that pressure in dozens of different ways. I can stay silent. I can talk to you privately first. I chose the way that would hurt you most, fastest, and most publicly, because I was scared and cowardly. I knew exactly where you were weakest, and I used it to prove to my father that I could 'fix' my training. It was a cruel, deliberate choice, and I had no way to justify it."

Tears began to well up at the corners of Hạ Vy's eyes, but she didn't wipe them away, just let them roll down, her eyes still not leaving him. "You know," she said, her voice hoarse, "the worst part wasn't that statement. The worst part was that for a week afterward, I kept wondering if you were right from the beginning. Was I really just good at moving emotions with nothing solid behind it? I thought I had gotten over that feeling, thought I had proven to myself that last year's judge was wrong. Then you—the person I trusted most on the team, the person I told that story to—stood there and said the same thing. That did not just hurt me, Việt Bách. It made me doubt everything I'd been trying to rebuild over the past few months."

"I know," Việt Bách said, his voice choked. "And there's nothing I can say to erase that right now. I can only say that I understand, truly understand, the extent of the hurt I've caused, and I won't expect you to forgive me right away, because that wouldn't be fair to you."

Hạ Vy wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath to regain composure. "You said your father threatened to withdraw his sponsorship of the application. How is that happening now?" she asked, her voice still reserved but less cold.

"Last night I talked frankly with my father," Việt Bách replied. "I told him that I wanted to debate, and live, on my own terms, not as an extension of his shadow. He said he was willing to accept losing his patronage if that was the price to pay. My father didn't make any big promises, he was still the same strict person as before, but he listened, really listened, for the first time in my life. That's not a reason for me to feel like I've 'paid my debt', Hạ Vy. I'm telling you just for my sake." I don't want you to think that I came here with an empty apology and then continued to let fear control me again. I want you to know that I really changed something, not just saying it."

Hạ Vy was silent for a long time, looking down at her hands clasped together on her thighs. "I believe you mean it," she said at last, her voice slow, weighing each word. "I hear the sincerity in what you just said, and I think not many people can admit their mistakes so clearly, without trying to avoid them. But I also can't sit here and tell you that everything is okay, that I forgive everything, just because you said exactly what I needed to hear. That wound doesn't disappear after just one conversation, no matter how sincere that conversation was."

"I didn't expect that," Việt Bách said quickly, almost hastily, afraid she would misunderstand. "I just hope you know that I won't leave even if your answer is 'not enough'. I'm willing to wait, willing to prove it with actions, not just words, no matter how long it takes."

Hạ Vy looked up at him, and for the first time since he sat down, something in her eyes softened, although very slightly, like a door slightly opened but not yet open. "I need time," she said. "Not to punish you, but because I needed that time for myself, to know if I could trust again, not just in you, but in my own abilities again."

"I understand," Việt Bách replied, nodded, trying to suppress the feeling of relief emerging in his heart, knowing that he had no right to feel relieved right now. "Thank you for listening to me everything."

The two sat in silence for a while, that silence was no longer as heavy as when Việt Bách first arrived, but had a different tone - not reconciliation, but also no longer complete separation. The afternoon wind blew gently through the canopy, causing a few dry leaves to fall onto the path in front of them.

"Teacher Sơn gave me until the end of this week to decide," Hạ Vy said after a while, her voice calm again. "I don't know what I will decide yet."

"I won't put any more pressure on you about that," Việt Bách said. "That decision is yours, and yours alone. If you choose not to come back, I will respect that, even though I will regret it."

Hạ Vy nodded slightly, not saying anything more, but when she stood up to prepare to leave, she stopped for a second and turned to look at him. "Thank you for coming to clarify everything," she said, her voice small but sincere. "It makes sense to me, even though I don't know what to do with it yet."

"That's the least I owe you," Việt Bách replied.

She smiled slightly, a very small smile, fleeting so quickly that it was almost imperceptible, but enough for Việt Bách to feel a fragile ray of hope rising in his heart, as he watched her shadow disappear behind the corner of the park. He sat alone on the stone bench for a while longer, letting the conversation just now settle in his mind, knowing that the road ahead was still long, that today's apology was just the first step in a journey that required continuous patience and sincerity, not just once. But for the first time in days, he felt like he was on the right track, even though there was still a lot of uncertainty ahead.

On the way home, he texted a short message to Kiệt: "Talked to dad, and talked to Hạ Vy. Both aren't finished yet, but at least I've started." Just a few seconds later, his phone vibrated with Kiệt's reply, short but warm: "That's it. The rest takes time, you don't have to try to put it all in one day."

Việt Bách smiled at the phone screen, a feeling of relief crept into his heart for the first time after a long and gloomy week, even though he knew there was still a lot of work ahead, a lot of trust that needed to be rebuilt little by little, not overnight.