Chapter 3 — Two Sides of an Argument

The next week, Mr. Sơn changed the way he organized the practice session. Instead of letting Hạ Vy directly confront Việt Bách like the previous two times, the teacher divided the whole club into rotating small groups, each group of four people taking turns playing the roles of judge, debater and critic. Hạ Vy was secretly relieved that she didn't have to encounter Việt Bách right from the beginning, even though somewhere in her heart there was a small part of her disappointment that she didn't want to admit.

The training session that day revolved around the topic "Should high school students be required to participate in volunteer activities to qualify for graduation?" Hạ Vy was placed in a group with Mỹ Duyên and two other members, practicing building arguments according to the structure that teacher Sơn had just instructed - starting with a specific image, then moving on to a clearly structured argument with three main arguments, each with at least one accompanying evidence.

"Your story is still the strongest point," Mỹ Duyên commented after listening to Hạ Vy's trial presentation, "but I think you're still trying to stuff data in like a patch, not really letting it support the story."

That comment made Hạ Vy pause a bit, not because she was hurt but because she realized it was true. She had spent all week trying to memorize the numbers and the research, but she was still treating them like decorations to add to her story, not really understanding how to make the two things blend together naturally.

During the break in the middle of the lesson, when most of the members spread out to the hallway to buy drinks or huddle to chat, teacher Sơn called Hạ Vy closer to the teacher's desk, where he was rearranging a stack of notes.

"Can you sit down for a moment," he said, not a question but a gentle invitation. Hạ Vy sat down in the chair opposite, a bit nervous, not sure what she was about to hear.

"I've noticed that you've changed your approach quite a lot in the past two weeks," Mr. Sơn said, his eyes were kind but there was something very sharp, as if he was seeing through even what Hạ Vy had not said. "You're trying to follow Việt Bách's reasoning style, right?"

"Yes..." Hạ Vy hesitated, not sure how to answer correctly. "I think that without solid evidence, my story will forever be just a story, not convincing enough in a real debate."

Teacher Sơn nodded slowly, but his eyes did not completely agree. "You're not wrong. A good argument needs both — emotions to reach the listener, and evidence to convince their reason. But I want you to be careful with one thing." The teacher paused, as if considering each word. "Don't let learning more logic skills turn into you giving up the very instincts that make you special."

"What do you mean?" Hạ Vy asked, her voice lowered.

"I've been teaching the Debate Club for twelve years," Mr. Sơn said, his eyes as if looking at a distant memory. "I have seen many students who are good at telling stories, good at moving emotions, gradually lose their own identity because they try to become another version - usually the same version of the person who is winning in front of them. As a result, they become a pale copy of someone else, instead of a stronger version of themselves."

Hạ Vy was silent, those words touched the deep fear that she had never expressed out loud - the fear that if she continued like this, she would lose herself just trying not to lose to Việt Bách.

"Do you remember what the judge said to you last year?" Mr. Sơn asked, his voice softer.

Hạ Vy was startled, not understanding how the teacher knew that story - Mỹ Duyên must have told it, or she herself had accidentally revealed it at some point. "Yes, he said my style is unscientific, only good at stirring emotions and not having solid arguments," she replied, her voice trembling slightly even though she tried to stay calm.

"I think he was half wrong," Mr. Sơn said, so bluntly that it made Hạ Vy look up at him. "It's true that an argument made only of emotions without evidence is incomplete — that's half right. But he's wrong to imply that emotions are a defect that needs to be eliminated, rather than a tool that needs to be further honed. A perfectly logical argument that reaches no one is as useless as a machine that runs perfectly in the laboratory but is never put to practical use."

"So what do you think I should do?" Hạ Vy asked, her voice less trembling, instead filled with genuine curiosity.

"Learn more structure, learn more how to use evidence — that's right, you should continue," said Mr. Sơn. "But don't learn it as a way to hide or replace your story. Learn it as a way to better protect that story, so that no one can easily dismiss it just because it's missing a number. Your story has real power, Hạ Vy. Don't let a comment, no matter how painful, make you believe it's not valuable."

Hạ Vy felt a warm feeling spread in her heart, different from the familiar self-consciousness that had been present for the past year. This was the first time since that fateful final that someone in the debate world — someone with real experience, not just the consolations of friends or family — told her that her style wasn't wrong, it was just incomplete.

"Thank you, teacher," she said, her voice choking up a bit.

"Don't thank me yet," Mr. Sơn smiled, stood up and patted her shoulder. "I hope to see you apply this in your next practice session. The theory is easy, but doing it is difficult."

The session continued after the break, and this time when it was her turn to present, Hạ Vy tried a completely different approach. Instead of trying to fit the data in like a patch, she lets the story lead first, then lets the story's natural progression open up space for the evidence to appear — as an explanation for why the story was not an isolated case, but represents a larger problem. Her group, even though it was just a small internal practice session, listened with a different concentration than the previous session, and when Mỹ Duyên, playing the role of judge, gave comments, her friend's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Here it is," Mỹ Duyên said, clapping her hands gently. "This is exactly what I know you can do."

In the other corner of the room, while packing her things to prepare to leave, Hạ Vy happened to see Việt Bách standing alone in a corner, the phone close to her ear, her tense face different from her usual calmness. She couldn't hear clearly what he was saying, only saw his shoulders tense slightly, and the answers he uttered were short, almost continuous "yes"s, his tone was stiff as if he was talking to someone with absolute power rather than a normal conversation.

When hanging up the phone, Việt Bách stood still for a moment, looking down at the phone screen, his expression flashing with fatigue Hạ Vy had never seen in him before - not the fatigue of a long practice session, but a deeper fatigue, as if it had accumulated for a long time. He quickly regained his familiar composure when he realized someone was looking at him, nodded politely to Hạ Vy and quickly left the room, not staying to chat with Kiệt as usual.

"Does he have to go home urgently?" Hạ Vy asked Kiệt, trying to keep her voice normal even though her heart still lingered on the image from before.

"Maybe he has extra classes or meeting his dad," Kiệt replied, shrugging his shoulders, but his eyes flashed with a hint of discomfort. "Việt Bách rarely has real free time. His schedule is full almost every hour."

Hạ Vy didn't ask further, but that sentence kept lingering in her mind all evening, mixed with Mr. Sơn's advice that she was still trying to digest. She realized that she was starting to see Việt Bách no longer simply as a cold, arrogant opponent, but as someone who was probably also carrying his own pressure, even though she didn't yet understand how great that pressure was.

When she got home, she sat at her desk, opened her debate notebook, and for the first time wrote down a line not about tactics or evidence, but about her own feelings at that moment: "Maybe I was wrong in thinking there was only one right way to debate. And maybe, the person I thought was the complete opposite of me, was actually also fighting with things I couldn't see." She closed the notebook and turned off the desk lamp, but that question still lay there in the dark, unanswered, just waiting for time to gradually reveal it.