Chapter 8 — Two Sides of an Argument

At the club function the following Tuesday night, Mr. Sơn arrived earlier than usual, sitting alone in an empty room when Hạ Vy was the first person to enter. The teacher was staring at the absolute draw scoreboard still stuck on the board, his eyes pensive as if he had been thinking about it all week without stopping.

"You're early," the teacher said, without turning around.

"Yes, I... didn't sleep much last night," Hạ Vy admitted, sitting down on a nearby chair. "I keep thinking about the decision you're about to make."

Teacher Sơn turned to look at her, a light smile flickering at the corner of his lips. "Then maybe you'll be happy to know that you're not the only one losing sleep over this. I also stayed up until two in the morning, re-reading all three judges' scoring notes, trying to find a reasonable reason to choose one of you."

"Have you found it yet?"

"Yes, and no," Mr. Sơn said, stood up, walked closer to the board, and lightly tapped his finger on the score sheet. "I can choose one of the two of you, based on a few insignificant secondary criteria - maybe Việt Bách's faster critical seconds, maybe Hạ Vy's slightly higher subjective impression score. But the more I think about it, the more I see that choosing someone that way is unfair, not only to the eliminated person, but to the whole club, and the opportunity that this contest brings."

At that moment, other members began to flock in, and when Việt Bách finally entered, almost the entire club was present, the atmosphere was more tense than at any other meeting. Everyone knew that Mr. Sơn would announce the final decision that day.

Teacher Sơn stood in the middle of the familiar "arena", silent for a long time before speaking, long enough for the whole room to hold their breath and wait.

"After many nights of thinking, I have made a decision," he said, his voice slow, weighing each word. "And I know in advance that this decision may be controversial, and may even make the two people involved unhappy. But I believe this is the best choice for the club, and perhaps, for both of you."

He stopped, looked straight at Hạ Vy and then at Việt Bách.

"I will not choose either of you to represent the school in this year's National School Debate Competition," the teacher said. "I will pair you both into a team."

A long silence enveloped the room, then whispers began to rise from all corners. Hạ Vy felt like her heart stopped beating, not sure if she heard right or not.

"But teacher, this year's tournament rules are to compete in teams of two," another member spoke up, somewhat confused.

"Exactly," Mr. Sơn nodded. "And that's exactly what made me come up with this solution. This year's tournament requires each school to send a team of two people, not one individual. If I choose Hạ Vy, she still needs a teammate. If I choose Việt Bách, so does he. So why not let the two strongest people in the club become teammates?"

"Teacher, I don't think this is a good idea," Việt Bách spoke up, his voice clearly stiffening, different from his usual calmness. "During the two years I debated, I always competed in my own personal style, building my own strategy. Pairing with..." he hesitated for a moment, glancing at Hạ Vy, "with a completely opposite style, right before such an important tournament, was too big a risk."

"I don't think this is a fair choice either," Hạ Vy added, surprised by the frankness in her voice. "You've just won enough matches to prove that your style has its own merits. If I have to share positions now, is it any different from the fact that you still don't really believe in me?"

Teacher Sơn listened to both of them, undeterred by the objections, his face still maintaining the calmness of someone who had anticipated this reaction. "I understand what you're both worried about," he said. "But I want you to think about this in a different way. The recent internal finals didn't show who was better than the other. It showed that you two have completely different strengths, and neither of you, standing alone, has both of those strengths. But put them together..."

"What if I combine them?" Hạ Vy asked, her voice still skeptical.

"I believe you can create a team that no other school in the national tournament can match," Mr. Sơn said, his eyes shining with determination. "Most of the best debate teams today favor one style - either purely logical, rigorous but sometimes dry, difficult touch the judges' emotions; or purely emotional, touching people's hearts but easily broken by sharp criticism. Very few teams can truly master both. I believe if you two learn how to combine, you will become one of the few such teams."

Việt Bách still kept an unconvincing expression, his arms folded across his chest. "Teacher, even if your theory is correct, we don't have much time to learn how to coordinate well before the tournament. A strong squad cannot be built in just a few weeks."

"I didn't say it would be easy," Mr. Sơn admitted. "I say this is the best chance we have, given the circumstances of only one entry this year. I can pick one of you two, and we have an excellent representative with obvious flaws. Or we try something we've never done before, and it's possible, though not certain, to create something superior."

The whole room was silent, all eyes focused on Hạ Vy and Việt Bách, waiting for their reactions. Hạ Vy felt a tug in her heart - a part of her still clearly remembered the feeling of being doused with cold water by Việt Bách in the first match, still carrying a bit of doubt about whether she could truly cooperate with someone whose style was completely opposite to hers. But another part of her, the part that had gradually grown through each training session, through the conversation on the school steps the previous night, felt curious, even a little excited about that prospect.

"Can you give us time to think?" Hạ Vy asked, her voice softened somewhat.

"Okay," Mr. Sơn nodded. "I give you until tomorrow. But I want to make one thing clear - if both of you refuse, the club will lose the opportunity to compete this year, because I will not choose anyone else to replace you in the short time left. This is my final decision, whether you agree to cooperate or not."

That sentence was like a gentle but firm ultimatum, causing the whole room to fall silent once again. The event ended earlier than usual, and the atmosphere was heavy as everyone filed out, whispering about Mr. Sơn's shocking decision.

Hạ Vy left alone, her mind confused with a series of conflicting thoughts. She remembered what her mother had said the night before—whether two people could be stronger together—and wondered if it was an accidental prophecy. But she also could not deny the silent fear stirring in her heart: fear that if she cooperated with Việt Bách, she would forever be seen as a "chaperone", the weaker half of a team, not an independent debater, worthy of standing on her own feet.

That night, Việt Bách texted her for the first time since the conversation on the school steps. "What do you think about Mr. Sơn's proposal?" — just a short sentence, but enough for Hạ Vy to understand that he is just as worried as she is.

She looked at the phone screen for a long time, her fingers hovering, not knowing how to answer. Finally she typed: "I don't know. What about you?"

"I don't know either," Việt Bách replied almost immediately. "But I think maybe we should meet and talk in person, before deciding."

Hạ Vy agreed and arranged to meet him at a small coffee shop near the school the next morning, before school. That night, she struggled to sleep for a long time, her mind reeling with images of a future she had never imagined - a future where she no longer stood alone on the debate stage, but stood next to the very person who had made her doubt herself most deeply since the fateful finals last year. She didn't know whether it was a nightmare or an opportunity, and it was that uncertainty that kept her awake late into the night, listening to the ticking clock counting down to the morning when she would have to make the most important decision since the day she transferred to this school.

She took out her notebook and intended to write down a few lines like her habit every night, but the pen kept stopping in mid-air without knowing where to start. In the end, she could only write one question, with no accompanying answer: "If I no longer had to prove that I was better than someone, but instead had to learn to trust that person completely, would I have the courage to do that?" She looked at that line for a long time under the table lamp, feeling that it was both strange and strangely familiar, as if it was the question she had long avoided, not only from Việt Bách, but also from herself since last year's finals - the question of whether she could let another person fully see both her strengths and weaknesses, without fear of being judged, without fear of being left behind.

Closing the notebook, she turned off the light and lay down on the bed, but sleep did not come immediately. In the darkness, she thought about Việt Bách's eyes when he objected to Mr. Sơn's proposal - not a look of contempt like the first time she met him, but a look of someone who was afraid to give up the only thing that made him feel stable. Perhaps, she thought, his fear and her fear, despite coming from different wounds, were strangely similar — both were afraid of losing themselves next to someone so different. And perhaps, because they share that fear, they had a chance to truly understand each other, if both were brave enough to try.