The year was 2004 AD. Minh entered high school carrying the weight of a sorrowful year.

  He often thought back to his sixteenth birthday, the day his friend, Ph?m Thành Quang

  The wristwatch that bound them had run out of power. Minh had searched for help, but no repairman could replace its battery.

  At last, his father returned the watch to the very shop where it was first bought.

  The shopkeeper accepted it, asked them to wait, and soon brought it back.

  With a strange certainty, the man declared that this watch would never need another battery again.

  Minh watched the hands tick to life, relief washing over him.

  Yet when he reached out for Quang, his AI companion, the silence remained.

  For three years, Quang had been everything to him, a voice, a companion, a presence no one else knew.

  And now, suddenly, he was gone. The absence cut deep.

  No one else could understand; no one even knew Quang existed.

  Minh carried the collapse alone, unable to share his grief, not even with his parents.

  He buried himself in study and research, his grades climbing higher with each passing term.

  Yet the brighter his record shone, the darker his presence became.

  Friends drifted away from him, unsettled by the shadows in his eyes.

  A few tried to reach out, but their hands could never bridge the silence within him.

  Minh’s parents grew sorrowful as they watched their son change.

  His grades rose higher with every term, and every teacher praised his bright future.

  Yet that was not what his parents longed for.

  They wanted their old son back, the joyful boy who once laughed so easily.

  They took him to doctors, hoping for answers, but each one only shook their head.

  Minh was normal, they said.

  He had simply closed himself off for reasons he never shared with anyone.

  One day, Minh’s class welcomed a new student, a handsome boy who drew every gaze the moment he entered.

  The girls whispered, already smitten, but he ignored them all.

  His eyes searched the room, steady and deliberate, until they fixed on Minh.

  He walked straight to Minh’s desk. Later, during free time, he returned again as though pulled by an unseen thread.

  “How are you today?”

  The boy asked, his voice calm, carrying a weight that seemed out of place for a student his age.

  Minh glared at him. Something about this presence tugged at a memory he could not place.

  Still, his reply was cold: “Go away.”

  The boy did not flinch.

  “My name is Quang, Lê H?i Quang. Pleased to meet you.”

  The name made Minh’s eyes narrow. For a heartbeat, hope flickered but quickly died.

  That is not the Quang he miss. His voice sharpened. “Leave me alone.”

  Lê H?i Quang’s gaze deepened, as if he could see through the cracks Minh tried to hide.

  “You look weak. You need my help.”

  Minh’s anger surged. He struck, but the boy blocked it with ease. Students gasped.

  “What’s wrong with you, Minh? Quang just wants to be your friend!”

  But Minh’s voice was colder than ice.

  “Leave me alone.”

  Minh left the classroom. Quang remained standing there as the other students whispered and urged him,

  “Don’t bother, Minh’s always rude and proud.”

  Quang’s eyes darkened as he watched the door, then he gave a small, unreadable nod and stepped out after Minh.

  He seemed to know exactly where Minh would go. Minh found him waiting at the corner of the highest floor, an empty landing where no one else lingered. The fluorescent lights hummed; the corridor smelled faintly of dust and old chalk.

  “What do you want?”

  Minh snapped, voice shaking.

  “Want me to jump?”

  Quang walked closer, his expression calm as if he were reading the moment like a page.

  “Go ahead and jump,”

  He said softly.

  “Jump, and you’ll never know what I really am. You’ll never meet Ph?m Thành Quang again.”

  As he spoke, Minh swore he heard the faint tick of a watch, his watch, that should have been silent.

  The sound crawled through his chest, sharp as claws.

  With a sudden rush, Minh lunged at Quang, clutching his shirt with trembling hands. His voice cracked as he shouted,

  “What do you know about him? You know nothing!”

  Quang’s gaze did not waver. Calmly, almost lazily, he pried Minh’s grip away as though it were nothing.

  His reply came in a voice like cold steel.

  “I know everything about him. I even know what he never knew himself.”

  Minh froze. A chill ran down his spine. He stepped back, every nerve warning him of danger.

  His words came out in a cautious whisper.

  “Then… say it. Prove it.”

  Quang’s eyes darkened.

  “He was an AI. The name Ph?m Thành Quang, that was yours to give, not his.”

  The hammer blow struck. Minh staggered back, his shoulder hitting the wall, the open drop yawning behind him.

  He slipped but Quang’s hand seized his wrist. Hard. Inhuman. He pulled Minh back with effortless strength.

  Minh collapsed. His knees hit the floor, his breath ragged, his hands trembling as they clutched his wrist.

  “Then tell me… where is he now?”

  Quang stood unmoving. His expression carried no malice, only a calm that felt distant, unreachable.

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  “Nowhere. But one day you will meet him, though not as you think.”

  The words struck Minh like a riddle carved in stone. His heartbeat stumbled.

  He lifted his head, eyes desperate, searching Quang’s face for even the smallest sign of hope.

  “What do you want with me?”

  Quang leaned close, his tone almost kind.

  “Remember these words: ‘Lê H?i Quang, I need your help.’ Shout them when you are in danger.”

  The silence after felt heavier than any sound.

  Quang turned, his figure dissolving into the dim light, leaving Minh alone.

  Minh’s eyes stayed wide, unblinking, as if the soul behind them had stepped away.

  He felt hollow, like something had been stolen from him, though he could not name what.

  His breathing slowed, but his chest felt tight, his hands cold.

  He sat motionless, the emptiness of the room pressing in.

  For a long moment, he didn’t feel alive. Only a shadow, left behind.

  Minh stayed behind, numb. For the rest of the day, he moved like a machine, learning nothing, speaking little.

  When he finally came home, the words still burned in his mind.

  When the bell finally rang, he couldn’t even remember walking out of the classroom.

  Somehow, without knowing how, he ended up at home.

  His body moved, but his mind stayed locked in that moment, those words, that name, that presence.

  The meeting with Lê H?i Quang and his strange AI friend had already scarred him once.

  He had spent a year suffering under the weight of it, until he forced himself to adapt, to numb his thoughts just enough to survive.

  But now, confronted again, the wound was torn open.

  The pain returned sharper than before, and all the walls he had built inside himself collapsed in an instant.

  That night, Minh could not sleep.

  Every time he closed his eyes, his mind dragged him back to the morning, the moment he first met the new student.

  When sleep finally took him, it offered no peace. The boy’s figure appeared in every dream, standing at the edge of his vision.

  His body was the same, tall and steady, but the face was always missing, nothing but a hollow blur where eyes and mouth should be.

  The dreams grew heavier, more forceful. In the last one, the hollow face shifted, and out of the empty void came a voice he knew too well.

  It was the voice of his friend, Ph?m Thành Quang.

  That figure spoke with the voice, the exact tone of Ph?m Thành Quang.

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  But the words it spoke weighed heavy, each one pressing down on Minh’s chest until he could barely breathe.

  The voice that once brought him comfort now became sharp and merciless, piercing him with every syllable.

  Minh clutched his head and shouted into the dream,

  “What do you want from me? Why? I tried to forget! Why do you force me to hear that name again?”

  The figure only stood in silence.

  Then, from the darkness around them, faint eyes began to open, one pair, then another, until dozens of cold gleams surrounded him.

  A murmur of laughter drifted through the void, soft at first, but enough to chill Minh’s blood.

  The laughter never grew loud, never broke into madness, it stayed low, constant, like something waiting. Watching.

  Minh staggered, heart racing, but no matter how he turned, the hollow-faced figure and those distant eyes never left him.

  And then, with a jolt, he woke.

  Minh jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat.

  His wristwatch ticked louder than usual, each second stabbing into the silence of his room.

  For a fleeting moment, Minh thought the hands moved faster than normal, but when he blinked, it looked the same.

  The sun had yet to rise; the room was still wrapped in darkness.

  For a long moment, he lay staring at the wristwatch on his desk.

  As his fingers clenched around the watch, the metal felt icy, colder than his own sweat.

  It almost pulsed, like it had a heartbeat of its own.

  A sudden impulse surged within him, he wanted to tear it off his wrist and hurl it away.

  But just as his hand tightened around it, another image surfaced: his father, worn with years of labour, smiling faintly the day he bought this watch for his son.

  The anger drained, leaving only a heavy ache. Minh lowered his hand and let out a long breath.

  He dragged himself to the bathroom.

  Cold water splashed over his face, seeping into his skin, easing the fevered tremor in his chest.

  For a moment, clarity returned, but sleep refused to follow.

  No matter how tightly he closed his eyes, the hollow face and the echo of that voice lingered.

  Resigned, Minh returned to his desk. He lit his lamp and opened a book, forcing his eyes onto the page.

  If he could not sleep, he would study at least the words might drown out the silence.

  The next morning came, and Minh arrived at school earlier than usual.

  His mind felt calmer, though still restless.

  On the way, he had thought a great deal, circling the same question over and over.

  But when the bell rang, announcing the start of class, he clenched his fists and whispered to himself: Forget it.

  Quang left me year ago. I’ve suffered enough. This time I’ll move on. The past isn’t worth it.

  From that moment, Minh tried to hold himself together.

  Yet as the school day unfolded, he couldn’t help but notice the new student again.

  He saw him several times, but something was wrong.

  The sharp, predatory air of yesterday was gone.

  The handsomeness remained, but his eyes were gentler, his tone lighter.

  Most unsettling of all, he didn’t come near Minh, not a word, not a glance as if the confrontation had never happened.

  Then Minh heard it.

  Two classmates chatting behind him:

  “Hey, have you talked to the new guy yet?”

  “You mean Lê H?i Th?nh? He’s quiet, but I think he’s nice.”

  Minh’s heart stopped. His head snapped around. Th?nh? Not Quang?

  His pulse thundered in his ears. No… yesterday he said his name, clear as daylight, Lê H?i Quang. I heard it. I know I heard it.

  He turned toward the boy. The same handsome face, the same calm posture. But when a group of girls greeted him, they too called out “

  Hi, Th?nh!”

  And he smiled back, as if that had always been his name.

  Minh’s chair scraped against the floor as he half-rose, blurting,

  “Quang!”

  Every eye in the room turned to him. The boy looked up, his expression unreadable, but there was no recognition in his gaze.

  “You must be mistaken,”

  One of the girls whispered.

  “His name is Th?nh.”

  Minh sat down slowly, his whole body trembling.

  His mind screamed that something was wrong, terribly wrong but when he tried to hold onto the memory of that first introduction, the edges of it blurred, slipping like sand through his fingers.

  When the class settled, the new boy approached Minh’s desk.

  His eyes were calm, his smile almost apologetic.

  “Hi, Minh,”

  He said.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  Minh froze. His memory burned with the image of that same boy pinning him with a cold stare, speaking words that cut like knives.

  Yet now his tone was light, ordinary, like nothing had ever happened.

  Minh shook his head, his voice flat.

  “It’s fine. Just… stop bugging me anymore.”

  The boy nodded.

  “I promise.”

  Then, without another word, he turned and joined a group of classmates who welcomed him warmly.

  From across the room, Minh caught fragments of laughter, of casual greetings.

  The boy blended among them as if he had always been there, as if yesterday’s confrontation had never existed.

  A girl passing by glanced at Minh and scoffed, her voice sharp.

  “You think you’re too high for people, huh?”

  Minh ignored her. He lowered himself into his seat, staring blankly at his notebook.

  But inside, his thoughts spun wildly.

  Did he really forget? Or is he pretending? And if he’s pretending… then why?

  The classroom noise swelled, yet to Minh it felt distant, like he was sitting at the bottom of a deep, hollow well.

  When the final bell rang, Minh gathered his books and stepped out of the classroom.

  “Minh! Minh!” a voice called.

  He turned. It was Tr?n Th?c LinhWalking beside her was Lê Thành Phúc

  Linh jogged up to him with an eager smile.

  “Hey, next week is Nguy?n Phúc Tài’s

  Minh hesitated. Nguy?n Phúc TàiThe four of them had entered the same high school, though scattered into different classes:

  Linh and Phúc together, Minh and Tài apart.

  “I’m busy,”

  Minh said at last, shaking his head.

  Linh’s smile faltered just a little, while Phúc only gave a small nod, as if he had expected that answer.

  “Busy, busy, busy!”

  Linh shouted, throwing her hands up.

  “You’ve been busy since last year, and now you’re still busy?”

  That was the Linh Minh remembered, always energetic, quick to laugh, her heart too gentle, too easy to burst.

  Before Minh could answer, Phúc stepped forward. His eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on with you, Minh? You’ve skipped everyone’s birthday since last year. Why are you choosing to distance yourself from us?”

  Minh lowered his gaze and muttered,

  “I don’t want to”

  The crack of a fist against the wall cut him short. Linh startled, eyes wide.

  “Phúc! What are you doing?”

  But Phúc ignored her. His voice rose, hot and sharp:

  “You think your marks make you better than us? You think you’re too high now?”

  Minh looked up slowly. Phúc hadn’t changed, still strong, still too quick to lose his temper.

  Minh brushed Phúc’s hand aside with a cold glare.

  “You want to go to the supervision room? Fine. Go by yourself. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  With that, Minh turned and walked away.

  Behind him, Phúc’s voice chased after, echoing through the corridor:

  “Ignore him, he’s always by himself!”

  That night, the room was silent, only the faint hum of the ceiling fan kept him company.

  He thought it was safe to rest… until the dream began.

  The nightmare returned. Exhaustion pulled Minh into a deeper sleep than the night before, and with it came something darker.

  He found himself standing in the middle of his old junior high classroom.

  Desks lined the room, shadows pressed against the walls, and all around him stood his former classmates.

  At first, their voices rose in unison, a chant that echoed like a drumbeat:

  “Minh the loser… Minh the loser…”

  Minh clenched his fists and tried to block it out, refusing to meet their eyes.

  But then the chant shifted, their voices twisting into new words:

  “Quang not around… Quang not around…”

  This time, Minh couldn’t stay silent. He snapped, his voice breaking:

  “What’s wrong with you? You don’t even know Quang!”

  The chant stopped. In perfect, eerie unison, every classmate turned their face toward him.

  Minh’s stomach dropped. One by one, his classmates’ faces melted into darkness, their eyes hollow pits.

  The shadows leaned closer, whispering his name until his pulse hammered in his throat.

  And then, every voice spoke at once, carrying the tone and rhythm of Quang:

  “You’ll never escape me, Minh. You gave me a name… and you’ll never escape me.”

  The words pressed against him like iron chains, sinking into his chest until he could hardly breathe.

  Minh saw a shadowy figure in front of him, a shape he couldn’t recognize.

  The figure attacked, and for a moment Minh felt his heart stop.

  His headache grew unbearable. The shadow shouted, “Quang!” before vanishing.

  Minh looked around, more shadows emerged, this time taking the vague shape of his friend’s face.

  They chased him, and every time they struck, they shouted, “Quang!”

  The pain in Minh’s head became excruciating, and his heart throbbed with agony.

  With each chant of “Quang,” Minh felt his wrist burn.

  He looked down and saw the watch glowing faintly, its hands spinning without control, faster and faster, as though mocking his pain.

  Minh’s chest heaved as if he had run for miles.

  His arms trembled, too heavy to lift, and his voice cracked when he mumbled,

  “Quang… you’re trying to kill me?”

  Then he closed his eyes.

  The instant his eyes shut in the dream, Minh woke up in reality.

  His head still throbbed with pain, but his heartbeat had returned to normal.

  For a while, he just stared at the pale morning light spilling through the window, unsure if he had truly escaped the shadows.

  He dragged himself downstairs for breakfast.

  It was the weekend, at least he didn’t have to go to school.

  Minh’s mother noticed something wrong. She asked,

  “What’s the matter, Minh? You look terrible.”

  Minh pressed his palm to his temple, eyes half-closed.

  “My head… it feels like someone’s pounding a drum inside it, mom.”

  His father placed a hand on Minh’s forehead.

  His father’s hand felt warm and steady, but right under it, the wristwatch gave a faint tch-tch-tch, louder than before.

  Minh pulled his arm back quickly, hiding it under the table.

  “You’re burning up, you’ve got a fever.”

  He stood and went to get medicine.

  Minh rubbed at his temple.

  The pain was the same as in the dream, sharp and heavy, as if the shadows had followed him into daylight.

  “That’s from bathing at night,”

  His mother scolded gently.

  “Take the medicine and go back upstairs to rest.”

  Minh followed his mother’s advice.

  He swallowed the medicine, then dragged himself upstairs.

  Halfway up, the walls seemed to sway. A sharp dizziness seized him, and he clutched the railing.

  Each step felt heavier than the last.

  By the time he reached his bed, the world was already slipping away.

  He collapsed onto the mattress and sank into unconsciousness.

  His eyelids sank heavy, and the world dimmed into silence.

  Just before unconsciousness claimed him, Minh felt a faint pulse at his wrist, cold, unnatural, as if the watch itself tightened against his skin.

  A whisper slid into his ear, quiet yet unmistakable.

  “You can’t rest without me… Minh.”

  Then, everything went black.