Looking at the card in his hand—a card depicting a white hand being devoured by darkness—Tung lay down in exhaustion and fell asleep. Time seemed to freeze. In that fleeting moment, memories of those days came rushing back.
When everyone was writing their wishes on the graduation board, some wished to become wealthy and successful entrepreneurs, others dreamed of becoming singers whose voices would soar high. Then there was that odd, quiet, introverted guy who wrote down something utterly absurd.
He wanted to start a revolution.
The whole class laughed at him, and Tung joined in gleefully. But seeing the guy sitting silently in the corner of the desk, deep down, Tung understood that he must have gone through something dark and painful. His wish was clearly vague, but that didn't mean his future wouldn't be extraordinary.
"What are you writing?"
"I'm thinking."
Tien Dung kept asking, his curious eyes scanning through the beautiful photos Tung had taken. Tung's wish was simple, yet its meaning was far deeper than the two words he wrote—Success.
Tung didn't know what to do. He hugged himself tightly, surrounded by the lonely sorrow of a hopeless romantic. His hand trembled as he gripped the pen, hesitating even when writing down his own wish.
"I want to be happy!"
There had once been a girl who didn't laugh at that wish of his—to be happy. But she was no longer by his side.
Tung quickly wiped his tears as soon as they formed.
His past wasn't pretty—at least, not from the way he saw the world.
Tung was the only son of the Tran family in Trinh Hoa. When he was born, his parents were just fifteen—a pair of "you sit where you're told" parents in the truest sense. Still, they loved him dearly and raised him to be a good person.
At the age of six, Tung began interacting with classmates. But because of his kind and gentle nature, he became the target of bullies. Just because he didn't understand what a joke was.
One of his bullies, Khai, was a source of fear for Tung for years. Khai would often pull Tung's hair and beat him. Once, when Khai was teasing a girl in class, Tung shouted out just as he always did:
"Bullying is wrong! Don't hurt your classmates!"
But those words only made Khai angrier. He beat Tung again, and his friends joined in, tearing up the only school uniform Tung had. No one intervened—only mocking laughter filled the room.
Tung cried and told the teacher what happened, but only received a cold response:
"You must've done something to provoke him!"
When Khai and his gang heard about it, they waited for Tung at the school gate and beat him again.
Tung gritted his teeth, clutching his bruises as he made his way home. His father didn't even have to ask—he knew his son was being bullied. Tung remembered clearly how furious his father was that day. His mouth twitched as if about to say something, then he stormed out of the house.
His father loved wuxia stories—those old martial tales were more thrilling than today's social media—and he had a strong sense of right and wrong. At 22, still carrying the spirit of a hero with grand ideals, he would often disappear without a trace.
"If your dad's out all day, something's bound to happen!"
Tung's mother sighed, already used to her husband's chivalrous ways. Just as she predicted, two days after Tung's father left, two police officers came knocking, asking her to come with them.
It turned out that Tung's father had gone to Khai's house and, as soon as the kid stepped outside, beat him with a baton. He was taken in by police afterward for severely injuring someone else's child.
"Brother Tran! Are you alright?!"
Tung's father always made him call him "Brother Tran" since he could talk, and eventually, Tung got used to it. The man showed no fear, his defiant eyes still blazing. When Tung arrived, his father hugged him tightly, smiling with excitement, calling him "Little Brother Tran."
"Listen, Little Brother Tran. A man must know right from wrong. If someone harms you, you must take revenge. What I did today—this is as far as I'll go. The rest is up to you. Anyone who tries to hurt you, find your own way to get revenge. I know it sounds harsh, but how can a young man hold back all that rage?"
Every time they spoke like martial arts brothers from those novels, Tung admired his father even more.
"Vengeance must be paid in full."
Tung kept mumbling those words until they burned into his soul.
Word spread about his dad beating Khai, and back at school, he was still bullied. Worse, people mocked him for "crying and calling Daddy to come hit people." He endured the pain throughout his elementary years. But his father's words echoed in his mind. Tung smiled. Now wasn't the time for revenge—yet.
By middle school, Tung was still Khai's errand boy. Every morning before school, he had to buy meat sandwiches for Khai and his crew. If he didn't, he'd get beaten badly—once even with an iron rod, which left him bandaged for a month.
"Maybe it's time for revenge!"
Tung stayed quiet. Each time he bought a sandwich, he would sprinkle a bit of rat poison into the filling. Khai never noticed. He even said the sandwich was great and told Tung to keep buying them.
Tung smiled in the dark. It was the first time a murderous glint shone in his eyes. Day after day, he kept adding more poison.
"This time, you're dead for sure!"
Tung feared Khai, but he hated his own cowardice even more. He couldn't confront his enemies head-on anymore. All he could do was deal with them from the shadows.
From then on, his image of a true hero was someone who endured, used cunning, and ultimately triumphed.
By high school, Tung had cut ties with Khai and his gang. His life was calmer. The chivalrous spirit passed down by his father made him stand out. He made more friends.
Then came the news—Khai had died in a traffic accident. They said he was riding his motorbike normally when he suddenly lost control and slammed into a passing truck. His head was crushed like a watermelon.
Khai had been poisoned before the crash. No one knew that—except Tung.
He didn't react. It felt like it had happened a long time ago.
"Serves him right. That's karma."
A few months later, news came that the other bullies in Khai's gang had all died of seizures. Perhaps the poison had finally reached their hearts.
Tung's vengeance was complete.
In his first year of university, Tung noticed Linh, a shy and quiet girl in his class. She was his first love.
Linh was timid and rarely spoke. She always wore a mask to class, never taking it off. Only her star-like eyes were visible—and those eyes pulled Tung in completely. Almost no one in class had ever seen her bare face.
"Do you think it's pretty?"
"It is," Tung said, admiring her work. "Maybe you should add a bit more shine to it."
It was a drawing of a hand holding a rose. Linh loved drawing. If there wasn't class, she'd take out a sketchbook and start drawing.
"It kinda looks like a zombie hand, though."
"Really?"
Linh smiled every time Tung commented on her art. Whether praise or critique, she always blushed and smiled beautifully.
"I like silence. It helps me sleep. What about you?"
"I like film soundtracks…"
This time, she showed him another drawing—just black and white. It was another hand, but the contrast made it feel otherworldly—like a barrier between life and death.
The two grew closer. Eventually, Tung developed feelings for Linh. Not wanting to fall behind his young parents, he decided to be bold and confess.
"I like you, Linh!"
She smiled and turned away. That class went on like normal.
But the next day, Linh didn't show up.
Tung thought she might be sick or busy. But three days passed. She was still absent.
"Did I do something wrong?"
He called and texted her repeatedly, but all he got were long beeps and an error message in a foreign language.
"Please… pick up…"
Silence. Loneliness. Coldness. Tung blamed himself. Just for saying he liked her—how foolish. Love wasn't like the movies or books he'd read.
His sadness faded slightly. He rubbed his eyes, a faint red mark under them. The coldness in the classroom seemed to lift. He stared silently out the gloomy window. It had been a week. He missed her deeply.
"Tien Dung… can you help me go to Linh's place?"
"Are you sure?" Tien Dung glanced outside. "It's going to pour soon—look at those black clouds."
"It's fine. I'll manage. I have her address…"
This was his chance. If he didn't want to be tormented by worry, he had to go and see her. Happiness—that was his wish now.
The city sky was covered in ominous clouds. A strong gust of wind blew through the streets like a vanguard, sweeping everything in its path. Tien Dung took him partway—enough for Tung to feel grateful.
Tung pressed on alone. He valued relationships more than anything. He had opened his heart to Linh—he had to be responsible.
"That's right! I should buy her a gift!"
Linh was introverted and didn't talk much. Tung wanted to repair their bond. He walked into a stationery shop, glanced at the cute teddy bears, but shook his head. That would only confuse her, maybe even scare her off.
In the end, he chose a set of professional drawing pens and a crystal-blue notebook. Linh loved drawing—this gift would show he truly cared.
"How much is this set?"
"That'll be…"
He pulled out his thick wallet—when suddenly, a strange glint from nearby. A hooded thug shoved Tung into the counter, snatched the wallet, and bolted.
"Thief! Stop him!"
Tung shouted and gave chase. The sky finally cracked open, unleashing a downpour like bullets. His cold feet splashed through puddles, his body soaked, eyes fierce like a predator locked onto prey.
"Stop! You bastard! Thief!"
The thief tripped over his own shoelaces. Tung caught up and started hitting him furiously.
"Give me back my money!"
The thief struggled but couldn't break free. He pulled a switchblade from his jacket. His eyes darkened, veins popping as he stabbed Tung in the stomach. A chill ran through Tung's entire body.
"Help! Somebody help!"
In pain, Tung clung tightly to the thief. Nearby people rushed over. Panicking, the thief mustered all his strength and kicked Tung hard in the chest.
Tung fell onto the road—just as a truck barreled toward him.
His eyes widened. All he saw was the massive, skidding tire growing larger in the pouring rain…