Both men looked up at once.
The middle-aged gentleman rose immediately, his voice brimming with delight."Well, well, young master! It's been ages, hasn't it?"
Before Uy Phong could answer, the man strode over, pulling him into a firm embrace and giving his shoulder a hearty pat before letting go.
His hair was neatly grayed, his frame tall and lean, still carrying the kind of poise that came from decades of discipline. Deep green eyes shone with a calm, seasoned warmth—distant and aristocratic, yet homely enough to feel like family.
Uy Phong's lips curved faintly. "Yes."
This was Uncle Janssens—his grandfather's most trusted aide. A Belgian by birth, he had stood by the Grantham family through years of boardrooms, contracts, and global negotiations. Even after Grandfather stepped back from the conglomerate, Janssens stayed in Vietnam, as much companion as colleague. Decades of loyalty had woven him into the family fabric, a constant, steady presence.
Grandfather's low chuckle broke in, laced with fond reproach."Two people here, and you only greet one?"
Uy Phong gave a little shrug, sliding onto the sofa with casual ease."Do I really need to greet you, Grandfather?"
The old man shook his head, eyes narrowing with mock scolding before softening again into laughter."That's not formality—that's respect, you rascal."
"Is that so? Well then, good evening, Grandfather."
"Good heavens, now you've ruined it."
"Make up your mind," Uy Phong teased, smirking. "I bet Uncle Janssens has a hard time putting up with you."
The living room filled with a ripple of laughter. Grandfather shook his head at his cheeky grandson, while Janssens chuckled outright, pouring tea with a deft hand.
"Thank you, Uncle," Uy Phong said smoothly, accepting the steaming cup. "So what's this meeting about?"
"Nothing serious," Grandfather replied, placing a Go stone onto the board with deliberate calm. "It's been too long since I've seen my grandson. I just wanted you here for a few rounds of Go and some tea. Surely you can spare me that?"
"Sorry. I don't have time."
"What! No time? You're already here, boy!"
"Pass," Uy Phong said flatly, starting to rise.
But Grandfather's sharp throat-clear cut the air. His gaze hardened."Sit down. Tell me—how have you been abroad? Your studies, your friends… is there anything troubling you?"
Uy Phong froze, eyes flicking sideways. His voice came out clipped."The same."
"The same? You mean to say you've nothing at all to tell your grandfather? No joys, no worries?"
"Nothing," Uy Phong said simply.
Silence pressed heavy on the room. Grandfather sighed, while Uy Phong turned his face away, his indifference a wall between them.
Grandfather tried again, more gently. "And what about your parents—"
But before he could finish—
"Hey! Cousin! You're actually back in Vietnam? I thought Aunt and Uncle left you behind!"
A voice rang from the staircase.
Uy Phong's eyes lifted, and sure enough—it was one of his cousins.
Demyan.
The boy strode down the steps, tall as Uy Phong, his golden hair gleaming under the chandelier, pale skin and sharp blue eyes standing out starkly against the Asian setting. Handsome, yes—but not quite Uy Phong handsome.
Uy Phong didn't often mingle with cousins, least of all this one. Demyan was… loud. Brash. Always full of stories about girls, vodka, and shiny racecars his parents spoiled him with back in Russia. Nothing that interested Uy Phong.
Thud. Thud. His footsteps echoed down the wooden stairs until he landed on the final step, smirk tugging his lips.
"Yeah?" Uy Phong asked coolly. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," Demyan shrugged, grin crooked. "Just thought I'd track you down one of these days. Take you out, show you a good time. I come back every year—more than you, anyway. Seven years, cousin. Seven."
Uy Phong's mouth curved slightly."True. It has been a while… Demyan."
"Ooh, you remembered my name. I'm touched," Demyan said with a mocking laugh. "Next time, we should really catch up. I know a place you'd love…" His tone dipped mischievous, his green eyes glinting before he added, "…but not tonight. I'm busy."
He tugged sharply at the black belt tied around his waist, loosening it with a flourish before planting his hands on his hips, grin wide and proud.
Uy Phong's gaze snapped to the belt, his brow furrowing."Wait… you practice martial arts?"
"Huh?" Demyan blinked, then laughed. "Yeah. Taekwondo. Five years now. Planning to join a local class while I'm here. Why?"
Uy Phong's expression darkened. He shot upright so fast the sofa rattled. Without another word, he bolted for the door.
"Whoa, cousin! Where are you going!?" Demyan called after him, baffled.
But Uy Phong didn't answer. His pulse pounded, thoughts flashing with one frantic realization: Damn it. I forgot. I'm late.
Grandfather, Janssens, Demyan—all left staring in stunned silence as Uy Phong disappeared.
Outside, he waved down the first taxi. Sliding in, he barked,"Cultural Center. Drive."
The car sped off, leaving their bewildered faces behind.
...
At the Cultural Center, sneakers squeaked against mats, shouts rang across the hall, the energy electric.
From the bleachers, An Phong sat quietly, chin resting on his hand, eyes following the sparring pairs below. His posture was relaxed, though his mind seemed far away.
A referee's whistle pierced the air."Match ten, Minh wins! Match eleven, get ready!"
An Phong muttered under his breath, barely audible."Number eleven… I'm twenty-five. Still a long wait."
He glanced at the boy beside him, who wasn't even watching the fight—just grinning at his phone, thumbs flying. An Phong frowned faintly. So calm, even when it's almost his turn…?
Moments later, a girl rushed up, squealing as she handed over snacks and encouragement. The boy's grin widened.
So that's what it's like, huh? An Phong thought blankly. To have someone come cheer for you.
And then—like a spark—another name flared in his mind. Uy Phong.
Right. Someone had promised to come.
He pulled out his phone. But the screen flickered only long enough to display: Low Battery. Goodbye.
"Eh… forgot to charge?" he murmured, staring at his own dim reflection on the black screen.
By the time he blinked out of it, someone was already asking for the empty seat beside him. Wordlessly, he shifted his bag to his lap, though he caught himself wondering, What was I about to do again? He shook it off. Probably nothing.
So no message was ever sent.
***
An hour and a half later, Uy Phong sat in the back of a taxi, jaw tight, eyes burning holes through his phone screen. Not a single text. Not even a reminder. Nothing.
He'd been late more than ninety minutes. And An Phong just… said nothing? Unforgivable.
Ten minutes later, the taxi screeched to a halt. Uy Phong bolted into the center. The roar of the crowd swallowed him—chants, claps, stomps echoing through the arena. None of it mattered. His eyes scanned desperately, searching for a single familiar face.
"Match twenty-four, Tuyen wins! Match twenty-five, step up!"
The referee's voice cut through the noise. Uy Phong barely heard it—until the names followed.
"Match Twenty-Five: An Phong versus Demyan!"
Uy Phong froze. His eyes widened.
"What!?"