Chapter 5: Descent
1282 Words
> “Milu… what a pity. I never got the chance to hold you in my hands and cut you open to see what’s inside.”
Bảo thought to himself, a flicker of regret and hunger flashing in his eyes—something that no one could ever understand.
Memories of Milu flooded back—vivid, alive, as if it had all happened just yesterday.
Every game they played, every wag of that tiny tail—all of it rekindled that same old itch inside him, that dark urge to “explore deeper.”
But his father’s warning from long ago still echoed in his head:
> “I hope you’ll love it the right way… don’t cross the line.”
That man—with his bitter stench of sweat and his hammer-heavy hands—had always filled Bảo with fear and loathing.
That fear had kept his sickness chained, pushed it deep down into the pit of his soul.
And then, one by one, the chains were broken.
Father. Mother. Grandfather. Grandmother.
Each of them left the world, taking their watchful eyes with them.
All those who had shackled him—gone.
For the first time, his heart felt light.
Free.
He could still remember it—the exact moment of release.
He had been overjoyed, savoring freedom, while his brother sat beside the bodies, sobbing uncontrollably.
Milu had crouched beside his brother too, quiet and limp, her eyes filled with a sorrow Bảo couldn’t fathom.
Why were they crying?
Why mourn the dead?
To him, their deaths meant only one thing: he was finally free.
Free to satisfy his blood-soaked curiosity.
Because deep down, he had never possessed a shred of humanity.
Ironically, those years of repression had shaped a flawless disguise:
Obedient. Strong. Righteous.
He despised that mask—but learned to use it.
During the years wandering the streets with his brother, people adored him more—always him.
Even though they looked almost identical, the world preferred Bảo’s charm, his composure.
He began to enjoy the deceit, learned to wear the mask perfectly, never letting it slip.
Then came the tragedy.
The gang of thugs had tortured Milu.
He had lost a perfect specimen—his beloved Milu, the creature he had waited so long to study.
He was furious.
He wanted to make them pay—to watch them bleed, to crush their bones, to hear them beg forgiveness from Milu.
But he was weak.
Too weak.
He couldn’t fight them, couldn’t punish them as he imagined.
Instead, he was beaten to a pulp—humiliated.
Yet even in defeat, he gained something far more precious than Milu.
He gained Na Na.
He remembered that day clearly—when he was discharged from the hospital and returned to old man Bay’s place.
His brother Thiện had gone back to the scene of the fight, returning with Milu’s stiff body, crusted with blood and wounds, tears streaming down his face:
> “When I found her, she was still breathing. Those bastards… they must’ve come back and finished her off… hu… hu hu!”
Seeing Milu in his brother’s arms, a violent heat flared inside Bảo—rage and regret, because he hadn’t been the one to send Milu off himself, hadn’t been the one to feel her life ebb away beneath his hands.
But on the outside, he performed flawlessly:
He sobbed uncontrollably, clutching the cold, limp body, his voice breaking with grief.
> “Milu… hu… hu… why did you die like this, Milu?
Who’ll play with me now?
Who’ll walk with me when I’m sad?”
Na Na watched him cry, heart aching.
The small, gentle girl knelt beside him, eyes glistening, one trembling hand holding his, the other brushing tears from his face.
> “Don’t be sad, anh Bảo… you still have me. And anh Thiện.”
His brother put a hand on his shoulder, his own tears falling, his teeth clenched tight.
> “Don’t hurt yourself grieving. I’m broken too… but it’s those punks’ fault—those cold-blooded animals deserve to burn!”
Bảo’s shoulders trembled.
He stroked Milu’s fur—stiff and matted with blood—then glared at his brother, his voice shaking with anger:
> “They’re monsters! How could they do this to her?
I want to make them beg—beg Milu for forgiveness!
They have to know Milu wasn’t just a dog—she was family, she was our friend!”
He turned his gaze toward Na Na, seeking sympathy.
But—
When their eyes met, something shifted.
Na Na, kneeling before him, chin tilted up, eyes full of pity—looked just like Milu once had:
Obedient. Sweet. Loyal.
Her small frame, her gentle voice, her gaze—she was the perfect substitute.
He brushed his fingers through her hair, and a dark whisper coiled inside him:
> “If only Na Na were like Milu… so gentle, so easy to love.”
The thought flickered—and hardened instantly into something cruel and certain.
> “No… Milu was a pet. So Na Na can be one too.
The only difference is—this one’s more perfect.”
He couldn’t stop himself from stroking her hair again.
Then he bowed his head, hiding the wicked smile spreading at the corner of his lips.
> “No… not now. Control it. If I slip, everything will fall apart.”
> “Let’s find a place to bury Milu,” Thiện said softly, sitting beside him and petting Milu one last time. “We’ll make her a beautiful grave.”
Bảo looked at him, hesitated briefly, then nodded—his expression so gentle, so convincing that no one would doubt it.
Na Na squeezed his hand, her voice choked with tears.
> “Okay… I’ll ask my dad if I can go with you and anh Thiện to bury her.”
Together, they built a small grave for Milu—simple but beautiful, a quiet farewell.
But only Bảo knew: what he had lost wasn’t a loyal friend.
It was a specimen he would never get back.
On the way home, Thiện had to return early to help at old man Bay’s shop, leaving only Na Na walking beside Bảo.
He pulled her into a soft hug, tears glistening in his eyes—though inside, his heart was alight with delight.
> “I miss Milu so much… she used to follow me everywhere, barking, teasing… now she’s gone.”
Na Na looked up, her eyes clear and tender.
> “Maybe… maybe we could get another one?”
He shook his head, smiling sadly.
> “Even if we did… we’d just have to watch it leave again.”
Then his gaze brightened, landing on her.
> “If only it were as smart as us… like you, Na Na.
Maybe then it wouldn’t have been caught by those bastards.”
Na Na lowered her head, her voice tiny.
> “You’re right… if it were smarter, it’d still be alive…”
Inside him, the trap snapped shut.
He smiled faintly—but hid it just as fast, replacing it with that perfect mask of sorrow.
> “I wonder… if it were like us, how would it look when it’s happy?
It must’ve been adorable…”
Na Na hesitated for a moment, then looked up at him shyly.
> “Then… let me show you, anh Bảo.
But you can’t laugh at me, okay? After this, you have to promise you’ll stop being sad.”
He nodded slowly, eyes glinting with quiet calculation.
And inside, he whispered:
> “The bait’s taken.”
- Writer
