Chapter 1: Darkness In The Silent Alley
The city at night blazed like a living painting. Streetlights stretched into long ribbons of gold, reflecting off the slick, rain-streaked asphalt. The roar of trains, the howl of wind, the shuffle of passing feet—an endless, chaotic rhythm. Exhaust smoke mixed with the scent of grilled street food, thick and suffocating, yet thrilling.
Yet just a few steps from the main road, down a narrow, pitch-black alley, the world looked different. A scrawny boy, sixteen or seventeen, was cornered by a gang of kids. They punched and kicked him mercilessly, laughter echoing through the alley. Though he had fallen, he curled up, clutching a small, bloodied puppy, crawling away through the pain.
“Damn it! Didn’t you hear me? Let go!” – a large boy yelled, kicking him hard in the ribs.
“Hand over that dog, you bastard!” – another screamed, mixing punches with curses.
“This kid’s stubborn. Beat him to death!”
Amid the shouting, a shadow appeared at the alley’s entrance. A smaller boy, barely fourteen or fifteen, with a baby face but ice-cold eyes, moved silently. In his hand was a scrap of iron he had picked from a nearby junk heap, shimmering under the streetlights.
He said nothing, jaw set, clutching the iron rod, eyes locked on the gang attacking his older brother. Only when he was within striking distance did he roar:
“You dare hit my brother? I’ll crush you all!”
The iron struck. Bonk! One boy fell, blood quickly seeping from his head. The rest froze for a moment, then screamed:
“You dog! You want to die, don’t you?!”
The gang surged forward. One lunged to wrest the iron rod from the smaller boy’s hand, while the others rained punches and kicks on the younger brother. The alley filled with the sounds of fists on flesh and pained groans.
Yet the younger brother didn’t make a sound. Bloodshot eyes blazing, he dropped the rod and swung with full force at the boy who had snatched it. Blood sprayed. The attacker screamed and fell backward.
“Kill him!” – the remaining kids roared like wild beasts.
On the ground, the elder brother’s eyes flickered open. Seeing his sibling besieged, he staggered up, body trembling, but lunged forward. With the last of his strength, he threw himself at the attackers, pulling them off his brother, voice hoarse:
“Let go of my brother, you bastards!”
Punches, kicks, and screams echoed through the dark alley, suffocating the space. Both brothers teetered on exhaustion. Then a girl’s voice rang from the alley entrance:
“The police are coming! Someone call them! They’re assaulting people!”
Her words cut through the gang like a blade. Hearing “police,” panic swept them. They scattered immediately. One, still spiteful, managed one last kick to the younger brother’s stomach before fleeing.
Only one remained on the ground—the boy who had been hit by the younger brother after the struggle for the iron rod. The smaller boy’s hands still clutched his neck. His face was purple, foam at his mouth.
“Anh Thiện! Anh Bảo! Are you two okay?”
A trembling voice called out. A girl around twelve or thirteen rushed over, small and frantic, hair tied messily, eyes wide and wet. It was Na Na, the brothers’ neighbor.
Thiện lifted his swollen, bruised eyes to her, voice hoarse:
“Na Na… what are you doing here…”
Horror hit him. Bảo was unconscious in his arms, yet his hands still clamped like a vise around the boy’s neck beneath him.
“Bảo! Let go! Let go of him, someone’s going to die!”
Thiện screamed, prying apart fingers clenched like iron. Finally, he freed Bảo and pulled him into a hug. Bảo’s small body was limp, breathing shallow.
“Bảo! Wake up… wake up!” – Thiện shouted, eyes red.
“Anh Bảo! Please wake up!” – Na Na sobbed, kneeling, tears streaming onto his cheeks.
Thiện gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, carrying Bảo out of the alley. His thin body shook, but he held his brother tight. Na Na ran after them, crying and screaming hysterically:
“Help! Help my brother! Save him… please!”
They burst onto the main street, bright and bustling. People passed by: office workers, students, everyone. They stopped and watched, but no one helped. Phones flashed constantly, capturing every moment as if it were entertainment.
Then a bulky, middle-aged man pushed through. Sweat drenched his face, oil-stained tank top clinging. Breathing heavily, he forced a path through the crowd, roaring:
“Move! Help them! Stop filming!”
He scooped Bảo into his arms, shouting at the crowd:
“Get out of the way, you bastards!”
His voice thundered. The onlookers stepped back, forming a path. Thiện and Na Na ran after him, throwing furious glances at every indifferent face they passed.
