The sky was bleeding pale orange when I finally returned to the apartment building.
My legs ached. My clothes were dirty from a night of walking. I probably smelled like public toilets and regret. But I kept walking forward anyway.
Quan was sitting on the stairs right outside our floor, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. The moment he heard footsteps, his head snapped up.
Our eyes met.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
I could see the storm on his face — anger, exhaustion, worry, and something that looked dangerously close to relief. His eyes were red and puffy, like he hadn’t slept.
“You…” His voice cracked. He stood up slowly, fists clenched at his sides. “You disappeared for the whole fucking night. No calls. No messages. I thought you ran away again. I thought you finally decided to disappear for good this time.”
His tone was sharp, still carrying leftover anger from our fight. But his eyes betrayed him. They kept scanning me up and down, checking if I was hurt, if I was real.
I stopped a few steps away from him.
“I did run,” I said quietly. “But I came back.”
Quan’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to punch me and hug me at the same time.
“You always do this,” he said, voice shaking. “You always run when things get hard. And I’m always the one left here wondering if my brother is going to come back or if he’s finally decided I’m not worth the effort.”
He took a shaky breath, trying to hold onto his anger, but it was cracking.
“…But you came back.” His voice dropped. “You actually came back.”
There was a heavy silence between us. The kind filled with everything we had screamed at each other few days ago — my resentment, his pressure, the pain we caused each other.
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I did.”
Quan looked away, biting his lip hard like he was fighting back tears. When he turned back, his eyes were glossy.
“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, quieter this time. “I kept thinking… what if he never comes back because of me? Because I pushed too hard. Because I tried to turn him into something he’s not.”
He let out a bitter, broken laugh.
“And here you are. Looking like shit, but… here.”
I didn’t know what to say. The tension between us was still thick, unresolved. We weren’t okay yet. Not even close.
But for the first time in a long while, I saw my little brother — not the overbearing coach, not the disappointed critic — just Quan. Scared. Worried. And genuinely happy I was standing in front of him.
I took one step closer.
“I’m not running anymore,” I said. “But I need to do this my way. No more scripts. No more pretending. Just me.”
Quan stared at me for a long moment, searching my face. Then he gave a small, exhausted nod.
“…Okay.”
He didn’t hug me. Not yet. The wound was still too fresh.
But when I walked past him toward the door, he followed closely behind — close enough that I could feel his presence, but far enough to keep the tension alive.
The war wasn’t over.
But at least I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
Minh arrived exactly thirty-seven minutes later, looking like he had just survived a war with his own bed.
His hair was a bird’s nest, one side of his face still had pillow marks, and he was wearing a faded T-shirt that said “I Paused My Game For This?” while carrying a suspicious black duffel bag that smelled faintly of fish sauce and burnt plastic.
He took one look at me, then at Quan, and broke into a shit-eating grin.
“Well, well, well,” he said, still yawning like he just stepped out of bed. “You finally called me at ass o’clock in the morning because there’s two of you now? Bro, this is the best fucking plot twist since the whisker apocalypse.”
Minh dropped the bag on the floor with a loud clank, then proceeded to stretch dramatically, letting out a loud fart in the process without any shame.
“Excuse me,” he said, waving the air behind him. “That one had been brewing since yesterday. Anyway — tell me everything. Is the other you hotter? Does he have a bigger dick? Does he also suffer from chronic constipation like you?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Minh. Focus.”
“I am focused! This is some next-level existential shit. You’re literally fighting your final form. Like Dragon Ball but the villain is your try-hard version.”
Quan, still tense, frowned. “I’m surprised my brother trusted you on this.”
Minh looked at Quan with mock offense.
“Hey, watch who you’re talking to little shit. I’m the one who once defeated a city-wide cat whisker pandemic with dog piss and espresso. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little unhinged.”
He sat down on the floor cross-legged and looked up at me with surprisingly sharp eyes despite his messy appearance.
“Alright, serious mode activated. Tell me the situation. How perfect is this copy? On a scale from ‘annoying Instagram influencer’ to ‘I want to kill myself’?”
I sighed and gave him the full rundown.
Minh listened carefully with his head curiously tilted. When I finished, he whistled.
“Damn. So he’s not evil. He’s just… better. That’s actually way more fucked up than if he was a villain.”
He reached into his duffel bag and started pulling out random items: a spray bottle labeled “Truth Serum v2.0 (Might Cause Diarrhea)”, some expired incense sticks, and what looked like a modified TV remote.
“So what’s the plan, boss?” Minh asked, looking at me. “Want me to spike his drink? Release emotional chaos gas? Or we go full psychological warfare and make him admit he secretly watches idol girl group videos at 3 AM?”
I shook my head.
“No tricks. No gas. No fake scenarios. I’m not going to beat him by being smarter or sneakier. I’m going to beat him by being the real me. Flaws and all.”
Minh stared at me for three full seconds… then broke into the widest, most genuine grin I’d ever seen on him.
“Fuck yeah. That’s my Loc.” He wiped a fake tear. “I’m so proud I could shit again.”
He stood up and slapped my shoulder hard.
“Alright then. If we’re doing this raw-dog style, I’ll still help set the stage. But the fighting part? That’s all you, bro.”
Minh suddenly leaned in closer, lowering his voice with a rare serious tone hidden under the crude humor.
“Just remember — even if you lose, at least you fought as yourself. That’s already more than that polished motherfucker can say.”
He then immediately ruined the moment by sniffing his armpit and grimacing.
“Ugh. I should probably shower before the final battle. Or not. Might add to the chaos.”
~~~•••~~~
By early afternoon, the plan was in motion.
Quan, despite the lingering tension between us, threw himself into the role with surprising skill. He went floor by floor, using that bright, sincere charm he had perfected over the years.
“Hey everyone! We’re having a small welcome party for Loc — the new one — on the rooftop this afternoon at 5 PM! He’s been such a great addition to our community. Let’s all come together and show him some love!”
The residents ate it up. Ms. Lan immediately offered to bring her famous fried spring rolls. Auntie Năm volunteered to make fresh sugarcane juice. Within an hour, the entire building was buzzing with excitement about “welcoming the perfect Loc properly.”
Quan came back to our room sweating but satisfied.
“It’s done. Everyone’s coming. Even the ones who rarely leave their rooms.”
He looked at me, hesitation flickering across his face. “Loc… are you sure about this?”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
He didn’t argue. For once, he trusted me.
Meanwhile, Minh had turned the rooftop into his personal chaos playground.
He arrived with two massive duffel bags and immediately started “setting up the stage.” He dragged out old speakers from god-knows-where, ran wires across the floor, placed strange unlabeled spray bottles at strategic corners, and even set up a cheap microphone stand he borrowed from a wedding rental shop.
When I asked what half the stuff was for, he just winked.
“Insurance, bro. No cheating. Just… making sure the truth has good acoustics.”
At one point he climbed onto a plastic chair, nearly fell, and cursed loudly while adjusting a crooked banner that read “Welcome New Loc!” in slightly crooked handwriting.
“Perfect,” he said proudly. “It looks welcoming but also slightly unhinged. Just like us.”
As the sun began to dip lower, I found Tram on the stairs leading up to the rooftop.
She was carrying a small tray of snacks, clearly planning to help with the party. When she saw me, she stopped. The air between us immediately grew heavy.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Tram broke the silence first, her voice cool but not entirely cold.
“So… you’re really doing this? Challenging him in front of everyone?”
I nodded, leaning against the wall.
“Yeah.”
She looked at me for a long time, searching my face. There was hesitation in her eyes — the same hesitation I saw the night she walked away from me.
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Loc,” she said quietly. “One moment I think you’re finally trying… the next, you tell me everything was fake. And now you’re doing… whatever this is.”
Her voice softened, just a little.
“I wanted to believe you were changing. Even after everything. A small part of me still does.”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight.
“I’m not asking you to believe in me yet,” I said. “I just… I need to do this. Not for you. Not for Quan. Not even to beat him. I need to stand there as the real me. Messy. Scared. Not good enough. And still show up anyway.”
Tram looked down at the tray in her hands, then back up at me. For a brief second, I saw the girl from high school — the one who once laughed at my stupid jokes in our class.
“You always had a habit of running right before things got real,” she said, almost sadly. “Don’t run this time, Loc.”
She paused, then added softly:
“I’ll be watching.”
Without waiting for my reply, she continued up the stairs.
I stayed there for a moment longer, heart pounding, the weight of everything pressing down on my shoulders.
This wasn’t just about winning anymore.
This was about finally stopping the long run I had been on for ten years.
~~~•••~~~
The rooftop was packed. Dozens of residents crowded together under strings of cheap colorful lights that Minh had hastily rigged up. The air was thick with anticipation, sugarcane juice, and the smell of Ms. Lan’s spring rolls.
Quan stood in the center with the cheap wireless mic, his voice booming with the charisma of a professional host.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dear neighbors! Tonight is not just a welcome party. Tonight… we witness history!” He gestured dramatically toward both of us.
“On this side, we have New Loc — kind, responsible, talented, the man who has captured all our hearts in just a few days!”
The crowd cheered loudly. New Loc smiled gently and gave a humble wave.
Quan spun around, pointing at me with fiery intensity.
“And on this side — the original Loc! Our Loc! The man who has lived among us for years, full of… uh… unique personality!”
The applause was noticeably weaker.
Quan didn’t stop. He raised his voice even higher, eyes burning with brotherly determination.
“But tonight, the Original has something to say! Loc, the floor is yours!”
I stepped forward, heart hammering. The entire rooftop fell into a heavy silence.
I looked straight at New Loc.
“I’m tired of comparisons,” I said, voice loud enough for everyone. “So let’s settle this the only way that makes sense in this chaotic fucking building.”
I pointed at him.
“You and me. Right now. Diss rap battle. No mercy. No holding back.”
A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the crowd.
New Loc blinked, clearly surprised. His expression remained gentle.
“Loc… you don’t have to do this. We don’t need to hurt each other.”
Quan immediately jumped in, playing the perfect hype man.
“Ohhh! The Perfect Loc doesn’t want to fight? Is he scared? Or does he know deep down the Original still has something he doesn’t?”
The crowd started buzzing. Someone shouted, “Come on, New Loc! Are you just gonna let them talking like that? Show them what you’ve got!”
Ms. Lan yelled, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” and soon half the rooftop was chanting.
New Loc sighed softly, looking almost sad. But the pressure was too strong. He couldn’t refuse without looking weak.
He stepped forward and took the mic from Quan.
“Alright,” he said calmly. “If this is what you need.”
For a heartbeat, the two of us stood frozen, eyes locked in a raw, silent standoff.
New Loc’s gaze was steady and piercing — calm on the surface, but carrying an overwhelming weight of quiet judgment, like he already knew every flaw I was desperately trying to hide. No anger, no smirk, just pure, unflinching clarity that made my skin crawl.
I stared back without blinking, jaw clenched, breathing heavier than I wanted to admit.
My chaotic, messy energy crashed against his perfect stillness. The colorful lights above flickered, casting sharp shadows across our faces. In that brief, electric moment, it felt like the entire rooftop had vanished — only the Original and the Ideal remained.
The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Then New Loc’s lips curved into the faintest, almost sorrowful smile.
And he began.
His flow was smooth, clean, and devastatingly precise — like a professional rapper who also happened to be a therapist.
“You call yourself the original, but look at your life, bro,
A walking cautionary tale, moving painfully slow.
Hiding behind your brother’s back, letting him build your throne,
While I help the aunties and fix what you’ve never known.
You ran from Tram once, left her crying in that class,
Ten years later you’re still the king of ‘almost’ and ‘perhaps’.
Lazy, sarcastic, scared of effort, scared of pain,
I’m not better than you, Loc — I’m just what remains…
When you strip away the excuses and the shame.”
The crowd erupted. Some people clapped. Some even covered their mouth to stop the laughing.
New Loc handed the mic back with a soft, almost apologetic look.
My turn.
I took the mic. The rooftop fell into a tense silence.
For a split second, Quan’s shocked face from earlier flashed in my mind — the way my little brother had stared at me like I’d lost it completely when we planned this.
‘Diss rap battle? With New Loc? The perfect, beloved, flawless Loc?’ Quan had asked, eyes wide. ‘You’re crazy!’
A crooked smile tugged at my lips.
You were right, Quan. I really am out of my mind.
Minh, standing at the side like a mad conductor, grinned maniacally and held up a small remote. “Let’s make this shit cinematic, bro!”
The moment I opened my mouth, Minh pressed a button.
BOOM. A deep, dramatic bass drop exploded from the speakers.
I started without hesitation:
“Yo, look at this sorry ass right here,
Original Loc, professional disappointment engineer,
Waking up at 2 PM like it’s a full-time career,
My only loyal soldier is a broken ceiling fan spinning in fear!”
Right after my line, Minh slammed another button. A sad trombone sound effect wailed loudly — Womp womp wooooomp — followed by a crowd laughter track.
The residents burst out laughing. Even some aunties were clutching their stomachs.
I kept going, riding the chaotic energy:
“I let my little brother write my whole damn reputation,
Anonymous gifts? Bro, that was all his fabrication!
Ran from Tram like a bitch when shit got real,
Left her crying while I vanished like a bad Tinder deal!”
Minh immediately triggered a new effect: a dramatic record scratch followed by a lonely cricket sound effect crik… crik… crik… and then a voice sample saying “Oof. Brutal.”
The crowd was howling. Someone shouted, “He’s cooking himself!”
New Loc stood there calmly, still smiling gently, but I could see tiny cracks forming in his composure.
I pointed straight at him, voice getting raw:
“I’m lazy, I’m scared, I’m emotionally constipated as fuck,
Greatest achievement is surviving on instant noodles and bad luck!
I’m the guy who sees a kid crying and offers him… existential dread,
Too busy drowning in my own bullshit, staying in bed!”
Minh went absolutely feral.
He blasted a air horn BWAAAAAAA, followed by a voice changer yelling “SELF-ROAST!!! SELF-ROAST!!!”, then immediately switched to a heroic orchestral swell that completely clashed with my self-deprecating lyrics. The contrast was so ridiculous that even Tram had to cover her mouth to stop laughing.
The entire rooftop was losing their minds. People were cheering, filming, and chanting “Original! Original!”
Minh wasn’t done. For my final bars, he activated his masterpiece: a small fog machine released a dramatic puff of smoke around me while a deep voice sample played:
“Behold… the unfiltered sloth has awakened.”
I delivered the killing blow, voice slightly cracked but powerful:
“So yeah, I’m messy! I’m ugly! I’m scared as fuck to try!
But at least I’m real — not some polished, soulless lie!
You can be perfect. You can be kind. You can be everything I’m not.
But you’ll never be me… ‘cause being me fucking hurts a lot!”
The final line landed.
Minh dropped the beat completely, leaving only silence and the sound of the wind.
Then he howled like a wrestling commentator:
“THAT’S WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!!! SELF-DESTRUCTION ARC COMPLETE!!!”
The rooftop exploded.
Laughter, cheers, screams— everything mixed in together in a totally chaos atmosphere.
I breathed heavily like being on life support, eyes unconsciously seeking for Tram in the crowd. And I saw her there, looking directly back at me. Her eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t understand—something that made my heart pouncing even harder than before.
Quan was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes, bending over the mic stand.
“Oh my god… I can’t breathe,” he gasped between laughs. “My brother just cooked himself alive on the rooftop and made it look cool. Alright alright, I think it’s clear that the—”
He never finished the sentence.
New Loc, who had been standing perfectly still with that gentle smile the entire time, suddenly twitched.
His head tilted at an unnatural angle. The warm, understanding light in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold, sharp, and deeply wrong.
“You think this is over?” he whispered, voice no longer gentle. It was distorted, like two voices speaking at once — one calm, one seething with barely contained rage.
In a blur, he moved.
CRACK.
A fist slammed into my jaw with terrifying force. I staggered back, tasting blood. The crowd gasped in horror.
New Loc’s face twisted into something grotesque — still looking exactly like me, but wrong. Like a mask that had finally slipped.
“Hey! Foul play!” I heard Quan’s voice furiously echoed in the air. “No violence in a diss rap battle! Disqualified! You’re out!”
Still, New Loc didn’t seem to care about anything anymore. He took a step forward in front of everyone’s terrified looks and snarled.
“You pathetic, sniveling coward. You dare stand here and mock me with your self-pitying little rap? I am everything you failed to be. I am the version that doesn’t disappoint people. And you… you’re just the trash left behind!”
He raised his fist again, eyes wild.
I barely had time to react.
But something inside me snapped.
Not this time.
I remembered the ridiculous wuxia fight with Quan on the bed — the one where I broke character and tickled him into submission. The same chaotic, zero-effort energy surged through me.
I whispered under my breath:
“Ultimate Sloth Maximum Output.”
As New Loc’s fist came down, I didn’t dodge.
I leaned in.
And then I did the most unhinged, laziest, most Loc thing possible.
I wrapped both arms around him in a sloppy, suffocating bear hug, hooked my leg behind his knee, and flopped backward with zero grace — using my entire body weight like a dead sack of potatoes.
THUD.
We crashed onto the concrete rooftop together. I immediately locked my legs around him in the world’s laziest, most pathetic submission hold, while using one hand to mercilessly tickle his side — the same move I used on Quan.
New Loc’s perfect body spasmed.
“W-what are you— HAHAHA— STOP— THIS ISN’T HOW YOU FIGHT—!”
His unhinged mask shattered completely as uncontrollable laughter burst out of him. The more he struggled, the tighter I clung like a sleep-deprived koala refusing to let go.
“Get off me you lazy piece of— HAHAHAHA— shit!!”
The entire rooftop went dead silent for half a second…
Then exploded into absolute chaos again.
People were screaming, laughing, filming. Ms. Lan was crying from laughter. Auntie Năm dropped her sugarcane juice. Minh fell to his knees, slamming the floor with his fist.
Even Tram had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief and reluctant amusement.
New Loc’s body began glitching violently under me, flickering between perfect and broken.
“You… can’t… beat me… with… this… absurdity—!” he gasped between laughs.
I grinned, still refusing to let go, voice deadpan even while panting:
“I know.”
Right as New Loc tried to break free from my sloppy hold, Minh suddenly sprinted forward like a mad scientist on a mission.
“NOT ON MY WATCH, YOU POLISHED FUCK!”
He yanked out a large spray bottle from his duffel bag — the one labeled “Story Dissolver v1.0 (Extra Strength)” in messy handwriting — and unleashed a full blast directly into New Loc’s face.
PSSSSSSSSSSSSST!
A thick, glittering purple mist engulfed him.
New Loc’s eyes widened in horror. His perfect face began to distort, then bubble. His skin started peeling away in thin sheets like wet paper, revealing nothing but blank white space underneath.
“W-what… is this…?” he gasped, voice glitching violently.
Minh cackled maniacally while continuing to spray without mercy.
“This, my friend, is concentrated ‘Bullshit Remover’! All those fake stories we created? The anonymous gifts, the heroic tales, the mysterious kind neighbor legend — every single lie we told about Loc! I turned them into liquid narrative acid!”
New Loc’s body melted faster and faster, collapsing inward like a paper doll left in the rain. His limbs folded unnaturally, his face sliding off like cheap ink.
He looked straight at me one last time, expression twisted between rage and resignation.
“I was… only what you let them believe…”
With those final words, New Loc completely dissolved into a puddle of shimmering, colorful liquid that slowly evaporated under the rooftop lights, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of old lies and cheap incense.
I finally let go of my air wrestling pose and laid flat on the floor.
The irony taste invaded my mouth. The wound felt sore. But on top of that, a strange relief filled up my chest. It told me that I had finally won.
On another hand, the crowd fell into complete silence, looking confused as hell.
Dozens of residents stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths half-open, staring at the empty space where New Loc had been standing just moments ago.
Ms. Lan blinked rapidly. “He… melted?”
Auntie Năm clutched her cup of sugarcane juice tighter. “Was that a magic show? Did we just watch a man dissolve?”
Whispers broke out everywhere:
“Wait, so the perfect Loc was fake?”
“Did we get scammed?”
“Why did he look exactly like our Loc though?”
The confusion was palpable. People were looking at each other, then at me, then at the empty spot again, trying to process what they had just witnessed.
Minh, now sitting cross-legged on the dirty concrete like a gangster boss who had just finished a job, and let out a long sigh.
“Relax, everyone,” he said in the most bored, ‘been-there-done-that’ tone imaginable. “Loc was right. That guy was never a real person. He was just a construct — made entirely from all the fake stories and exaggerated legends we’ve been spreading about him. Once the lies got exposed and rejected tonight… well, no more fuel, no more existence. Simple narrative collapse.”
He shrugged, looking strangely like an uncle flexing his new car to his nephews.
“Trust me. I’ve seen weirder shit during the whisker incident.”
The crowd still looked half-convinced, half-terrified, but Minh’s absurdly casual attitude somehow made the supernatural event feel… almost normal.
Before the questions could escalate, Quan suddenly broke through the crowd and ran straight at me.
“Loc!”
He slammed into me with a full-body hug, nearly knocking both of us down. His arms wrapped around me tightly, face buried in my shoulder. I could feel his body trembling.
“You stupid, stubborn, idiot brother…” he muttered, voice thick with tears and relief. “You actually did it. You beat him. As yourself.”
I stood there for a second, then slowly hugged him back.
“Yeah… I did.”
Quan pulled back slightly, eyes red and watery, but smiling like he used to when we were kids.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For pushing you so hard. For trying to fix you like you were broken. I was just scared you’d stay stuck forever.”
I patted his back awkwardly.
“I’m sorry too. For making you carry everything. For running away every single time.”
We stayed like that for a moment — two exhausted brothers hugging on a chaotic rooftop while half the building watched in awkward silence.
Quan sniffled and laughed wetly.
“So… truce?”
I smirked tiredly.
“Truce.”
As Quan and I finally pulled apart, the rooftop slowly buzzed back to life with confused chatter and nervous laughter.
Then Tram stepped out from the crowd.
She walked toward us with her arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable. Not warm, but not ice-cold either.
There was visible exhaustion on her face. Only when she got closer did I notice the details I had missed before — the faint redness around her eyes, the light dark circles underneath, and how slightly disheveled her short hair was.
She had been out searching for me. All night.
Together with Quan.
Tram stopped a few steps away. She looked at me for a long moment, as if weighing her words carefully.
“You’re still an idiot,” she said quietly. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried the weight of someone who had been worried and didn’t want to admit it. “Running off like that again. Making everyone chase after you in the middle of the night.”
I swallowed. The guilt hit harder than New Loc’s punch earlier.
“I know,” I said softly. “I’m sorry, Tram. For running. For lying. For making you worry… again.”
The words came out gentler than I had intended. Almost tender. Even I was surprised by how sincere they sounded.
Tram held my gaze. For a few seconds, the tension lingered. Then her shoulders relaxed just a fraction. She let out a small, tired sigh.
“…At least this time you came back. And you didn’t hide behind anyone.” She paused, then added with a hint of her usual teasing tone, “Progress, I guess. Tiny, pathetic progress.”
She reached up and lightly flicked my forehead — not hard, but enough to carry meaning.
“Don’t make me do this again, Poetry Cat.”
A faint, reluctant smile touched her lips. It wasn’t full forgiveness. Not yet. But it was no longer pure disappointment either.
I rubbed the spot she flicked, feeling a strange warmth in my chest despite how exhausted I was.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “No more running. I promise.”
Quan grinned beside us, eyes still a little watery. The three of us stood there (four actually, if I count in Minh who’s been staring at the scene with a weird ass smile on his face) — messy, tired, and imperfect — while the rooftop slowly returned to its usual chaotic energy around us.
Finally, I stretched out lazily and said with the same deadpan voice as usual.
“Now.. Can I go to bed? I haven’t slept at all last night.”
~~~•••~~~
My name is Loc. Nguyen Van Loc.
And I have to admit. That journey of mine was quite.. bizarre.
~~~•••~~~
End of chapter 1.
