My name is Nguyen Van Loc. The famous Lazy Loc of our apartment.
It was a quiet Saturday morning when Lazy Loc decided to tempt fate by being a responsible Loc.
The apartment’s narrow shared alley washing area had never seen such ambition.
I stood there like a warrior facing a dragon, armed with a bucket of clothes, half a bottle of detergent, and pure delusion.
The old manual washing machine rumbled dangerously as I poured what I thought was a normal amount of soap. Thirty seconds later, the alley looked like a bubble bath crime scene.
Soap suds spilled everywhere. A neighbor’s plastic stool was already floating. The stray cat that usually hung around the alley was now wearing a suspicious amount of foam like a tiny angry cloud.
I was on my knees trying to contain the disaster when I heard familiar footsteps.
“Wow,” Tram’s voice came from behind me, laced with that signature mix of amusement and judgment. “I didn’t know we had a professional laundromat service now.”
I froze, pink-tinged bubbles clinging to my arms. Of course she would show up right now.
“I’m… trying something new,” I muttered, attempting to look dignified while wiping suds off my face. “Responsible adult arc. Phase one.”
Tram leaned against the alley wall, arms crossed, watching the chaos with a small smile. “Phase one seems to involve flooding the neighborhood. Bold strategy.”
A particularly ambitious bubble floated past her. She popped it with one finger without breaking eye contact.
We fell into one of those conversations that started light but quickly wandered into dangerous territory.
“So,” she said casually, “is this because of all the Hades photos? Or are you actually trying to prove something?”
I squeezed out a soaked shirt that definitely used to be white. “Both? I don’t know. After everything… I keep thinking about how I showed you the real messy version of me. And I’m tired of being the guy who just floats through things. Even if I’m bad at this.”
Tram was quiet for a moment, watching me struggle with the machine. The usual teasing softened, but didn’t disappear completely.
“It’s not about being perfect, Loc,” she said eventually. “It’s about whether you’ll keep showing up when it gets inconvenient. Not just when it’s easy or funny.”
A big wave of suds chose that exact moment to spill over the edge, soaking my shoes. I sighed.
“Timing is impeccable as always.”
Tram let out a soft laugh — the kind that still made my chest do stupid things. She stepped closer, grabbed a spare bucket, and started helping me scoop up the mess without being asked.
We worked in surprisingly comfortable silence for a minute before she spoke again.
“Just don’t disappear into the role again. Whether it’s Perfect Loc… or Hades. I want to see the real version actually trying.”
Before I could reply, my phone buzzed loudly on the windowsill.
Quynh: Emergency dinner tonight at the usual rice restaurant near campus! Everyone WILL come. It’s important ❤️
Tram glanced at the screen and raised an eyebrow.
“Looks like your responsible day is just getting started.”
I looked at the flooded alley, the pink shirt in my hands, and the girl standing next to me who somehow still hadn’t given up on me.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I guess it is.”
~~~••••~~~
Later that evening, the group gathered at a small bustling rice restaurant tucked in a side street near the university.
The place had the gloriously ridiculous name “Com Tam Zeus – Power Rice for Strong Souls” — complete with a giant cartoon lightning bolt on the sign and pictures of muscular Greek gods eating grilled pork chops.
We claimed a big round table in the corner. The smell of grilled meat, fried eggs, and pickled vegetables filled the air while motorbikes roared past outside.
Quan was already nervously stacking extra plates like he was preparing for war.
Minh showed up late, chewing on a banh mi he brought from elsewhere.
I sat there still faintly smelling of detergent.
Quynh arrived last. She looked more put-together than usual — hair neatly tied, wearing a simple shirt instead of her usual chaotic graphic tees — but her smile was a little too bright.
“Thanks for coming everyone,” she said as she sat down. “I wanted to celebrate the project progress… and also give you a heads-up.”
She took a deep breath.
“My dad — Mr. Luat — is coming to Saigon sooner than I thought. He wants to see the exhibition in person. He’s… not exactly thrilled about the whole Greek mythology concept. He thinks I should focus on something more practical.”
Quan immediately jumped in with full support mode. “But your project is amazing! We’ll show him how meaningful it is!”
Tram, sitting across from me, gave a small nod. “We can help make the presentation look more professional if you want.”
I was about to add something supportive when the restaurant owner suddenly called out loudly toward the entrance.
“Table for five? Wait — six?”
A middle-aged man in a neat button-up shirt and serious expression walked in. He scanned the table, eyes landing on Quynh.
Quynh froze.
“Dad…?”
Mr. Luat — tall, stern, with the kind of heavy presence that made the lively restaurant feel ten degrees quieter and suddenly much smaller — approached our table.
His sharp eyes swept over the group like a judge evaluating evidence, lingering disapprovingly on the chaotic mix of people around his daughter.
“I was in the area for work,” he said, voice low and controlled, pulling out a chair without asking. “Thought I’d join my daughter for dinner. I didn’t expect such a… large and colorful gathering.”
The table fell into a heavy, awkward silence, broken only by the constant sizzling of meat on nearby grills.
Quynh forced a bright smile. “Dad, these are my friends. They’ve been helping a lot with the project. This is Loc, Quan, Tram, and.. your sweet son Minh.”
Mr. Luat gave each of us a slow, appraising nod. When his gaze landed on me, I became painfully aware of the faint pink detergent stain still on my sleeve. He said nothing, but the slight tightening of his jaw spoke volumes.
Quan, bless his golden-retriever heart, immediately tried to impress. He sat up straight and launched into what he clearly thought was a respectful introduction.
“Mr. Luat, sir! It’s an honor! I’ve been studying Greek mythology to better support Quynh’s vision. Hermes was the god of communication, you know — very relevant to my university major! I believe this project has tremendous potential for creative branding and cultural exchange!”
Mr. Luat stared at him for a long second, expression unreadable. Quan’s eager smile slowly wilted under the silence.
Finally, Mr. Luat turned to Minh. He didn’t say a single word. Just looked at his son with a heavy, exhausted disappointment that somehow felt louder than any lecture.
Minh just gave a lazy little wave and took another bite of his food, avoiding eye contact.
“So,” Mr. Luat said at last, picking up the menu but clearly not interested in it, “this is the group behind those… Greek gods photos I’ve been hearing about?”
The tension at the table thickened like overcooked rice left too long on the stove.
Quynh tried to salvage the moment. “The project is actually coming together really well, Dad. We’re blending Greek mythology with everyday Saigon life. It has… artistic value.”
Before Mr. Luat could respond, Quan jumped in again, determined to impress.
“Yes, sir! For example, we have this concept where Hades runs a modern underworld delivery service using motorbikes! Very symbolic of responsibility and logistics!”
He even pulled out his phone and showed Mr. Luat a photo of me looking tragically bored while holding a boba tea like it was a lost soul. Mr. Luat stared at the image in dead silence.
Tram, sensing the disaster, tried a more polished approach. “The composition has improved a lot. It’s not just playful — there’s a strong thematic contrast between chaos and order.”
I nodded quickly, trying to sound responsible. “Yeah. I’ve been… practicing my poses. For the art.”
Minh, completely unbothered, casually added, “I even made a filter app to make the photos look more professional. Want to see the one where Loc looks like a CEO of Hell?”
He turned his phone around. The screen showed me dramatically brooding in front of a broken photocopier with a glowing “Underworld Inc.” sign Photoshopped behind me. The filter had added unnecessary lightning effects and fake Greek columns.
Mr. Luat’s expression grew tighter with every ridiculous explanation. His silence was surgical.
Quynh kept smiling, but I could see her fingers gripping her chopsticks a little too hard. “We’re still refining the presentation, of course. Making everything look more… professional.”
The group’s desperate attempts to pretty up the project only seemed to dig the hole deeper. Quan continued rambling about “cultural fusion potential,” Tram offered calm but increasingly strained academic defenses, and Minh kept showing increasingly absurd edited photos like a chaotic PowerPoint presentation from hell.
Mr. Luat listened to it all without interrupting, his face a mask of growing disapproval. Every time someone mentioned “gods” or “mythology,” his jaw clenched slightly harder.
The sizzling grills around us felt louder than ever.
“And look at this one, sir!” Quan said enthusiastically, leaning across the table with his phone. “This shot perfectly captures Hades contemplating modern existential dread while stuck in education. The composition is—”
His sentence was cut off by a loud notification sound.
Then another.
Then several more in rapid succession.
Quan’s phone, still held up proudly, suddenly started playing audio on its own. The screen lit up with a video that had just been posted in the university group chat.
The thumbnail was unmistakable: me dramatically posing as Hades in the university courtyard, judging a plastic bowl of pickled vegetables like lost souls, while Quynh directed with theatrical flair in the background.
The caption read: “Mythology girl and her crew wilding again 😂 When your final project is a Saigon Olympus fever dream.”
The video played automatically — complete with the ridiculous moments: me nearly tripping over a stray cat, Quan dramatically delivering “divine messages” while holding boba tea, Minh casually eating in the background while someone yelled “Dionysus approves!”, and Quynh passionately explaining Greek tragedy using a broken fountain as a prop.
The entire table went dead silent except for the video audio.
Mr. Luat slowly turned his head toward the phone. His expression darkened as the clip continued playing the most unhinged parts on loop.
Quynh’s face paled.
Quan quickly tried to lock the screen, but it was too late. The damage was done.
Mr. Luat set down his chopsticks with deliberate calmness.
“So,” he said, voice low and heavy with pressure, “this is what my daughter has been pouring her time into.”
Mr. Luat set down his chopsticks with deliberate calmness.
“So,” he said, voice low and heavy with pressure, “this is what my daughter has been pouring her time into.”
The temperature at the table dropped instantly. His stare fixed on Quynh like a blade.
“I came to Saigon hoping to see progress,” he continued, each word measured and cutting. “Instead, I find my daughter leading a circus. Playing pretend gods while posting embarrassing videos for the whole university to laugh at. Do you understand how this reflects on you? On our family?”
Quynh opened her mouth, but he raised one hand slightly — not loud, but the gesture alone silenced her.
“I have tolerated this fantasy long enough. Your brother already chose the easy, ridiculous path and wasted his potential.”
He didn’t even glance at Minh, but the disappointed silence toward his son was louder than any shout.
“I will not watch you do the same. You have until the exhibition to prove this project is more than childish nonsense. If it fails, or if it continues looking like this—” he gestured toward Quan for some reasons, “—then that’s the end of it. No more allowance. No more wasting time on myths and dreams. You will switch to a real major. Something useful.”
The air felt thick. No one dared speak.
Mr. Luat stood up slowly, his presence still dominating the table.
“Fix this. Or I will fix it for you.”
He gave Quynh one last long, disappointed look, then walked out of the restaurant without another word. The sound of his footsteps faded, but the weight he left behind stayed.
Quynh sat frozen, staring at her plate. Her usual bright energy was nowhere to be seen.
Quan looked devastated, like someone had kicked his favorite puppy. Tram’s expression had turned serious and protective. Minh just sighed quietly and took another bite, though his usual carefree attitude seemed strained.
I stared at the pink stain on my sleeve, feeling the weight of everything — responsibility, family pressure, and the fear of disappointing people who mattered — hit harder than ever.
~~~•••~~~
For a long moment, no one moved. The sizzling meat on nearby grills felt mocking in the heavy silence Mr. Luat left behind.
Quynh was the first to break it. She took a slow breath, forced her usual bright smile back on her face, and picked up her phone.
“Well… that could have gone better,” she said, voice remarkably steady. “But we can fix this. Right?”
She opened the video. The comments were already flooding in.
“Bro this is the funniest final project I’ve ever seen 😂”
“Quynh wilding again, mythology girl doesn’t miss”
“Is that Hades eating pickled vegetables?? I’m deceased”
“Her dad must be so proud lol”
Some were mean. Some were genuinely amused. A few were surprisingly supportive. But the sheer number was overwhelming.
Quan looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. “Oh no… there’s already three hundred comments…”
Tram leaned over to look, her brow furrowed. “Some of them are actually positive. But the tone is… not helping.”
Minh, ever the chaotic genius, cracked his knuckles. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll make a cooler version.”
He immediately went into full editor mode, pulling out his phone and laptop from his bag like a man on a mission.
While the rest of us watched the comments roll in, Minh started aggressively editing: swapping the silly music for something more dramatic and orchestral, cutting the most ridiculous clips, adding slow-motion effects on the better poses, and even throwing in tasteful text overlays like “Exploring Mythology in Modern Saigon – Final Project Teaser.”
Quynh watched him work while still maintaining her cheerful front. “See? This is good practice for crisis management. Greek heroes faced worse, right?”
She laughed lightly, but her fingers tapped restlessly on the table — a tiny crack in the armor. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Quan tried to be supportive. “The new edit looks way more professional already! Your dad will see the vision when he comes to the exhibition. I believe in you, Quynh!”
He gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. Quynh returned it with a warm nod, but her shoulders stayed a little too tense.
Tram glanced between Quynh and the comments, her tone calm but sincere. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you. This is a lot.”
“I’m fine,” Quynh replied quickly, still smiling. “Really. We just need to control the narrative. The project has real value. We’ll show him.”
But when another mean comment popped up — something about “living in fantasy while her family deals with real problems” — I caught the briefest flicker across her face.
A micro-expression of hurt that she buried almost instantly by leaning over Minh’s shoulder to check the edit.
“Add more lighting on the temple backdrop,” she suggested, voice steady. “It looks stronger that way.”
Minh nodded and kept working. The new version was undeniably cooler — more cinematic, less meme-worthy. He uploaded it as a response video with a caption trying to frame it as “artistic exploration.”
The group sat there in the middle of the busy restaurant, surrounded by the smell of grilled pork and the sound of normal people enjoying dinner, all quietly trying to protect Quynh’s dream while she held her composure like a professional actress playing the role of “unbothered genius.”
She was still smiling. Still energetic.
But the tiny cracks were becoming harder to ignore.
By the time Minh finished uploading the polished version, the restaurant had grown quieter as the dinner rush thinned out.
The edited video was already getting some positive traction, but the damage from the original was done. Mr. Luat’s words still hung over the table like heavy monsoon clouds.
Quynh stretched her arms and let out a small laugh that almost sounded real. “Well, that was eventful! At least we got free entertainment with dinner. Tomorrow we rehearse even harder. We’ll make the exhibition so good that even Dad won’t be able to dismiss it.”
She said it with her usual bright energy, already listing out new lighting ideas and transitions. But every so often her gaze drifted toward the door her father had walked out of, and her smile would falter for half a second before she caught herself.
Quan stayed close, offering enthusiastic encouragement. Tram watched Quynh with quiet concern. Even Minh seemed more subdued than usual.
As we finally finished our dinner and stepped out into the warm Saigon night, the street alive with motorbike lights and late-night banh mi vendors, Tram suddenly spoke up.
“Actually… if your dad is bringing people soon, tomorrow might be too late,” she said, looking at Quynh. “We should do a full rehearsal again tonight. All-nighter if we have to. Look at what we should revise. I can help organize the flow and presentation.”
Quynh blinked, clearly surprised but grateful. “You’d really do that?”
Tram shrugged with a small smile. “Someone has to make sure this doesn’t turn into complete chaos.”
I looked at Quynh — still smiling, still trying to hold everything together — and felt that new weight settle in my chest.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Quynh’s smile brightened, but I caught the worry behind her eyes.
“Great! Meet at the exhibition hall in two hours. Let’s make it epic.”
As she walked ahead with Quan trailing loyally beside her, Tram glanced at me. For once, neither of us said anything teasing.
We both knew tonight was going to be more than just another chaotic rehearsal.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like running away from it.
