The campus was eerily quiet at 1 AM.
We moved like a group of amateur thieves under the dim security lights. Quynh led the way, clutching a set of borrowed keys. Minh followed with two giant backpacks full of mysterious equipment. Quan carried snacks and coffee like sacred offerings. Tram and I brought up the rear.
“Remind me why we’re sneaking in again?” I whispered.
“Because the security guard knows my face now,” Quynh replied cheerfully. “And we need the full hall for rehearsal. No interruptions.”
Minh grinned in the dark. “Also because this is way more fun.”
We slipped through a side gate. A stray campus cat watched us judgmentally from a bush.
Quan nearly tripped over a loose tile. “Sorry! Hermes is… not at full power.”
Tram glanced at me, amused. “You look like you regret every life choice that led here.”
“I do,” I muttered, adjusting a heavy prop under my arm. “But here we are.”
Quynh stopped in front of the exhibition hall and turned to us, eyes bright even in the low light.
“Thank you for doing this. Really. Let’s make tonight count.”
She unlocked the door.
The moment we stepped inside, the chaos began.
Minh immediately started unpacking his inventions. One strange device started glowing with questionable LED lights.
Quan opened a bag of banh mi and coffee. “Fuel for the gods!”
I looked at the half-finished set — Greek columns mixed with Saigon alley props — and sighed.
“Alright. Let’s do this.”
Inside the exhibition hall, the group collapsed onto some old mats and boxes we dragged together.
Quynh turned on a few work lights, casting long shadows across the half-built set. She sat in the middle, laptop open on her knees.
“Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “Here’s the current plan for the project.”
She turned the screen toward everyone.
“It’s called ‘Gods Among Mortals.’ Hades is this distant, mysterious king watching Saigon from the shadows. Beautiful shots. Poetic voice-over. Very artistic. I think it looks… professional enough for Dad.”
She paused, biting her lip.
“I just need to make it more serious. Less chaotic. More… respectable. So he can’t say it’s childish again.”
The group nodded, trying to be supportive.
Quan jumped in first, eyes shining. “You could add Hades giving wise life advice on a billboard! Like a public service announcement from the underworld!”
Tram tilted her head. “Maybe dress everyone in suits? Make Hades look like a CEO. Very corporate underworld.”
I tried to contribute. “What if we add graphs? Hades analyzing soul statistics on a PowerPoint. Sounds… responsible?”
Minh, who was usually the loudest with crazy ideas, stayed unusually quiet. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at his sister with a slight frown. His usual playful grin was gone.
Quynh forced a smile. “See? We can make it work. Professional. Serious. Dad will like that version, right?”
She kept talking, listing changes she wanted to make — toning down the funny photos, removing the rice cooker references, making the voice-over more academic.
But the more she spoke, the quieter Minh became. He looked… frustrated. Almost disappointed. Like he was watching his sister slowly shrink her own dream to fit someone else’s expectations.
Quynh noticed the silence.
“Minh? You’re not saying anything.”
He shrugged, voice low. “Just thinking.”
The rest of us exchanged glances. The night was young, but the weight was already settling in.
Quynh forced another bright smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced once at Minh’s quiet face before looking away.
“Okay! Let’s assign roles for the new professional version,” she said, trying to sound energetic. “Loc, you’ll be the serious Hades — more brooding, less sarcasm. Tram, you can help with the clean compositions. Quan, you’ll handle the voice-over cues. Minh… you can manage the tech.”
She knew she had disappointed him. The guilt flickered across her face for a split second before she buried it.
The group stood up and got to work.
Quan immediately started rearranging props into neat lines. “Very corporate! Very serious!”
Tram helped adjust lighting to look more dramatic and less chaotic. “This angle makes Hades look more like a CEO.”
I tried carrying a heavy backdrop while keeping a straight, responsible face. “Professional Hades. Got it.”
Minh moved silently, setting up his gadgets without his usual jokes.
We had barely started when Quynh suddenly froze.
“Wait… I forgot the main symbolic crown prop. The big one with the LEDs. I left it in one of the classrooms earlier today but… I don’t remember which one.”
She rubbed her temple, clearly exhausted.
“We need to split up and search. We don’t have much time before morning.”
“It’s okay.” Tram nodded. “Just make it gently through the hallways. We’ll be fine.”
Minh began handing out some of his weird inventions.
Quan puffed up his chest. “Hermes and Dionysus team! Let’s go!”
The groups split:
Team 1: Minh and Quan headed toward the east wing.
Team 2: I, Quynh, and Tram went toward the west classrooms.
As we walked down the dark corridor, flashlight beams cutting through the shadows, Quynh’s forced energy finally cracked just a little.
“I just want him to see it as real…” she whispered.
I glanced at her, but her voice was already drifted away into the darkness.
~~~•••~~~
The three of us walked down the dark, empty corridor. Our footsteps echoed softly. Only the beams from our phones lit the way.
For a moment, it was strangely quiet.
Quynh walked in front, pretending everything was normal. But I could see the tension in her shoulders.
Tram suddenly spoke, her voice calm but sharp.
“Quynh… are you really okay with this?”
Quynh didn’t stop walking. “With what?”
“Changing your project. Making it more ‘professional.’ Doing something you don’t actually like… just to get your dad’s approval.”
Quynh let out a small laugh. “Of course I’m fine. This is better anyway. More serious. Dad will understand it this way.”
Tram didn’t let go. Her tone stayed gentle but cut straight through.
“You’ve been forcing that smile since dinner. You love the chaotic version. The real one. Why are you shrinking it?”
Quynh’s steps slowed. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The silence grew heavy.
“I… it’s not shrinking,” she said quietly. “It’s just adjusting.”
But she couldn’t look at us. Her usual energy had gone quiet.
Before I could say anything to ease the tension, heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
A security guard’s flashlight beam swept across the wall.
“Shit—” I whispered.
Quynh turned around so fast she almost smacked herself with her own flashlight.
“The security guard!”
“Yeah shit. I thought that was Zeus.” I rolled my eyes.
“Hide!” Tram hissed.
“But where?!”
Before we could figure that out, the beam suddenly drew up and landed on us.
“You three! There!”
The guard pointed straight in our direction.
“STOP!”
We immediately did the exact opposite.
“Run,” Tram said.
The three of us bolted down the empty corridor.
Behind us, the security guard’s flashlight bounced wildly across the walls.
“You know,” I panted, “this feels surprisingly illegal for an art project.”
“Hades,” Quynh shot back without slowing, “less narration.”
“He is way faster than campus security should be.”
“He has a golf cart,” Tram said after a quick glance through the window.
I looked outside.
“…That explains everything.”
The electric cart swerved around the courtyard and cut toward the next building.
“We’re getting intercepted.”
Quynh was already digging through her backpack.
I sighed.
“I don’t even want to know.”
She pulled out a portable Bluetooth speaker.
“…Really?”
“Minh labeled it ‘Emergency Morale Device.’”
“That somehow makes less sense.”
She tossed it through the open door of a nearby lecture hall.
The speaker connected automatically.
A booming orchestral soundtrack erupted through the empty classroom, followed by Minh’s pre-recorded voice.
“WELCOME, STUDENTS, TO INTRODUCTION TO ANCIENT GREEK DRAMA!”
Motion sensors woke the room.
The projector flickered on.
Motorized blinds began opening one after another.
The guard instinctively veered toward the noise.
“Now,” Tram said.
We slipped across the courtyard before he realized the lecture had exactly zero students.
Unfortunately, he recovered quickly.
His flashlight swept across the pavement.
“You little gremlins!”
“He adapts disturbingly fast,” I muttered.
Quynh had already opened the backpack again.
“No.”
“This one’s practical.”
“You’ve said that before.”
She pulled out a collapsible emergency camping fan.
“…Why would Minh—”
She switched it on.
The fan blasted a stack of unfinished flyers off a student club table.
Hundreds of papers exploded into the air, swirling across the walkway like a snowstorm.
The guard disappeared behind a blizzard of recruitment posters, tutoring ads, and three dozen notices for a lost hamster.
We didn’t stop to admire the results.
The papers only bought us a few seconds.
“He’ll be through any moment,” Tram warned.
Ahead, an old faculty building stood with one side door still unlocked.
“In there.”
We sprinted through the entrance.
The hallway was dark.
Rows of battered metal lockers lined one wall.
At the far end sat the employee locker room.
Tram grabbed my wrist.
“This way.”
The door clicked shut behind us just as hurried footsteps echoed outside.
No time to think.
She pulled me toward the back of the room, where a row of old lockers had been pushed away from the wall. We squeezed into the narrow gap behind them, ducking beneath the edge of the crooked bulletin board that leaned against the metal frames.
I reached back and caught Quynh by the wrist before she could trip over a mop bucket.
She stumbled beside me with a muffled yelp.
Then everything went still.
Our breathing was suddenly the loudest thing in the room.
The flashlight beam slipped beneath the locker vents, drifting slowly across the floor.
The footsteps stopped just outside the door.
The handle rattled.
Nobody moved.
Not even Quynh.
Which, for Quynh, was a miracle worthy of Greek mythology.
The door creaked open.
The beam swept across the lockers.
One row.
Then another.
We pressed ourselves tighter against the lockers.
The security guard’s flashlight beam moved slowly across the room, only inches away from our hiding spot. My heart was hammering so loudly I was convinced he could hear it.
Quynh had gone completely still beside me.
Tram’s hand tightened around my sleeve.
One more step.
Then—
BZZZZZZT!
A deafening feedback screech ripped through the building.
The old campus PA system crackled to life.
“Testing… one, two—”
The microphone shrieked so violently it echoed through every corridor.
The security guard froze.
“What the—?”
A second later, floodlights around the central courtyard snapped on one after another.
An automated sprinkler system burst to life.
Water sprayed across the pavement.
Then came a crash loud enough to shake the windows.
Metal folding chairs clattered down an auditorium staircase.
A drum rolled across the floor.
Someone accidentally struck a cymbal.
CLANGGGG!
WOOP WOOOP!
A loud, ridiculous siren-like sound exploded from the other side of the building, followed by flashing colorful lights.
Minh’s voice echoed through the hall.
“I SAID DON’T RUN DOWN THE RAMP, YOU OVERQUALIFIED PIGEON!”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”
“You NEVER DO!”
The security guard stared toward the chaos for exactly one second.
Then he sprinted after it.
His footsteps disappeared down the corridor just as another loud crash echoed from somewhere near the lecture halls.
“…Oops,” Quan called faintly.
A long, exhausted silence.
Then Minh sighed.
“You magnificent scholarship hazard…”
The building gradually fell quiet again.
I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.
Quynh buried her face in her hands, trying not to laugh.
Tram shook her head.
“…Your backup plan is terrifying.”
“I wish I could tell you it was a plan,” I whispered.
“But that’s just Minh and Quan attending university.”
~~~•••~~~
We didn’t waste time. As soon as the guard was gone, Quynh found the glowing crown prop on a desk in one of her classrooms. We grabbed it quickly and retreated back toward the main exhibition hall.
A few minutes later, Minh and Quan burst through the door looking like they had survived a war.
Quan was covered in dust and what looked like glitter. Minh’s shirt was inside out and he had a random leaf stuck in his hair.
“You guys okay?!” I asked.
Quan grinned breathlessly. “We fooled him! I pretended to be a lost student practicing a drama performance. Minh set off all his gadgets at once — the lights, the siren, even the fake smoke. The guard thought the whole building was haunted!”
Minh shrugged, still not smiling. “It worked. Barely.”
Quynh hugged the crown to her chest. “Thank you. Really.”
We finally got back to work.
The mood had shifted. Tram stopped pushing. She quietly helped adjust the lighting and gave practical suggestions without any sharpness. “This angle works better for the serious version,” she said gently.
Quan was running around clumsily trying to be useful. “Water for everyone! Snacks! Loc, you need energy for your responsible Hades face!”
I focused on actually helping — moving heavy backdrops, organizing props neatly, and practicing my lines with more effort than usual. The more I thought about Quynh’s tense shoulders, I couldn’t bring myself to neglect.
Minh took position near the entrance, watching for security. He stayed quiet the whole time, refusing to talk directly to Quynh. The frustration on his face hadn’t faded.
As we worked, I kept glancing at Quynh.
She was still directing, still trying to keep her energy up… but she had grown quieter. Her movements were slower.
Every now and then she would pause, staring at a prop or the floor, clearly thinking back to what Tram had said earlier in the corridor.
The words about shrinking her dream.
About doing something she didn’t really want.
She traced the edge of the crown with her fingers, lost in thought.
I wondered how long she could keep pretending everything was fine.
After finally setting up the main shots, we took a short break.
Everyone sat on the floor in a circle, sipping lukewarm coffee from Minh’s thermos. The hall felt a little less chaotic for once.
Then — BOOM!
A loud thunder cracked outside. Heavy rain suddenly hammered against the roof.
And right at that moment, Minh’s main LED light rig flickered once… and died completely.
The entire exhibition hall plunged into total darkness.
“Great,” I muttered, fumbling for my phone. Everyone turned on their flashlights. The beams created weird, dramatic shadows across the Greek columns and Saigon props.
Quan waved his phone around like a lightsaber. “We are now in the true Underworld!”
Quynh laughed, but it sounded a bit nervous. “Everyone stay close. We can still—”
Another thunder BOOMED even louder.
Tram, who had been calmly holding her phone up, suddenly flinched hard. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, her usual confident expression cracking.
“…I hate thunder,” she admitted quietly, voice smaller than I’d ever heard from her.
For the first time.
I moved closer without thinking and kept my voice steady.
“It’s just noise. The roof is solid. We’re safe here.”
I angled my phone flashlight gently so it wasn’t shining directly in her face. “Focus on the light. Or on how ridiculous Quan looks right now.”
“Bro.”
Tram let out a small, shaky breath and gave me a weak smile. “You’re… surprisingly calm about this.”
Quynh, who was shining her light on both of us, looked slightly surprised. Her eyes widened a little as she watched the moment.
The rain kept pouring hard outside. Thunder rolled again.
But for a brief second, in the middle of the ridiculous darkness, everything felt strangely warm.
We gave up on shooting for a while.
The rain outside was getting heavier, pounding against the roof like it wanted to join the chaos. We stayed sitting in our little circle, phone flashlights pointed upward like a ridiculous campfire.
Quan was the first to break the silence.
“So… this is what Hades’ realm feels like. Dark. Wet. Full of regret.”
Quynh chuckled softly. “At least we have coffee. And terrible lighting.”
Minh, still quiet, suddenly snorted. “My LED rig betrayed us. I should’ve used the fish sauce version.”
That got everyone laughing — tired, ridiculous laughter that echoed in the dark hall.
I glanced at Tram. She was sitting close enough that our shoulders touched. Another thunder rolled outside.
I couldn’t resist.
“Never thought I’d see the day the great Tram gets scared of a little thunder,” I teased lightly.
Tram shot me a look — sharp as ever — but there was no real bite in it.
“Shut up, Loc. Or I’ll make you Hades of the laundry disaster again.”
She said it with her usual teasing tone, but she didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned just a tiny bit closer when the next thunder hit.
I smiled in the dark. “I’m here. Responsible Hades protection service. No extra charge.”
Tram huffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Quynh watched us with a soft, surprised expression. “You two are cute when you’re like this.”
Quan nearly choked on his coffee. “Right?! I’ve been saying that for weeks!”
Even Minh let out a small amused sound from his corner.
For a moment, the heavy rain, the darkness, and the pressure from earlier felt far away. We were just five tired, messy friends sitting on the floor of a half-built mythology set, laughing at nothing and everything.
It was warm.
And for the first time in a long while… it felt right.
But as the laughter settled, my eyes drifted across the circle.
Quynh sat with her knees drawn up, her usual bright energy dimmed. She kept stealing glances at Minh, but he was staring down at his coffee like it held the secrets of the underworld.
The distance between brother and sister felt thicker than the humidity in the air. Minh hadn’t said a direct word to her since the power cut, and Quynh hadn’t tried to bridge it either.
Something was off—deeper than the storm or the ruined shoot.
I cleared my throat, the idea hitting me like one of those thunderclaps outside.
“Hey, Quynh,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “You always carry that Greek notebook around. Why don’t you show it to everyone? The one with all your doodles and stories.”
The words landed like I’d dropped a lightning bolt in the middle of our circle.
Quynh froze, her eyes widening behind her glasses. For a second, she looked completely off-guard, like I’d asked her to recite the entire Iliad in ancient Greek.
Her fingers tightened around her mug. I realized then that nobody—except maybe her blind mother and Minh back in the day—had ever asked about it. The notebook was her quiet world, tucked away like a personal myth no one else had been invited into.
An awkward beat stretched between us. Quan raised an eyebrow. Tram tilted her head, curious. Minh finally looked up, surprise flickering across his face.
Quynh blinked rapidly, cheeks flushing. “You… you really want to see it?” Her voice was small at first, hesitant. Then something shifted. The corners of her mouth lifted, slow at first, before blooming into full, sparkling excitement.
She set her coffee down so fast it nearly tipped over. “Okay. Okay, yes!”
She dug into her bag with the kind of eager energy I hadn’t seen from her all night, pulling out the worn, spiral-bound notebook like it was a sacred relic.
We all scooted closer, rearranging ourselves on the floor so our flashlights converged on the pages she opened.
The beams danced across yellowed paper filled with intricate doodles—charcoal sketches of gods and monsters, flowing script in Vietnamese and Greek, little margin notes with arrows pointing to mythological cross-references.
Quynh’s voice gained strength as she flipped through, her sorrow melting away.
“This one’s Persephone,” she said, tracing a delicate drawing of a girl with flowers turning to pomegranates in her hands. “But I gave her modern headphones and a rebellious streak. Because who says the queen of the underworld can’t have a playlist?”
We leaned in, flashlights bobbing as everyone shifted for better views.
Quan pointed at a chaotic sketch of Hermes sitting across a thick branch hanging from a mango tree. “Why was I climbing a tree?”
Quynh laughed, bright and genuine. “Maybe you were trying to get the Sacred Mango. Look—here’s the River Styx as a flooded film set.”
She turned another page, explaining the story she’d built around our characters, how she imagined their arcs weaving through Greek tragedy and everyday chaos.
Her hands moved animatedly, the awkwardness gone completely.
Minh watched her quietly at first, but I caught the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips when she pointed out an old doodle they must have worked on together once.
Tram rested her chin on my shoulder, murmuring, “She’s really good,” and I nodded, warmth spreading through my chest.
Outside, the rain kept hammering, but inside our flashlight campfire, Quynh’s world unfolded—page after page of dreams and details she’d carried alone for too long.
For those moments, the distance between her and Minh didn’t vanish, but it felt a little less vast. And the five of us, messy and tired as we were, felt more like a crew than ever.
