Chapter 20
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Sam
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The Eternal Capital was a modernized city, its people always bustling with a vibrant and hurried pace of life. Every moment was filled with the rush of cars and motorbikes moving back and forth. Everywhere, countless motorbikes and cars lined up, swarming like a colony of ants whose nest had been broken.
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Roads were neatly divided, traffic lights clear at every traffic point, but only those spiral ramps twisting upward to the suspension bridges forced everyone into the right lane—because there was no other choice. From dusty suburban roads, city streets, and roundabouts to highways, most vehicles went wherever they pleased.
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Every now and then, the streets burst into chaos when a gang of youngsters suddenly slammed the clutch and gunned the throttle. Engines roared like beasts, while their bikes either crawled forward or hardly moved an inch, spitting deafening noise. They weaved through traffic like snakes, exhaust pipes spitting sparks, sometimes cutting straight in front of cars—causing crashes big and small.
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But nothing was more infuriating than rush-hour gridlock. By 4 p.m., every street was jam-packed, cars squeezed so tight they couldn’t even move half a wheel. Drivers honked impatiently; cab customers got restless. People visiting family burned with anger. The chronic disease of the capital city boiled Sam’s blood until he exploded:
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- Its old grandmother, is this Capital what kind of cage, go to every fuck is the same![1]
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The driver glanced at Sam through the rearview mirror. Reflected in the glass was the teenager, with a broad, flat nose, thick glossy lips in harmony with his copper-brown skin tone. His machete-shaped eyebrows curved high at the ends, reaching keen, brightly gleaming eye corners.
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The driver smiled as he watched Sam's face completely change. He was no longer being naughty or joking, flashing a set of teeth as white and even as corn kernels. Instead, he looked as if he were stabbing with a bayonet — fiercer than any mercenary. His eyebrows sharply slanted down his furious eyes, his attitude clearly screaming, "Don't mess with me." The driver smiled and spoke to the familiar guest:
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- How many times have you been here and still can’t get used to it?
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Sam curled his lip in a snarl:
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- Used to it, my ass! Even if I came a hundred fucking times, I’d still curse like it’s my first damn day!
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Beside Sam sat a man with copper-brown skin, completely bald. He had a wide mouth etched with a large scar at its edge, eyebrows thick as caterpillars, enormous, piercingly bright eyes, and a straight nose with a sharply hooked tip.
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His face looked brutal. His muscular body was so massive he had to hunch down so his head wouldn’t hit the roof. Muscles bulged like Rambo’s, as if they wanted to tear apart the tank top and sleeveless leather vest clinging to him.
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He wore elastic military camo pants, stretched tight across his thick thighs. Clicking his tongue, he let out a sharp breath at Sam’s aggressive attitude:
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- Shut up. I’m already pissed about this traffic, and now you’re running your damn mouth? You’re driving me insane!
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Sam flipped him the middle finger:
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- Shut the hell up, old man! You talk more than me!
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The man rolled his eyes and smacked Sam hard on the head:
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- No manners, you little punk! I’m your father!
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Sam clutched his head and yelled:
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- Father of the cage![2] What kind of dad smacks his son every damn time he touches him?!
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The furious, red-faced father cursed his son's defiance. The driver was familiar with this scene; every time they went to the capital, this funny father-son duo would ask him to drive. It was the same every time: usually the father and son joked around happily, but when they got angry, they cursed at each other to the point of swinging the dog leash. He wanted to laugh but dared not, a light chuckle, as if mad, still escaped his throat, then he was startled to hear Sam shout:
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- Fuck it, I can’t sit in this car anymore! Skateboarding’s more fun!
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Sam often had a devil-may-care attitude, and the driver was still surprised when he asked to get off:
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- Are you going to slide from here to there? That's six kilometers. The road is still blocked.
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Sam still cursed loudly:
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- Goddammit, I’m not waiting! My older brother’s waiting for me. I’m stuck here and can’t get to him on time! - He opened the door, patted his butt, taunting the old man to his face - Old father, you just sit there and wait until Mars' New Year! Hahahaha...
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The father slapped Sam's butt, pushing him out:
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- Get your motherfucking ass out of here!
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Sam fell onto someone else's motorcycle. He discovered the owner was a hot-bodied girl with World Miss-like measurements. His frowning face immediately became happier than usual. His right eye shot up to her enormous bust, while his left slouched down, eyeing the juicy butt that dented the motorcycle seat under its own mass.
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He feigned losing balance, lunging in to squeeze her butt, his face buried in her chest as he inhaled greedily, a lewd grin formed, curling like that of a shameless pervert. Before the girl could react, he had already touched her, so her face turned as red as a tomato. She angrily pushed him and slapped his face:
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- Bastard pervert...
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Sam wiped the red handprint off his face, then mischievously chuckled, glancing at her. Everyone around turned their gaze towards Sam. The girl raised her hand to slap him again, but stopped mid-air, gazing at him wide-eyed:
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- Oh, you are...
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The surrounding mist made it difficult for the crowd to recognize him, and they all suspiciously muttered:
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- Looks familiar?
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They were all trying to recall who he was. Sam's father threw the skateboard out:
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- Sam, take it.
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Sam, without turning his head, raised his hand and caught the skateboard, grinning at the girl:
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- Bye bye, little beauty, see you around. - Sam jumped onto the skateboard and slid forward. He suddenly turned his head, raised an eyebrow, teasing the girl - The measurements of this little beauty are so delicious, they could make someone splatter ‘cage’[3]. Oops, my mistake—I should’ve said ‘super delicious.’ I like it. Haha…
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Hearing someone call Sam's name, the crowd watched him slide past a row of blocking motorcycles with skillful technique and incredible speed, without touching anyone, and they all shouted in unison:
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- That's Sam!
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The driver watched Sam's silhouette glide through the sea of cars, soon disappearing, and he smiled happily:
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- It's been years, and he's still as wild and unruly as ever—not a bit changed.
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Father Sam picked his ear:
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- Even if he lives to be eighty, he’ll still be a ridiculous brat, daring to tease his own father!
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The father blew out the earwax and picked the other ear:
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- The ancestor of that ill-mannered brat! He never calls me ‘father,’ always calls me ‘old man.’ Truly uneducated!
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The driver laughed until tears streamed down his face:
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- You haven't changed either, old uncle.
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Sam's father clicked his tongue:
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- Tsk, like father, like son! A child surpassing their father, that's truly a blessing! But I don't care for this kind of blessing, what kind of blessing is it when a son isn't afraid of his father, even fights with him? Truly unlucky!
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The driver was so amused by Sam's father that he was left speechless for a moment, laughing so hard his mouth couldn't close:
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- Having a son like Sam is very interesting!
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Sam's father rubbed his nose and gave a dry chuckle:
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- What the hell's so interesting about it? I'm fed up with him. Arrogant, ill-mannered. That damn God ain't nothing but a pot lid he thinks he can flip whenever he wants. He's not even scared of God, and he's not even scared of his old man! What cursed luck!
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Sam was quite far from his father, speed-skating along the highway. His nose twitched, and his sneezes were loud. Sam muttered, cursing:
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- Damn it, the old man is speaking ill of his son again! Tsk, ignore him, now I must focus on my technique.
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At this moment, the fog gradually dissipated. Sam looked forward; traffic on the road was light, but parked motorcycles were still squeezed together in a chaotic mess. Sam frowned, searching for gaps in the pile of motorcycles; a narrow, winding path, formed by connected gaps, appeared in his vision. Sam parted his lips in a smile:
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- That's right, Dad finally got you!
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Sam grabbed his skateboard, spinning it with ease. He detached the two-piece coupler, each side locking snugly into the other. He pulled off a belt with a helmet-style buckle, its other end fitted with a keychain-like hook. Sam hooked it onto a hole on the top of the skateboard, then hung it on his back, and fastened the tail of the skateboard with a locking bolt.
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He took off the rollerblades hanging in front of his chest, put them on his feet, and carefully adjusted them. Sam stepped back, bent low, and shot forward like a missile; his compact frame streaked like lightning, weaving through rows of motorcycles.
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Passersby see a blur of red and yellow streak past the crowd, as if carrying the wind with it; they stare intently at the disappearing shadow. Only the sharp-eyed can make out the figure: wearing a red baseball cap, black shorts, a red short-sleeved T-shirt underneath, and a yellow sleeveless sports tank top over it, with blood-red fingerless gloves on his hands, and a silver necklace gently fluttering on his chest with each glide. Sharp-eyed observers watch the figure bending low, swinging his arms backward:
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- He is...
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The figure slides back and forth, frowning as he looks at three motorcycles lined up side by side.
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- Damn it, these young buffaloes are blocking Dad's way!
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The furious figure curses loudly, bends his knees and leaps, spinning to the right. His body soars through the air, whirling faster than a top, hitting the onlookers right in the eyes:
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- Sam patin.
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He exclaims, watching Sam land safely. The crowd hears someone call a special name, quickly looks around, but Sam's figure is gone. Sam weaves swiftly through the jammed stream of traffic like a shuttle. His eyes dart around, searching for a path as his feet move lightly and flexibly like a street dancer's, and his ears listen to every sound. Vehicle horns, incessant chatter, and curses echo everywhere. From time to time, bursts of excited cheers ring out:
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- Hey, Sam patin, you all!
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A group of girls stirred, looking for Sam:
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- Where, where is Sam?
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Sam is still rushing swiftly forward, not wanting to be a second late. Before reaching the finish line, if Miss World, the Four Great Beauties, or any girl with a super large bust and hot buttocks appeared, he would cast them all aside.
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His emotions blazed hotter than fire, searing away his fear. He was afraid that if he were late, he would see the people he cared about mourning for the person he respected. Fear compelled him to accelerate. His leg muscles were bearing pressure that could be harmful in the future, but compared to his fear, which surpassed all else terrifying, potential danger was nothing to him. If he lost his agile legs, he would have to give up all his hobbies, and his life would end. If he didn't arrive in time, he would regret it for a lifetime.
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Sam roars, accelerating at full speed through the traffic jam. He ignores the numbness in his ankles, his nimble steps run up the overpass ten paces away. A fierce wind whips up, and the river roars with churning waves. He stops by the red railing, gazing into the river. People on the road gather around him in swarms, mostly youngsters. The "Lemon Green Rice Flakes"[4] little girls and a bunch of half-grown boys who have dyed their hair red and green, chatter and say with a laugh:
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- Sam, sign for me!
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- Sam, take a photo with me!
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Everyone on the bridge takes out their phones and continuously takes photos of Sam. Young people who love parkour and rollerblading express their admiration. One person whips out a smartphone to record Sam standing there, while another tries to strike up a conversation. Sam sneers, flipping them the finger. The crowd gasps—insulting fans is a major taboo. Each of them has faces redder than fighting cocks, and they begin cursing noisily.
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Sam stares at the river. Every half-minute, the waves swell incredibly high. He observes it a few times, and the waves repeat that pattern. Sam takes off his ice skates, ties them with a rope, and hangs them around his neck. He puts two skateboards together, takes out a sensor chip from his pocket, and sticks it in the middle of the boards. Sam adjusts his gear while listening to those self-proclaimed fans cursing that he isn’t even worth a dog.
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- What are you doing? Got a star syndrome or something?
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- The past is gone, are you still holding a grudge? You narrow-minded jerk!
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- You're a public figure who insults fans; you don't deserve to be a national athlete!
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- I doubt if you were really wronged in the past?
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Sam remains calm in the face of all the insults. That group of criticism addicts dared to curse him for looking down on fans, while clamoring to talk about the nation to someone who had been abandoned by his homeland. The two words "wronged" harshly tear open old wounds. The very people he once respected have inflicted that pain upon him. The world spits on him, gouges at the wounds in his heart until they became scars, and drowned him with their foul spittle.
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There was one person who absolutely believed in him. Reckless of the consequences, enduring all injustices, abandoning his passions and ideals, accepting ridicule and malicious slander, standing alone against the world, to lift Sam's spirits.
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At that time, the two of them lived in a hell of ostracism. No one trusted them besides their family and the fraternity of different surnames. Sam had given up in despair, but that person tirelessly sought evidence to clear his name.
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The world favors the thriving, not the declining. When the court declared him innocent, the masses, with their myriad faces, immediately offered sincere apologies. Sam was certain that among the current crowd... many had cursed him and his brother, and then hypocritically offered their apologies. A bunch of phony people were constantly changing masks; he viewed them as animals capable of speaking human language.
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The tree desires stillness, but the wind keeps blowing. He doesn't want to bother with the crowd, but a bunch of people who like to force society to live their way always poke at his wounds, which is synonymous with insulting the person who stands against the entire world for him.
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Burning anger burns away every last shred of his patience. Violent rage scores crisscrossing marks across his purple-black face, causing the 'beast pack' to tremble and flee in panic. Sam sneers, shakes his head, and hums a strange tune:
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Climb a ladder and ask God: is it disgraceful to live in one nation with dead dogs?
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That group of young people demands to kill him. Sam drills his eerie, demonic dull gray eyes into the crowd, scaring everyone to death, so much so that no one dares to cough. That arrogant fellow steps back to the other side of the railing:
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God replies, "I still feel humiliated, let alone you!"
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Those who love to insult others take pleasure in watching people suffer humiliation. When they themselves are humiliated, they immediately get angry and want to go crazy, but they don't dare to fly into a rage. The boldest among them can only secretly glare at him with hatred. Sam sneers, despising that pack of 'liver-growing-in-mouth' cowards—their roars louder than thunder, yet they flee faster than dogs.
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He threads one foot into the notch at the front of the skateboard, ties it tight, and speeds forward at full throttle. At a certain distance from the red railing, Sam leaps off the bridge. Everyone screams wildly and rushes over to watch. Thinking their taunts about his scars have pushed him to suicide, they now tremble at the thought of taking responsibility. Fear drains their faces yellow, like they’ve been dipped in turmeric. All are dumbfounded, watching him curl up and spin his body.
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The bridge is quite high above the river; suicide would be fatal. The surging river seems about to crush him. Sam lets out a long laugh, his cheerful voice echoing amid the roaring waves. People on the bridge and on the shore are shocked, watching Sam stomp his skateboard down the long pillars of waves, water flying all over him.
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Everyone gawks, eyes wide in shock, as the drizzle flutters past Sam. The biting cold sends thrills down his spine. Sam gently stomps his foot on the rapidly descending wave. His overwhelming presence gives one the feeling that nature itself is at a disadvantage beneath the monster's feet.
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- Is this a joke?
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- Who is that monster?
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- Playing so crazy like that... only Sam patin, no one else is here.
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Sam is quite a distance from the people on the shore, hearing their praises, but this arrogant fellow pays them no mind. The touch control chip flickers, switching to water-compatible mode, and the skateboard glides close to the river’s surface, following the stretch of his body. He accelerates rapidly and shoots forward, the water splitting in two and churning up white foam.
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Sam stomps hard on the tail of the skateboard, bends low, and leaps high, his body spinning in a full circle as he soars over the heads of the crowd on the shore. He aims his landing at the thick, smooth grass to reduce the impact. While the audience is still raving about the unprecedented stunt, Sam’s figure vanishes behind the alley.
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Normally he wouldn’t pull such crazy stunts, but now he must take the risk and cut through shortcuts. Slipping through narrow alleys, Sam weaves between intersecting side streets and hidden cross-paths, then glides another long stretch until the finish line comes into view. He exhales deeply, giving his legs a brief rest. He takes apart the skateboard, puts it back together, straps it onto his back, and walks on at a steady pace.
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People of all heights stand and sit along both sides of the road, forming long lines, eager to rush in and surround him. Fangirls cling to him more than flies to honey, screaming in excitement, pressing their phone buttons as if to shatter them, snapping photos and recording clips. This girl shouts one thing, that girl another… all chattering, begging for autographs, pleading for selfies.
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Through the long stretch, Sam keeps moving at high speed, his legs aching, mood irritable. He hasn’t even caught his breath, yet the crowd disturbs him again. His nerves, under the relentless shouting, feel as taut as a snapped string:
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- Damn it, get lost, you ovulating sluts!
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They had come to express their worship for an idol, yet unexpectedly got cursed. Each fangirl sulks in her own way. This girl’s eyes brim with tears; she bites her lip, wanting to cry. That girl screamed that he disrespected fans. Another girl threw a tantrum and acted like she was "throwing a pussy-fit to get attention," then accused him of looking down on women.
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Sam has no time to argue with women. He growls threats, forcing them to clear the path. From a distance, the media spot Sam breaking free of the fangirls—those vultures flap their wings, swarming in to tear him apart:
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“You’ve finally shown up! We’ve been waiting forever!”
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“Do you know Hanna Izumi? Who is she, sir?”
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A barrage of questions whirls through his mind, making him dizzy and furious:
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- What kind of ‘radish newspapers’ keep asking about privacy and women?![5] Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Don’t bug me—get lost!
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For a year now, the media have grown accustomed to his coarse tone. Yet the reporters refuse to give up, determined to peck at his flesh by any means:
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“Please tell us your view on Hoang Kim’s accident!”
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“We heard Hoang Kim crashed from reckless speeding and overtaking. What’s your take on that?”
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Sam suddenly stops, fists clenched so tight his gloves tear. Slowly, his fingers loosen, letting the frenzy ebb. He doesn’t care how the vultures might rip him apart, because their target isn’t him. He’s merely bait for those beasts looking for an excuse to dissect Hoang Kim. This arrogant man absolutely cannot lose his temper—otherwise, that unrotted corpse will be shredded by their beaks. Swallowing his rage, he asks in a calm, icy tone:
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- Do you all believe I’m a rapist?!
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Notes
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[1]This is a common expletive in Vietnamese, often used similarly to 'fuck' in English. When angry or frustrated, people use it as a strong exclamation or to express vehement rejection, going beyond a simple 'no'."
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About Sam's saying:
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This is a vulgar phrase commonly used by Vietnamese people, originally meaning "it's always the same." However, when extremely angry, Vietnamese speakers will add the word "fuck" to intensify the tone, expressing deep frustration and rage.
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"[2] 'Lồng' (literally 'cage') is a Vietnamese euphemism that sounds phonetically similar to a highly vulgar word for female genitalia ('lồn'). It functions as a versatile swear word, frequently used on the Vietnamese Internet to fiercely insult or disrespect others. However, in certain contexts, like between the father and son Sam, it can also be used humorously or affectionately, depending on the tone and relationship.
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[3]'Splatter' ('Vãi' in Vietnamese) is a recent slang term that has gained immense popularity among Vietnamese youth on the Internet. Originally a verb meaning 'to spill out' or 'to flow uncontrollably' (e.g., water splashing), its meaning has evolved significantly through social media.
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It now functions as a versatile interjection expressing 'shock,' 'exclamation,' 'unbelievable,' or strong emphasis, and can sometimes carry an obscene connotation. This word has become ubiquitous among young Vietnamese; they interject it into nearly every conversation, regardless of setting. Its widespread appeal led to the creation of online communities, like a Facebook page named 'Vãi' with over 3,000 members, where users freely employ the term.
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While 'Vãi' is a playful and fun expression within youth culture, its habitual use has become deeply ingrained in teenagers' language. This raises concerns, as its use in formal or polite settings, especially in front of parents, is considered highly offensive and inappropriate."
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[4]Chanh cốm (literally 'Lemon Green Rice Flakes') is a charming Vietnamese term used to describe teenage girls. The phrase evokes the fresh, delicate, and youthful image of young.
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[5]Radish Newspaper' (literally 'Báo Củ Cải') is a highly offensive Vietnamese slang term. It implies that news media is 'fucking worthless' or 'like a dick,' serving as a severe jab at journalists. This term suggests that they are shameless, fabricate sensational stories, exploit celebrities, and are generally intrusive and annoying.
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