A Bizarre Journey ep 9: The Me Who Ran Away and the Me Who Returned

Ever since the new Loc moved into our apartment building, everything has changed.

The following days felt like watching a movie where someone had replaced me with a better actor.

New Loc was everywhere.

In the morning, he would jog around the building with perfect form, greeting every auntie by name and remembering their grandchildren’s birthdays.

By 7:30 AM, he had already helped the security guard fix the broken gate, carried heavy groceries for three different households, and left fresh fruit at the common area “for anyone who needs it.”

He never seemed to try too hard. Everything just… worked for him.

One afternoon, I came home to find him calmly teaching Ms. Lan how to use her new smartphone while she laughed like a schoolgirl. The next day, he fixed the leaking pipe in the laundry room that had been broken for months. He did it quietly, without bragging, and refused payment when people offered.

Even his laziness looked refined. When he sat down to rest, he looked contemplative rather than defeated. When he smiled, it reached his eyes naturally.

People started calling him “Kind Loc” or “Gentle Loc.” I became “the other Loc.”

At work, the rumors about my sudden “improvement” began to fade. Someone said, “The new guy on the 5th floor is even better than Loc. He’s like Loc but… upgraded.”

I tried not to care. I really did.

But then Tram started mentioning him casually in our texts.

Tram: New Loc helped me debug my laptop code today. He’s surprisingly good at this.


Tram: Don’t worry, you’re still the better ninja juice deliverer though 😊

I stared at the message for a long time before replying with a simple “haha.”

Quan finally noticed the shift on the fourth day.

We were sitting on the balcony at night when he suddenly put down his beer and frowned.

“Bro… something feels off,” he said slowly. “That new guy. He’s too perfect. It’s not normal. No one is that naturally good at everything without trying.”

I shrugged, pretending it didn’t bother me. “Maybe he’s just better than me. The universe finally made a corrected version.”

Quan shook his head. His usual bright energy was gone. For the first time since he arrived, he looked genuinely worried.

“No. This isn’t right. I built your reputation brick by brick. I created the stories, the gifts, the whispers… but he’s doing it all effortlessly. People are starting to forget the old legends about you. They’re replacing them with new ones about him.”

He stood up and started pacing.

“We can’t let this happen. Operation Save My Pathetic Brother is under threat. I’m declaring Phase Three: Counter-Shadow Protocol.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Counter-Shadow?”

Quan’s eyes narrowed with determination.

“We study him. We find his weaknesses. Then we create an even better version of you. Not fake stories this time — we make you undeniable. We make people see that the original Loc has something the copy can never have.”

I looked at my little brother, half-amused and half-concerned.

“Quan… are you seriously planning to go to war against a version of me?”

He cracked his knuckles, a rare serious expression on his face.

“Exactly. Because no copy gets to replace my brother.”

That night, while I was texting Tram, Quan sat in the corner with his notebook, scribbling plans like a mad scientist. Every few minutes he would mutter things like “We need something authentic… something only the real Loc can do…” and “I won’t let some polished impostor steal our spotlight.”

I should have felt supported.

Instead, I felt a strange emptiness growing in my chest.

Because deep down, I was starting to wonder the same thing everyone else was:

What if the new Loc really was the better version?

~~~•••~~~

The next few days became a quiet, desperate competition that only Quan and I knew was happening.

I started waking up earlier than usual. I jogged the same route as New Loc, trying to match his pace. He greeted me with a friendly nod and even slowed down to run beside me, casually chatting about the weather and recommending a good stretching routine.

By the end of the run, I was gasping for air while he looked like he had just taken a peaceful morning stroll.

I tried to find his weakness.

I offered to help fix the broken light in the hallway — something I had seen him do effortlessly two days earlier. I spent twenty minutes fumbling with the wiring while he stood nearby, politely giving advice without sounding condescending.

When I finally got it working, he clapped and said, “Nice job, man. You’ve got good hands.” The aunties around us praised him more than me for “being so supportive.”

Quan, meanwhile, launched his own guerrilla warfare.

He started Phase Three with aggressive enthusiasm.

First, he “accidentally” spilled fish sauce near New Loc’s door right before a big cleaning day, hoping the smell would ruin his perfect image. New Loc simply smiled, thanked the “anonymous neighbor” for the interesting scent, and turned it into an opportunity to teach everyone how to remove stubborn odors using natural ingredients.

Quan tried spreading subtle rumors — that New Loc was “too perfect to be real” and might be hiding something. The residents laughed it off and said, “If only more people were like him.”

One night, Quan even snuck into the common area and swapped New Loc’s perfectly organized toolbox with an old, rusty one. The next morning, New Loc used the rusty tools without complaint, fixed three different broken items, and joked that “sometimes the old things have more character.” People loved him even more for it.

The harder we tried, the stranger it got.

I challenged him to a casual basketball game in the courtyard. I practiced for two days straight with Quan. During the game, New Loc played fairly, didn’t show off, and still won gracefully. After the match, he bought everyone drinks and praised my defense, making the crowd like him more.

Every attempt to expose a flaw backfired. He had no obvious arrogance, no hidden temper, no awkward social moments. Even his “flaws” felt charming — like how he sometimes forgot small things but turned them into self-deprecating jokes that made people laugh with him, not at him.

Quan grew increasingly frustrated. One night he slammed his notebook on the table.

“This guy is unnatural. No one is this consistently good. There has to be a crack somewhere. Maybe he’s a robot. Or a clone. Or some kind of karma monster sent to punish us.”

I sat on the balcony, staring at my phone. Tram had just sent me a message saying New Loc helped her carry a heavy package upstairs earlier.

Tram: He’s really kind. A bit like the version of you I imagined you could be.

I didn’t reply for a long time.

The more we fought against him, the more powerless we felt. It wasn’t that New Loc was actively trying to destroy me. He was simply… better. Effortlessly, naturally, overwhelmingly better. And the worst part was that he seemed genuinely nice, which made it impossible to hate him outright.

Quan eventually threw his pen across the room.

“I don’t get it. My strategies worked on normal people. Why doesn’t anything stick to him?”

I looked at the spinning ceiling fan above us and muttered bitterly:

“Because he’s what you wanted me to become. Only he didn’t need your boot camp to get there.”

For the first time since my brother arrived, we sat in heavy silence.

That night I went outside, trying to grab some air and empty my mind.

The stars were already shining upon us when Tram found me sitting alone on the old concrete bench behind the building. I didn’t even have the energy to pretend anymore.

She sat down beside me, quiet for a long while before speaking.

“Loc,” she called me gently. “Look at the stars. They’re just as beautiful as the ones we saw in Vung Tau ten years ago.”

I didn’t answer at first. She waited, then tried again, softer this time.

“Hey… I’ve been watching you these past few weeks. You’ve changed a lot. You’ve been kinder, more thoughtful. Even when you were doing those awkward ninja deliveries… it was cute.”

She smiled a little.

“It reminded me of high school. Remember that terrible love letter on Valentine’s Day? I was so embarrassed back then… but years later, I realized I actually really liked that poem. It was clumsy, but sincere. I kept it, you know.”

She nudged my shoulder lightly, trying to lift my spirit.

“You’re not as hopeless as you think, Loc. You just need to believe in yourself more. The guy who wrote that poem… he’s still somewhere inside you. I can see him trying to come out again these days.”

I stared at the ground for a long time. Something ugly and heavy twisted in my chest. All the exhaustion, the comparison, the constant pretending — it finally broke.

“That poem wasn’t mine,” I said quietly.

Tram blinked. “What?”

“My friends wrote it. They forged my handwriting, slipped it into your bag, and turned the whole thing into a circus. I never had the courage to write anything like that.” I let out a bitter laugh. “And these past few weeks? All those nice things I did? The anonymous gifts, the help, the sudden ‘improvement’? It was all Quan. He planned everything. He wrote the scripts. He forced me to do it. I was just… performing.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Tram stared at me, her expression slowly shifting from confusion to disappointment, then to quiet anger.

“Was anything real?”

I didn’t deny it.

“I told you,” I muttered. “I’m still the same guy who ran away that day. I haven’t changed. I just got better at pretending for a while.”

Tram stood up slowly. Her voice was cold, but I could hear the hurt beneath it.

“You know what’s worse than you being the same old Loc? It’s that for a moment, I actually believed you were trying. I thought maybe the awkward guy from high school had finally grown up a little. But you’re still hiding. Still letting other people fight your battles. Still running away the moment things get real.”

She looked at me one last time, eyes filled with disappointment.

“I guess I was wrong to hope.”

Tram turned and walked away without another word.

Her footsteps faded into the night, leaving me alone on the bench with nothing but the voices echoing in my mind.

After that night with Tram, I stopped trying.

There was no dramatic declaration. No big emotional breakdown. I simply… gave up.

I went back to sleeping until noon. I stopped jogging. I stopped doing the anonymous good deeds. I even stopped checking Tram’s message box every hour, though she wouldn’t text me again anyways. When Quan tried to drag me out for another “mission,” I just lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling fan.

“Come on, Loc! We can’t let him win like this!” Quan shouted one morning, literally trying to pull me off the bed by my legs. “Get up! We still have countermeasures!”

I didn’t move. “What’s the point?”

Quan froze. “What do you mean ‘what’s the point’? We built all of this together!”

I sat up slowly, looking at him with tired eyes. “You built it. I was just the doll you dressed up. And now there’s a version of me that doesn’t need dressing up. He’s better. Everyone can see it. Even I can see it.”

Quan’s face turned red with frustration. He spent the next three days trying everything — blasting music, hiding my pillows, cooking my favorite foods, even guilt-tripping me with childhood memories. Nothing worked. I just went through the motions with empty eyes.

Finally, on the fourth day, he exploded.

We were in the living room when he slammed the table.

“Why are you like this?!” he yelled. “I did everything for you! I came here, I planned everything, I stayed up late creating stories about you, I made people like you again — and now you’re just going to roll over and die because some copy showed up? You’re pathetic!”

I looked at him coldly. The words came out before I could stop them.

“Yeah. I’m pathetic. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? You’ve been trying to fix me because you’re ashamed of who I really am. You wanted a better brother. Well, congratulations. He lives on the fifth floor now.”

Quan’s eyes widened. His voice cracked with anger and hurt.

“You think I did all this because I’m ashamed of you? I did it because you’re my brother and I love you, you idiot! But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you really are happy being a useless sloth who runs away every time things get hard — just like you ran away from Tram back in high school!”

The argument escalated into a shouting match that shook the walls.

Old resentments poured out — my laziness, his meddling, the pressure, the expectations. In the end, Quan stormed out, slamming the door so hard the ceiling fan wobbled.

From that night on, he stopped talking to me. He still slept on the floor, but we moved around each other like ghosts. No more boot camp. No more late-night talks. Just cold silence.

~~~•••~~~

The final straw came on Monday.

New Loc joined my company.

By 10 AM, the entire office was buzzing. He had already solved a problem that our team had been stuck on for two weeks.

During lunch, he casually helped the intern fix her presentation and made our strict boss laugh with a humble joke.

By 3 PM, people were calling him “the genius new guy” and “Loc 2.0.”

I endured it until 5:30 PM, when I saw him in the pantry — calmly making coffee while three female colleagues giggled around him.

Something inside me finally snapped.

I walked straight up to him, voice low but shaking with rage.

“Why are you doing this?” I hissed. “Why did you have to come here? Why do you have to be better at everything? Is this fun for you? Replacing me?”

The pantry went silent. Everyone stared.

New Loc looked at me calmly. There was no anger in his eyes. Only quiet understanding. He set down his coffee and spoke gently.

“Can we talk outside for a minute?”

I wanted to refuse. But the way he asked — without any defensiveness, without any superiority — made it impossible to say no.

We stepped into the empty hallway near the emergency exit. New Loc leaned against the wall and looked at me for a long moment.

Then he said softly:

“I’m not trying to replace you, Loc. I never was.”

His eyes were kind, almost pitiful — the same eyes I saw in the mirror every morning, except his didn’t look exhausted.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Why?” I asked, voice shaking. “Why do you have to exist? Why do you have to be… me, but better?”

New Loc was silent for a moment. Then he smiled gently — not mocking, not arrogant. Just… sincere.

“Because I am you, Loc,” he said softly. “I’m the Loc who stopped running away. The Loc who doesn’t hide behind laziness and sarcasm. The Loc who faces everything head-on instead of letting his little brother write pretty lies about him.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He stepped closer, his voice remaining calm and measured.

“All those stories Quan created for you — the anonymous good deeds, the wallet full of money you ‘returned’, the cat you supposedly helped give birth to, the mysterious kind neighbor… they were beautiful, weren’t they? They made people like you. They made Tram look at you again. They made you feel, for once, like you mattered.”

He paused, eyes never leaving mine.

“But they were all lies. You know that. And deep down, so does everyone else. They’re starting to sense it. The version of you they like… isn’t really you. It’s a character your brother wrote.”

My hands clenched into fists.

“Shut up.”

New Loc didn’t flinch. His voice stayed gentle, almost pitying.

“I don’t lie, Loc. I don’t need to. When I help someone, it’s because I genuinely want to. When I talk to Tram, I don’t follow a script. When I wake up early, it’s not because someone dragged me. I face my fears instead of hiding behind a ceiling fan and pretending the world is too much effort.”

He took another step forward, his face now inches from mine. The resemblance was terrifying.

“I am the Loc you could have been if you stopped being afraid. If you stopped letting Quân fight your battles. If you stopped running away every time something real was on the line — like you did with Tram in high school.”

My breathing became ragged. Something inside my head was cracking.

“You’re not me,” I whispered hoarsely.

New Loc smiled sadly.

“I am. I’m the part of you that you buried under layers of laziness and sarcasm. And the scariest thing for you… is realizing that people prefer me. Not because I’m fake. But because I’m honest.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder — the gesture was so gentle it hurt.

“You’ve been deceiving everyone, Loc. Including yourself. Those beautiful stories Quân told? They’re collapsing because deep down, people can feel the difference between a performance… and the real thing.”

I slapped his hand away, voice breaking.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

New Loc didn’t get angry. He simply nodded, as if he had expected this reaction.

“I understand. It’s hard to look in the mirror when the reflection is better than you.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“By the way… Tram deserves the real version. Not the one who needs his brother to write him love stories.”

Then he walked away, leaving me alone in the hallway with nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat and the growing fracture inside my mind.

~~~•••~~~

I walked back to the apartment building like a ghost returning to its own funeral.

The evening sun painted everything in soft orange light, but it felt cold. Every step heavier than the last. When I entered the main gate, the security guard — who used to barely nod at me — smiled brightly.

“Evening, Loc! Kind Loc just helped me fix the security camera. That guy is really something, huh?”

I forced a weak smile and kept walking.

In the common area, a small crowd had gathered.

New Loc was sitting in the middle, casually playing guitar while a few aunties and kids sang along. His voice was warm, slightly imperfect in a charming way. Everyone looked happy. Relaxed. Seen.

Ms. Lan spotted me and waved. “Oh, Loc! Come join us! Your friend is so talented.”

Your friend.

I didn’t join. I just stood at the edge, watching.

Then I saw Quan.

My little brother was sitting right next to New Loc, eyes sparkling with pure admiration — the same way he used to look at me when we were kids.

He was laughing loudly at something New Loc said, leaning in like they had known each other for years. Quan looked… proud. Genuinely proud in a way he hadn’t looked at me in weeks.

My chest tightened.

And then I saw her.

Tram walked into the common area carrying some documents. New Loc noticed her immediately and gave her that calm, sincere smile.

She walked over without hesitation, smiling back — bright and comfortable. They spoke quietly. She laughed at something he said, the same soft laugh she used to send me in voice notes.

She looked… happy. Light. Like she was talking to someone who actually had his life together.

I stood there in the shadows, invisible.

This wasn’t my building anymore.

This was his world now. A kinder, warmer, better version of my life. One where the main character wasn’t a lazy coward who needed his brother to script his existence. One where even the girl I liked looked at “me” with genuine warmth.

New Loc glanced in my direction. Our eyes met for a brief second. He gave me a small, understanding nod — almost sympathetic.

That was the final blow.

I turned around and walked away before anyone could call my name. Not dramatically. Not angrily. Just quietly, like I always did.

I left the building, hands in my pockets, shoulders hunched. The same way I ran away after the Valentine’s incident in high school. The same way I always ran when things became too real.

Behind me, the sound of laughter and guitar continued.

No one came after me.

As I walked down the street into the growing darkness, I muttered to myself with a broken, deadpan voice:

“…Well played, universe. You finally made a better model.”

The ceiling fan in my empty room kept spinning for no one that night.

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t want to go home.