A Bizarre Journey ep 17: The Great Mango Case

I was on all fours in the middle of the living room like a man who had accepted rock bottom as his permanent address.

“Where the hell is my left sock?” I muttered, reaching deep under the couch. “I swear I had a pair yesterday. This is the third sock this week. The Sock Dimension is getting cocky.”

Quan was on the other side of the room, lifting cushions with the dramatic seriousness of a crime scene investigator in a cheap detective show.

“Loc, we’re losing the war. First they took singles. Now they’re taking pairs. At this rate, I’ll have to go to class barefoot next week.”

I crawled further under the couch, bumping my head hard on the wooden frame.

“Ow— damn it. If I find out the ceiling fan is behind this sock conspiracy, I’m throwing it out the window. I’ve had enough of its silent judgment.”

Quan lifted another cushion and gasped theatrically.

“Found something!”

I crawled out excitedly. “The sock?”

“No. Your old report card from grade 10. It says ‘Nguyen Van Loc: Frequently sleeps in class, shows great potential in doing absolutely nothing. Teacher recommends more effort… or at least pretending to try.’”

I snatched it from his hand and shoved it back under the couch like it was cursed.

“Not helping, Quan.”

We spent the next ten minutes turning the room into a disaster zone. Quan narrated the whole thing like a true crime podcast.

“Episode 47: The Case of the Disappearing Socks. Our hero, the exhausted older brother, searches desperately for his missing left sock while his brave little brother provides moral support and occasional sarcastic commentary.”

I threw a pillow at his head.

Eventually, I gave up and sat on the floor, defeated, staring at the spinning ceiling fan like it was my final boss.

“Maybe I should just go sockless. Embrace the chaos. Live freely as a one-sock man.”

Quan was about to reply when my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I picked up.

A bright, chaotic voice exploded from the speaker.

“Hades! I mean, Loc! It’s Quynh. We’re doing the Hermes at the market shoot today, remember? I’m already at the big traditional market near the river with good mangoes. Come quick! The light is perfect and the gods are watching!”

I sighed. “Quynh, I didn’t even agree to—”

“Too late! See you in twenty minutes. Bring your brooding face!”

She hung up.

Quan’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “Quynh? The mythology girl? I’m coming too. Purely for… moral support.”

I didn’t even have the energy to argue.

Next second, I ended up borrowing Minh’s old, beat-up motorbike because my own refused to start again (probably in silent protest against my existence). Quan hopped on the back, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Bro, this is going to be legendary. Greek mythology meets Saigon street market. Quynh is a genius. I can feel it in my bones.”

I sighed and started the engine.

“She forgot to tell me the exact location again. Just said ‘big traditional market near the river with good mangoes.’ Of course she did.”

I tried calling her. No answer. I tried again. Still nothing. On the third try, it went straight to voicemail with a cheerful message in broken Greek and Vietnamese: “This is Quynh. If you’re calling about the gods, leave a message. If you’re calling about normal human things, I’m probably ignoring you.”

“Great,” I muttered. “We’re on a quest with zero directions and a chaotic oracle who won’t pick up.”

After twenty frustrating minutes of circling the area, relying purely on instinct and vague memories of Quynh mentioning “a market by the lake with the good mangoes,” we finally found it — a bustling traditional market next to a small lake, packed with people, noise, and the overwhelming smell of fresh fruit.

And right at the entrance, chaos was already in full bloom.

A long line of customers stretched out from a famous mango stall. In the middle of it, Quynh was passionately arguing with three aunties, waving her arms like she was conducting a Greek tragedy.

“But I was here first! I’ve been waiting for forty minutes! This is a violation of temporal justice! Zeus would be disappointed in all of you!”

One auntie shot back, hands on hips. “Little girl, we’ve been queuing since 6 AM! Go to the back like everyone else!”

Quynh, completely undeterred, switched to rapid-fire ancient Greek, gesturing wildly as if she was cursing the entire bloodline of the aunties’ ancestors. The crowd was equal parts confused and entertained. A few kids were openly laughing.

Quan’s eyes lit up from the back of the bike like he had just witnessed a miracle.

“…She’s amazing.”

I killed the engine and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Of course she is. Of course we found her in the middle of a mango-related civil war.”

Quynh finally spotted us. Her face lit up like she had just seen her favorite tragic heroes arrive on the battlefield.

“Loc! My favorite brooding Hades! You actually came!” She ran over and grabbed my arm enthusiastically, practically bouncing on her toes.

Then she turned to Quan, blinked twice, and tilted her head like she was trying to remember where she left her keys.

“…And you are?”

Quan’s smile froze for a split second before he recovered with an awkward laugh.

“I’m Quan. Loc’s brother. We met three days ago? In the empty lot?”

Quynh’s eyes widened in slow recognition.

“Ohhh! Right! Mini Hermes! The anxious, overachieving, secretly soft golden retriever version. Got it. Nice to see you again.”

Quan turned bright red. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

Quynh didn’t miss a beat. She immediately launched into a chaotic explanation while dragging us toward the mango stall.

“So here’s the deal: This particular mango stall is insanely popular because the owner created this ridiculous game. Every customer who buys a kilo gets to play ‘Lucky Mango Draw.’ If you pull the golden sticker, you win a ‘blessing of fortune’ mango — supposedly brings good luck for a whole month. People are going feral for it.”

She gestured wildly at the long, chaotic line.

“And I need one of those special lucky mangoes for my next photoshoot concept — ‘Hades holding the fruit of fortune while looking existentially depressed.’ It’s going to be iconic. But the line is impossible. So I need you two to help me cut in line. By any means necessary.”

I stared at her.

“You dragged us all the way here… to help you cheat in a mango lottery?”

Quynh nodded enthusiastically, as if this was the most reasonable request in the world.

“Exactly! Teamwork makes the dream work. Hades and Hermes helping Athena secure divine fruit. It’s mythologically accurate.”

Quan, still slightly pink, nodded eagerly. “I’m in. This is peak investigation energy.”

I sighed, already feeling the familiar weight of impending chaos settle on my shoulders.

“Great. Just what I needed. Another absurd mission with a mythology gremlin and my starstruck little brother.”

Quynh grinned brightly and linked her arm with mine like we’d known each other for years.

“Don’t worry, Hades. With you two by my side, we’ll secure that golden mango before sunset. Or at least before the line gets longer.”

I had a very strong feeling this was going to be much more complicated than just cutting in line.

Quynh didn’t waste any time. She immediately dragged us into the chaotic line like a general leading a suicide mission.

“Operation Golden Mango begins now! We need to get to the front before they run out of lucky stickers!”

Quan, fully committed to the chaos, started Phase One: Distraction.

He suddenly pointed to the opposite side of the market and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Look! Free samples of durian ice cream over there!”

A few people turned their heads. Quan kept going, waving his arms dramatically.

“And they’re giving away limited edition mango-shaped keychains! First come, first served!”

A small group of aunties broke away from the line. Quan gave me a proud thumbs-up.

I sighed and moved to Phase Two.

I took a deep breath and shouted in my most convincing panicked voice:

“SNAKES! BIG SNAKES! AND POSSIBLY SCORPIONS TOO! EVERYONE RUN!”

Several people screamed and scattered. An old lady hit me with her bag while fleeing.

Quynh, not to be outdone, switched to ancient Greek mode. She started chanting dramatically while gesturing wildly at the sky:

“Ζευς! Βοήθησέ μας! Δώσε μας το μάνγκο της τύχης!”

A few confused customers actually stepped aside, probably thinking she was performing some kind of exorcism.

We were making progress. The line was thinning.

We were only three people away from the stall.

Then..

The woman in front of us pulled a golden sticker from her bag of mangoes.

She screamed in joy.

“I won! I got the lucky mango!”

The entire line erupted in groans and applause. The stall owner rang a little bell and handed her a special certificate.

Quynh froze, mouth open in pure betrayal.

“No… my golden mango… my perfect photoshoot prop…”

She turned to us, eyes wide with dramatic despair.

“This is a tragedy. This is worse than the fall of Troy. This is… this is capitalism winning again.”

Quan patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“We were so close…”

I just stood there, exhausted, still holding the fake “snake alert” energy.

“Great. We terrorized half the market, spoke ancient Greek, and lied about snakes… all for nothing.”

I turned to leave, already dreaming about going home, taking a shower, and pretending this day never happened.

Quynh and Quan started following me, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Then, from behind us, the mango seller suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream.

“MY MANGO! MY SACRED LUCKY MANGO IS GONE!!!”

The three of us froze mid-step.

We spun around so fast I nearly got whiplash. Our eyes lit up like car headlights on high beam.

The crowd around the stall started murmuring and slowly dispersing, many of them shaking their heads.

“Scam again.”

“Probably hid them to create hype.”

“These sellers are getting too creative.”

But Quynh’s face transformed from disappointment to pure academic ecstasy. She marched straight up to the crying seller with the energy of a detective who had just smelled blood.

“Madam! Tell us everything! When was the last confirmed sighting of the Golden Mango? Any suspicious customers? Unusual weather patterns? Sudden existential crises? Random prophecies?”

The seller, still clutching her face dramatically, stared at Quynh as if she had just escaped from a very underfunded asylum.

“It was in my basket this morning! I saw it with my own eyes! Then it was gone! It has to be black magic!”

Quynh listened with the seriousness of a detective in a crime documentary. She tapped her fingers against her arm, nodded occasionally, even squinted at the mango basket like it contained hidden secrets.

Ten seconds later, she reached her verdict.

Her eyes slowly locked onto the mango auntie.

The same way a shark might lock onto a wounded seal.

“Alright. Here’s the proposal.”

The auntie visibly flinched.

“We help you recover the Fortune Mango. If we succeed, we get the Fortune Mango. A beautiful example of mutually beneficial cooperation.”

“How is that beneficial for me?” the auntie immediately protested.

Quynh gasped.

Actually gasped.

“Madam. Right now, there are only two possible futures.”

She raised one finger.

“Future Number One:

- The mango is gone forever.

- You never discover the culprit.

- Every night for the rest of your life, you lie awake wondering who stole it.

- The mystery consumes you. The regret haunts you.

- Your grandchildren ask about the missing mango and you start crying during family dinners.”

She raised a second finger.

“Future Number Two. We solve the crime. Justice is served. Truth prevails. History remembers your sacrifice.”

The auntie blinked.

“…What sacrifice?”

“The mango.”

“That’s not a sacrifice. That’s literally my mango.”

“Details.”

The auntie stared at her.

Quynh stared back.

Neither side surrendered.

After nearly half a minute of psychological warfare, the auntie finally sighed the sigh of someone who had already lost control of the conversation three minutes ago.

“…Fine. Deal.”

“Excellent.”

Quynh immediately spun around on her heel with enough dramatic energy to power a small village.

“New plan! If we find the missing lucky mango, she’ll give it to us for free! This is no longer just a photoshoot — this is a divine quest!”

She pointed at me and Quan like a commander assigning roles.

“Hades and Hermes! We have a real mystery now. The Case of the Missing Mangoes of Fortune!”

“Hey! we didn’t come here for—“

“I’m in!” Quan suddenly cut me off like an exciting Golden Retriever, eyes sparkled with submission. “This is peak investigation energy!”

I stared at the two of them — one chaotic mythology gremlin and one overly enthusiastic little brother — and let out the longest sigh of my life.

“…Fine. But if this ends with me getting arrested for mango-related crimes, I’m blaming both of you.”

Quynh grinned like a gremlin who had just been handed the keys to chaos.

“Let the investigation begin!”

The investigation indeed did begin. In the most unhinged way possible.

Quynh took the lead. She marched up to a nearby fruit stall with her notebook and pen, speaking in a chaotic mix of Vietnamese and rapid-fire ancient Greek.

“Κύριε! Πού είναι τα μάνγκο; Did you see anything suspicious? Κάποιος ύποπτος; Someone with shifty eyes? Maybe a shadow with three heads?”

The poor uncle selling guavas stared at her like she had grown a second head. He slowly backed away, clutching his fruits protectively.

Quynh didn’t stop. She moved to the next stall.

“Excuse me, madam! Έχετε δει κάτι ύποπτο; Any strange winds? Sudden feelings of existential dread? Did something vanish in a puff of dramatic smoke?”

The woman selling dragon fruit looked terrified and started praying under her breath.

Quan, fully committed to the bit, tried to help by “translating” in the most dramatic way possible.

“She means: Did you see any gods? Or maybe a very fast thief? Hermes energy!”

I stood a few steps behind them, facepalming so hard I was probably leaving bruises.

At one point, Quynh cornered a terrified elderly vendor and launched into what sounded like a full Greek monologue about justice and stolen fruit. The poor lady ended up giving her a free mango out of pure fear.

After a while of terrorizing the market stalls and ear-dropping on the auntie’s chitchatting, we finally gathered up some first evidence:

• The clothes seller had just lost one of his slippers this morning after lying down on his folding hammock.

• A phone-fixing customer took his phone case off and saw no trace of it again.

• Two high school girls crying over a lost keychain.

Then, we decided to split up to cover more ground.

It sounded efficient in theory.

It was not.

I took the left aisle, trying to be a serious investigator. I asked clear, professional questions.

“Excuse me, did you see anyone suspicious near the mango stall earlier, or the clothes shop, or the mechanic stall?”

The auntie selling guavas immediately launched into her life story.

“Oh, young man, you look just like my nephew! Back in ‘98 when I was selling pineapples, my husband ran off with a fish sauce seller. Speaking of which, have you tried my guavas? Very sweet, just like young love…”

Ten minutes later, I knew her entire family drama, her daughter-in-law’s terrible cooking, and why she hated durian. Zero information about the mango.

Quan, on the other hand, tried using his charm.

He approached a group of younger vendors with his brightest, most trustworthy smile.

“Hi everyone! I’m just helping investigate a missing mango. Did any of you notice anything unusual?”

Within seconds, someone recognized him.

“Wait… you’re Professor Quan! The famous Love Advisor guy!”

The news spread like wildfire. Suddenly, Quan was surrounded by a mob of desperate romantics.

“Professor Quan, my girlfriend only replies with ‘whatever’ and no emojis! What do I do?”

“Professor, how do I make my crush stop ghosting me?”

Quan tried to escape but was pulled back. He shot me a helpless, slightly proud look as he was dragged into an impromptu love advice session.

Quynh, meanwhile, was treating the investigation like a street food tour.

She was supposed to be questioning vendors on the right side. Instead, she walked around with a growing bag of snacks, interviewing people while chewing.

At one point I saw her holding a skewer of grilled meat in one hand and her notebook in the other, passionately debating with a vendor about whether the thief could have been Cerberus in disguise.

I stood in the middle of the market, watching my little brother get mobbed by love advice seekers, and Quynh turning the investigation into an all-you-can-eat buffet.

A few moments later, she came bouncing back to me, cheeks puffed out like a hamster while chewing vigorously on a skewer of grilled squid.

“New evidence!” she mumbled through a mouthful of food, staring at me with surprisingly serious eyes. “A butcher said that he saw a group of suspicious dogs having a meeting! This must be some kind of Cerberus cult’s evil plotting!”

Before I could even respond, her eyes lit up at a nearby stall selling fried banana cakes.

“Oh! Hot banana cake! Be right back — the gods demand tribute!”

She sprinted off again, leaving a trail of crumbs and chaos behind her.

I stood there still processing the “evidence,” staring after her in disbelief.

That’s when I saw it.

A scruffy street dog was happily trotting away from the mango stall area… with my missing left sock in its mouth.

My sock.

The one I had been looking for all morning.

The dog looked back at me, tilted its head, and then bolted.

Without thinking, I abandoned Quan and Quynh and gave chase.

“Hey! That’s my sock! Come back here, you thieving mutt!”

I sprinted after the dog through the crowded market, dodging aunties, jumping over baskets of vegetables, and nearly knocking over a cart of sugarcane juice.

The dog weaved through the stalls like it had done this a hundred times, my sock flapping in its mouth like a victory flag.

Behind me, I could hear Quynh’s excited voice:

“Hades is chasing Cerberus! This is perfect material!”

And Quan, still trapped by his fans, yelling desperately:

“Loc! Wait for me! Don’t solve the case without your little brother!”

I kept running, lungs burning, dignity long gone.

“Give me back my sock, you hellhound!” I yelled. “I’ve had that sock longer than some of my relationships!”

The dog glanced back at me, almost looking amused, then darted into a narrow alley behind the market.

I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air.

Just then, I heard absolute chaos erupting from the main market.

Quynh’s voice rang out like a battle cry:

“Quan! Use your Hermes powers! Climb! Climb like the wind!”

I turned just in time to see Quan, looking equal parts terrified and determined, being boosted up by Quynh onto a low rooftop. The mob of desperate romantics was still chasing him, shouting questions.

“Professor Quan! What if she leaves me on read again?!”

Quan looked down at me from the roof, face bright red, and gave a weak, awkward thumbs-up.

“I’m… providing aerial support, Loc!”

Quynh waved enthusiastically from below.

“Don’t worry, Hades! We’ve got your back! Hermes is scouting from the skies!”

I returned to the narrow alley, taking in the longest breath of my life, and started printing like a madman.

Again.

The alley turned into a maze of small back lanes. The dog was fast, but I was running on pure spite and humiliation. We turned corner after corner until we reached a dead end.

It sat down calmly next to an overturned basket, still holding my sock, and looked at me with an almost intelligent expression.

I stopped a few meters away, panting heavily, hands on my knees.

“…You win. Just… give me the sock back. Please.”

The dog tilted its head. Then it dropped the sock.

But instead of running away, it nudged something with its nose.

A single, perfect, golden mango rolled out from behind the basket.

My eyes widened.

The legendary “lucky mango” was there, in the basket — along with a bizarre collection of other stolen items: several colorful socks, a single slipper, a shiny new phone case, and what looked like someone’s favorite keychain.

The dog sat proudly next to its hoard, tail wagging, as if expecting praise.

I took a cautious step forward.

The dog immediately bared its teeth and let out a low, threatening growl.

I froze.

“Okay… okay, easy there, Cerberus. I just want the mango. And my sock. We can negotiate—”

The dog growled louder and took a threatening step forward.

I backed up slowly, hands raised.

“Alright, no sudden movements. We can talk about this like civilized beings—”

Right then, I heard a loud thud from the rooftop above.

Quynh and Quan had finally caught up on the neighboring house’s roof. Quynh, in full chaotic glory, grabbed Quan’s arm and yelled:

“Hermes! Time for the dramatic entrance!”

They jumped down together.

Quynh landed with surprising grace.

Quan landed like a sack of potatoes, nearly rolling into a pile of trash before Quynh caught him by the collar.

Without any question, Quynh immediately switched to ancient Greek, speaking directly to the dog in a calm but authoritative tone, as if she were addressing a minor deity who had wandered into the mortal realm by mistake.

“Oh c’mon, Quynh. Are you trying to talk Greek with a dog?”

But to my absolute disbelief, the dog replied with a series of barks, whines, and even what sounded suspiciously like a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

Quynh’s eyes widened in pure academic delight, like she had just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“Cerberus says she only wanted a matching pair of socks for her front paws!” she translated excitedly. “The lucky mango was just… collateral. She’s been trading stolen items around the dogs black market to get more socks. Apparently, single socks make her feel unbalanced. She’s very particular about symmetry.”

Quan, who had just finished dusting himself off from the dramatic rooftop jump, suddenly lit up like a detective who had just cracked the case of the century.

His eyes darted around rapidly as the pieces clicked together in his head.

“Wait.”

I groaned so hard it came out as a wheeze. “What now?”

He ignored me, zeroing in on my recovered sock like it was Exhibit A. His finger jabbed at it with courtroom drama.

“Bro. Did you turn off the fan before you left for work yesterday?”

I blinked. “What the hell does that have to do with—”

“Did. You. Turn. Off. The. Fan?”

“…I don’t remember.”

Quan’s eyes went wide, the way they do when the universe hands him a conspiracy on a silver platter.

“Exactly.”

“That is not an answer, man.”

“You forgot. Again.” He started pacing, building momentum. “Window left open. Fan on full blast. Sock gets yeeted into the great unknown. Dog finds it.”

The dog barked once, right on cue, tail wagging like she was in on the bit.

Quan pointed at her with both hands, pure theater. “She gets a taste. One sock isn’t enough anymore. She starts running a full black-market operation—stealing slippers, phone cases, and limited-edition keychains—”

Another bark, sharper this time.

“—and now she’s holding the Sacred Mango as collateral until she gets the matching pair.”

The dog barked three times in rapid succession, as if confirming the terms of the deal.

Quan stopped pacing. He folded his arms with the finality of a man who had just cracked the Kennedy assassination.

“Therefore,” he declared, pointing an accusatory finger directly at my soul, “the root cause of this entire chaotic, sock-thieving, mango-ransoming disaster…”

He let the silence hang just long enough to be obnoxious.

“…is your chronic inability to remember whether you turned off the damn fan.”

The dog gave one last, deeply satisfied bark.

I stared at both of them. “I hate you. Both of you.”

Quan grinned like he’d just won an Oscar. “Tell that to the fan, bro.”

The moment Quan finished his grand revelation, Quynh gasped so sharply she nearly inhaled a nearby cloud.

“By Zeus…” She lunged forward and seized both of Quan’s hands like he’d just returned from slaying a minotaur. “Your wisdom rivals Athena herself!”

Quan blinked rapidly. “Uh—”

“Your mind cuts through mysteries like Apollo’s divine light!”

“Quynh, it was literally just a guess—”

“You have uncovered the hidden thread of fate behind the Great Mango Incident!” She shook his hands with pure religious fervor. “Olympus would be proud. ATHENA WOULD BE PROUD.”

Quan’s ears went nuclear red. Then his entire face followed. He tried to pull away, but Quynh had the grip of a devoted cultist.

“It was… just connecting dots, really…”

“Nonsense!” she declared, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “A true oracle!”

Meanwhile, I stood two feet away, watching my missing-mango case somehow evolve into a full-blown Greek tragedy reenactment.

Then, in perfect sync, both of them turned toward me.

The divine glow vanished. Their expressions sharpened into something far more dangerous.

“Hades,” Quynh said, voice suddenly cold.

“Loc, bro,” Quan echoed.

The dog barked once, like she was stamping the verdict.

I took a half-step back. “Why are all of you looking at me like I kicked a puppy?”

Quynh pointed an accusing finger directly at my chest. “If you had simply turned off the fan, none of this would have happened.”

Quan nodded solemnly, arms crossed. “Exactly. This entire criminal empire was founded on your rogue sock.”

“That is not how causality works,” I protested.

“Tell it to the judge,” Quynh shot back.

“What judge?”

She was already pulling out her phone. “I can find one.”

“YOU CANNOT ARREST SOMEONE FOR FORGETTING A FAN!”

The dog barked loudly in agreement—with them.

Quan pointed at her with dramatic flair. “Even the victim disagrees.”

“THE VICTIM STOLE THE MANGO!” I yelled.

The dog barked even louder, tail wagging like she’d just been declared innocent.

“Objection sustained,” Quynh said with a sage nod.

“That’s not how any of this—”

“Loc,” Quan interrupted, placing a hand on my shoulder like a disappointed life coach, “I think the only way to settle this peacefully… is compensation.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of compensation?”

Three seconds of heavy silence.

All three of them—Quan, Quynh, and the dog—stared directly at my sock.

“No.”

“Give her the sock,” Quynh said sweetly.

“No.”

“Give her the sock,” Quan echoed.

“Absolutely not.”

Five minutes later, I held the sacred, slightly bruised golden mango in my hand like it was the Olympic torch.

The dog proudly clutched my sock in her mouth, tail wagging at maximum speed.

And despite being the most productive in this investigation—I was the one who ended up paying damages.

With the sacred mango secured and my sock permanently transferred into canine custody, the case was finally closed.

The dog trotted away proudly with its prize.

Quynh watched it leave and nodded.

“A fair resolution.”

“It was robbery.”

“A fair robbery.”

Before I could argue, Quynh laughed brightly and linked her arm with mine.

“Be quicker with your legs, Hades! With the Fortune Mango in hand, I declare it’s time to get that perfect shot!”

As we walked back toward the market, Quan trailing behind us with a strange, lovestruck smile on his face, I couldn’t help but think:

Saigon really knew how to make my already ridiculous life even more absurd.

And somehow… I was starting to get used to it.