A Bizarre Journey ep 19: When Gremlins Get Serious

It had only been a few days at peace, and Saigon had decided to punish me with the kind of random humidity that made your shirt stick like a bad decision.

I was standing in line at Aunt Năm’s sugarcane stall near the apartment, the sugarcane juice machine roaring like an angry spirit while the auntie running it yelled at passing motorbikes for “disturbing the flavor.”

Quan was next to me, holding two plastic bags of paper salads like sacred offerings, still half-dazed from last night’s research.

“Bro,” he whispered excitedly, “did you know Hermes once stole Apollo’s cattle? But in Vietnam he would’ve just negotiated a good price and added free shipping.”

I didn’t even have the energy to mock him. My brain was still recovering from yesterday when Quynh had me pose as Hades dramatically regretting his life choices while holding a fried chicken skewer at 2 AM.

My phone buzzed violently in my pocket.

Quynh: Hades!!! New idea just hit me like lightning from Zeus (but make it monsoon rain). Meet me at the temple near District 3 in 40 minutes. Bring your most “I accept my fate” face.

Quynh: Also I found a vendor selling tiny plastic Hades statues next to Buddha. Cultural fusion!!!

Before I could reply, another message suddenly popped out—this time from Tram:

Tram: You’re doing temple runs as Hades now?

I almost had a heart attack.

“How the hell..”


Tram: Very committed to the bit. Or are you just avoiding adult responsibilities again?

I stared at the screen. The message was casual, but I could feel the precise scalpel behind it.

Quan peeked over, eyes widening. “She couldn’t possibly know about the temple photography! Unless if.. she is stalking on you?”

His comment made me immediately glancing around like a chicken thief before my phone buzzed again.

Tram: And no, I’m not stalking on you. Quynh just came to the apartment’s gate and yelled your name like crazy earlier.

Loc: Oh.

I was halfway through typing a safe, boring reply when Quynh added me and Tram to a new group chat titled “Mythology & Saigon Survival Club.”

Quynh: @Tram hi! Since you’re interested in Greek stories, want to join us at the temple? We can talk about how Persephone would survive rainy season in Saigon. I’ll bring extra raincoat for the underworld queen 😊

The reply came faster than Saigon traffic during rush hour.

Tram: Sounds fun. I’ll bring sweet soup for everyone. Nothing says “deep mythological discussion” like sweet beans and coconut milk.

I sighed so loudly Auntie Năm gave me a concerned look.

Forty minutes later I found myself at the small old temple, incense smoke mixing with the smell of rain-soaked leaves. Quynh had already claimed a quiet corner near the back, spreading out printed photos on a plastic mat while an old uncle swept leaves nearby, occasionally glancing at her like she was a curious spirit.

Tram arrived shortly after, carrying a bag of sweet soup from her favorite spot and wearing a simple rain jacket that somehow made her look unfairly put-together.

The two of them greeted each other with the same terrifyingly polite smiles from the handshake incident.

“Tram! You really came,” Quynh said warmly, offering her a small paper fan with Greek gods doodled on it. “I thought we could discuss how Hades would handle hunger during Lunar New Year if he had to run a Chung cake business.”

Tram accepted the fan gracefully. “Interesting. I was thinking Persephone might prefer running an iced coffee empire instead. More independence, better profit margins.”

They sat down on the mat as if this was completely normal. I hovered awkwardly while Quan enthusiastically helped Quynh arrange photos, nearly knocking over a stick of incense.

The conversation flowed like a gentle river with hidden piranhas.

Quynh: “You know, in some versions Persephone learns to balance both worlds. Very adaptable. Like learning to drive a Wave through flooded alleys.”

Tram: “True. Though some goddesses prefer not to split their time at all. Full control of their own realm. Maybe open a nice rice restaurant with strict opening hours.”

Quynh smiled brightly. “But sharing a realm can be beautiful too. Especially if the co-ruler is surprisingly reliable when it matters.”

Tram took a slow sip of sweet soup, her eyes twinkling. “Reliability is nice. But I’ve always admired goddesses who can handle things perfectly fine on their own. Less drama during rainy season.”

I stood there holding a plastic cup of sugarcane juice like a mortal who accidentally wandered into divine negotiations. Every polite sentence carried another layer. Quan was live-commenting in my ear like a sports announcer.

“They’re fighting with metaphors, bro. This is poetry.”

At one point Quynh casually showed Tram the latest “Hades in daily Saigon life” series. Tram studied each photo with academic focus, occasionally offering feedback that sounded helpful but felt like carefully aimed arrows.

“His expression in this one is very authentic,” Tram noted. “Like he just remembered he left the gas on at home.”

Quynh nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Loc has natural talent for tragic comedy. He even stood still for forty minutes while a street dog tried to claim him as territory.”

I wanted the temple ground to open up and swallow me.

By the time the soup was finished and the incense had burned low, the two women exchanged numbers again — this time “for more cultural exchange.” They parted with warm smiles and gentle waves, like two rival banh mi vendors who respected each other’s sauce recipe but weren’t above a little healthy competition.

As we walked back through the alley, dodging puddles and aunties carrying sticky rice baskets, Quan slapped my shoulder.

“Bro. They just had a whole philosophical war using Vietnamese street food as weapons. I think I’m in love with both the chaos and the strategy.”

I looked down at my phone. A new message from Tram had arrived.

Tram: Your photographer friend is… something else.


Tram: See you around, responsible Hades.

I didn’t reply right away. For once, the random absurdity of the day didn’t feel exhausting.

It felt like something was quietly shifting.

~~~•••~~~

The rivalry didn’t stay polite for long. By the next morning, it had somehow evolved into Tram casually agreeing to join Quynh’s “university scouting mission” for the big mythology exhibition.

I still don’t know how it happened. One minute I was eating pho for breakfast, the next I was on the back of Quan’s motorbike heading toward the university while he practiced his “Hermes delivery voice.”

Quynh was waiting at the campus gate like an excited tour guide who had consumed three iced coffees too many. She wore a shirt with hand-drawn Greek gods riding motorbike, waving a folded campus map like a battle flag.

“Welcome to my battlefield!” she announced. “Today we prepare the terrain for the great exhibition. Hades, Hermes — follow me. Tram, you can be our honored guest observer.”

Tram, who had shown up in casual clothes and carrying a small notebook, raised an eyebrow but smiled. “Observer. I like that title.”

What followed was the most chaotic campus tour in the history of higher education.

Quynh dragged us through every corner, turning ordinary spots into mythological madness with pure chaotic energy.

At the crowded canteen, she declared the long queue was the River Styx and the rice lady was Charon.

She made me stand dramatically by the food trays while pretending to judge souls based on their choice of pickled vegetables. Quan ran around delivering “divine messages” (actually just grabbing extra boba teas for everyone).

I got recognized almost immediately.

“Hey, isn’t he the Hades guy from those photos?” a group of students whispered loudly as we passed the library. “The one Quynh keeps posting. Bro looks like he hasn’t slept since the Trojan War.”

I tried to shrink into my shirt. Tram, walking a few steps behind, let out a quiet amused huff.

Quan, in full supportive brother mode, tried to act as the perfect Hermes. He nearly tripped over a loose tile while carrying Quynh’s heavy bag of props, shouting “Delivery from Olympus!” every time he handed her something. The more he tried to impress her, the more clumsily enthusiastic he became.

But the real shift happened when we reached the open courtyard where Quynh’s project team sometimes gathered.

A few students were hanging around. As Quynh enthusiastically explained her vision — blending Greek gods with Saigon street life — I noticed the side glances. One guy muttered to his friend, “There she goes again with the Greek stuff. So weird.” Another laughed quietly: “She’s always like this. Living in her own world.”

Quynh heard them. Of course she did. But she just adjusted her glasses, smiled like it was the most normal weather report, and kept explaining how Hades could run a successful bar in the underworld during happy hour.

She stayed completely neutral, treating the whispers like background motorbike noise.

Tram watched everything quietly. Her usual sharp teasing had softened into something more thoughtful. At one point, while Quynh was demonstrating a dramatic pose near a broken fountain (comparing it to the Fountain of Mnemosyne), Tram leaned toward me.

“She’s… different when she’s in her element,” Tram said, voice low. Not mocking. Just observing.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Turns out the chaos gremlin has layers.”

Quan, overhearing, nodded vigorously while holding a reflector board like it was the Caduceus. “She’s amazing. Even when people don’t get it.”

The “exhibition” continued at full force:

Quynh negotiating with a security guard using broken Greek and Vietnamese charm, convincing him to let us use a quiet corner for test lighting.

I got stuck posing as “Hades stuck in eternal education” while holding a stack of books. At one point a stray campus cat decided I was its new king of the underworld and refused to leave my lap.

Through it all, Quynh moved with surprising focus whenever the project came up — no longer just the bouncing enthusiast, but someone who clearly had a real vision.

By the time the sun started dipping and we were all sweaty and covered in a thin layer of Saigon dust, we finally walked towards the campus’s gate.

And I found myself thinking that maybe showing up for someone else’s crazy dream wasn’t the worst way to practice being responsible.

Quynh finally said excitedly.

“Tomorrow we start real setup. The team will be there. It’s going to be epic.”

I had a feeling “epic” was going to mean something very specific in Quynh’s dictionary.

~~~•••~~~

The next day we returned to campus for the real project setup. The exhibition hall was half chaos, half organized madness — rolls of fabric, printed backdrops of Saigon alleys mixed with Greek temples, and random props scattered everywhere like a typhoon had hit Olympus.

Quynh walked in as a completely different person.

Gone was the bouncy gremlin who summoned Zeus with a rice cooker. In her place stood a focused, serious leader. She moved with quiet intensity, directing her teammates with clear instructions and surprising confidence. Clipboards were involved. Actual clipboards.

“Make sure the lighting hits the underworld section harder,” she told one group calmly. “We want people to feel the weight when they look at Hades.”

I got pulled in immediately as the main reference model. Quan followed like a loyal Hermes, carrying cables and taking notes with religious dedication.

What started as normal project work slowly turned tense.

Quynh kept casually referencing us while giving feedback to the other students playing Hades and Hermes roles.

“See how Loc does it? That quiet exhaustion mixed with responsibility — that’s the soul of Hades in Saigon. Try to capture that weight instead of just looking brooding.”

“Quan’s energy as Hermes is perfect for the messenger vibe. Light but always moving. Use that as reference.”

At first it was fine. Then it wasn’t.

Some teammates started exchanging looks. One guy muttered under his breath while adjusting a backdrop, “Of course she brings her own favorites. Must be nice having personal models.”

Another girl rolled her eyes when Quynh corrected her pose. “She acts like she’s the only one who understands mythology. So extra.”

The tension built quietly while Quynh remained laser-focused, completely absorbed in her work. She moved from station to station, adjusting lights, fixing props, and encouraging everyone with genuine passion even as the atmosphere grew colder.

At one point, while Quynh was deep in discussion with the lighting team, I, Quan, and Tram stepped outside for some fresh air near the courtyard. That’s when we overheard it.

A small group of teammates had gathered near the side entrance.

“…She’s so weird about this Greek stuff. Who even cares?”

“Yeah, and dragging her random friends into everything. Especially that lazy-looking Hades guy.”

One of them laughed meanly. “No wonder her dad is strict. Living in fantasy land while her mom is blind and she’s out here playing pretend gods. Someone needs to wake her up to reality.”

The words landed heavily. Quan’s face went pale. I felt my usual sarcasm die in my throat. Tram’s expression shifted — the sharp teasing from before completely gone, replaced by something quieter and more serious.

We stepped back inside without saying anything.

Quynh had clearly heard some of the comments too. I saw her shoulders tense for just a second. But she simply adjusted her glasses, took a deep breath, and went right back to work — adjusting a crooked banner with steady hands, explaining the symbolism behind mixing Greek tragedy with Saigon street food culture like nothing had happened.

She kept pouring her passion into every detail. No retaliation. No drama. Just pure dedication to her strange, beautiful vision.

By the time we wrapped up and stepped out into the humid evening air, the shift in the group lingered without anyone naming it.

Quan kept stealing glances at Quynh, his usual golden-retriever energy tempered by something quieter, almost protective. He didn’t say much, just adjusted the strap of her equipment bag on his shoulder a little more carefully than necessary.

Tram walked beside us in uncharacteristic silence, occasionally watching Quynh scroll through the day’s photos with that same focused intensity.

At one point she let out a small breath — half sigh, half admission — and muttered, mostly to herself, “Didn’t expect that kind of backbone behind the rice-cooker rituals.”

I stayed quiet, hands in my pockets, letting the distant sound of motorbikes and evening street vendors fill the space. For once my usual inner monologue had nothing sharp to add. Showing up for someone else’s weird battlefield suddenly felt less like another chaotic detour and more like a small, clumsy step in the right direction.

As we reached the campus gate, Quynh turned around with her familiar bright smile, though her eyes carried a trace of exhaustion she couldn’t quite hide.

“Tomorrow we run the full sequence,” she said. “It’s probably going to be a beautiful mess… but it’ll mean something.”

I met her gaze for a second and found myself nodding before I could overthink it.

For the first time, I actually believed her.