The painting " Summer Dance" was nearly complete. Abstract blocks of color overlapped, vibrant and unconventional, yet not at all chaotic. On the canvas, the colors seemed to find their own path, sometimes bursting forth boldly, sometimes settling down cautiously. At times, she herself couldn't distinguish whether she was controlling the colors or being led by them. Tuong Van stepped back, tilted her head to assess the overall composition, then stepped forward again, making a few more adjustments.

This was her first order since returning to painting after a traumatic event. There were days when simply holding a brush made her hesitant, as if her hand no longer fully obeyed her will. Therefore, this time, she meticulously followed each brushstroke according to the client's vision, paying close attention to every shade of color, even mixing and remixing because she felt it wasn't quite right.

Just as she settled back on the sofa, Tuong Van's phone vibrated briefly and dryly. It was an internal email from the center. She opened the email, the screen's light illuminating her face, worn from lack of sleep. She skimmed through it and paused when she realized that the auction this morning had been moved up, starting at 8:30 instead of 10:30 as previously announced, along with a request for all departments to proactively prepare their tasks, coordinate smoothly, and ensure seriousness and professionalism throughout the auction.

Tuong Van's probationary period at Hoa Sac Art Center is coming to an end. If she passes, she will become a permanent employee with benefits that any newly graduated art student would envy. If she fails, she will continue to paint independently, create content, build channels like "Van's Drawings" and "Drawing Fun with Van" on social media, and then link to them to sell her paintings and related art products on e-commerce platforms to earn money. Life might be relatively stable, but her dream of truly entering the art world remains out of reach.

Van sat up abruptly. She stared intently at the clock; only three hours remained to review the entire catalog of works. Everything had been prepared beforehand, but a vague premonition still made her uneasy. This morning would either be a stopping point or a turning point.

Tường Vân returned to her desk. She opened her laptop and reread each artwork file, cross-referencing information, searching for additional materials about the author, and noting any necessary notes for the auction. Only when her back ached and she could no longer stand did she notice the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window, silently painting shimmering streaks of light in the room.

***

Nearly an hour before the opening ceremony, the lobby of the Hoa Sac headquarters was already sparsely populated with guests. The reception staff began checking the attendance list, issuing access cards, and guiding attendees to the waiting area on the 6th floor.

Seeing the team leader step into the elevator, Van quickly followed, politely greeting her:

Senior, your makeup looks amazing today!

You're very pretty too.

The two sisters laughed together. But in an instant, the older sister's eyes widened in surprise as she looked down at Vân's chest. She whispered:

Sister, something's not right.

Tường Vân bent down. A long, finger-sized, reddish-orange powder stain, inexplicably, clung to her pristine white shirt. It couldn't be. She stood motionless. A series of images from the bus flashed through her mind: rush hour, crowds of people, the collision with the boy, the bread roll with chili sauce. It was definitely that moment.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Tuong Van rushed into the restroom. She took off her shirt and flushed the stain directly onto it. But the more she scrubbed, the more the stain spread, stubbornly clinging to the white fabric. Van looked at the clock. There was no more time. She used a few paper towels to blot the wet area and then put her shirt back on neatly. It's okay. I'm fine. It's just a small stain, it can't ruin the whole day ahead. She took a deep breath to regain her composure before stepping out.

Just then, the most beautiful and powerful woman at Hoa Sac Art Center appeared in the lobby like a fashion model walking on a catwalk. Her sharp, cold gaze swept across the faces of the staff lined up waiting for their assignments. Everyone was nervous and eager to enter the auction hall.

The boss's gaze lingered on the intern's delicate but somewhat bewildered face:

What's your name?

- Yes… my name is Tuong Van.

- Is your dress… an artistic choice?

- No, I... it's because...

Tường Vân bowed her head slightly. While she was awkwardly explaining, Boss Trác Anh had already designated the chosen ones and led them quickly towards the auditorium. Tường Vân and another person with a tattoo on their wrist stood there, watching them go with regret.

Back in the Cataloging Room, Tuong Van made herself a cup of instant coffee and quickly sat down at her desk. The bitter taste slowly spreading on her tongue didn't improve her mood. A sleepless night, coupled with the incident, had left her feeling empty. The chance to become a permanent employee seemed to have slipped away. Never mind, even if it was her last day of work, she had to do her best.

In front of Tuong Van was the list of artworks being auctioned this morning. She opened the file, placed both hands on the keyboard, and began reviewing each item as if it were her assigned task. She paused, gazing for a long time at "Evening Glow" by the artist Tra Giang. This was a work she had spent a lot of time researching for her graduation thesis. Each layer of color, shape, and surface structure appeared familiar, as if already imprinted in her memory. It was a pity she wasn't present in the hall to witness firsthand who would own the painting and how much it would fetch.

Her gaze slid down to the note below. Material: "Paint on wood." Why? It was like a discordant note in her favorite symphony. It should be "Oil paint on wood." She couldn't be mistaken.

She opened another folder, searching through old documents she had saved. Images were enlarged. Personal notes were revisited. Tuong Van compared each detail slowly and carefully. The initial feeling of inaccuracy didn't disappear; on the contrary, it became increasingly clear. Just the missing word "oil" in the file was enough to change how people perceived the value of the work.

Tường Vân glanced at the live broadcast screen from the hall. The auction was about to begin. All the lights were on. The host was preparing to come out. Two clear options flashed through her mind: pretend not to know or speak up.

After draining her coffee, Tuong Van resolutely stood up and walked quickly towards the auditorium. "There's a problem with a piece of work," the doorman informed the trainee. Seeing the seriousness in his eyes, he didn't ask any further questions, simply pushed the door open silently, allowing her to enter.

Who let you in here?

- Madam, the painting "Evening Glow" has an incorrect material classification in the documentation.

Tường Vân bent down, whispering softly into the director's ear. Trác Anh's face remained calm, only her smile faded slightly. She sat silently, her fingertips tapping lightly on the table, each tap steady and slow. Her eyes remained fixed on the text displayed on the large screen on the stage before the opening ceremony. In that moment, Tường Vân felt her heart pounding in her temples.

- You should stay.

- Yes...

Immediately afterward, instructions were issued in quick succession within the internal team. The auction proceeded according to the planned script, with only one difference: the order of the works was adjusted. "Evening Glow" was moved to the bottom of the list, quietly sent to the technical department for a complete file update.

In the end, the auction went smoothly, even exceeding expectations in terms of sales. It was the first time Tuong Van had participated in such a professional auction. She felt relieved. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror with the stain on her shirt, she chuckled to herself. Not a bad day.

Hòa Sắc's boss unexpectedly walked in. Seeing Tường Vân, she smiled and whispered, "You've passed your probationary period. There will be an official announcement after the internal meeting." Tường Vân's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand to restrain herself from making any overly excited sounds. She thanked her and ran out.

While still basking in her joy, Tuong Van's phone rang. Her bank account showed a balance change with the message: "Transfer for the painting 'Summer Dance'." Tuong Van glanced around, saw no one, and skipped like a child. Today, she had painted a brilliant day for herself.

Source: https://phunuvietnam.vn/truyen-ngan-mot-ngay-ruc-ro-238260925192435533.htm