Chapter 1: Dreamers in the Attic

At 22, Tran Phong had nothing but a battered laptop and a fierce conviction that the world was functioning incorrectly. He lived in a sweltering attic apartment in Saigon, where the smell of cheap coffee mingled with the scent of overheated electronic components.

Phong was a genius programmer—the kind of person who could see lines of code running through his head even in his sleep. And by his side back then was Linh.

Linh was the embodiment of everything gentle. She was the one who brought him bowls of instant noodles at 2:00 AM, the one who patiently listened to him ramble about “distributed artificial intelligence” despite not understanding a single word. Their love was beautiful in its purest form: selfless, unglamorous, and raw.

One evening, as they sat on the rooftop looking down at the bustling crowd below, Linh leaned her head on Phong’s shoulder and asked: — “When will we have a real home, Phong? It doesn’t need to be big; it just needs a balcony filled with white frangipani flowers.”

Phong remained silent. In his mind at that moment, there were no flowers. There was only a newly perfected algorithm capable of reshaping the entire logistics system of the region. Linh’s question felt like a warning bell. He suddenly realized: Love was creating a comfort zone. And a comfort zone is the graveyard of great ambitions.

Chapter 2: The Theory of “Escape Velocity”

Phong began reading extensively about Elon Musk. He became obsessed with the concept of “Escape Velocity.” In physics, it is the minimum speed needed for an object to break free from the gravitational pull of a planet. He applied it to his own life.

“Youth has only a finite fund of energy,” Phong wrote in his notebook. “If we spend 50% of our energy comforting a girl, 30% worrying about a wedding, and 20% dealing with petty conflicts, we will remain tethered to the ground forever. We will never reach orbit.”

He began to change. He spent 18 hours a day in a co-working space. Weekend movie dates were replaced by meetings with angel investors. The “Goodnight” texts grew shorter, then vanished.

Linh felt the fracture. She didn’t demand money; she only demanded his presence. But to Phong, presence was the ultimate luxury he could not afford to bestow.

— “Phong, you’re turning into a machine,” Linh said through tears on a rainy October night. — “I’m not a machine,” Phong replied, his voice so cold it felt alien even to him. “I’m just investing in something that can last forever. A romance can shatter after one argument, but a technological empire does not.”

They broke up when Phong was 24. That was the day he received his first $1 million investment. As Linh walked out the door with a small suitcase, Phong did not hold her back. He turned back to his computer screen, where lines of code were dancing. He felt a painful emptiness, but simultaneously, he felt weightless. Gravity had vanished. He had achieved escape velocity.

Chapter 3: The Peak and the Chill of the Vacuum

Ten years later.

Tran Phong was now the CEO of Nexus Prime, a multinational corporation redefining human communication. He owned villas on three continents, a private jet, and was an idol to millions of young people. He was the “Elon Musk of Vietnam.”

Phong sat in his glass office on the 81st floor, looking down at the city. Everything he had ever dreamed of was in his hands. He had invested 100% of himself into his career, and the return on investment was priceless.

However, there was a truth the newspapers never mentioned: The vacuum is very cold.

During an event at a luxury hotel, Phong accidentally ran into Linh. She was with her husband and a young daughter. Her husband wasn’t a billionaire; he was just an ordinary architect with a warm smile. Linh looked a bit older, but her eyes radiated a peace that Phong would never possess.

They exchanged polite greetings. Linh looked at Phong’s expensive suit, the security detail standing behind him, and smiled: — “Congratulations, Phong. You did it.”

Phong started to say something. He wanted to brag about his company’s upcoming NASDAQ listing, about how he was going to change the world. But seeing the little girl clutching Linh’s hand, he suddenly stopped. The child had eyes exactly like Linh’s used to be.

That night, Phong returned to his 2,000-square-meter mansion. There was no laughter, no smell of late-night noodles—only the low hum of the smart air conditioning system. He opened a $5,000 bottle of wine and sat alone in absolute silence.

Chapter 4: The Indictment of Success

Phong suddenly remembered another Musk quote: “Starting a company is like eating glass and staring into the abyss.” He had been eating glass for ten years. His mouth had grown callous to the pain, but his heart had turned into a block of granite.

He asked himself: Was his “Escape Velocity” theory wrong?

If he had spent 10% of his energy on Linh back then, would he still be standing here? Perhaps he would have been a bit slower; perhaps his corporation would only be worth a few million dollars instead of billions. But perhaps, tonight, he wouldn’t be talking to the walls.

But then, a notification popped up on his phone. One of his company’s satellites had successfully connected to a ground station in the most remote part of Africa, bringing internet to thousands of underprivileged children.

In that moment, a guilty rush of euphoria surged through him. It was a kind of intellectual orgasm that romantic love could never provide. He realized that his choice wasn’t about right or wrong—it was about the trade-off.

He had chosen humanity over an individual. He had chosen the future over the present.

Epilogue: Distant Stars

Tran Phong’s story has no fairy-tale happy ending, nor is it a tragedy. It is a realistic score.

Elon Musk was perhaps right: Youth is the only time you can work 100 hours a week without collapsing. If you want to touch the stars, you must be prepared for your hands to freeze.

Phong stood up and straightened his tie. Tomorrow morning, he had a crucial meeting to launch a global clean energy project. He stepped out onto the balcony—there were no frangipani flowers, only the neon lights of skyscrapers reflecting off the glass.

He was still lonely, but he was a king.

Every young person must ask themselves one question: Do you want to be the one planting flowers on a balcony, or the one building the ships that take humanity off the ground? You cannot have both, because the gravitational pull of a flower-filled balcony is too great for a starship to ever take flight.

Tran Phong took his last sip of wine, his gaze fixed steadily on the void. His life was an “all-in” bet on his career. And though the price was an inner emptiness, he would place that bet all over again. Because for people like him, greatness is the only love worth worshipping.