Chapter 11 — Across the Six Meter Line

The three days between two matches are not the same as rest. It is like a piece of string that is re-tensioned after a strand has just broken. People still exercise, still go to work, still eat, but everything has a little noise underneath.

Vi worked the evening shift at the bakery and then slept on the bus at the beginning of the day. She posted the match schedule on the refrigerator, next to the electricity bill. Tram arrived at the field an hour early and practiced placing his feet outside the six-meter line without the ball. Ngan made her repeat the turning motion over and over again until Tram got upset.

“Do you want me to step over to accept it?” Tram asked.

“I want you to know where your feet are when you're not looking down.”

“If you keep looking at your feet, you won't be able to see the ball.”

“So practice until your body remembers.”

Vy did not participate in the first practice session. Her knee was slightly swollen after the semi-finals. She arrived, sat on the bench, directing the defense in a monotone voice. Sometimes she stood up reflexively, then sat down again before Manh had to remind her.

“I don't need you as a role model to endure pain,” Manh said.

“I just stood up.”

“Standing up is also an option.”

Vy looked at him. “He is learning to talk like Chi.”

“I learned from Chi asking too many questions.”

Chi heard, but did not intervene. She sat at a table in the yard, examining the new set of appendices. The organizers added a line: when the time sources are off, the master timekeeper reads the confirmed last mark; The referee decides to stop or continue depending on the risk, without waiting for the electronic board to correct itself.

Hanh came to see her after practice. She brought with her a new stopwatch.

“I tried it with a mechanical watch at home,” Hanh said. “The two running together have a difference of three-tenths of a second after an hour.”

“That is an acceptable level if the rules dictate how it should be handled.”

“I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing.”

“You will say something wrong somewhere.”

Hanh frowned.

“Everyone is like that,” Chi continued. "The goal is not to be infallible. The goal is for others to discover where the mistake is and correct it before it becomes a result."

Hanh sat down. “What if the board displays the wrong thing right in the middle of a counter-attack?”

"You can't run and fix the board at the same time. You stick to the main clock and report when the ball is dead."

“If a team protests?”

“Invite them to read the recorded landmark.”

“What if they still don't accept?”

"Record objections. Do not argue on behalf of the referee."

Hanh repeated each sentence, as if learning a speech that was not allowed to be performed.

Luan has a different way of dealing with it. He took the board controller apart, marking each wire by color. He created an eight-step checklist: turn on the power, test for 30 minutes, stop with the button, restart, check the six-second display, check the buzzer, check the backup power, write the confirmer. Diep looked at the list and said that if he did enough, each match would take twenty minutes.

“Then put twenty minutes on the calendar,” Luan replied.

“The organizers will say there is no time.”

“We just lost a match because we didn't have time.”

Diep looked at him. “You have improved.”

“What kind of progress?”

“Know how to argue with numbers.”

Chi started returning to goal in light exercises, not to gain positions. Vy allowed her to throw a few balls, then switched to standing as a stake. The two of them did not use the word "return".

The first time, Chi stood outside the six-meter line, holding the ball. Vy bowed low. Chi jumped and threw it into the left corner. Vy can help.

“I looked at your shoulder,” Vy said.

“You used to be a goalkeeper.”

"Then look at the legs. The shoulders are just a distraction."

Chi threw it back. Vy supported with her shoulder.

“You can't do everything with old experience,” Vy said.

“I can't do everything with new reflexes either.”

“That's why I told you to throw it.”

They practiced until Chi's knees were hot. She stopped herself before it hurt. Vy didn't compliment, just gave her a towel.

In the locker room, Tram asked why Chi didn't officially enter the field.

“Because my body doesn't choose that,” Chi replied.

“Does the body have a choice?”

"Have. It gives data. I decide whether to listen or not.”

Tram pondered. “If you listen, you have to rest more.”

"Maybe."

“And if you take a lot of time off, someone else will replace you.”

"Correct."

“So is fear of being replaced data or fear?”

Chi looked at Tram. “Both of them can go together. But don't let fear masquerade as data.”

Tram didn't fully understand, but she wrote that sentence down in her law school notebook. Every time she gets clamped, she will read it again.

Hong Ha also practices. Khoa sent a message to Vy asking for a copy of the course conditions appendix. Vy sent it to Chi, Chi sent it to Diep, Diep sent the signed copy. The two teams have the same documents, no one is forced to guess what the organizers want.

Khoa added: "If you want, we can check the table together before the match."

Vy replied: “Okay. But each team is responsible for its own people.”

Khoa: “I agree.”

They don't become close friends. Just become two captains who don't hide the conditions for winning from each other.

The night before the replay, Manh called a team meeting. He did not introduce new tactics. He placed on the table a piece of paper with two columns: what he wanted and what he accepted.

Vi wrote: wants to be in the final; Accept if Hong Ha plays better.

Ngan writes: wants to score; accept if the right pass is more important than the throw.

Tram wrote for a long time. Finally, she wrote: wanted not to step over the line; Accept being pushed and call the responsible person.

Vy wrote: wants to protect the goal; Accept leaving the field if your shoulder is not okay.

Chi doesn't play, so she doesn't write in the athlete column. She wrote: wanted everyone to know the time; Accept that you are not the first to speak.

Manh read the paper, then folded it. “This is the best plan we have. Not because it promises victory, but because it tells us what we do when we don't win.”

Before leaving, Vi gave Chi a small cake.

“Leftover cake from last night's shift,” Vi said.

“Did you do it yourself?”

“I baked. Burned in one corner.”

Try biting. “Not bad.”

“Don't praise like a referee.”

“So delicious.”

Vi laughed, then asked: "Do you think the next match will be different?"

“Definitely different.”

“Because I know them?”

“Because I know myself a little better.”

On the way out, it rained heavily. Chi went back to the gym and forgot her umbrella. From the door, she saw Luan still testing the electronic board. The screen counts from 30:00 to 00:00, stops, turns on again. Besides, the mechanical watch also runs. Luan records each result.

Chi did not step in. She stood looking through the glass, waiting until the two numbers returned to the same point.

Tomorrow, they will replay a match that has already ended. What cannot be replayed is the way they remained silent before the first error. This time, they will bring that silence into the field, put it on the table and call it by name.

The night before the replay, Vi stood in the oven watching the trays of cakes puff up under the heat. The furnace owner gave her a new shift schedule, with one session crossed out. No one said it was support or pity. He just said that if she signed up to compete, she should know that she could rest when the match changed.

“I'll give you back your work hours,” Vi said.

“Pay it by How to do enough work on other shifts. Don't pay by sleeping standing up.”

Vi put away the calendar. She looked at her hands, the calluses on her index finger and thumb. People often take pictures of athletes with their jerseys, but she knows this hand also carries practice schedules, work schedules, and times when driving in the rain.

In Tan Lap, Tram practiced with a group of children. Chi placed two extra lines with paper tape for her to learn how to jump and throw. A small child kept stepping on the six meter area and then turned around and laughed.

“I thought this was the way to run,” she said.

“This way to know where you are,” Chi replied.

“You know?”

“You didn't know.”

Tram heard it and walked over to correct the child's posture. She didn't say "don't be afraid". She said: “You look at the passer, hear the whistle, and keep one foot outside. If you're not sure, stop.”

Chi realized that Tram had begun to teach what she had just learned. Maturity is sometimes not about people being more confident, but about them being able to give others a way to check.

Hanh and Luan sat at the table, practicing reading the minutes. Hanh intentionally spoke louder than necessary. Luan noted. Both agreed to use one symbol for "confirmed" and one symbol for "unconfirmed". They don't use a question mark because it's easy to miss between multiple lines.

“What word to use?” Luan asked.

“CX and CX-,” Hanh replied.

“Abbreviations can be confusing.”

“Then write two full words in the form.”

Edit the form. They started again from scratch. Hanh discovered that she used to consider speed as the most important thing. Now she understands that speed is only useful when others can keep up with its meaning.

Manh stood outside the yard talking to Vy. He asked her if she had decided to compete yet.

“I'll go in at half time. Then look at the shoulders and knees.”

“There's no need to tell me to get permission.”

“I told you how to prepare a replacement.”

"Good."

Vy turned to Chi and asked: "Do you see me getting weaker?"

Chi replied: “I see you know your data.”

“I really asked.”

“I also answered truthfully.”

Manh gave Vy a list of three reserve goalkeepers. Vy reads, then chooses who starts first. There is no scene where she is forced to prove herself by competing until it hurts. There is also no scene where she is protected to the point of losing decision-making power.

Hong Ha sent information that they will use the strongest lineup. Khoa texted Vy that she still had pain in her wrist but would play. Vy replied good luck, not asking why the opponent didn't substitute.

Before leaving the field, Chi played the recording of the old match for the whole team to listen to. Not to provoke. The final whistle, the sound of the ball hitting the net, the sound of the audience screaming. Everyone was silent.

“What do you hear?” Chi asked.

Vi speaks in shadow.

Tram said siren.

Vy speaks human language.

Hanh speaks in the space between the whistle and the scream.

Luan said the sound of a button.

Manh did not speak. He closed the book.

“Tomorrow,” Chi said, “don't try to create a mistake-free match. Let's create a match where errors are seen.”

Tram asked: "What if I make a mistake?"

"Newspaper."

“What if Hanh makes a mistake?”

Hanh replied: "I will report."

“What if the board makes an error?”

Luan said: "I wrote it down."

“What if the coach makes a mistake?”

Manh raised his hand. “I accept.”

The whole team laughed, but the smiles didn't make it any easier. They just turned responsibility into a sentence that could be said out loud.

Chi came home late and left her old shoes at the door. She no longer uses them in competition, but has not thrown them away. The insole is worn on the left foot. She was about to wipe it and then stopped. An unnecessary piece of evidence must be beautiful to keep what it once said.

Phone vibrates. Vy sent: "If I come back to look for you tomorrow, don't nod."

Chi replied: "If you come back to find me, call Hanh."

Vy: “It's really annoying.”

Chi: “Correct process.”

Tomorrow morning, they will meet Hong Ha again. Maybe the replay will open up with the same type of defense, the same stands, the same lines. But those who walked through it brought with them too many questions to remain as naive as the first time.