Chapter 16 — Across the Six Meter Line

The final began with a short whistle and rare silence afterward. The eight hundred seats at Tan Lap gymnasium are not full, but the empty seats do not muffle the sound. Viewers clapped their hands on the cardboard, children called out the players' names, and a group of students from the sports school pulled a self-drawn flag across the stands.

On the electronic board, the clock shows 30:00.

Hanh sat at the secretary's desk with a clock on the left, a mechanical watch in the middle, and the minutes open. Luan sat on the right, checking the power lines and the small screen connected to the controller. Chi was in the row behind the desk, not wearing a whistle, only a set of appendices and colored cards placed on his knees. Each party has signed the confirmation. Ha Lam signed in straight handwriting, Vy signed in italic handwriting. The two words are next to each other under a sentence about the responsibility to stop the fight when conditions are no longer safe.

Manh reminded the team one last time: “First ball.”

Vy won the right to serve and passed to Thao Vi. Vi rushed down the right wing, but Sao Mai had already read the direction of movement. Ha Lam pressed close, forcing Vi to pass backwards. Tram caught the ball in the middle, her shoulder was touched by the defender, but she still stood outside the six-meter line. The throw knocked the other team's goalkeeper out.

“It's okay,” Vy called. “Next time pull it wider.”

Sao Mai team does not play fast. They let the ball pass three or four people before opening space. Lam directed from the back row, his voice was not loud but steady. Lightning had to run more than expected. After five minutes, the score was 3-1 in favor of Sao Mai.

The stands started to apply pressure. A person behind the goal kept tapping a water bottle on the railing. Manh asked for consultation. He used the strategy board to draw a short arrow.

"Don't chase the ball. Chase the space. Vi, you stand wide. Tram, don't turn your back too soon."

“What if they push you to the line?” Tram asked.

"You hold the position, then let the referee decide. Don't retaliate yourself."

Lightning returned to the field. Vi received the ball on the right wing, pulled the defender out, and passed it to Tram. This time Tram did not try to throw. She used her shoulder to cover the shadow, pushing it back so that Ngan was in the center position. Ngan threw low into the far corner. Score 3-2.

Sao Mai immediately responded with a cross combination. Vy leaned over and used her feet to block the ball. Chi saw her knee slide nearly twenty feet down the road, but Vy stood up before anyone could ask. Hanh recorded a time of 21:44 when the whistle continued.

“Are you okay?” Chi called.

Vy didn't turn around, just gave her thumbs up.

I know that's not enough of an answer. She stood up, went to the technical area, and informed Manh. Hanh also looked over. Manh told Vy to quickly check the next time he stopped the ball. No one calls it interrupting. They are just using the player protection rights stated in the appendix.

In the eighteenth minute, Sao Mai received a seven-meter throw. The Lightning defender touched the thrower while the opponent had a clear chance. The referee pointed to the seven-meter line. The stands booed, but Vy stood still in the middle of the goal, her arms open wide.

Ha Lam holds the ball. She didn't look at the goalkeeper for long; Good seven-meter throwers often try to turn eye contact into a distraction. Vy waited until the last moment. Lam threw into the left corner, Vy flew to the right. The ball still hits the post and bounces out.

"Go out!" the referee pointed.

The thrower had to laugh because he didn't believe it. Vy slammed her hand on the floor, and the whole team ran to touch her shoulder. Lightning equalized 6-6 after a counterattack, then went up 8-7 with Vi's throw.

On the table, Hanh Occasionally compare manual watches with mechanical watches. Each time, no more than a beat apart, she makes a small mark on the edge of the paper. Luan observed the screen. The electronic board showed no signs of anything unusual, but he didn't take his hand off the controller.

Chi sat down. She looked at the match with different eyes than before. When she was a goalkeeper, she used to look at the six-meter line as a boundary line to protect her. Now, she sees it as an agreement between runners: the attacker cannot step into the goalkeeper's zone; defenders must not put themselves in danger; The referee must see what happens; The secretary's desk must record it at the right time. One small line can keep the whole game from slipping into places no one wants it to go.

Sao Mai scores 9-9. Ha Lam started giving the ball to his teammates on the left wing more. She doesn't handle every attack herself, but waits for Lightning to lose patience. Manh called Vi out, reminding her not to rush into the false void.

“She's pulling you away,” he said.

“I know.”

“You know but you still go?”

“Because she pulls it so beautifully.”

Manh looked at her for a second then burst out laughing. “Don't praise your opponent while defending.”

The first half ended with the score 13-12 in favor of the Lightning. When the whistle sounded, Tram bent down and put her hands on her knees. Sweat dripped down her chin, her hands trembled slightly. Vy handed over the water bottle.

“I wasn't pushed to the line once,” Vy said.

“Once.”

“That time I walked out on my own.”

Tram looked up. They both laughed.

In the break room, Manh did not talk about scores. He asked each person: "Where is the ground smooth? Can the whistle be heard clearly? Is there anyone who can't see the board?"

Ngan said the left corner area is slightly brighter. Vi said there was a time when the sound of the audience covered the whistle. Tram said she began to know when she was being pushed for real and when her opponent was just tapping to gain position.

Vy sat on a chair and iced her knee. Chi didn't ask if she would change people. She just put a clean towel next to it. Vy said to herself: "I can continue playing."

“You don't need to prove it.”

"I know."

“So you said it because you wanted to play.”

"Correct."

That's a different answer from the early days. No one forced Vy to stand in the goal to prove her worth. She came back because her body and will were in agreement.

The second half opened with two consecutive missed shots by Lightning. Sao Mai took 13-13, then 14-13. Ha Lam changed his defense, pulling the barrier higher. Tram was sandwiched between two defenders, unable to receive the ball. Vi had to drop deep to get the ball, causing the right wing to lose people.

“I'm locked in the middle,” Vi said as she ran back.

“So unlock from the outside,” Ngan replied.

In the ninth minute of the second half, Vi did just that. She received the ball at the sideline, faked a throw, then passed it back to Tram. Tram no longer stood frozen in front of the other person. She shifted her focus, pulling the defender to the left, creating just enough of a gap. Ngan threw it into the slot. Score 16-16.

The stands emerged. But the game doesn't get any easier. Sao Mai scored two consecutive goals. Lightning responded with a spinning throw from Vi and a breakthrough from Ngan. 18-18.

Luan looked at the electronic board. 17:32. Mechanical watch 17:31. Hanh's stopwatch 17:32. He said softly: "One beat difference."

Hanh did not panic. She raised her finger as agreed with the referee at practice: one is to continue following the stopwatch, two is to confirm again when the ball is dead. The referee looked over and nodded. Luan wrote it on the edge of the record. The electronic board is checked, no error detected; they keep the independent clock priority rule.

Chi saw Luan's shoulders lower. You don't need a perfect match. He needed every deviation seen before it became a secret.

Sao Mai asked for a time-out when the score was 20-20. Ha Lam pulled the whole team in and said something very short. Lightning also gathered. Manh told everyone to take a deep breath.

"From now on," he said, "every attack is a small one. Don't think about the trophy."

“If you don't think, how can you win?” Tram asked.

“Win a pass first.”

The ball returned to Sao Mai's hands. Ha Lam stood behind the nine meter line, observing. She passed to the left, received it back, then threw when Vy only had a moment to choose. Vy read the direction of the ball and raised her forearm to block it. Thao Vi won the ball, counterattacked and scored.

21-20 for Lightning.

Vy did not celebrate. She looked towards the secretary's desk. Hanh stopped the clock just as the buzzer sounded. Luan gave a thumbs up. Chi sat back, her hand on the pad of paper.

One minute later, Sao Mai equalized. The game has 6:12 left. The field, lighting, scorer's table and the two teams are still in the correct position. There was just a strange feeling running through Chi, like the sound of distant rain finding its way onto the corrugated iron roof.

Chi stood up to check the technical area. She did not enter the yard, just looked to see if the yellow card was still in the right place, if the medical box could be opened, and if the path behind the table was blocked by a plastic bag. Diep met her eyes and held up the signed inspection form.

“Everything is right,” Diep said.

“That doesn't mean nothing will happen.”

“Yes. But if there is, we know where to start.”

On the field, Vy clapped her hands to call out the defense. She didn't know what Chi had just checked, but she knew the match had reached the point where each person had to keep their own tasks. Ha Lam said something to his team's goalkeeper. Vi pulled her sleeve and wiped her sweat. Tram looked towards the middle line, then took a step back to avoid standing in the space that Sao Mai was creating.

Ha Lam organized a long attack. She didn't throw, just passed and waited impatiently for Lightning. Ngan chased after the person without the ball, almost colliding with the area next to the old seam that had been repaired. She paused for half a beat, looked down, then immediately continued when she realized the ground was solid. That small action was not recorded on the scoreboard. But Chi saw it.

Sao Mai changed people. A young player entered the field, his feet still unfamiliar with the sound of cheering. Ha Lam leaned into her ear and reminded her: "Don't look at the board. Look at the passer."

Tram heard it and repeated to Ngan: "Don't look at the board. Look at the passer."

Ngan laughed. “Is everyone a goalkeeper now?”

“Everyone has to know what they're looking at.”

Lightning has the right to attack after Sao Mai's missed throw. Manh did not call the cards immediately. He let Vi and Ngan stretch their defense. Tram stood outside the line, feet parallel. Khoa is not here, but Ha Lam sent someone to accompany her. The away team defender uses his body to apply pressure, not push. Tram kept the fake ball, then passed it back.

The stands whistled because they wanted a pitch. Vi is in no hurry. She ran around, received the ball from Ngan, then switched to her left hand. Ha Lam stepped up. Vi stepped back just in time. Another pass opens up.

Hanh stopped the timer, reporting 19 seconds left for the attack. The electronic clock still matches. Luan still looked at the signal line. Chi noticed that everyone had started playing slower without losing rhythm. They no longer view prudence as the opposite of attractiveness.

Ngan threw from afar. Goalkeeper Sao Mai was able to block it. The ball popped out. Lightning retreated. Ha Lam launched a counterattack, the right wing player rushed forward. Vy offered took a step away from the goal, then stepped back when he realized his teammates had already returned. She didn't try to make a standout save. She chose an angle that made the throw more difficult.

Ball goes out. Ha Lam slapped his hand on his forehead, but did not blame the passer.

“There's still a match,” she called.

That call crossed half the field. Vi heard it and looked at Tram. “Is she talking to her team or to me?”

"Both."

A match can have two teams, but the correct reminders sometimes cross the midline without asking permission from the shirt.

Hanh recorded 6:12 on the record after the ball died, at the same time Luan checked the board. She looked at Chi once. Chi didn't nod, just opened her palm. Hanh returned to work.

Manh called a short consultation. "From now on, no one tries to remember the semi-finals. We only have this match."

“What about if the board stands?” Ngan asked.

“According to the process.”

“What if people yell?”

“According to the process.”

Tram looked at Manh, then looked at the six meter road. She placed her hand on her chest, feeling her breathing. Not an omen. Just body data.

In Tan Lap, no one anymore believes that a watch is the whole time.