Chapter 9 — Across the Six Meter Line

In the semi-finals, the electronic board stood at 00:06 right when no one was calm enough to call it a small error.

Lightning meets Hong Ha in an older stadium than Tan Lap, the wooden floor has been cleaned but still retains the damp smell of previous matches. The audience sat close to the sidelines. On the wall, a large fan rotates slowly, each revolution emitting a dry rubbing sound. Hong Ha has Nguyen Mai Khoa as captain, a left-handed defender and has a habit of speaking to the referee in such a polite voice that it is difficult to know whether she is asking or protesting.

Before kickoff, Chi did not sit at the secretary's desk. She stood behind the stands, observing the two clock sources arranged by the organizers. Hanh was assigned to be the main timer. Luan is in charge of the electronic board. A local employee sat between the two, taking notes with a blue ballpoint pen.

“Three people for a watch,” Vi said as she walked by.

“No,” Chi replied. “Three people give the time of the whole match.”

Vi smiled, then ran in to start up.

Hong Ha opened the score. Lightning equalized with a breakthrough from Ngan. The two teams were not separated by more than two goals throughout the first half. Tram was closely followed by Khoa, but Khoa did not use excessive force. Every time Tram was about to turn around, Khoa touched her shoulder, enough to remind her that she was there.

“You keep touching,” Tram said.

“I'm a defender.”

“Can you stand still for a moment?”

"No. Standing still is yielding to you."

Tram was angry, but angry in a way that allowed her to continue playing. She didn't jerk her hand, she didn't push back. Vi saw it and passed the ball at the right moment when Khoa had to turn around. Tram received, rotated and scored. Lightning leads 7-6.

Manh constantly replaced people on the wings. He didn't want Vi to be caught out, nor did he want her to be exhausted from working the night shift before the match. Vi said she was fine, but Chi noticed the way she rubbed her thumb after each run home. She took notes to inform Manh at break time.

The first half ended 12-11 for Lightning. In the break room, Khoa accidentally met Chi in the hallway.

“You were the one who checked the clock last match?” Khoa asked.

“I just support the team.”

“Every team says that when someone looks at their watch.”

“So you just look at all three sources.”

Khoa tilted his head. “What if the three sources are not the same?”

"Note when the deviation begins. Don't wait until the end."

Khoa smiled. “I like that answer.”

The second half was more tense. Hong Ha switched to deep defense, allowing long throws but blocking all passes to the pivot. Tram was pushed out of position twice, the second time her foot slipped near the six-meter line. The referee blew the whistle, giving Lightning a free throw.

“Are you coming over?” Tram asked Chi after returning to her chair.

“I can't see clearly.”

Tram looked up.

“That is the correct answer,” Chi said. “People who can't see clearly shouldn't speak for the referee.”

Tram swallowed what she was about to ask. She turned to review the video on Manh's phone, but the angle of the camera only showed the human shoulder. Lightning did not score in that phase.

In the seventeenth minute, the score was 19-18 for Hong Ha. Hanh looked at the clock, the electronic board and the wall clock. The wall clock is almost a minute behind, but it is not in the main source. Luan checked the board and reported no warnings.

“Don't look at the screen for too long,” Chi reminded.

“I'm looking at the signal line.”

“The signal line can also make me forget the game.”

Rotate your eyes to the yard. Khoa just blocked Ngan, then immediately rushed to counterattack. Vy blocked the first throw, but the ball bounced out. Vi won Okay, pass it to Tram. Tram scored with a low throw. 20-19.

In the last four minutes, the two teams exchanged goals continuously. 21-21. 22-22. Ha Chau of Hong Ha was given two minutes for pulling Vi's shirt. Lightning took advantage, Ngan threw it into the near corner. 23-22.

Khoa is in no hurry. She gathered the team together and said something very short. Hong Ha pulled the barrier out, creating space for a seven-meter throw. Vy touched the ball but could not push it with full force. 23-23.

The time on the board is 00:14.

Manh asked for consultation. He told Lightning that he didn't need to find a good throw. “Hold the ball, don't let them counterattack.”

Hanh repeated the time: “Fourteen seconds according to the main clock.”

Luan nodded. Chi stood behind him, looking at the hand placed on the controller.

The battle continues. Lightning passed the ball through four people. Hong Ha committed a tactical foul in the sixth second, the whistle stopped the match. Hanh stopped the clock at 00:08. Luan pressed the board, the screen showed 00:07.

“Off by one,” he said.

The referee hasn't heard yet. The ball was given to Lightning. Vi received, was approached. She passed it to Tram, who immediately released it to Ngan. Ngan threw with three seconds left according to Hanh's clock. The ball hit the post and bounced into the net.

24-23.

The stands exploded. The final whistle sounded almost at the same time.

Hanh held the button. The electronic board jumped from 00:02 to 00:06, then stood still. Some people in the stands thought the board just displayed the remaining time. Some Hong Ha people shouted that the goal came after the whistle. Khoa ran towards the table.

“By what clock?” she asked.

No one answered immediately.

The referee pointed to the middle of the field and recognized the goal. Hong Ha's Ha Chau argued that the board stood for six seconds and then jumped back. Vi said the ball left his hand before the whistle. Ngan stood next to the goal, not knowing whether to celebrate or step back.

Chi did not interfere. She looked at Hanh. Hanh put the stopwatch on the table, the number stopped at 00:02. Luan looked at the board as if looking at a newly locked door.

“Do you log in?” Chi asked.

“Yes. But the last stop order is not recorded.”

Khoa heard it. “So we don't know if the goal was scored before or after time?”

Hanh replied: "According to my watch, the ball left his hand while the game was still running."

“What about the board?”

“The table is wrong.”

Khoa looked at the referee. “I suggest registering an objection.”

“Got it,” said the referee.

Lightning's joy was trapped in a room no one wanted to enter. They win according to one source, but the source in front of everyone's eyes says something else. The organizers temporarily announced the score 24-23, not giving the right to enter the final until the technical inspection.

On the car ride back, no one sang. Vi held the jacket, her fingers tracing the seam. Tram sat next to the window, looking at the streaks of light stretching across the glass. Vy sat in front, her head leaning on the chair.

“What if I have to play again?” Vi asked.

Manh replied from the last row: "Let's play again."

“What if the old results hold?”

“Then accept.”

Tram returned. “Are both correct?”

Manh looked at the players. “Yes. It's important that I don't choose an outcome just because it's beneficial.”

Chi sat next to Luan. He reopened the recording. The sound of shoes, the sound of balls, the sound of stands. At the end, whistles and screams overlap. Luan rewinds many times, each time recording a different milestone.

“I don't want to decide with my ears,” he said.

“So don't decide tonight.”

“But tomorrow they will ask.”

"Tomorrow I'll give you the data. Don't give me your wishes."

Luan nodded and continued listening. Chi looked out the window. The arena receded into the rain, the electronic board shutting off behind them. A small number was enough to drag the whole team into an area where no one knew where they were standing.

The car stopped at the school yard at nearly midnight. Everyone came down one by one, carrying bags and their faces had not yet returned to normal. Vi was the last person to leave her chair because she had to call the bakery owner. She whispered, asking to change shifts tomorrow. The other end of the line asked why a match that was already over needed an extra day off.

“Because it may not be finished on paper,” Vi replied.

She turned off the phone and looked at Chi. “I don't know what people will think if we fight again.”

“They will think of many things.”

“Aren't you going to comfort me?”

“I could say you don't need to be responsible for what everyone thinks.”

“That still doesn't sound comforting.”

“But yes.”

Vi laughed, then pulled the bag onto her shoulder. “That's right, sister.”

In the team's small meeting room, Manh asked everyone not to post or give interviews during the night. Not to hide the results, but to avoid a new argument decided by short sentences on the phone. He told Luan to copy the data into three copies. Hanh handed over the original minutes to the organizing committee and kept a signed copy. Chi records each person's words when signing the confirmation.

Hong Ha's faculty sent a text message later: "I don't want my team to be called disruptive. We're just not sure."

Chi transferred to Manh. He replied: “Not sure that's enough reason to ask.”

Vy read the message and asked: "What if they keep asking?"

“Answer with records.”

“What if the documents are not enough?”

“Add profile.”

The night was prolonged by things no one saw on the field. Luan re-measured the board's latency with a new set of wires. Hanh compares the whistle sound with the clock mark. Chi called Diep to ask if the gym floor had technical drawings. Diep said he would look in the warehouse.

Tram did not return immediately. She sat on the steps, took off her shoes and watched the soles of her feet turn red. In the final phase, she was not present at the decisive throw, but still found herself dragged into the controversy. Someone in the audience shouted that Tram was standing in the area in a previous situation. She wasn't sure if she had passed through or not.

“I want to watch it again,” she said.

Chi sat down next to him. They watch the phone video. The image is partially obscured by the human head, but you can see Tram's heel stopping outside the line. The toes may have touched the road, not clearly enough.

“If I had to guess?” Tram asked.

“I don't guess.”

“But I want to know.”

"Then you have the right to ask someone with a better perspective to check. The answer 'undetermined' is not abandoning you."

Tram looked back at the screen. “I hate that sentence.”

"Everybody hates it. But it's more honest than the wrong answer."

The next day, the organizers sent a temporary notice: Lightning was recorded as winning 24-23, but the right to enter the final was suspended. The technical inspection took place at ten o'clock. Hong Ha has the right to submit objections. Both teams must submit a list of people present at the table and personal records if any.

Messages came pouring in. Some people say Hong Ha is trying to find an excuse. Someone told Lightning to withdraw himself. Manh reminded the whole team not to share those articles. Khoa also did the same thing with his team.

Chi sees fairness as more than just a moment on the field. It's also about not letting outsiders turn the two teams into two labels that are easy to throw at each other.

Before leaving the room, Hanh asked Chi: "If the organizers recognize the table, will you be happy?" Are not?"

"Have."

“What if they allow a rematch?”

“I'll be sad for a bit and then practice.”

“What if the whole match is canceled?”

“I will ask the reason and read the minutes.”

Hanh looked at her and laughed tiredly. “I have the answer to every possibility.”

"Are not. I just don't want emotion to answer to data.”

Outside in the yard, the lights were off. The electronic board displays nothing. But in Luan's notebook, the last six seconds have more lines than an entire round. A small number forced everyone to sit back, leaving no one alone in owning the narrative of the match.