Chapter Three: The Open Eight-Tenths

“She has a balance problem,” the captain said. “Hit her left.” Su's face tightened. Last year's vertigo had left the ground tilting whenever she turned quickly. The Hounds seemed to own her manual, striking her left shoulder at every opportunity. Soon it was eight-two. Han breathed like a torn bellows; Su's lips had gone white. Zhou gripped the ball as the old impulse returned: accelerate, isolate, carry every consequence himself. He beat the first defender—then noticed Han was not screening and Su had not moved to the corner. “What are you doing?” “Waiting for you to finish losing,” Su said. The words cut deeper than the boos. The Hounds stole the ball and scored. Nine-two.