Chapter Two: Ninety Seconds

“How long do I have?” Lin asked. [Until the championship final. After that they destroy this set of experimental records, including me. One hundred and three days.] Lin pulled himself upright against the rail. “Then I start in the eighth tier.” That evening, his right knee swollen, he arrived at the Saint-Denis Workers training ground. Only eleven trialists waited beside the pitch. Some wore running shoes; others wore old boots with split soles. Coach Baptiste held an unlit cigarette between his lips. He studied Lin's academy certificate and then the cleaner's uniform. “Seven years without a competitive match?” “Yes.” “Position?”