Di Bradini Cup 51/U21WC72 RP and Scores Thread

[Valanora]

RP Cutoff

Quarterfinals
Tumbra 0–0(0–0 AET)[4–3 PKs] Lathamford
Chromatika 1–1(1–1 AET)[3–4 PKs] Abanhfleft

Semifinal Fixture
Tumbra v Abanhfleft

[Tumbra]

Tumbra 0-0 Lathamford (0-0 AET) (4-3 pens.)

TMB (4-3-3 -> 4-4-2): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton (18 - Finney, 73'), 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett, 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (22 - Hardaker, 107'), 10 - Monaghan; 17 - McGarry (7 - Wells, 85'), 9 - Crossley, 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Nil

Penalty Shootout: Nick Riordan O Trudy Harrison O Chris Finney X Valerie Wells O Lynne Crossley O

Player of the Match: Victoria Jones (TMB)

Link to arc home
defender meets midfielder: season 3, part 8
the reunion

Couno International Airport
Couno, Tumbra

There was just something about airports that seemed universal. Steel and glass. The sense of disorientation when it came to time. What seemed to be every merchant or brand in a corner somewhere, hawking wares from every corner of the globe. It was almost as if airports were designed either to get one to stay in it for a long time, Stephen mused as he paced up and down the arrivals lounge. Either they were going to extract as much revenue as possible from a travel-weary tourist — or to provide a seamless experience when arriving into a new country, before thrusting them into the heat/cold/humidity/dryness. But there were differences between them, of course. The giant split-flap boards of Couno International Airport — a relic from the 1980s, which had become an iconic image of the airport in its own right — flickered with details of arrivals, departures; from places as close to Tumbra as Montfort in the Licentian Isles to as far away as Port-des-Saints in Omerica. Staring at the board, scanning for a flight from Chromatika or Quebec, Stephen Kerr sighed and headed off to the nearest bench.

Here he was waiting. There was only one person he could have been waiting for, of course. The whole under-21 team had gathered, with the exception of one person whom he was now waiting for; but he’d promised he would be here for her when she touched down. There was just one snag to the whole thing which meant that Stephen would be spending the better part of a day in an unfamiliar airport, draped with pictures of what made Tumbra Tumbra; the seaside beaches of Marray, the rolling greens of Iswilyn, the heritage of Ridgewell, and the unfettered wilderness of the west. “Welcome to Tumbra,” the colourful banners said; saccharine images of the best of Tumbra. He wondered, however, if the person she was waiting for felt the same.

Of course, Trudy had somehow left out multiple details of how she was coming to Tumbra, so Stephen was now just sitting in the arrivals hall like an idiot. Trudy had only told him when she was arriving in Tumbra, but not from where. To make matters worse, she’d only told him the date of her arrival, and not the expected arrival time of the flight. The only thing he was certain of that she hadn’t touched down yet; after all, her Telegraph status was Last seen 11 hours ago - so she had to be on a plane.

They’d talked a lot more since the night of the decision; Trudy seemed distinctly happier now that the saga was near its end and Stephen had chosen to finally move somewhere. Double points for putting Chromatik first, of course. Trudy had gone on a charm offensive; telling him all about the club, and her team-mates, and the various foes they’d meet in the Red League, and how nice of a city Chromia was, and…

Stephen just tended to smile and glance at the screen whenever she launched into one of her explanations. She seemed to apply the same energy on the football pitch to life in general; never showing signs of slowing down. It was how she lived life in general, Stephen had observed; run, run and run again. Effortlessly dodging everything life threw at her, even though she hadn’t told him anything about her family — which was still a mystery to him.

He, on the other hand, had told her lots about his own family and life — Bertram Kerr, his father, a well-meaning, genteel man who worked as an accountant; Sylvia Kerr, his mother, a half-Xinhuanese, quiet lady who worked as a pharmacist; Cook the dog (a giant Golden Retriever), who seemed to be a cushion of warmth, cuddles and hugs, and his sister, Stephanie Kerr, an arts student, whom he shared an often-complicated relationship with. Had she gone to Serrapince, the art capital of Tumbra, to avoid the attention that Stephen’s fame would bring the family? Or was she just determined to focus on her own path?

But she’d told him nothing in return. It wasn’t a transactional relationship, nor one that traded on secrets that the two shared; but Stephen felt he was getting stonewalled when trying to find out more about her. He knew how she ticked; he knew who she was; but it still felt like he was still missing...something. Every time he’d asked, she skillfully redirected the topic onto something else. He got the feeling that something was up; yet the surname Harrison was so common in Tumbra that it would have been useless trying to search it up. Eventually he gave up; he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, either.

In a way, she’d just sprung up into existence when Toby Barton decided to call up some young teenage players to go and play in Zeta Reka; and by sheer coincidence — the stars aligning, Fate’s hand guiding them together, or otherwise — she’d popped up into his life when they began talking in that one cafe in Kven. Shared a waffle together. Nearly had his phone thrown off a roof. And, of course, lifted a trophy together.

It was hard to believe a year had passed since then; since then they’d gotten over troubles in their careers together; gone to Chromatika; and found themselves in the centre of a firestorm. Certainly one of the more entertaining years they’d shared; and Stephen was reminded of an old idiom.

May you live in interesting times.

He glanced up at the board again; finally, there was a flight incoming from Quebec. He fired up a flight tracker app on his phone, did some searching; and there she was. A flight that fitted in perfectly with her “last seen” time. And it would be touching down...in thirty minutes.

Stephen sighed, stood up, and began looking for the nearest Moonbeam Coffee. He needed a drink.

---

About 45 Minutes Later

Three-quarters of an hour later, Stephen found himself back where he’d begun; except this time he was clutching a half-empty coffee cup. The prices here were absolutely criminal; then again, it was an airport. Couno’s airport was never one he’d been familiar with — Straton was the one he knew — but the TFF’s training camp pre-DBC would be here, and so here he was.

He sat down, in front of where he knew Trudy Harrison would be emerging from; when the luggage began appearing on the carousel and people began filtering out through the door, he knew it wasn’t far off from when his friend would be arriving.

And soon, she did; but with none of the usual energy that she had. Her mood lightened considerably upon seeing Stephen, of course; but she seemed less than pleased to be back in Tumbra after a year away.

“Hey, dork,” she said softly as she walked close to Stephen, and embraced him tightly.

“Hey there, Truuuuuuuuu—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Figured since you started calling me Stevie, I had to get one back.”

“Fine. But if you’re going to call me something annoying, at least come up with something better than...Truu.”

“What’s wrong with Truu?”

“Doesn’t have the same crackle or snap as Stevie.”

“Remind me to work on something to fix that, then. Is everything alright? You seem...pretty down.”

“It’s just...I don’t like this place, Stephen.”

“Tumbra in general or just this place?”

She shook her head. “The former. I don’t like Tumbra. Too close to home. Ugh. Look at these banners. Hate them.” She looked up at Stephen, seemingly trying to put on a brave face. “But at least you and the rest of the girls are here. That makes it better.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. You wanna walk while I call up a cab?”

“Sure. You’ve met the rest of the girls? How are they?”

“Yeah, I have. And they’re all fine. Changed a lot, I suppose; though having seen you change throughout your year away, it’s not surprising. Lynne’s become more assertive, Vic more assured, y’know? That kind of thing. It’s not surprising.”

A warm smile crossed Trudy's face. “I’m happy for them.”

“Did you not talk that much to them?”

“Well, we have a group chat, but we’re all busy. Plus we’re all around the globe…”

“Mm-hm. Yeah, I get that.”

“So how’ve you been settling into Couno? Strange that they chose this place. Heard the national team training camp’s usually on the outskirts of Straton.”

“Well...it’s Straton.”

“Fair point. So they changed it because of you? Look at you, high-profile enough to merit a whole location change for the entire team just because your safety’s jeopardised.”

“Hey, don’t put it like that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Been harassed by anyone?”

“No. Couno people seem content to let people go about their daily lives. Same as Straton, really, though you’d always get people stopping you on the street looking for a picture.”

“I suppose there aren’t that many Straton fans out here.”

“I suppose.”

“But the team...you getting on alright?”

“A large number of us went to Zeta Reka, so there’s not much problem there.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ somewhere in that statement.”

“You know me too well.”

“Who is it?”

A grimace crossed Stephen’s face. “You’ll see. Our cab arrives in ten. Let’s grab a snack.”

---

Boxworth Training Centre
Couno, Tumbra

The taxi pulled up in front of Boxworth; it was prevented from going further inside by the security guard, forcing Trudy and Stephen to lug the former’s luggage down the long straightaway into the training centre. Privacy was the key focus here; the entire perimeter of the training centre had been obscured by bushes, and the training pitches were located deep inside the site.

It wasn’t Tumbra’s primary training camp, but it was still one of the premier training facilities in the country; with all the usual trappings of civilisation located deep within. It was a long walk to the main training centre to check in with the front desk; and especially so in the sweltering afternoon heat.

Trudy was the last one of the twenty-three to arrive for the camp; they’d be flying off to Starblaydia in just four days. Their first game against Savojarna would take place a further week after that; and then their adventure would begin. The team finished fourth last time out; now manager Finnegan was hoping they would be able to repeat that performance, and maybe even go one step further and reach the Final.

With forty-eight teams in the running, however, and thirty-two of them to be sent home after the first round of games, it was going to be brutal. Their group? Even more so. Savojarna, Græntfjall, the hosts, Pemecutan, Bollonich; to make it through would be an achievement all of its own.

The team had been stacked to the brim with talent; there was previous Golden Boot winner Nick Riordan, who’d scored 11 goals last time out; of course, the Nine and a majority of the squad that had won a year ago in Zeta Reka; then quite a few of the team who’d made the trip to Valanora had returned, too. Then of course there were your wildcards; people who hadn’t made either of the above two squads but had now fought their way in through sheer luck, determination or otherwise.

Barry Hamilton was a member of the last group; he, too, played for Straton. Him and Stephen had never interacted much; though considering they played in the same position, there was that bit of rivalry. Hamilton, however, had never been rated as highly as Kerr; the defender always seemed to be lacking that little extra to truly be a world beater. Still, Hamilton had worked hard; and his promotion to the senior squad coincided with Stephen’s breakthrough, meaning that he’d always been a reluctant benchwarmer.

Why Edmund Finnegan, the U21 manager, had picked him was anyone’s guess; but he had put in some excellent performances for the under-23s of Straton. Things hadn’t gone off to the best of starts, however. Stephen was showing Trudy around, and they’d just gotten to the dining hall, when —

“Oi! Stee-phen!”

Stephen sighed. Trudy instinctively sensed something was wrong.

“Who’s he?”

“Barry. Team-mate. Or rather, soon-to-be former team-mate. Won’t stop giving me grief over deciding to leave.”

“Cunt.”

“...you can’t say that…”

“I can and I will. What the fuck does he want?”

Barry walked over to Stephen and Trudy, the former shielding the latter behind him as he put on a brave face. Stephen and Barry squared up to each other; Barry was just slightly shorter, but stuck out a bit more. but they were essentially on equal footing. The dining room was now focused on the two of them; a star defender versus his stalking horse.

“Whaddya want.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend. And one of our team-mates.”

“Ahh. Your girlfriend?”

“Nothing of the sort. We’re friends.”

“Funny. Guess you couldn’t get close enough to her with the stench of treachery on your breath.”

“I’m not wasting time explaining it to you again.”

“You chose to leave the club that’s brought you up, gave you a chance to shine on the big stage, and for what? Money? Christ, there’s not a loyal bone in your body, is there? Haven’t attended a single training session. Skivin’, eh? Think you’re too good for us? Honestly, Stephen, they say you’re the next big thing but I frankly doubt it all. You could have had it all with us, but no, instead you’ll probably be rotting on the bench in some faraway country —”

“Barry, my career is none of your business.”

“We’re team-mates. Of course it is.”

“Not for long.” Trudy stepped out from behind Stephen.

“Trudy—”

“Ah, Trudy Harrison! Famous. I’ve heard of you before. I’m Barry, Barry Hamilton.” He extended an arm towards her.

Trudy didn’t take it.

“What’s that you said about Stephen?”

“Ah, a feisty one. Well, well.”

“Stephen’s a friend. I’m not letting anyone talk shit about him and get away with it.”

“Well, I wasn’t talking shit — just stating facts, really. Your friend’s a two-faced traitor who bit the hand that fed him and personally, if I were Straton, I wouldn’t have accepted any offer for him. Really teach him that the club comes first, and that he’s not bigger than the club —”

Trudy raised a fist.

“Say one more word and I’ll —”

“Trudy…”

“A fist, huh? Wow. So big and strong. Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? This is between me and Stephen.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m Stephen’s friend, and I don’t take lightly to anyone chatting shit about him. As I said less than a minute ago.”

“Really? Well, I think you must’ve misheard me. Every word of what I just said was —”

Barry stopped abruptly, reeling from a sudden sense of shock and a throbbing pain that was emanating from between his legs; Trudy Harrison’s leg was extended at a ninety-degree angle; knee meeting Barry’s sweet spot at just the right place and with the right amount of force to inflict the maximum amount of pain. Barry grimaced as he cupped his crown jewels in a vain attempt to get it to stop, groaning as he tried to grasp onto something to keep steady. Waves of hurt coursed through his body; even Stephen grimaced as he saw Barry’s pained face; desperately trying to amble back to his seat.

“Every word of what you just said was wrong. Do not mess with Stephen again; or there’ll be more where that came from.”

Trudy turned back towards Stephen, a look of quiet determination on her face.

“Let’s leave. I wanna tour this place.”

The two left Barry reeling, pride bruised; and they once again emerged into the fresh air of the evening. A perfectly manicured lawn with a stone path cutting brusquely through it provided them with a straight path forward; they began walking along it, slowly. Food could wait. At the very worst case scenario, they'd just order in. The TFF's catering was never known for its quality, anyway.

“Some reunion.”

“Some reunion, indeed.”

“Thanks for stepping in back there.”

“Eh, it’s no matter. You just owe me a meal.”

“Another one?”

“Whaddya expect? I kneed someone in the balls for you.”

“It kinda looked like you were waiting for that to happen, if I’m being honest.”

“Eh, it’s an old skill of mine. Useful for dealing with idiots who didn’t believe I could kick a football back in the day. And you can’t say he didn’t deserve it. And it was fun. Cherry on top, if you ask me.” A glint appeared in her eye.

“I can tell. Never do that to me.”

“Oh, no promises. As long as you’re not a prick like him.”

“You know, I’m really glad you’re my friend.”

“Is that part of your strategy to not get kneed in the balls?”

“...Maybe.”

“...I’ll accept that. Where’s the pool?”

"Just up ahead, actually. The accomodation's beyond that, that's where the girls are holed up — suspect they'll be happy to see you..."

TUMBRA vs ABANHFLEFT - DI BRADINI CUP 51, SEMIFINALS

Starters: 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 14 - Wyatt, 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 8 - Lawrence, 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 21 - Baker, 11 - Riordan

Bench: 12 - Ager, 13 - Russell; 18 - Finney, 5 - Pritchett, 20 - Hamilton, 3 - Mercurio; 15 - Morris, 16 - Robertson, 23 - Finnemore; 17 - McGarry, 9 - Crossley, 22 - Hardaker

Injured - Unavailable for Selection: 3 - Mercurio

[Mertagne]

"Michelle tells me you made some predictions not too long ago. She says they've all come true? What did you predict for us? Can you say I'll win the lottery?"

Ben Holl and Kristie Ettrick were out at a Vanorian market, shopping for bits and pieces. Kristie had developed an idea that she was going to feed the team pancakes as a morale booster before their training began for their semi-final match against Adab. Of course, this meant securing the ingredients to feed 33 young adults, as well as an appropriate venue.

The venue was gained without too much resistance. The owner of the hotel that Ettrick and the squad were staying in wasn't too fussed about her using a portion of their kitchen, as long as she was out before the actual hotel patrons sat down for breakfast. The ingredients weren't hard to source, either - plant-based milks were easy to come by, and if anyone didn't like vegan pancakes, they could shove it. It'd be much easier to make one batch of pancakes for the whole team rather than separate out everyone's dietary requirements. Besides, in Kristie's mind, the important bit was the toppings - and that was proving harder to find.

Kristie snapped back out of her own head. "Sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, I was right, anyone with a decent tactical eye could have seen that was the most likely result. I didn't bet on us when talking to Romanage. She wanted to assume we'd win every game. I'm not so sure, if I'm honest."
"Nervous against Adab? I won't lie to you, I am as well." Ben said, examining a box of chocolate chunks. "Our Under 18's managed it, though, so why can't we?"

Kristie stopped the small handcart she was pulling. "Well, that's exactly what I'm worried about. Forsyth's squad plays very differently to ours. They're much more defensively oriented. When they played Adab, it took until extra time to get the job done. I'm hoping that we'll be a bit more clinical and get it done in 90 minutes, but if it drags out, I'm not sure we can go the distance."
"That's true, we're not the type to drag on more than 90 minutes." Ben remarked. "The squad's not truly had the experience in extra time yet. Our endurance drills will get them better prepared than most, right? And it's not like it'll be their first time ever playing longer than 90 minutes."

"I've got-" Kristie stopped and looked Ben in the eye. "We've got a tough tactical decision to make. I know this Adab squad isn't the U18 squad, but cultures have common threads, right? It's the same with us. Mertagnians love to chuck it out to the wing. Some of us hate set pieces."

"I think that's just you!" Ben said, grabbing an apple from a stall and throwing it in the air before catching it again and taking a bite. "But, I get your point. They play in the same formation, the Adab U18 and U21 squad. I think it's to get them in the right mindset for senior play, unlike over in Mertagne where we throw you for a wicked loop every time you're called up to a squad."

"Eh, it builds character, doesn't it?" Kristie scooped several bunches of bananas into the handcart. "Teaches our folk to think on their feet. That might be something to exploit, actually - if we can break their formation, they might not know what to do with it."

"Sounds like a good plan. Any potential threat players we should watch out for?"

"Yes. I've circled them on the back of the shopping list." Kristie spun her finger around in a circle, gesturing for Ben to tip the list he had tucked into his shirt pocket over.
Clenching the apple between his teeth, he pulled the sheet of paper out and turned it over. On it was a printout of the Adab starting lineup, with two names circled in red pencil - Alulim Sinmuballit and Emma Arthur.

"Mmph, two in the midfield? You reckon that's where they'll shine?" Ben asked, nearly bungling a half-eaten apple onto the floor before deftly catching it.

"I reckon Adab will shine all over the pitch. You won't be able to see for shine, it'll be like the waxy floor at your school disco. Hopefully with fewer kids skidding all over the place."
Kristie chucked several large bags of sugar into the handcart.

"But, the two in midfield - Arthur and Sinmuballit - have senior experience. They also have the captaincy. Lynchpins for the team, in my opinion. So I'm going to put our best folks on the left and hope we can skirt around them before getting tangled up in their defence. If we can draw the squad out, it'll be easier if the ball gets down their end to finish the run and score it."

"Do people have cheese with pancakes?" Ben asked, grabbing a hunk from a counter.

"It wouldn't surprise me. I'm a lemon and sugar person myself. I've just been picking up stuff that seems... pancakey. Keep a look out for maple syrup, but I only want the stuff from Quebec and Shingoryeo. The good stuff, you know?"

"Okay. So, circling back as they say, you think you've got a plan for Adab?"

"I think that planning for Adab is exactly what's going to get us pipped by Adab. At least, that's what I got after chatting with Kylian Forsyth about it." Kristie said, as she placed blueberries in the handcart.

"Oh yeah? What was his input on the situation? I bet he's not jealous of us." Ben laughed.

"Definitely not. He's actually quite relaxed at the moment, probably riding the high of pulling his team to victory. No doubt the FMF will have him lined up for something in the next few years. That, or one of our sides will nab him. He can be a pain in the arse sometimes, but he's a good one."

"I do forget you have somewhat of a history." Ben replied, quizzically. "How is it you know each other, again?"

"It's a long one. We're both from Touchpoint, rubbed elbows at a football thing about 10 years ago when he was a nipper. I kind of... kept an eye on him afterwards. He's done well, managing players older than him in the regional leagues."

"That's nice. So, you're what, his cool aunt?" Ben asked, running his hand along a shelf of whipped creams and tipping them into the handcart.

Kristie let out a 'hah' that spooked a small Vanorian child walking the other way with a fizzy drink. "Something like that. I don't want to make a habit of 'collecting' young people and finding I've accidentally nurtured them. It doesn't exactly fit the image, does it?"

"Your image, Kristie? When you came into this tournament you claimed the squad would get killed on their second matchday and you wouldn't care about it. Now you're picking up - what is that, chocolate spread?"

Kristie held up the incredibly large jar. "It's chocolate and hazelnut spread, actually." She sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you're not wrong. I've grown a bit during this cup, that's certain. Managing kids is a bit better than managing the burly older types that I've managed in the past. The game's a bit more fluid at this level. Reminds me of back home, you know? Like, street football and- sorry, I can't get over this spread stuff." She turned the jar over in two hands. "It's in such a big jar! People don't just eat this, do they? Is this unique to Valanora?"

"Not a clue. This brand looks like it comes from Grande Cucina. There's some from Pacitalia over there. I guess it's just not made it to Mertagne yet." Ben shrugged.

"Well, it looks packed with sugar. If this'll keep the squad awake enough for what we've got prepared for them over the next few days, then that's okay with me. Now, how many silver coins have you got? I'm prepared to split this down the middle with you."

"This was your idea! I'm not ponying up anything." Ben said, shocked.

"Well, then you can pull the handcart."

[Adab]

Wednesday, August 23, 2034 / 8 Jumada al-Thani 1456
Adab 3-2 Sharktail
Akaptaha (40’), Salem (49’), Anwar (77’) | Hazrin (35’), Saifi (61’)

A Dance with Football
Snapshots of the lives of the people involved in Adabian football and those associated with them
For a full list of chapters click here. To read all the chapters in one go click here
For an (incomplete) list of major/prominent characters in this story click here and scroll down to the ‘Football’ section

Chapter 29: Truth

August 23, 2034
Adab City

The mattress greeted Saad Kaykali like one old friend to another, receiving him with comfort as he laid his weight down in his pajamas. The continuous hum of the air conditioner provided something akin to background music as he rested his head on the pillow and slipped his arms under it, his hands meeting and fingers entangling with each other under the pillow. He cast his sight at the white expanse of the ceiling centered around the light bulb, a comfortably empty gaze. It was a warm feeling, knowing that there was nothing to weigh down his mind. The day’s business at the real estate company had been concluded satisfactorily and the board meeting was a success, the World Cup qualifiers were still a few weeks away and training had so far been going well, and over at the Di Bradini Cup Rashid Abbas was killing it, taking the young Adabians all the way to the semifinals. His commitment to the national team was increasingly stealing him away from his work at the company, but he still felt comfortable juggling the two jobs. Someday the day would come when he would have to abandon one of them, perhaps both, but that the day still seemed far away.

His lips came together, and as his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, those lips began to part somewhat, then come back together, then part again with the vocalizations coming out of his mouth. They began with wordless hums, which were gradually replaced by actual words. Words coming out at a faint volume that sometimes nearly didn’t bother to rise above the slurred vocalizations of a sleepy man. The entire time his sight remained on the ceiling with an empty, unburdened gaze that could penetrate to the heavens. For a brief second they wandered down to see if the door was closed before returning to the ceiling.

It was a nursery rhyme that Saad had first learned from his mother as a child, his connection to a time and figures long gone. Vivid images of them were buried inside, but not so deep as to prevent flashes of them from occasionally rushing to the forefront of his mind. Memories of shared experiences, victories, losses, joy, and pain. All now far in the past, but still existing in his mind. He kept on faintly singing, singing, singing as the white of the ceiling came to completely dominate his sight, enveloping the light bulb, and breaking into his mind, until all he could see was white and he could no longer hear his own singing.

And there she was, staring serenely back at him, her wavy brunette rushing down her head, forming a layer that flanked a face that was as radiant as on the day he first met her, or on the day he rushed to her in the rain to tell her he loved her, or on the day when – her figure lying motionless on the bed, weakened from leukemia yet still beautiful to the end – he let her go.

But here her figure betrayed no signs of suffering or illness. In this endless world of white she stood, only a few feet away but still seeming like an otherworldly figure – which, going by their religious teachings, she really was by this point. Her long arms ran down to just below her stomach, where her hands were clasped. Even for a perfect woman, she appeared too perfect. Too beautiful, too unblemished.

“Maria,” he began, his voice unexpectedly shaky.

“It’s alright, Saad,” she said, her lips curving upwards to form a radiant smile. A smile brighter than a thousand suns, he used to say. “Everything will be alright.”

What do you mean? Everything is alright, right? Is there something that isn’t alright? Saad barely moved, his sight striking into the depths of those brown eyes. He tried to form a statement that actually correlated with his thoughts, but in the end could only muster a simple “I miss you”.

She did not immediately reply, not even to say “I miss you too” or something to that effect. She still did not move, continuing to stare at him with that captivating gaze of hers. Saad, of course, was looking back at her, but his was an unsure, wondering gaze. Wondering what she meant. Wondering if there was any message behind her words.

“You’re still the best man I ever knew, Saad,” she finally said, smiling still. “I never regretted giving my heart to you, because I knew I was giving it to the right man.”

If he was touched by what she had just said, then Saad did not express it very openly, instead merely nodding, lost for words. Inside he still wondered if there was any deeper meaning to all this. But he would have no opportunity to voice his thoughts, as Maria then continued speaking. “I love you, Saad. I always will.”

“I-“

“You’re my rock, Saad, and you’re my truth.” Now she began to raise her right hand, her index finger pointing at the sky, her eyes following it. “Remember love. Remember our love. Remember the power of love.”

“Wha-“ Before Saad could get in another word, the figure of Maria began to disintegrate from head to feet. She retained that smile even as her face disappeared into the void, her eyes still gazing at Saad as they vanished. He could do nothing but watch as she completely dissipated, leaving him alone in this empty expanse of white. Then the white turned black, and that was the last thing Saad remembered.

Saad opened his eyes to be greeted by the ceiling. Turning his head left and right as he tried to make sense of whatever he thought he had experienced, he raised his back off the bed to the tune of the air conditioner’s humming. Letting out a yawn, he ran his hand over his eyes, staring rather emptily at the closed door in front of him.

[Starblaydia]

Semi-Final, Vanorian half

Semi-Final Result

Mertagne 0–1 Adab

[Valanora]

RP cutoff

Semifinals
Tumbra 1–0 Abanhfleft


3PPo
Abanhfleft v Mertagne @ Stadii Di Bradini, Jhanna, Starblaydia

Final
Adab v Tumbra @ The Battleground, Raynor City, Valanora

[Tumbra]

Link to arc home
defender meets midfielder: season 3, part 9
the final

Valanora
Raynor City
The Battleground

Ten minutes to go.

The atmosphere was tense, feelings running high; but that was of course, normal for any match for the Tumbran Under-21 team. Fresh off beating Abahnfleft in the semi-finals, a common sense of purpose had come to envelope the team over the past few days; to bring the fabled Di Bradini Cup home. The long flight to Valanora hadn't dampened their spirits; if anything, it'd strengthened them, to try and put things right.

The journey had been long; harrowing, nervous, even; a campaign that had started so well had descended into mild fear before being rescued, a miracle performance by some of the senior team’s future stars. And it continued. Now they were ninety minutes away from lifting the trophy. A year ago a team led by the likes of Legget and Krabb had fallen at the final hurdle twice; now they were back, ready for revenge.

Trudy Harrison looked, calmly, composedly even, at the rest of the starting eleven as they prepared to leave the dressing room. How far they’d come. How far they’d go. Her emotions deep down were anything but calm, though, pride welling inside her as she looked at each and every single member of the team.

Victoria, a Lakewood lass, who’d grown so much playing on the windswept pitches of Brenecia; looking stronger than ever. More assured, calmer, growing into her role every day; within a few years, if she managed to break through, she would surely be knocking on the door of the national team in a few years. She’d grown so much over the past year; a far cry from the nervous wreck who’d conceded two against Tequilo so long ago.

Annie, always one of the smallest ones, the thinnest ones, too; a proper Ridgewell girl through and through. Her small stature hadn’t stopped her from playing football her own way, though. She’d played her heart out at the back, trading places with Finney; though the poor boy missing a penalty against Lathamford meant that she’d stepped in for the game against Abahnfleft, again, Finnegan evidently deciding that the poor boy’s mental condition was shot. No prisoners, no going soft; she was a fullback in Trudy’s vein. Cassadaigua, too, had treated her well.

Wendy from Hesham, as she’d introduced herself on that fateful day where the Nine had gathered for the first time; a centre back with a keen eye for a pass. She, too, had gone to Cassadaigua, where Columbia had strengthened her up a bit; she was no longer someone who’d be muscled off the ball, requiring either Stephen or Ricardo to cover for her. She’d grown into her own, a common theme for many of the players in this starting eleven. They were the protagonists in their own story, each one having come a long way in merely a year.

James — probably the least familiar name on this team, even though they’d gone to Zeta Reka last year together. Tracey had been injured; she was on the bench this game, though Finnegan evidently didn’t want to risk her injury getting worse. Fast, assured, Couno’s backup right-back was thought to be searching for a move overseas, perhaps inspired by Stephen; so that at least said something about the stead in which he held his ability. But he, the Couno native, never showed it; humble to the last, eager to learn and teach in equal capacity; always there with a smile. Maybe for a final match James was probably the better choice; though it did mean the team would miss out on a few opportunities from the right.

The first Valerie; the only female player on the team to not have been part of the Nine. Couno born and bred too, though she plied her trade at Delphi; she’d been Delphi’s star girl since the transition to the equal-gendered league. There was the usual awkwardness, as there always was when new people were introduced to an existing friend group; but she’d blended in well, and brought a nice dimension of creativity to the team. She and Trudy were always ready to scoop up balls, though Trudy had told her on several occasions to not drop back so deep; after all, it’d affect her ability to launch her passes. Eventually she’d stopped; but Trudy always loved her daring attitude, a willingness to help. And she was a helpful source of news for the rest of the Nine, distributed all ‘round the globe.

Susan, completing the midfield trifecta; she’d come from sleepy Southport, but her mind shone as bright as her radiant smiles on the pitch whenever she’d completed a particularly good pass or sent in a striking free kick. Which was often. Short, but slippery and agile, she always made good use of her frame to dribble effectively; but for now her smile had vanished, eyes closed in a state of zen. She’d need it, if she were to become the creative genius she always had been. A source of sunshine, Susan was; always there, ready to cheer people up when they needed it.

And the other Valerie, on the left, from Fontwell; her country twang had never left her voice, even after she’d left the country for snowy Quebec. Her own way, she claimed, of staying Tumbran in a foreign land. She lived for these occasions; nothing suited her better than a capacity crowd screaming their lungs out at her to take the ball and run. She’d not used her usual trick of cutting in on her right foot and shooting with her left this time; evidently in an attempt to shape up her game. Loud, determined, and confident; Valerie (or Vee, as the gang had come to know her) knew how to dribble, and had been working on her finishing throughout the year. She’d been the glue that held the side together; always trying to find out how everything was going.

On the other side, Lynne from Washington. She’d taken the bold step of moving to faraway Kelssek, throwing herself into Strathcona’s side. Veins made of ice, ever-composed, ready to swing in a devastating cross; with four goals to her name, too, she’d usurped Valerie’s claim to being the top scorer of the team. Things remained really friendly between them, though; they’d worked on their game together, and were now each stronger for it. Perhaps the quietest of the bunch, Lynne always seemed a lone wolf to the uninitiated. Yet after she warmed up, opened up, she was one of the most caring people one could meet.

Nick of Serrapince, strong, fast, lethal up front; there were rumours he’d been brought back just to power the team to the Final. He had, after all, scored eleven goals last edition; and four goals had been a solid return for him. And it’d worked; shutting up the many questions of whether someone with senior team caps should be allowed on a junior team. Evidently the need to win outweighed youth development, for this edition at least. Finnegan knew what he was doing; this golden generation would play at most once together. This was their one chance. They could not let it go. Stoic, assured; some would call him arrogant, maybe; but he was amongst the hardest workers on the pitch. And he had the chops to back it up.

And then, of course, Stephen from Straton. Their lives had become irrevocably intertwined the moment he walked through the door that day in Kven; and he’d become, in a way, her rock.

From all the way in Tumbra.

She’d never let him know that, of course; firstly, because it would have been extremely embarrassing for her, but also because he’d never let her live it down. She always felt safer when talking to him; she always felt happier by his side, too. Yes, they’d argued, but they’d gone through the past year of their lives together; and with him hopefully joining her in Chromatik, there’d be more of the same thing, too. For someone who was being looked upon as Tumbra’s next great defensive hope, he weathered the load remarkably well, refusing to think of the stresses it entailed. There wasn’t much to be said, really, between the two; after all, they’d shared memories, and to go through all of it again? Futile, to say the least.

And finally, her. Trudy Harrison of Kingsbury. She spent three seconds thinking about where she came from, then moved on.

Not worth entertaining those thoughts now.

She was proud of everyone. Well, mostly everyone; but mostly her crew and Stephen, nonetheless. They’d grown so much over the past year; maturing, becoming better people, better footballers.

This was their victory. Regardless of what happened, their exploits a year ago had resulted in a victory. Equality. They might not touch the World Cup in their careers, but they’d made sure that if Tumbra ever made it there, a Tumbran girl would have a chance to lift the trophy.

And that was their victory.

Five minutes.

It had been a tumultuous tournament, for sure. They’d come so close to being booted out; then like a miracle, they’d been delivered.

TUMBRA 1-0 SAVOJARNA

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton (18 - Finney, 68'), 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett (14 - Wyatt, 79'), 3 - Mercurio; 6 - Harrison, 8 - Lawrence, 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 9 - Crossley; 11 - Riordan (22 - Hardaker, 91')

TMB scorers: Nick Riordan (22')

Player of the Match: Nick Riordan (TMB)

Baby steps; a solid victory, a clean sheet. Nick managing to edge past Martina Erlandsen, Stephen Kerr continually denying Lars Alvesen, the defence as a whole holding steady against a deluge of shots against their defence.

GRÆNTFJALL 1-2 TUMBRA

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 18 - Finney, 4 - Kerr, 14 - Wyatt (20 - Hamilton, 84'), 3 - Mercurio; 6 - Harrison, 16 - Robertson (23 - Finnemore, 74'), 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells (17 - McGarry, 65'), 9 - Crossley; 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Lynne Crossley (13', 56')

Player of the Match: Lynne Crossley (TMB)

A veritable curveball; playing against tiny creatures. Two goals by Lynne; two assists coming from, of all people, Nick. Ricardo making a mistake which would prove costly; Barry coming on for him near the end. Friction abounding; Trudy dropping lower, playing deeper, securing the win but being unable to hunt for that elusive third goal.

TUMBRA 0-2 STARBLAYDIA
Starters: 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett (14 - Wyatt, 45'), 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (23 - Finnemore, 78'), 10 - Monaghan; 17 - McGarry, 9 - Crossley (21 - Baker, 82'); 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: None

Player of the Match: Cristaldo Sarro (STB)

A clash against the hosts would see the visitors come off worse; though they were playing on home turf and Tumbra, ostensibly, were not. Sarro would deny Riordan multiple times, with his acrobatic saves; the very presence of Ázëwyn Fëanáro imposing on the match. Outfoxed? Perhaps. But they couldn’t have said they hadn’t tried.

PEMECUTAN 1-0 TUMBRA

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 20 - Hamilton, 3 - Mercurio; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (16 - Robertson, 62'), 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 9 - Crossley (21 - Baker, 71'), 11 - Riordan (22 - Hardaker, 83')

TMB scorers: None

Player of the Match: Leo Olivando (PCU)

Hanging on by a thread in third, needing a win against group leaders Bollonich. Ninety minutes of terrible, stilted football; the defensive organisation in shambles; a tension boiling over. A torrid mistake by Hamilton; nearly coming to blows after the final whistle. Trudy and those on the pitch restraining Stephen, half the bench running onto the pitch to restrain Barry; Finnegan putting a stop to their near-brawl.

A low point.

An outright miracle that the score was only one goal to nil.

TUMBRA 4-1 BOLLONICH

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 18 - Finney (2 - Renton, 61'), 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett, 3 - Mercurio; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (23 - Finnemore, 84'), 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells (17 - McGarry, 73'), 9 - Crossley, 22 - Hardaker

TMB scorers: Lynne Crossley (31', 68'), Julie Hardaker (52'), Trudy Harrison (90'+1')

Player of the Match: Lynne Crossley (TMB)

A miracle; Nick on the bench, complaining of a tight leg; Julie striking hard, using her chance; a complete domination on Tumbra’s side. Trudy scoring the fourth goal to send them through; the jubilant celebration after the victory heard from every end of the stadium.

TUMBRA 3-0 LISANDER

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett, 3 - Mercurio - inj (19 - Green, 45'); 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (8 - Lawrence, 71'), 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells (17 - McGarry, 80'), 9 - Crossley, 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Nick Riordan (3', 67'), Stephen Kerr (42')

Player of the Match: Stephen Kerr (TMB)

Nick back to his blazing best; Kerr popping up with a rare headed goal by the far post; a worrying injury right before half-time for Tracey, though Green came in more than handily. Their best win, for sure; another dominant performance from the team.

TUMBRA 0-0 LATHAMFORD (0-0 AET) (4-3 PENS.)

TMB (4-3-3 -> 4-4-2): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton (18 - Finney, 73'), 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett, 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris (22 - Hardaker, 107'), 10 - Monaghan; 17 - McGarry (7 - Wells, 85'), 9 - Crossley, 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Nil

Penalty Shootout: Nick Riordan O Trudy Harrison O Chris Finney X Valerie Wells O Lynne Crossley O

Player of the Match: Victoria Jones (TMB)

It had to come eventually; the team’s reckoning with penalties. A hundred and twenty minutes of dour football, where Lathamford were content with taking the occasional shot; five brave players stepping up.

Nick into the top right corner, a confident effort from the striker.

Trudy down the middle, a bold move to fake out the Lathamford goalkeeper.

Chris aiming for the bottom left; but missing by inches, hitting the post.

Valerie, bottom left; the goalkeeper guessed the right way, but he dived too far up, and her shot was too powerful.

And Lynne — who else? — taking the decisive fifth penalty, wrongfooting the goalkeeper completely. Top right, like Nick; and they were into the semifinals.

But the real hero of the day had been Vic; diving the correct way on pretty much every single penalty, getting her gloves to their last two penalties, parrying both of them. A wild celebration. A tiring one, too.

TUMBRA 1-0 ABANHFLEFT

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 14 - Wyatt (5 - Pritchett, 72’), 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 8 - Lawrence (15 - Morris, 78’), 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 21 - Baker (22 - Hardaker, 90’+5’), 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Nick Riordan (90’+3’)

Player of the Match: Nick Riordan (TMB)

Ninety minutes of end-to-end football. Trudy being stretched to her limits. A goal-line clearance by Wyatt. Monaghan’s through ball in injury time to Riordan, Riordan striking the ball first time, past the arms of Pendergraft. Wheeling away in joy. Wiping away the pain of their previous adventure. Through to the Final.

They’d arrived.

One minute to go.

Walking to the front of the pack, where she’d lead the team out into the Battleground pitch, Stephen flashed her a knowing smile.

“You’re nervous.”

“Yeah.”

He took her hand, and clasped it within both of his. “We’ll do fine. We’ve done enough. We’re ninety minutes away from winning. I know what you can do, Trudy.”

“And I know what you can do.”

“So run.” He grinned.

“So tackle.” She grinned.

“And don’t take that armband for granted. Though if we make it I’m lifting that trophy with you.”

“Like we did a year ago?”

“Exactly like we did a year ago. Remember to not touch the trophy on the way out, though.”

“Superstition?”

“It’s a Republic Cup thing.”

Trudy mouthed some words at Stephen, but they were drowned out by the overly-enthusiastic stadium announcer, calling for both teams to begin walking onto the pitch. Trudy gulped; turned round to face the front; and began walking, the rest of the team in tow.

It was time.

TUMBRA vs ADAB - DI BRADINI CUP 51, FINAL

Starters: 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton, 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett, 19 - Green; 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris, 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 9 - Crossley, 11 - Riordan

Bench: 12 - Ager, 13 - Russell; 18 - Finney, 14 - Wyatt, 20 - Hamilton, 3 - Mercurio; 8 - Lawrence, 16 - Robertson 23 - Finnemore; 17 - McGarry, 21 - Baker; 22 - Hardaker

[Adab]

Friday, August 25, 2034 / 10 Jumada al-Thani 1456
Mertagne 0-1 Adab
Akaptaha (75’)

A Dance with Football
Snapshots of the lives of the people involved in Adabian football and those associated with them
For a full list of chapters click here. To read all the chapters in one go click here
For an (incomplete) list of major/prominent characters in this story click here and scroll down to the ‘Football’ section

Chapter 30: Fate

August 26, 2034
Raynor City, Valanora
The night before the Di Bradini Cup 51 final

The tet-tot sound rang in Emma Arthur’s room just as she was about to throw herself onto the bed. With a little huff she turned around and made for the door, wondering who was coming to visit her this late in the night. On the night before perhaps the most important match of her life. A look through the little peephole on the door turned her exasperation into milder annoyance. Shaking her head, she opened the door. “Alu, why aren’t you asleep yet?” she demanded as the door opened to reveal the figure of Alulim Sinmuballit. “Don’t let Mr. Abbas catch you wandering around the place. Tomorrow is the final, for God’s sake.”

“Well,” Alu began, rather slowly and sheepishly, slightly pulling his head back, “you just said you wanted to return the book. I’m here to take it.”

“We can do this after the match, you know,” Emma said, suddenly lowering her voice as she leaned forward to take brief, cautious glances to her left and right. Mr. Abbas had expressly ordered everyone in the team to stay in their rooms after 11 p.m., sending coaches Bennett and ar-Rashid and even the physio Ridha to roam around the hallways and enforce the order. And if Kasti was to be believed, Mr. Abbas had even asked hotel staff to be on the lookout.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you wanted to return the book after the match,” Alu said, his voice just barely above a whisper. As Emma leaned forward, strands of her hair fell on his shoulder and chest, to which he responded by slightly, ever so slightly sliding his feet backwards, which did not completely succeed in putting him out of her hair’s reach.

“I didn’t tell you?” Emma’s face contorted in momentary confusion as she again turned her head left and right, seemingly not caring that strands of her hair were sliding back and forth across Alu’s shirt. “Well I guess it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” She sighed, then lowered her voice even more. “Come inside, and close the door behind you.”

“Close the door? You su-“

“Don’t let anyone see us like this, dummy, especially at this hour,” Emma faintly growled, furrowing her eyebrows as she gently pulled Alu by his shirt inside. “You know what certain people are saying, right? Better not give them any more material.”

“Yeah, right,” Alu concurred with a nod, knowing exactly what she meant. Emma released her hold on him, and he turned around to close the door, making sure it was completely closed before walking towards Emma, who was now rummaging through her bag – laid on the bed next to where she slept, crushing the pillow underneath – for the book.

“I swear I put the book right he- oh, here it is,” Emma said, pulling her copy of Robert Kanigel’s The Man Who Knew Infinity: A Life of the Genius Ramanujan out of her opened bag. As she swiveled around to find Alu, she turned her sight at the door. “It’s completely closed, right?” She extended the book to him, her eyes still on the door.

“Yeah,” he said almost monotonously, taking the book and pulling it back between his hand and ribs. “You finished it?”

“The book? I did.” Emma turned to look at him. For the first time since Alu knocked on her door she was smiling. Beaming, even. They were facing each other, with some two or three feet separating them. “What, you didn’t expect me to finish it?” Her smile widened and curved upwards, gradually betraying a hint of playfulness.

“Well, I…” Alu hesitated, though he couldn’t help but grin somewhat himself, “I just didn’t expect you to be reading books. That kind of book especially.”

“I mean you recommended this book to me. And I do read when I want to, you know. I’m not illiterate,” she said with a vaguely mischievous look, putting her lips tighter together in her smile and crossing her arms behind her back. “I mean, yeah, I don’t understand the math and all that. Still, it’s a shame this Ramanujan guy died at age, what was it again, 32? He could have achieved a whole lot more.”

“Yeah, he could have, but he already achieved much in his life,” Alu agreed, nodding, before adding, “I don’t understand the math, either, if that makes you feel any good. I’m more into social subjects.”

“Well, thanks for your attempt at making me feel good, which doesn’t really work at all.” Emma chuckled, lowering her head, her eyes running down from Alu’s face to the floor. Alu chuckled back himself, leaning down his head at Emma, whose smile had receded a bit. “You know, Alu, I wish I had your brain. I know you probably think I’m just a dumb girl who knows nothing but clothes and football, but…” Her smile had now dissolved into a tight, grim clenching of her lips. Her voice was becoming shaky, her breathing unsteady. “…I really wish I were smart, Alu. Like, you know, uh, I wish I were as smart as you.”

“But you are smart,” Alu said, beginning to extend his free hand to her but then rapidly pulling it back, unsure if this would make her comfortable. His voice was as soft as he could make it. “Em, look at me,” he urged.

She did, slowly craning her neck upwards to catch his face. He was only slightly taller than her, so she did not have to stretch her neck too much to put her face on a direct path to his. He could see the thin liquid across the lower edges of her eyes, coming down her cheeks in small streams. They had not thought much about it, but they had inched closer to each other. And closer, until there was barely any space left behind them and the tip of his shoes were touching her feet. Their faces were almost devoid of expression, and there was only silence.

It was Emma who brought her face even closer to his, the tip of her nose brushing against his. She closed her eyes. For a moment they stayed like this, Emma struggling to steady herself, Alu looking squarely at her with sympathy. Then she began to smile again, bringing her hand up to wipe her tears away as she lowered her head, pulling her face down and out of Alu’s reach. “You know, Alu,” she began, stifling her tears along the way, “remember when I said that not everything is about football? Well, I’m… taking my own advice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I put myself on the dating market,” she explained, giggling somewhat. “There’s this guy I’ve been talking with online over the last few days, he works in the art business or something… and we agreed to meet once I’m back in Adab after this tournament.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Alu said, putting on an assuring smile, stepping back just a little. “I think anyone would love to have you as a date for even a single day. I mean, you’re Emma Arthur. You’re the best in this world.”

“You’re too good, but thanks.” Emma looked up, shooting him an affectionate glance as she again ran her hand over his eyes to clear away the remaining tears before pulling her head down, still smiling. “Well, uh, it’s really late in the night and, well, we’ve got the final tomorrow. You better get some sleep. You need it.”

“Yeah,” Alu replied, looking down to make sure he still had the book with him as he began to make small, slow steps backwards at the direction of the door. “Well, if there’s nothing else to say, I better get going.” He raised his hand somewhat to wave at her, smiling. “Night, Em.”

She looked up again at him, smiling back, sighing a little. “G’night. Want me to open the door for you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll do it myself.” He lowered his hand and, clearing his throat, swiveled to turn away from Emma and towards the door.

“Make sure you close the door behind you,” she said, her smile fading but still on her face, not accompanying him as he disappeared into the short passage leading to the door, gazing at the empty space where he used to be.

“Will do.” And that’s the last thing he said that night. As she retreated towards her bed, she could hear him opening the door, then softly closing it behind him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she continued staring at the void in front of her.

---

August 27, 2034
Adab City
The day of the final

Saad Kaykali assumed his seat on the sofa in the living room. Friends and associates were gathered around him. Salim the chauffeur helped Walid the old gardener and housekeeper to the chair which he had pulled up next to the sofa, then went off searching for his own chair. AFA President Naram-Sin Araqasdah emerged from the kitchen with a glass of cola, slowly settling down on the sofa right next to Kaykali. Under-18 manager Faisal al-Ali was in Kaykali’s bathroom, with the latter silently praying that al-Ali would not drop too big of a bomb. Assistant manager Inimabakesh Thulus stood with arms holding on to the back of the sofa, fresh off another round of giving non-committal answers to journalists regarding his future after the upcoming World Cup cycle. He steadfastly refused to sit, instead babbling on about how standing would be good for his blood flow.

Today, however, would not be about that World Cup cycle, for now they were gathered to watch Rashid Abbas and his under-21 charges take on Tumbra in the final of the Di Bradini Cup. No one had expected the team to make it this far, yet here they were. 90 minutes – well, possibly 120, or a few more minutes at most if it reached penalties – were all that separated the young Adabians from this trophy.

“Do you think they can do it, Boss?” inquired Salim, who had taken the nearby mahogany chair under the clock and put it next to Walid.

“Tumbra are a strong team, but I believe we can do it,” Saad answered confidently, smiling, eyes squarely on the TV screen, now airing a bird’s eye view of both teams entering the pitch at the Battleground in Raynor City, Valanora.

“That Kerr guy at defense is really good. He’s the defender right? Crossley and Riordan up front are also a big threat,” Inimabakesh butted in from behind the sofa, then let a brief moment of silence pass before continuing, “but we’ve got Arthur and Sinmuballit and Akaptaha, who are of course great players themselves. I hope we win. It’s going to be a cracking match either way.”

“The future is bright with these young people,” Naram-Sin added simply.

Saad nodded in silent agreement. Certainly brighter than you once thought.

Then the most-awaited guest made her way out of the kitchen, laying down a huge tray of popcorn on the round table in front of the sofa before settling down on the red-brown Anatolian rug separating the sofa from the TV. Her appearance was greeted by cheers across the living room, although it was unclear if the cheers were for her or the popcorn. Aida Kaykali had taken a leave from her lawyering in Baghdad to visit her father. Saad was never one to pester her daughter and ask her to see him. Indeed, he was surprised – and also obviously overjoyed – when Aida informed him that he was coming over to Adab City.

Sitting on the rug, she stretched her legs and slid back somewhat towards the sofa. The players were now lined up in the middle of the pitch for the national anthems. “Oh, they look good,” she commented, pointing at the screen as the camera panned across the Adabian players.

“They’re like fifteen years younger than you, honeypie,” Saad deadpanned, igniting a laugh from almost everyone else in the room and a giggle from the woman herself.

“Ooh, that one isn’t too bad,” she cooed excitedly, leaning back and turning to her father as she pointed at one of the players on screen.

This time Saad couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alulim Sinmuballit? Yeah he’s good but he’s still, like, thirteen years younger than you.”

“Well I can talk to him if you want to,” Inimabakesh cut in with a mock serious tone, “but if what the magazines say are true-“

“They might not be true,” Saad said, completely seriously. “I mean there’s still no concrete proof of… that, and we know the tabloids won’t hesitate to resort to reporting silly rumors.”

“Look, boys can wait,” Naram-Sin advised, downing his glass of cola in the process. “For now, let’s just watch the match and cheer for our team.”

“I’m all for it,” Saad concurred, putting his hands together and rapidly clapping three times. “Come on Adab!”

“Come on Adab!” echoed the entire living room, following Saad’s lead as he again clapped three times.

“Come on A- Allahu Akbar, what is this smell?” Inimabakesh pinched his nose, wandering away from the sofa at the direction of the bathroom at the back. Soon poor old Walid was pinching his nose, too, and Naram-Sin and Salim were shaking their heads, looking around and to the back to see where the smell was coming from.

The smell had reached Saad, too. “Allahu Akbar, Faisal,” he sighed, rolling his eyes as he rose from the sofa and followed Inimabakesh to the bathroom. And on the screen the referee blew the whistle to signal kickoff.

[Mertagne]

Mertagne Locker Room, After the Semi-Final Match

"What are you all looking at me for?"

A crestfallen silence befell the Under-21 squad. They had fought for an amazing 90 minutes on the pitch in Valanora, but had sadly been defeated by a better Adabian team by a single goal, let loose past the deft hands of Ayesha Genoa after a fantastic corner that showed the close-knit teamwork of the Adab side. This is why I hate set pieces. Kristie thought, as the ball sailed in and she kept a stoic look out to the pitch.

"So we lost. I don't really care, to be honest with you. We had to lose sometime, you know? I think you've all proved yourselves incredibly capable out there on the pitch over this Di Bradini Cup, and if you'd gone on to win it, people would have called us smarmy pricks for having a perfect tournament. At least this way, people know you're humanoid. And not, like, a robot or something." Kristie said, expressing a overexaggerated sigh and placing her hands on her hips.

"I don't even think robots can play football." Ben Holl chimed in.

"Of all the places to take a loss, this was the 2nd best one, as well. It also means we get to take most of the ride home to Starblaydia a bit early. The Stadii Di Bradini! The final fight! Much better than The Battleground, right?"

Comments such as "My parents drove us over there once." "I went to Jhanna on holiday." "I had a friend from Starblaydia." and "At least it's not Krytenia!" floated around the room.

"This result is just one patch on what I'm sure is going to be a bright and beautiful career for all of you. One day, you might even be lucky enough to get to my age, and fight me for the privilege of managing such a stellar team. I've every faith you'll all go far." Kristie said, standing up onto the bench than ran around the room to give her a height advantage.

"She's right!" said Ben Holl, joining her, "About five years ago, if you'd told me that I'd be surrounded by such hope, I'd have called you mad. I was herding the cats that were the players around Ist at that time, and it was not going well for me, or for the team. Coming out here has, to be honest, been my real first test of international play, as I'm sure it has been for many of you. Thank you for including me on that journey, as one of your managers. However, Kristie's also right in that it isn't over yet. You can all relax a bit easier when you're done, but at the end of the day, there's still a game to play, and we can go out on a high!" He clenched his fist in anticipation.

The team seemed to rally around Ben's sudden steely gaze at them all.

"Right then," said Ettrick, starting to walk out of the room. "I'm going out for dinner. Anyone care to join me?"

---

"Hi, Kristie, it's Michelle Romanage. You know, from the FMF?"

Kristie was sat in a slightly more homely hotel room, soaking up the bright, after-dark lights of the city of Jhanna. She pincered her phone between her chin and her shoulder as she ate from the takeaway box she'd picked up half an hour ago.

"Hi, Michelle. Caller ID worked this time around, I know it's you. How can I help? I've got a game tomorrow."

"I know, I just wanted to wish you luck. I'll be there, by the way - I'm flying over to Jhanna early tomorrow morning." Romanage's infectiously chipper tone irritated Kristie as she weaselled the phone away from her slightly.

"Great. We can talk, maybe... get a brunch or something? Look, did you need me for something?"

"I just wanted to get a handle on how your team is handling the... you know..." Michelle drew a breath in from the sides of her teeth.

"The... last game? Yeah, they're fine. Shit happens in football, we tried our best, you know? There's a good squad here, I've already sent over my recommendations to Dornell* for his Qualifying squad next year..." Ettrick said, confused.

"Oh, good! Not too many going up, I hope - you know how it is with us, having to assemble the Senior squad a bit before your squad - there's a lot of overlap. In age. Also, our current crop of senior team has more of a financial backing."

"That's his decision to make. Not mine."

"I suppose. But, regardless - I do want to congratulate you and the team for doing so well. It's a crying shame you couldn't bring home the trophy - a youth double would have been great for business - but, what can you do? I'm sure our rivalry with Adab will continue far into the future. I'm sure we'll find a way to market that somehow."

"... Is that all this is to you? A strategic business decision? I had enough of that shit in the Insulation, Romanage, so don't start slinging it my way now. Out of interest, what province were you locked in during that time?"

"I'm from Harridan, Ms. Ettrick." Romanage's cold stare could be felt through the phone, as a punctuated silence filled the air. "It wasn't easy to navigate in the business world, but I've done pretty well for myself considering how it was out there."

"You'd do a lot better if you had a genuine passion for the sport." pipped Kristie, discarding her food box and grabbing the phone. "This is a game. I take part because I love it. My team take part because they love it. Isn't that what we should be instilling? And you're treating them like, what, products?"

"I just know that the media can be quite cutthroat about it. I'm here to deal with that kind of blowback. Speaking of, any particular... foibles with any of the squad we can lean on if we lose tomorrow's match? Did anyone lose a family member recently? Have an operation? Just feel blue?" Michelle's inflection seemed almost sing-songy.

Kristie furrowed her eyebrows. "Don't you think we can clinch third?"

Romanage sighed. "It's not that I don't think you can, it's just... You had me sold that we were going all the way here, Kristie."

"I'll have you know it was exactly the other way around. I told you I don't do predictions on my own matches. I told you that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer. And I'll tell you know - it doesn't bloody matter what we do tomorrow. We'll be playing football. That's the end of it."

Ettrick shut the phone down and tossed it onto the bed. Bloody suits. She switched the television back on and started surfing through channels. Is this how the rest of the FMF is? There'll be tears before bedtime if they keep with that attitude...

As the DBC takes place before Eagle's Cup XI in the internal timeline, Phil Dornell is still manager of the senior squad at this time.

[Starblaydia]

Third Play Play-Off Result

Mertagne 3–1 Abanhfleft

[Valanora]

Final
@ The Battleground, Raynor City, Valanora

Adab 0–0 (0–0 AET)[3–4 PKs] Tumbra

[Tumbra]

ADAB 0-0 TUMBRA (0-0 AET) (3-4 PENS.)

TMB (4-3-3): 1 - Jones; 2 - Renton (18 - Finney, 71'), 4 - Kerr, 5 - Pritchett (14 - Wyatt, 88'), 19 - Green (3 - Mercurio, 100'); 6 - Harrison, 15 - Morris, 10 - Monaghan; 7 - Wells, 9 - Crossley, 11 - Riordan

TMB scorers: Nil

Penalty Shootout: Nick Riordan O Lynne Crossley O Valerie Morris X Valerie Wells O Trudy Harrison O

Player of the Match: Stephen Kerr (TMB)

Link to arc home
defender meets midfielder: season 3, part 10
the flight

Valanora
Raynor City
The Battleground

What’s it like to take a penalty?

Well, you’ve done it once. Several times, actually. Lathamford. The CCFA Final. It’s not a big deal, really.. Place your ball down. On the spot, of course. Pat it down a bit, make sure it doesn’t roll. Take a step back. Yep, it’s still there. Hasn’t moved an inch. Now get a good look at the goal. Twelve yards to it. Twenty-four feet wide, eight feet high. Looks massive, but stick a goalkeeper in there and suddenly it doesn’t look so big. The goalkeeper. What’s his name? Chandrasekar? Looks nervous. Tall, waving his arms up in the air. He has to save this for his team to remain in it, and he knows it. Vic’s parried one, saved one, and he’s only saved one.

Then again, you’re nervous too. You’re just not showing it. You can’t, really, can you? You were the one who told Stephen Kerr you wanted to play for penalties, you idiot. And he duly complied. Him, Annie (later Chris), Wendy, James (later Tracey, who decided she’d recovered enough to try and put in a shift), and Vic. All five of the defence, mopping up every ball, tackling without impunity, stopping the Adab offence in its tracks. They’ve put in their shift. You put in yours. But you’re still nervous. But you still can’t show it.

Plus, you’re the captain. Four clean sheets in a row’s nice, of course, and it’s an admirable record to end the tournament on. Maybe Vic’ll get a chance in Lotus Park now that she’s proven her worth? God knows. Penalty. Back to that.

Decide where you’re going to place your shot. Down the middle, like last time? If anything, he’ll have prepared for that. He knows you’re going to do something stupid. Best to just knock it with power, top right. So that’s it. You’ve decided. Don’t change your mind now. Your shot will come off all the weaker for it.

Penalty run-up? Pah, who cares? What matters is how you knock the ball. Big steps, five to reach the ball, no more, no less. You’ve practiced this multiple times, a rocket of a right foot. Can’t possibly get out of sync now, can it? Ignore the crowds. Ignore the crowds. Ignore the crowds.

One last glance back at the team. Shoulder to shoulder, holding each other. Everyone’s there, everyone else on the sidelines. Chris, Stephen, Wendy, Tracey, Val, Susan, Vee, Nick, Lynne. Shoulder to shoulder, hands gripping each other, standing together. Four of them had gone; three had scored.

Nick, top left, confident, assured, a small fistpump after doing the deed. Lynne, cool, calm as usual, not even flinching as she delivered the best penalty. Bottom right. No reaction, nothing, just calmly walking back to the team after scoring hers. Val, bottom left, unfortunate to have it saved; hands on head as she walked back slowly, despondently. Vee, walking it back; top right, powerful; the camera recording the penalty going dead as the ball smashed into it, more joy as she sprinted back to the team. They know you can do it. You can sense them willing you on.

Now the other sideline. Vic. She can’t bear to watch, can she? Eyes closed, facing away from you. You know she believes in you, Trudy Harrison, she just can’t watch this right now. If you were watching at home, you probably wouldn’t either.

But you alone know you can score this goal. You alone know where it’s heading. He’s reading you; he thinks you’re going to go down the middle like last time. Hah!

Pe-peep!

Wrong.

One, two, three, four, lengthen out your leg, five! Connect your boot to the ball, the inner sole of the thing sending it upwards. No heroics now, Trudy Harrison, this is for keeps. Score, and you win. Miss, and, well, there’s always others. Susan’s chomping at the bit to take one. Maybe Stephen, too.

But you don’t really want them to take the penalty, do you? Hah. You know what’s coming next. The ball flies in an arc, towards the top left, dips a little. Chandrasekar looks, dumbfounded, that you haven’t sent it down the middle; after all, that’s where you sent it last time! He leaps, though; and while there’s a fear he might make it, his outstretched arm limply punches clean air; too late for the ball that just misses the crossbar by inches and sails into the net. The ball causes the net to ripple; and thumps to the ground, momentum stopped by the criss-crossing white lines of the goalmouth.

It’s in. It’s in? It’s in!

The stadium erupts in raucous celebration. Tumbrans who made the journey down to Raynor besides themselves in joy. Neutral Vanorians, more composed, but still celebrating for the team who won. But it’s all a blur to you. The moment it registers, you do what any self-respecting penalty shootout winner does.

You bound off to the corner flag, arms in the air, screaming like a mad person. You’ve just won the Di Bradini Cup.

You’ve just won the Di Bradini Cup.

---

The tall, silver trophy sat on a pedestal atop the podium; the team eagerly awaiting the moment that they would lift the trophy. First went the brave Adabians, who’d attacked, attacked and attacked again; denied only by the defence and Victoria Jones, again and again and again. The lottery of penalties had denied them cruelly; on another day, with another set of minor circumstances, they’d be the ones lifting the trophies, not the Junior Eagles.

Despondent, they still put on brave smiles for the camera. Two losses in two finals wasn’t the best of results to take, but they’d still come through and had reached two finals; this was a dynasty to behold, if Saad Kaykali could muster his forces together.

And then, the victors. They’d come so close; but they’d rallied, come together to concede a grand total of zero goals in the knockout rounds. Zero against Lisander, Lathamford, Abanhfleft and Adab. The defence had won this.

One by one, they went up the podium, receiving their gold medals. Victoria. David. Richard. Annie. Chris. Stephen. Wendy. Ricardo. Barry. James. Tracey. Trudy. John. Susan. Valerie Morris. Ian. Mark. Valerie Wells. Alistair. Lynne. Julie. Nick. Edmund, their manager.

And once it was done, Trudy and Stephen stepped forward, put one hand each on the trophy; and lifted it to cheers and confetti. A year ago, they’d lifted the U18 trophy. Now, here they were, lifting the U21 one. The two smiled at each other as they held the trophy aloft; they were the future. Then, celebrations; the trophy was kissed, caressed, passed around the team, with photos taken, confetti raining down on the team. It was only the Di Bradini Cup, some might have said; but with the senior national team having suffered from a succession of embarrassing group stage exits on the main stage, Tumbra needed to be reassured that they could still win. That there was hope, now, that they could win in the future. If luck were on their side. If they stayed the course.

For now, though? It simply felt good to win.

---

The Next Day
A Plane To Tumbra

A red-eye flight, for some reason, had been scheduled for the team; thankfully, the TFF had appropriately cashed out on their winners. They’d be flying business class back home; first class apparently made the accountants’ eyes water at the expense.

Trudy tuned out the whirr of the plane, eyes trying to adjust to the deep blue night lights. And she looked around. Most of the team was asleep; Ricardo had eye covers on, James just curled up on his seat, awkwardly adjusting his long frame to the curvature of his seat. Victoria and Annie watching a movie together, clad in blankets. Nick holding his remote like a game controller, pushing buttons here and there. Silence, punctuated by occasional “dings”, and, of course, the hum of the outside world.

Funnily enough, the middle of the three seats that Trudy was in sat an empty seat; though it didn’t take much to notice that there was something in it. It was the trophy itself, of course. Finnegan had declined the honour of sitting with it, preferring to discuss the win with the rest of the staff; so it fell upon Trudy to sit with it. Stephen had originally wanted to sit next to Trudy on the flight home; upon hearing that the trophy would be sitting between them, he sounded a bit disappointed; but eventually made do. He was sound asleep, a peaceful look on his face; Trudy cast a glance at him, then looked back outside the window. The deep blue sky outside, with the occasional twinkling light of a star, above cloud level.

Poetic, to say the least. A useful outlet to think. A long flight, where she couldn’t sleep...

She began thinking again. A moment about where she came from. Kingsbury, Georgia. Or at least the very boundaries of what constituted Kingsbury, though after she turned sixteen she essentially was a Kingsbury native —

Something else, something else. Now wasn’t the time.

If not now, then when?

When the time comes, probably. When it comes. If it comes. If preferred over when, obviously.

She looked over again, at Stephen, who’d rolled over onto his back, mouth opened.

Stephen Kerr. Her best friend. Something she thought she’d never really find. A buddy, team-mate, confidante. For most things, anyway. There were some things she wasn’t ready to tell him; hell, she didn’t know if she would be ever ready to let him know, no matter how close the two of them got.

At the same time, she knew that she’d need to tell him at some point. Platonic intimacy came at a cost, of course; the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Yikes.

Maybe one day. She had to face who she was one day, where she came from, and all of that. She couldn’t run from it forever. Maybe facing it with someone like Stephen, who’d always have her back, was better.

Her train of thought was abruptly stopped by a snore; Stephen’s mouth had opened, and the noise really only could’ve come from one location. She rolled her eyes, and smiled.

Idiot.

She leaned over, and tilted Stephen’s head to the side, gently. No stirring from the defender; Good. Evidently he slept very heavily. But it worked; the noise stopped almost immediately. Gently smiling, she relaxed back into her seat, and put on her headphones.

---

Tumbra

Early morning brought with it a descent from the clouds, and a familiar coastline appeared.

Home.

Dark blue gave way to brilliant orange as the sun rose; the squad were gradually roused from their slumber as the plane began zooming in on Couno. Everything looked quintessentially Tumbran after an extended stay in the desert paradise that was Starblaydia and the land of elves that was Valanora. Really, it was just Raynor City, but nothing beat home for most of the squad.

Eventually, the plane landed, and after the trophy was presented; yes, it really was in Tumbra now, after the heartbreak of the fiftieth edition. The squad filed off the plane; there was the usual, red-eyed photo with digitinaries, luminaries and the like; then they were off on another bus ride to the debrief.

Most were thinking of a quick ride home. James, in particular, lived about an hour away from the training centre; he’d be off home almost immediately after the debrief. Some, like Lynne, faced another red-eye flight; this time to Strathcona, Kelssek, to link back up with her team. Trudy would fly back to Anaia; back to Chromatika, back to Chromatik, to see if anyone, anyone at all, could stop Wirr Tsi. She’d probably see Stephen soon enough, anyway. The transfer had been the last thing on their minds during the Cup; having made a decision before flying off probably helped.

The debrief was fast and sharp; Edmund didn’t offer much in the way of detail. He praised the players on a job well done, regaled each one with individual praise (Barry notably received much less than the rest), and hoped for the chance to work with each one of them again. It was the end of a journey, really.

And that was it. They’d won; there wasn’t much else to talk about, though the victory was still setting in for some. It was back to reality, though, and the short sharp shocks they wrought; Strathcona faced a gruelling season trying to punch their way up in Kelssek’s league. Lotus Park in Brenecia had to try their damndest to get promoted. In snowy Quebec, Swanguard was trying to do the same; and Perce was getting ready to transition from the old generation to the new.

It would be back to the corners of the globe for the Nine, though they did now have an additional member in their ranks, to anchor them home.

Boxworth emptied out steadily over the next few days; and finally, it was time for Stephen to bid Trudy goodbye. The negotiations with Chromatik were taking place in Couno; away from Straton, and they were progressing extremely well. The two knew this, of course; so it was less of a “goodbye for another year” and more of a “see you soon.”

Days flew by; contracts were signed, Stephen was confirmed as a Chromatik player quickly enough. For all the drama he’d been through this summer, negotiations with Chromatik were essentially a non-event; the Chromatiks knew how to do business.

Soon, it was time.

---

A Few Weeks Later
Straton International Airport

The Kerr family was gathered at the departures lounge. There was the four of them; Cook the dog wasn't allowed in airports, so his goodbye had to take place earlier. Cook had attempted to prevent Stephen from leaving by thumping his tail on the floor and attempting to pounce on Stephen; but eventually, he relented. And here they were. Bertram, Sylvia, Stephen, Stephanie.

“It’s your big day, Stephen. You’re moving abroad.”

“I guess I am, yeah.”

“How’re you feeling, Champ?”

“Nervous.”

“Yeah. It’s natural. Chin up, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Love ya.”

“Love ya too, pops.”

“Don’t forget to call. And to wrap up. And to not strain yourself too much. It’s cold there, drink more water or your lips will crack. Don’t play too many computer games. Don’t eat too many heaty things…”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, my son’s living away from me for the first time. How could I not?”

“Steph’s lived away from home,” Stephen said, clearly uncomfortable at the attention he was getting compared to his sister; who was hanging around at the back of the pack, looking away uninterestedly, tapping away at her phone.

“Oh, but at least Steph’s still in Tumbra.”

“Mom.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They hugged. Eventually Stephen extricated himself from his mom’s hug; and walked over to Stephanie.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said in her deeper voice. “So, you’re leaving, huh?”

“Yeah. I suppose I am.”

“You’ll get used to it. And I suppose I’ll get used to not having you around the house.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

She smirked. “Who said it wasn’t?”

“Steph, I —”

“Shh...listen. You’re going overseas. You’re going to experience a LOT of freedom. A lot of things are going to be available to you. Use it. Do what you want, don’t get in trouble, don’t get arrested. Work hard — though I’ll be fucked if I know what a footballer does — but also play hard. Have fun. You’re only young once.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you don’t come back to Tumbra with a girlfriend, my suspicions might be correct. Only joking. Only joking.”

“Thanks,” Stephen said in a half sarcastic tone.

“You’re not too bad, I guess.”

“You’re not half bad either.”

The two shared a moment. “Don’t forget us.”

“I won’t.”

“Alright. Go, dork, catch that flight.”

He turned back with his carry-on luggage behind him, and while looking at his family still waving goodbye to him, slowly getting smaller as he walked further and further into the departures lounge.

---

The Flight

Once again, Tumbra grew smaller beneath him; the plane carried on until it was above the clouds once more. He was on the move, again.

Fear, apprehension, wariness, all greeted him. Moving to a new place brought many things; particularly somewhere where he was expected to perform. Chromatik had assured he’d be given plenty of time to settle in; but it was still a very short runway.

Then he remembered Trudy, and her confidence; and soon he remembered everything was going to be just fine. They had each other to rely on, after all; as friends.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends.

And that calmed him as the inky black sky and dark grey clouds enveloped his home behind, the plane steadily climbing to bring him to new adventures. A new frontier.

---

@FrancescoRaviolo Stephen Kerr to Chromatik, ON THE WAY! Full fee 3.5 million. Stephen has accepted Chromatik’s contract offer of six years, agreement reached! ⚫⚪ #CFC #Chromatik #Transfers