There's a certain silence that fills a locker room before a big match. Not the silence of reverence, but one packed with tiny sounds: the tap of boots against tile, the hiss of Velcro straps, the restrained rhythm of nervous breath. Mahmoud entered late, eyes still focused from the morning's instructions he replayed in his mind.
The squad was wound up after days of relentless drills. Coach Muneer was checking the line-up board—tilting his head, then fixing a typo that no one else would have noticed. Mahmoud caught the correction in the reflection of the window: the "6" in his squad number had been inverted, momentarily appearing as a "9". Neither coach nor player commented—it was time for rituals, not questions.
VALYS' interface activated as Mahmoud laced his boots:
"Environment scan complete: Stress markers within normal range. Sleep debt: minus 1.8 hours. Heart rate: 84, slight elevation, attributed to anticipation."
Mahmoud breathed out, steadying himself. He looked over at Kareem, who was adjusting his shin pads, hands trembling for the first time in months.
"Ready?" Kareem whispered, offering a half grin.
Mahmoud nodded, but then, unprompted, found himself repeating the phrase he'd whispered before every match for nearly a year: "Black cat, green grass." No one heard him—no one ever did. But as he looked down, he saw a faint strand of black velcro caught on the green turf at his feet.
Coach Muneer clapped his hands. "On me. Today is about discipline. Rondo drill. Tight circles, limited touches. No stars. Only geometry and sweat. Don't entertain the crowd. Solve the problem in the pass."
The players filed onto the pitch. The air smelled sharp, like cut rubber and rainclouds trying to muscle through the metal roof. Mahmoud's first few passes were solid. He shifted into rhythm, feeling that subtle click when his movements aligned with VALYS' guidance.
But today, something slithered at the edge of awareness. Each time he tried to look for the clock, someone or something was blocking the view—a teammate, a trainer, a stray soccer ball. It had happened before, but never so many times in a single match.
Midway through the scrimmage, the scoreboard glitched—flickering between "1-0" and "0-1." Coach called for a break, looking annoyed more than worried. The tech manager reset the display.
"Old thing just hates the rain," he mumbled.
Inside the huddle, Yasser quipped, "Maybe it's a sign from the universe."
Safi elbowed him. "Or you just can't score in either reality."
Laughter bled off enough tension for the game to resume.
Late in the second half, Mahmoud broke past two defenders, only to stumble right at the edge of the penalty box. The moment his body hit the turf, color bled out from his vision for half a heartbeat, and the world condensed into a tunnel—his breath, the feel of chalk dust, the distant buzz of the crowd beyond the fence.
VALYS intervened instantly:
"Temporary loss of equilibrium. Micro-reset engaged. Resume protocol."
He blinked hard. Kareem was there first, hand outstretched. "You good?"
Mahmoud nodded, faking a laugh. His hands were shaking, but only just.
By full-time, the team had won by two goals, but Mahmoud barely remembered the last twenty minutes. As they clapped off the pitch, Coach Muneer pulled him aside, brow furrowed not in anger but concern.
"You sure you're sleeping lately?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," Mahmoud replied—because it was always easier than explaining the strange dance happening at the edge of his sight.
That evening, in his dorm, Mahmoud opened his notebook. He leafed past old match notes—tactics, drills, mindless stats—in search of… what? He found a page dated months ago. A scrap of writing, scribbled after a dream:
"If the pattern changes, look for the thing that shouldn't move."
A small shiver ran down his spine.
As he closed the notebook, the room's smart clock blinked 21:06. He checked the time on his startled phone.
06:21.
Mahmoud turned the clock to the wall, lay down, and whispered—black cat, green grass—into the dark, hoping tomorrow would make sense.
End of Chapter 32.