Soccer training

Merel plays soccer with passion. She plays in a mixed team, a pleasant mix of boys and girls, where the focus is primarily on the game and team spirit. The changing rooms, however, are strictly segregated, an old-fashioned but persistent rule in the club.

Her trainer, Mandy, is twenty-eight years old. A woman with a tight ponytail and a gaze that could cut through you. She is relentlessly strict and clings to old-fashioned disciplinary measures that the rest of the soccer world has long since abandoned. Merel herself is the quiet type. An introverted girl who never harms a fly. At school and on the pitch, she always does what is asked of her, meticulously avoiding drawing any negative attention to herself.

Training is on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today is Tuesday. The evening air is cooling rapidly, and a strong wind gusts across the artificial turf. The entire team is present, dribbling and passing a ball, waiting for Mandy's signal to start. But Mandy stands motionless, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed slits. Her gaze sweeps over each player, counts, and then settles on an empty spot.

"Where is Iris?" Her voice is sharp, a knife cutting through the sound of the wind.

Everyone looks around. Nobody knows. At that moment, Merel sees a figure sprinting towards the field at full speed out of the corner of her eye. It is Iris, panting, with flushed cheeks and her soccer shoes still half untied.

"Sorry!" Iris calls out, but her apology is lost in the wind.

Mandy's face darkens. "Late," she says, and the word alone sounds like a condemnation. "Bad for team cohesion. Very bad."

Without a moment's hesitation, she commands the whole team. "Everyone! Five laps around the field. Now! Because Iris is late."

A collective, suppressed sigh is heard, but no one protests. With a dragging feeling of injustice, the team begins their punishment laps. Merel runs along, her gaze fixed on the green artificial grass, her stomach in a knot of pity and discomfort.

Meanwhile, Mandy unceremoniously grabs Iris by her ear. "You're coming with me." She pulls the protesting Iris away, not onto the field, but to the sideline where an old, weathered bench stands, usually used for storing training vests...