Losing Van Vi, Hoang Duc before the FIFA ASEAN Cup: What does Indonesia see in Vietnam's wounds?

The substitutes' bench at My Dinh Stadium that night was empty in a very particular way. Not because the stands were sparsely populated, but because three jerseys lay still in the dressing room. In the world of Southeast Asian football, ahead of a FIFA ASEAN Cup, never has Vietnam been spoken of in such a curious yet cautious language. An Indonesian sports newspaper last week no longer wrote much about Shin Tae-yong's tactics; they reserved their columns to count how many cards coach Kim Sang Sik still had left in his hand. I remember a seasoned colleague in Da Nang once said: "People count goals. I collect the moments they fall and rise again." For the Vietnam national team, two weeks before the tournament, the falls of Ho Van Vi and Nguyen Hoang Duc are not just numbers on a page. They touch the tactical bloodstream that Kim Sang Sik has built since his first days in charge. The context was set in an October friendly where Vietnam defeated Indonesia 3-0, with Van Vi opening the scoring and Hoang Duc providing two assists. That victory was not just a result; it outlined a clear tactical image: Van Vi's left-flank speed as the bait, and Hoang Duc's central creativity as the conductor. When both are absent, the question Indonesian media raises is no longer "Are Vietnam stronger?" but "Are Vietnam still themselves?" At recent training sessions at the Vietnam Youth Football Training Center, Kim Sang Sik has been experimenting more at left-back. Van Vi, with his pace and overlapping runs, is often the first link in defensive-to-attacking transitions. He is not the type to score many goals, but his presence stretches the opponent's shape, creating room for central midfielders to tuck inside. When he cannot play, Vietnam loses an attacking dimension and, more importantly, a way to escape pressing from their own half. Hoang Duc's story, meanwhile, is tied to passes that tear open defences. In the latest win over Indonesia, his two assists came from set-piece situations where his spatial reading was maximised. Without Hoang Duc, Vietnam's midfield may remain solid thanks to the mobility of other midfielders, but the quality in the final third—the very thing that made the difference against Indonesia—will certainly be eroded. Indonesian media, as cited by Vietnamese outlets, does not hide a mixture of caution and a flicker of hope. They remember that in the 2026 AFF Cup, Indonesia were eliminated by a single goal from a set piece. Now that two of those set-piece specialists are missing, they wonder if fortune might smile on them. But deep down, they know that a Vietnam without Hoang Duc and Van Vi still possesses players who can change the course of a match in one moment. There are stories that do not begin with goals, but on the bench where someone is listened to for the first time. For young players like Nguyen Thai Son or Nguyen Dinh Bac—names being floated as replacements—this is the chance to prove what they have long harboured: that a place in the starting eleven is not given, but taken. I recall standing in a small stadium in Buenos Aires, watching a local women's team play with only ten players on the pitch. They lost 0-2, but after the match, the youngest player told me: "When we lose people, we do not lose the idea. We only lose one way of executing it." That sentence echoes in my mind every time I think of Vietnam ahead of the FIFA ASEAN Cup. Kim Sang Sik certainly does not lack ideas. The question is whether the substitutes can execute those ideas in a tournament where every mistake is costly. Indonesia, on the other hand, also have their own losses. Their media are walking on eggshells, avoiding the trap of overconfidence. They know that in Southeast Asian football, the most underestimated teams are often the ones with an unbreakable spirit. Indonesia has fallen into that trap many times: they arrive with high expectations, only to leave with regrets. Doubt was once my companion in the early days as a reporter. Now it is a shadow I have learned to sketch. For Kim Sang Sik, the media's doubt about Vietnam's squad depth could become motivation for bolder experimentation. In that jersey, I see a Vietnam that is not necessarily weaker, but perhaps more unpredictable. Van Vi and Hoang Duc are big pieces, but a portrait is never made of just two pieces. What makes me believe that lies in how Vietnam has overcome similar circumstances. In 2026, before the AFF Cup, Vietnam lost two key players to injury, yet it was the substitutes who created a memorable run to the semi-finals. Nobody remembers the list of absentees; they only remember those who showed up. In the longest night at SEA Games 2026, I learned to hear the breaths of an empty stadium. Just like now, before an ASEAN Cup, people are not only asking about tactics, but about spirit. Indonesian players may be whispering to each other that this is their chance. But football is strange: when everyone thinks they have understood a team, that is often the moment the team changes completely. Looking at Vietnam's preliminary squad, I see young names, less talked about but carrying the hunger of a new generation. They may not have Van Vi's speed or Hoang Duc's tactical vision, but they possess something time cannot take away: the readiness to prove themselves. And if Indonesia believes that the absence of two stars will weaken Vietnam, they may face a bigger challenge than they imagined. The real story is not about who is absent. It lies in how the Vietnam team responds to the question posed by the crisis itself. Will they retreat into safety, or will they accept risk to discover a new version of themselves? The trajectories of the ball will not lie. The FIFA ASEAN Cup is where those answers are written, not only with feet, but with the hearts of men willing to rise from the substitutes' bench and step into the spotlight. Kim Sang Sik's equation is not simple. He needs a lineup that can press high while maintaining solidity when losing the ball. He needs players who can play short and long passes, transition quickly while knowing when to slow down. His challenge resembles replacing two musicians in an orchestra before a crucial night: the score remains, but the timbre will change. Whether the audience notices the difference depends on how well the new musicians blend into the collective melody. As for Indonesia, they face a paradox: the more they believe Vietnam are weakened, the greater their risk of losing necessary focus. Their media may paint an easy victory, but on the pitch, the players know that in the ASEAN Cup, no match is easy. It would be more interesting if Indonesia looked at the space left by Van Vi and asked: "Do we dare push forward on that flank?" Because if they do, they may awaken something they are not ready to face: Vietnam's defence, anchored by Duy Manh and those around him, remains a concrete block. Do Duy Manh, less mentioned in recent analyses, might actually be the most important piece. His experience is something no young player can replace overnight. He has experienced suffocating matches, fateful penalty shootouts, and tremendous media pressure. His absence might not be noted tactically, but emotionally, it is a loss that cannot be measured in xG or possession percentages. At the end of the day, Southeast Asian football is witnessing a power shift. It is no longer the story of a dominant Thailand or a Vietnam rising as a phenomenon. Now, every team can beat anyone on a good day. Indonesia, with their young and fast squad, have shown that. Vietnam, with their stability and depth, remain a potential champion. And when they look at each other's wounds, they realise that this tournament will be decided not by stars, but by those who rise most strongly after falling. Let these final lines not become a prophecy. Let them be a reminder that football is always full of surprises. The FIFA ASEAN Cup is coming, and there, the substitutes' bench is not just a place to wait. It is where new stories are born.