Chapter 213: Li Kang Captures Stade de Roland Garros

Under the night sky, the white, wave-shaped roof of the Stade de Roland Garros glowed with a purple light curtain, gradually blending with the quiet ancient city.

Halftime break.

Spain 2:1 France.

The spectators were fairly satisfied with this halftime result, unconsciously anticipating the score changes in the second half.

Spanish fans believed: as long as Bosque didn't substitute Li, the match would continue to show a one-sided trend.

French fans, on the other hand, believed: the talented French team would surely be able to turn the game around.

Of course, the most important thing at the moment was to attend to physiological needs.

Fans in the stands gradually left the venue.

Wenger exclaimed in amazement: "That kid named Mbappé, I see Henry's shadow in him... especially his ability to create space for shooting, Anelka and I have mentioned him before!"

Zidane stood up, rubbed his bald head: "Too late, this match will make Mbappé's value skyrocket."

Monaco Club is a famous "black shop" in Europe.

Even though Wenger once led them to win the Ligue 1 title and unearthed the Ballon d'Or winner George Weah, buying players would never come with a discount.

Wenger's smile appeared somewhat bitter.

This summer transfer window, Arsenal temporarily completed only one signing: Zakaria.

But Arsenal had considerably more financial flexibility in this summer transfer window.

"I need to grab some rest, Li's matches always leave me breathless."

Spanish locker room.

The coaching staff analyzed the conceded goal from the first half.

"Our defense had no issues; it was the coaching staff's mistake, insufficient analysis of the French players' information."

"In the second half, we must strengthen marking on Pogba, hinder his advancement in the left half, and also guard against his wide-ranging transfer ability."

"Especially, we need to cut off his connection with Mbappé!"

Bosque called San Jose and Juanfran to one side, patiently analyzing the French team's attacking patterns and Mbappé's characteristics.

Li Kang, meanwhile, used God's perspective to review the French team's formation changes in both attack and defense.

It seemed there was no change.

For now, the French team's tactical changes were far inferior to Germany's.

Two members of the coaching staff were explaining the attacking details for the second half to Morata.

The latter showed an eager, ready-to-try expression.

Most players in the squad were aging; who knows if they'd even make it to the 2018 World Cup before retiring or leaving the top five leagues—I'm the one who can go all the way with Li Kang, so how can I always be a substitute?

Miniñano looked puzzled, lowering his voice: "Boss, are we not playing possession football in the second half? Like Barça, passing and moving... who said that line: possession is the best defense?"

Bosque smiled: "Deschamps is very pragmatic; he should be focusing on this tactic right now, and we have more options."

His gaze then swept over the substitute players...

At this moment, Spain's bench depth was terrifying.

Only unknown how many familiar faces will remain two years from now.

A moment later.

The vast locker room was utterly silent.

As if muteness were contagious.

All Spanish players' moods were very calm.

No ecstatic joy from leading the score, nor anxiety after being equalized by the opponent.

French locker room.

Mbappé's expression was calm, with a faint smile on his face.

Teammates affectionately rubbed his little stewed egg.

This small stone, always silently sitting in the corner of the locker room, could it be the hope for France's comeback?

Deschamps clapped his hands.

"Giroud, put on your safety shorts!"

"Cheer up, lads! Your first-half performance was excellent, the two conceded goals and mistakes had nothing to do with it, and they don't prove your failure!"

"You all know how to deal with that kid Li, right? Don't give him easy confrontations! Maintain good defensive spacing!"

"We're only behind by one goal, there's nothing scary about that!"

"Spain's tactics in the second half won't change much; Bosque fundamentally favors possession play."

"Don't rush, insist on low-position dense defense, there will surely be counterattack opportunities!"

"Pogba, pay attention to linking up with Mbappé! You two are the key to turning the situation around!"

"Kante, your assists have been excellent! In the second half's counterattacks, seize the opportunities to make forward runs!"

"Spain is already old; a single superstar can't save that aging, worn-out warship—the future belongs to you!"

The French team's average age is very low.

A wave of chicken soup left the young players' blood boiling, their gazes toward the head coach filled with frenzy.

Especially Kante, excited to the point that a flush rose on his dark face.

Everyone briefly forgot the fear of being overturned by Li Kang.

Only Pogba remained unconvinced, curling his lip dismissively.

After the applause subsided, the coaching staff began a detailed explanation of the second half's tactical deployment.

Deschamps turned to face the wall, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, chicken soup aside... the French team's situation is very difficult, with only one substitution slot left—what if Li Kang takes out two more players in the second half...

"Nothing can stop us from lifting the trophy at home!"

The fifteen-minute halftime break ended quickly.

Players from both sides returned to the pitch.

The Velodrome stadium erupted again with noise, as tens of thousands shouted in unison, as if making the ancient city of Marseille tremble slightly.

"Good evening, friends watching, welcome back!"

"We are now broadcasting live the 2016 European Cup semifinal!"

"The second half of Spain versus France!"

"The current score is 2:1!"

"Bosque made a substitution adjustment, Morata came on for Yinniesita! This isn't a like-for-like substitution! Are they looking to strengthen the attack?"

"Diego Costa's position should be pulled back a bit!"

Meanwhile.

The number of viewers in the livestream kept increasing.

-【Why did Spain bring on Morata? I don't quite get it, he and Diego Costa aren't really a "tall and fast" combo!】

-【Yinniesita coming off a bit early, I think he could still maintain peak condition for 90 minutes!】

-【He's got a bunch of injuries, being two years younger would still be fine.】

-【After getting past Italy and Germany, Spain is finding their rhythm more and more, this semifinal doesn't carry much pressure,】

-【Messi didn't win the Copa America, this year's Ballon d'Or is a foregone conclusion.】

-【Right, Li Mingdeng won both the Golden Boy Award and the Ballon d'Or, didn't he?】

Accompanied by the referee's whistle.

The second half officially began!

France had possession.

The ball rolled quickly across the pitch.

The sea breeze fluttered the red and blue jerseys.

Pogba once again became the focus of the crowd.

"France's advance hasn't faced much obstruction!"

"In this European Cup so far, Pogba has fully demonstrated his ability to receive the ball in midfield, advance, and shake off defenders!"

"Saúl and Casemiro's double team!"

"Beautiful! A burst of acceleration! The French genius nimbly slipped past!"

"Eh?"

As the words fell.

The close-up audio equipment transmitted a sharp 'pa' sound.

Pogba fell to the ground.

The ball slid out over the byline.

Diego Costa brushed grass off his backside and kindly helped the opponent up.

He's a forward-defender trained by Simeone and Mourinho.

Coordinating with Saúl and Casemiro's interceptions, a follow-up tackle and physical contest just knocked the ball away.

Pogba forcefully shook off the Chelsea forward's hand, gesturing to the assistant referee to protest the opponent's foul.

The referee jogged over, signaling him to calm down.

"From the slow-motion replay, there was no foul, it was a very clean challenge."

"Oh, Diego Costa's follow-through just now was quite fierce, but it's hard to constitute a yellow-card offense."

"Hope Pogba doesn't get provoked!"

"Don't repeat Zidane's mistake!"

On the sidelines.

Deschamps looked worried.

The Spain before him now seemed unfamiliar again.

Not only was there no high press up front, but it seemed they were imitating themselves, dragging the defensive line back to the edge of the penalty area.

Li Kang's movement also seemed odd... he had retreated to the front of the defensive line.

Play resumed.

Evra threw in a touchline.

Matuidi controlled the ball, scanned his teammates' positions, hesitated slightly, then passed it to Mbappé, who had tracked back.

Pogba raised his hand in confusion, hearing Diego Costa's friendly greeting from nearby.

After receiving the ball, Mbappé quickly turned.

French fans in the nearby stands instantly erupted into enthusiastic applause and cheers.

A little-known kid, at this moment became their hope!

"He's very fast!"

"Mbappé shows confidence beyond his years! I'm really looking forward to seeing what heights he'll reach in the future!"

"How did Spain leave the left side of the penalty area so open?"

"San José and Juanfran have shifted inward, Spain must have someone come out to press and disturb..."

"Li Kang!"

In Mbappé's view, the figure of Spain's number six appeared.

Facing the terrifying genius midfielder, the little boiled egg showed no sign of panic, even wearing a faint smile.

He had been following Li Kang's matches for a long time.

He had always been envious, purely envious.

He originally thought he would only make a name for himself on the Champions League stage next season, but he didn't expect the applause and flowers to come so quickly.

The distance between the two was getting closer and closer.

The spectators couldn't help but become excited.

What program could be more exciting than the showdown of young geniuses?

Perhaps at this moment, he was witnessing the birth of a legendary moment.

Both head coaches were paying attention to the players' running positions and distribution.

Bosque calmly and composedly unscrewed the mineral water, as if everything was under his control.

Deschamps was so excited he could barely stand still.

In his view: Spain was too careless, Li Kang might not be able to stop Mbappé.

As long as he gets past him and sweeps the ball into the penalty area, the French team has a chance to equalize!

Mbappé roughly judged the distance between himself and his opponent, then with his right foot he nudged the ball near the baseline, attempting to slash into the penalty area diagonally.

Still the old routine,

The young Monaco forward doesn't like fancy dribbling tricks.

"His ball protection is like Henry's!"

"Will Li Kang not be able to keep up?"

"He kept up!"

"He predicted Mbappé's dribbling line very accurately!"

"Frontal interception!"

Nesta's phantom did not appear.

But his teammates had already coordinated and matched Li Kang's blocking runs, cutting off the connection of the French team's left-wing attack.

Still a trapped beast fight.

On the outer line of the penalty area, Li Kang stood in front of Mbappé.

The latter again pushed the ball with the outside of his left foot, then suddenly accelerated!

Extremely simple speed burst, without any feint.

"Here it comes again!"

"Eh?"

Just as the football was about to break free from Mbappé's control range,

Li Kang seemed to have anticipated the opponent's intention in advance, raising his left foot early and touching the ball first!

Mbappé couldn't resist his inertia, stumbling forward a few steps.

On Xiao Luodan's face, confusion was written all over!

Where is the ball?

The French team's attack suddenly stalled.

The whole stadium was confused.

From the audience's perspective: Li Kang calmly and effortlessly controlled the ball, just like a car mechanic who suddenly removed the tire of Mbappé's sports car!

Deschamps stared blankly, not yet fully recovered, and saw the football swiftly swept to the front!

Pogba angrily spat out a curse, then immediately turned back to defend!

"Beautiful!"

"Precise lofted long pass."

"Found David Silva in the front!"

"Spain's this attack-defense transition is too smooth!"

"Look at this counterattack!"

"Frontline two versus four!"

Mbappé shook his head, feeling a bit disappointed inside.

The black mist of the True Eye instantly shrank, satisfied and drifting away with the wind.

Li Kang almost couldn't help but want to pat the other's Xiao Luodan.

He really likes... it's the True Eye that really likes defending this kind of single-focus center-of-gravity change, and heaven-defyingly talented super genius striker.

No time to like it.

In his vision, the phantom of the Xiao Maoju suddenly appeared.

Anxious neighing urged him to run quickly.

On the center circle line.

Manchester City midfield VS Paris Saint-Germain midfield!

David Silva made a connected stop and go, elegantly shaking off Matuidi's pressing tackle.

The spectators didn't even have time to send out applause.

The football left the ground.

In mid-air, it traced a beautiful parabola.

"Beautiful!"

"Spain's midfield masters are too many!"

"The football flew over Koscheln's head!"

The space for a counterattack has opened up!

This lead time is too perfect!

Why aren't you running yet?

Morata had a psychological shadow; only after confirming he wasn't offside did he begin to activate!

His hesitation also allowed Umtiti to complete his turn!

The spacious French backfield.

Both of them rushed toward the landing point of the football at the same time!

"Both of their speeds are very fast."

"Morata isn't good at physical confrontations... huh?"

"What's going on?"

Afraid of physical confrontation? Well, you'd better see who the opponent is.

Umtiti, who hasn't been trained by Enrique yet, is fundamentally no match!

Besides shooting, Morata's other attributes are all perfect.

Pa!

Peng!

The speed of Juventus' godlike striker ultimately surpassed that of Lyon's defender by a step!

Long leg lifted, trapping the ball.

After both feet landed.

Sidestepped with resistance, then accelerated again!

The young Umtiti was like a marshmallow fallen to the ground, forcibly squeezed away!

"Beautiful!"

"One-on-one!"

"Morata!"

Sideline of the pitch.

Mininyano wore an expression of utter disbelief.

Bosque frowned tightly, instinctively covering his chest.

The other side.

Deschamps wore a look of shock.

Why?

Why has Spain also become so pragmatic?

The entire crowd's gaze gathered in the French team's thirty-meter zone.

Morata's heart felt a little excited.

His private life is very clean; although he has a handsome face and is a hotly tipped new generation of European strikers, he has never indulged in decadence, and rarely even interacts with the opposite sex.

Just a few nights ago.

His online girlfriend of many years finally agreed to a date after the European Cup.

Decided.

The goal celebration action was to face the camera and express his passion to Alice!

Football and love share the most beautiful connection.

Facing the advancing French goalkeeper Lloris.

The image of Morata's online girlfriend instantly vanished from his mind.

"Lloris is very decisive!"

"His rushing out speed is very fast."

"His explosive power is too strong."

"The timing of his block was pinched perfectly, his positioning sense is very good!"

"Look at how Morata handles it—he slowed down... is he choosing to dribble past the goalkeeper and then shoot directly?"

"Ah! He didn't get past him, the ball is still under his control!"

"He can't hesitate anymore."

In this era, among young new-generation goalkeepers in the top five leagues, Lloris's rushing out ability stands alone.

He often doesn't aim to destroy the ball himself, but uses every means possible to delay the opponent's attack.

This greatly violates football conventions, going against the textbook rules for goalkeeper rushes... yet it often works miraculously.

Morata's dribbling and evasion are very strong; during his deceleration, he made a handsome feint, but didn't fool the French goalkeeper!

The essence of dribbling is a battle of balance.

Left with no choice.

He could only accelerate again, dribbling the ball toward the sideline.

Lloris's steps were very steady, maintaining a subtle distance in position, giving the opponent no chance to change direction!

"Not panicking!"

"No big problem."

"Lloris being able to overpower veterans and become France's number one goalkeeper is not without reason!"

The spectators were very anxious.

The Spanish bench was also anxious.

The French bench was getting more anxious.

Each side was like having bet on two different racehorses, still neck and neck before the finish line, unable to decide a winner!

How many years since I've seen such a hesitant and comical solo effort!

Morata felt a bit panicked inside.

He could even feel someone catching up!

Definitely not David Silva, this guy is slow.

Two black shadows came from behind, one on the left and one on the right.

Evra and Umtiti!

The 36-year-old former Manchester United full-back can still run!

His defensive ability remains as solid as a rock!

"France's recovery speed is very fast."

"Evra is old but strong, he just participated in the front-line attack!"

"Morata is going to lose this ball!"

"There's nothing we can do!"

"But Spain has shown deterrence..."

In the chaos.

In Morata's view, a touch of red appeared!

Like grabbing a life-saving straw.

Juventus' perfect striker outside the shooting area, grabbing the life-saving straw!

Pa!

At the moment he was squeezed out of the sideline by Evra, he sent the ball out!

The French fans and Deschamps, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly opened their mouths wide.

Li Kang and Mbappe?

Them again?

What kind of speed do these two guys actually have?

And there's Pogba too!

The camera followed the football's erratic trajectory.

Yes.

It's erratic.

Under interference, Morata couldn't guarantee pass quality; getting it out was already good!

Lloris ran back desperately, unable to resist looking back at the ball's path.

Deschamps stared blankly.

Gazing at the empty second half, he kept comforting himself.

Impossible to shoot directly!

Under the joint interference of Pogba and Mbappe... Li couldn't possibly shoot directly!

Exactly!

The quality of this pass is also terrible!

At the Vélodrome Stadium, the fans were almost out of breath.

Spain's number 6 on the green field... simply had God's perspective, judging the ball's path earlier than Pogba and Mbappe.

Everyone's eyes gathered at the landing point!

Li Kang looked up at the plummeting football.

The phantom of the little foal gradually faded, replaced by a golden phantom of a bald head.

White number 5!

Mbappe suddenly accelerated, heavily pressing toward Li Kang, but at the moment of close contact, he was bounced back several steps by a powerful force.

Pogba followed closely, trying to contest the landing ball, but was held back by the opponent's back!

The two little black eggs could only watch Li Kang lift his left foot...

That was an exaggerated lift height.

Accompanied by an even more exaggerated leg swing.

The sea wind fiercely blew the red jersey.

Li Kang seemed to bathe in flames.

The bizarre shooting posture made Huan Xuan and He Wei only think of one phrase: descent of the gods!

Accompanied by an exaggerated shooting motion to the extreme.

The football emitted an extreme explosive sound.

Peng!

In an instant!

As if flying fire meteors illuminated the night sky of France!

In a flash, everyone on the field seemed to hear bursts of explosions!

The wind howled wildly!

Lightning flashed and thunder roared!

Gale and sudden rain!

Luo Li suppressed the despair in his heart and fought desperately to save everything.

Too late.

There are too many things in life that come too late.

That unpredictable football ultimately shattered his last stubbornness.

It shattered the hopes of French fans.

It shattered Deschamps' deployment.

The Velodrome Stadium was instantly drowned out by sighs.

3:1!

!

After Duan Xuan and He Wei were silent for a few seconds, they went crazy with commentary.

"Flying Immortal from Beyond the Heavens!"

"Goal of the Century!"

"The Miracle of France!"

"How wonderful!"

"An indescribably great moment!"

"Super moment!"

"He is the master of the Velodrome Stadium! He conquered Marseille!"

"Hat-trick!"

"An 18-year-old youngster completed a hat-trick in the European Cup semi-final!"

"Just like Napoleon back then, he conquered all of France!"

"God descended to earth!"

"The king has descended!"

Trembling voice without end.

Fans in front of the TV stared blankly at the screen.

The whole world.

Every corner of the earth, countless faces... were shaken by this goal.

Live broadcast room.

The big screen replayed the entire goal process from all angles...

-【Breaking the Moon Embracing the High Peak, Meteor Brushing the Dawn Sky...】

-【Li Kang is awesome!】

-【Handsome to the point of stupidity.】

-【I didn't get to see Zidane's Flying Immortal from Beyond the Heavens with my own eyes... Li Kang fulfilled my wish today.】

-【Am I watching an animated cartoon? What is this? Is this a ball humans can kick?】

-【Li Mingdeng locked in that Puskas Award! Locked in the European Cup Golden Boot! Even aiming to create a record!】

-【God descended to earth! European Cup semi-final hat-trick!】

-【Playing the semi-final like it's the final?】

-【What European Cup full of stars, only Li Mingdeng shines the brightest!】

-【Feels like we're back in Simeone's playing days, midfielders have more shooting chances than forwards.】

-【I dragged the progress bar back a bit... Damn! What's going on here... Are Li Kang and Mbappe participating in a track and field competition?】

Stand area.

Zidane's pores all over his body relaxed, his hairs stood on end.

He couldn't help but stand up, raising both hands.

That was a goal he could never replicate in his lifetime... today, someone did it!

Clap!

Clap clap clap!

The applause didn't draw angry glares from the surrounding French fans, but instead fell like snowflakes, triggering an avalanche in the Velodrome Stadium.

Tens of thousands of people in the whole stadium.

All couldn't help but give the most enthusiastic applause for this exquisite and perfect beautiful goal.

No other sound could deny the Spanish number 6 on the green field.

This night.

Someone conquered France.

Only Wenger, amidst his joy, revealed a bitter smile.

The 1.5 billion on the account had never seemed so shabby...

Sideline of the pitch.

Bosque jumped up excitedly!

The usually composed old man began hysterical celebration.

His big belly trembled with the amplitude of his jumping.

It seemed not to be celebrating the goal that killed the suspense.

But to celebrate Li Kang's extraordinary performance.

Substitute players all got up from their seats, rushed to the sidelines to shout wildly.

Miniano was so excited he couldn't pull himself away, and he excitedly hoisted a crate of bottled water.

On the other side.

The French team's bench was shrouded in silence.

It seemed out of place amidst the surrounding clamor.

Every face was clouded with worry.

Deschamps rubbed his face hard, unable to conceal his inner astonishment.

Desperate straits.

The French team had fallen into desperate straits.

Even if Morata had scored a one-on-one, it wouldn't have completely crushed the French soldiers' spirit.

Madrid.

Benzema stood in front of the television, his mood complex.

He even unconsciously began to imitate Li Kang's shooting stance...

How on earth did he manage it?

Li's luck must be too good, right?

It has to be good luck.

Zidane himself once said he could never again in his lifetime perform a move like the Flying Immortal from Beyond the Skies...

Suddenly, a rush of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh no, Karim, your social media account has been overrun by thousands of netizens!"

"They're saying..."

"It's all Benzema's fault!"

On the green field.

The bald silhouette faded away with the wind.

Li Kang was surrounded by his teammates, accompanied by wave after wave of cheers, and he was tossed high into the air.

Morata hurriedly said: "Li, I suddenly thought of you just before I wanted to shoot, and I knew you would come!"

Everyone burst into laughter.

One side's joy contrasted with the other's sorrow.

Pogba stood there, lost and overwhelmed with mixed emotions.

Is this the genius midfielder who rivals me in fame?

Lloris plopped down onto the grass, his hands hanging limp.

Evra patted his shoulder, comforting him: "Don't blame yourself; get up from where you fell! Li might very well transfer to the Premier League next season, and then you'll have many chances to beat him!"

Mbappé jogged all the way to the net area, lifted the ball, his expression showing not the slightest ripple.

The football was placed back on the center circle line.

"Bosque made a second substitution adjustment."

"Atletico Madrid's youngster Kok comes on for David Silva!"

"Spain is going to play with three defensive midfielders!"