Chapter 221: The biggest disaster in European Cup final history has occurred!

The scales of victory tilted toward the Bullfighters' army.

Portugal had few chances to threaten the opponent's dangerous zone.

Instead, they were frantically pressed by Spain.

They couldn't win the midfield battle, and the whole team couldn't function.

João Mário couldn't even touch the ball, let alone feed C Luo a shot.

"Under Li Kang's organization and linking, Spain displayed a seamless coordination."

"The midfield cores of several European powerhouses gathered together, their control and dominance are terrifying!"

"Just by using changes in rhythm, they could leave the opponent helpless."

"Oh, we saw C Luo also joining the defense, with a very proactive attitude!"

"One person can't make any difference."

Pepe and Fonte are suffering terribly.

Facing Diego Costa at his peak, it's really hard to stop him without fouling.

Moreover, there are Cazorla, Yinniesita, and David Silva, three 'assist cheats'.

What's more terrifying: Li Kang occasionally joins the attack!

Portugal's defensive line is shaky.

Fortunately, goalkeeper Patricio regained some form, making high saves and repeatedly defusing danger.

"A genius goalkeeper with limitless future!"

"His performance in this European Cup has been incredibly heroic!"

15th minute of the match.

João Mário exploded with hidden potential.

Yes.

Just like a hidden passive talent.

This guy occasionally loses it; when he does, it's like he's turned on a cheat.

Pa—

He timely assisted Fonte, stealing the ball from Diego Costa's feet.

"Portugal's counterattack!"

"The ball is lost again!"

They hadn't advanced a few steps.

Li Kang completed the tackle, quickly dribbling forward.

The whole Spanish team was like a red torrent, unstoppably washing over the opponent's penalty area.

Continuous quick passes.

Exquisite coordinated runs and passes.

The ball's trajectory was like a blade.

Portugal's defensive line was as thin as paper, sliced to shreds.

Cazorla's left foot outside instep sent a strange diagonal pass; Carvajal received the ball and evaded William Carvalho, delivering a highly concealed exquisite through-ball, completely tearing through Portugal's defensive line.

Diego Costa held off Pepe, then instead of shooting, he laid it off to the better-positioned David Silva.

Manchester City's midfielder fired a curling shot from the edge of the penalty area!

Patricio gave his all; his white gloves barely managed to parry the shot!

"This ball wasn't cleared far!"

"Danger!"

"Beautiful, and it's in again!"

Li Kang miraculously appeared near the penalty spot, lightly pushed the shot, and scored!

3:0!

!

France Stadium.

Applause thundered.

"Lee!

"!

"Lee!

"!

"Lee!

"!

Li Kang was surrounded by his teammates.

Spanish and neutral fans shouted hoarsely.

It reached the ears of Portuguese fans like a funeral dirge from hell.

They couldn't believe what was happening before their eyes.

This is the grand stage of the European Cup final.

How could it be so easy to score?

Spain isn't the German team!

How could they play so easily?

In the stands.

Dino and Berenta were extremely excited.

Wo Le Er sighed: "Germany losing to this Spanish team is no regret; the bullfighters' dynasty has completed its revival, possessing an unsurpassable midfield dominance."

Tuopu Laotou clapped: "In two years' World Cup, it may not be certain... perhaps this is the last glow Spain leaves to the world."

Time passed minute by minute, second by second.

Bosque started to yawn.

Santos's face turned ashen.

The one-sided crushing momentum killed all suspense.

Portugal not only had its defense repeatedly broken, but its mental defense also gradually loosened under the opponent's constantly changing attacks.

It's too difficult.

It's too agonizing.

19-year-old Sanchez, his eye sockets reddened, his fists trembling.

He finally understood the feeling when Sendros encountered Drogba.

The Spanish number six before him was like a demon king.

Pepe really wanted to vomit.

He is 34 years old this year.

His stamina in his youth seemed inexhaustible.

Now, in Spain's extreme rhythm changes, he was forcibly drained, his stamina plummeting, in a wretched state.

A dimensionality-reducing blow.

With the help of this bunch of second-rate defensive partners, the invincible armada before him was far more terrifying than any opponent he had faced in his career.

Diego Costa, loitering nearby, even disdained to use trash talk and petty moves...

Despair.

Despair occupied the hearts of all Portuguese.

The Stade de France held only cheers not belonging to them.

On the pitch.

Only a figure wearing the number 7 jersey kept running back and forth.

He was so wretched.

Perfect passing lines, like the strings on a puppet, controlled the direction of his running.

Just like a country boy who had just walked out of the Madeira Peninsula, in the world he had experienced, he was subject to ridicule and bullying.

Helpless.

Bewildered.

Meaningless futile resistance.

Finally consumed by a heart that refuses to yield.

Shortly after.

Pressing to no avail.

He angrily swore at his teammates behind him.

Santos hurriedly waved his hand.

If we increase the number of pressers up front, the defense will be torn apart in minutes!

"The Spanish team is gradually slowing down the pace."

"Even with a three-goal lead, we still need to look after the stamina of these veterans like Yinniesita."

"Cazorla and David Silva also have old injuries."

"The Invincible Armada is getting closer to the Henri Delaunay Cup!"

"C Luo raised his hand toward the back, urging teammates to intensify the pressing rhythm up front."

"A resolute gaze,"

"He is still persisting."

"Oh no, why is C Luo limping when he runs?"

"It must be an old knee injury!"

"The knee joint is the most complex joint in the human body and the hub of the body's kinetic energy!"

"C Luo sat down on the grass!"

"Can he no longer persist in the match?"

C Luo took off the captain's armband and painfully sat on the grass.

His eye sockets reddened.

His expression could not hide his loss and unwillingness.

The moment he took off his shin guards, tears streamed down uncontrollably.

Yinniesita hesitated slightly, then kicked the ball out of bounds.

The head referee blew the whistle to stop the match, signaling the team doctor to come onto the field.

The Stade de France, at this moment, had no boos, only sighs from Portuguese fans.

It seemed the dream of winning the championship ended abruptly with C Luo's collapse.

He bore the hopes of countless fans,

The close-up camera moved to his face.

A moth fluttered its wings, landing between the eyebrows.

At this moment.

It seemed as if the whole world felt the sorrow of Portugal's number 7.

"From a rural boy who walked out of the Madeira Peninsula, trampling through mud... he grew through hardship into the world's most watched superstar."

"Fate played a joke, stopping his journey in the French European Cup in the most helpless way."

"The butterfly could never cross the vast sea."

"A hero fell on the road to his dream."

"Twelve years of reincarnation."

Live broadcast room.

-【What butterfly? That's a moth!】

-【The corner flag, goal net, and turf are full of insects and moths!】

-【I just appreciate you fans who don't understand romance.】

-【Once he's off the field, Portugal will show its true strength.】

Quaresma came off the bench.

The match resumed.

Li Kang suddenly noticed: Portugal's overall attack and defense had risen a notch.

The defensive positioning was kept extremely reasonable.

The offense could launch a well-organized three-dimensional counterattack.

Losing the offensive core, all Portuguese players unleashed their nature, as if breaking the shackles that bound everything.

"The Spanish team is still controlling the tempo."

"Nice, Portugal won the ball back!

"

"Santos and Quaresma's combination!"

"Infected by C Luo's spirit...

"This is leadership quality! Even though he can't continue the match, his spirit still inspires his teammates."

Second half.

C Luo received treatment, then returned to the bench.

He couldn't help but stand beside the veteran coach Santos, overstepping his bounds... loudly directing the team.

Portugal quickly collapsed.

In the end, the crushing defeat was unavoidable.

Finally.

Beep! Beep-beep~

The main referee blew the whistle signaling the end of the match.

Spain 6:0 Portugal!

In the history of the European Cup final, the biggest tragedy has occurred!