Because the match was scheduled for noon and the Chinese national youth team had reached the final of the FIFA World Youth Championship, the spotlight was intense. Media coverage swelled, and fans flooded the city with excitement, creating a buzz that extended far beyond the stadium walls. Every move of the team was being scrutinized. Cameras clicked, microphones extended, and helicopters even hovered above the team hotel in intervals—adding to the circus-like tension in the air.
Given the high-profile nature of the match and the swarm of reporters lingering outside, Yang Yang had no choice but to stay inside the hotel. Stepping out, even for a short walk, would risk being mobbed by fans or baited by journalists looking for a quote.
To maintain focus and composure, Yang Yang turned to what had always grounded him—training.
That morning, he began his routine inside the hotel's modest but well-equipped gym. Under the close supervision of his personal fitness coach and mentor, Winston Bogarde, he performed a controlled session of muscle activation drills—light resistance bands, joint mobility routines, and core stabilization exercises tailored for match-day readiness. The session was designed not to tire him, but to wake his muscles up, increase blood flow, and prime his body for the tempo of a high-intensity final.
Once finished, he moved to the indoor pool, gliding through the water with long, fluid strokes—more meditation than exercise. The quiet splash of the water was a welcome escape from the noise outside.
Bogarde observed everything from poolside, stopwatch in hand, occasionally calling out adjustments. He was a man of few but precise words.
"Come on, Yang," he said, offering a towel and a firm nod of approval as Yang Yang emerged from the pool. "Don't let the pressure creep in. The closer we get to kickoff, the calmer you need to be. Let the chaos stay outside."
Yang Yang, dripping and refreshed, chuckled as he slapped a high-five into Bogarde's open palm. The two shared a bond that went beyond trainer and player—Winston was a mentor, a steadying presence since Yang Yang had first stepped into European football. If anyone knew how to guide a young talent through the intensity of finals, it was him.
But as relaxed as he tried to seem, even Yang Yang couldn't completely deny the tension. Pressure, after all, was part of the game.
That said, with two years of professional football under his belt—including appearances in a UEFA Cup final, a Champions League semifinal, and an Asian Cup final—he had developed an instinctual tolerance for high-stakes situations. Nerves still existed, but they were dulled, transformed into a kind of focus rather than fear. The anticipation that once crippled now sharpened him.
This psychological conditioning allowed him to remain collected in nearly all circumstances. Even in the heat of controversy or a tight scoreline, Yang had learned to process moments quickly and react with clarity.
Sometimes, though, he deliberately chose to appear different.
For example, in the Asian Cup final against Japan, when he put pressure on the referee, he intentionally made himself look angry and dissatisfied. His reactions were calculated—not born of real frustration, but aimed at influencing the referee's decisions. He knew that in crucial matches, showing intensity could sway officiating, or at the very least, raise doubts in the official's mind.
That emotional display also had an effect on his teammates. His visible outrage lit a fire in those around him, injecting urgency and belief into the squad when it was needed most.
But in truth, Yang Yang's heart had remained calm throughout. He was fully aware of what he was doing.
...
After his morning session in the gym and a brief swim, Yang Yang rejoined his teammates for breakfast.
There was a quiet focus in the air. Plates clinked, cutlery scraped gently, but voices remained low. Everyone understood what lay ahead.
After the meal, the players returned to their rooms for a short rest. Not long after, they gathered in the hotel's conference room for the final tactical meeting before the match.
Per the coaching staff's request, the session was strictly limited to players and technical personnel. Even the team leader and administrative officials were absent. Eckhard Krautzun wanted his players to feel as little external pressure as possible.
As the players took their seats, the German coach stood at the front, facing them. The room darkened slightly as a projector flicked on behind him, casting tactical diagrams onto the screen.
"I believe everyone already knows—our opponent is Argentina," Krautzun began, his voice calm but direct. "A strong South American side, full of talent."
He paused, pacing slowly in front of the screen.
"But this isn't the classic Argentina we're used to. Not the slow, methodical buildup, not the technical overload. Their current coach, Francisco 'Pancho' Ferraro, was managing Gimnasia y Esgrima de Jujuy, a small club, before he took charge of the U-20 national team earlier this year. He's only been with them six months."
The screen shifted behind him, showing statistics and match results from the South American Youth Championship in February.
"They weren't dominant in qualifying, but they were consistent. Nine matches, no losses, four draws. It wasn't until the final game that they secured qualification—Messi scored the winner in a 2-1 victory over Brazil."
The image changed again, displaying Argentina's route through the current tournament: group stage to knockout rounds.
After qualifying, Argentina traveled to the Netherlands for the World Youth Championship. They advanced from the group stage and defeated Colombia, Spain, and Brazil on their way to the final.
Colombia had been crowned champions of the South American youth tournament earlier that year, with Brazil finishing second and Argentina third. But now, in the World Cup, Argentina had found their rhythm and form.
Their transformation wasn't just in results—it was tactical.
Originally lining up in a traditional 4-4-2, they struggled in the opening match, losing to the United States. In response, Ferraro shifted to a 3-5-2, a system that better suited their mobility and tactical flexibility. Their wingbacks became essential, constantly tracking up and down the flanks. Depending on the phase of play, the team oscillated between 3-5-2 and a more defensive 5-3-2.
Back in the conference room, Krautzun resumed speaking.
"The change made them much more dangerous," he said, highlighting the formation shift on the screen. "Their wingbacks are aggressive. Their midfield presses high. And in the final third, they have one name that changes everything: number 18, Lionel Messi."
A fresh slide appeared behind him, showing Messi's stats across both the South American Championship and the current World Youth Championship—goals, assists, minutes played, touches in the final third.
"This kid is critical to their setup," Krautzun said, his voice more serious now. "If we have a heart in Yang Yang, then Messi is the same for them."
Messi's influence on the Argentine team was clear. Every match, every phase of attack, filtered through him.
It was no surprise the media had dubbed the final a "duel" between Yang Yang and Messi—a narrative that had taken off rapidly in both domestic and international headlines.
But within the team, the reality was more grounded.
Everyone in the room understood that, in terms of experience, Yang Yang stood on higher ground. He had already played in continental finals, navigated elite-level pressure, and performed on stages Messi had yet to reach.
Messi, while undeniably talented, had only recently debuted for Barcelona's senior team. His appearances were few, his role still peripheral. There was talk of a contract renewal, with media reports revealing that Barcelona had sent representatives to Utrecht just the day before. Messi's new deal reportedly included a massive €150 million release clause—a testament to his potential more than his current status.
But even so, Krautzun didn't downplay the threat.
"Our challenge isn't just Messi," he said. "It's the entire Argentine system. They're compact, disciplined, and they excel at counter-attacking. If we concede first, it'll be very hard to claw our way back in. They're not Brazil—they won't leave gaps."
His voice deepened slightly.
"Our backline is solid, but not invincible. And Messi… if you give him space, he'll punish you."
Krautzun clicked forward to the next slide.
"So here's the strategy. Our best chance is to strike first. Push them early, force them to abandon their shape. Once we take the lead, we pull back and hit them on the break."
He paused for a beat.
"The risk? We may not score. And if we don't, we'll be vulnerable. That's the trade-off."
The players absorbed every word. The weight of the situation wasn't unfamiliar—they had been underdogs before—but today's opponent was on another level.
They all knew it: the margin for error was razor-thin.
Unsurprisingly, all eyes turned to Yang Yang.
He knew this wasn't the biggest match of his career—not even close—but it was the most symbolic for this group. For the national youth team. For the future of Chinese football.
He raised his hand and asked a question in English.
"Coach, if we commit to attacking from the start… how long do you think we can sustain it?"
Krautzun didn't hesitate.
"Fifteen minutes. No more."
An interpreter quickly relayed the exchange to the rest of the squad.
Yang Yang nodded.
"Alright. I'll do everything I can to get us a goal within the first ten. If it doesn't come, we drop back into our counter-attack plan and stay patient."
Krautzun looked at him with quiet respect.
"Good. Everything begins with you."
Yang Yang turned to his teammates, many of whom had followed him throughout this entire journey. He met their eyes one by one before speaking.
"Let's focus. Everyone play your game, give everything, and we'll win this."
In that moment, he wasn't just the team's best player—he was its core, its calm, its rallying point.
The room nodded with him.
...
...
The FIFA World Youth Championship was one of the premier stages for the world's rising football talents. And now, with China's national youth team storming through the tournament as an unexpected contender, global attention had sharpened around this final like never before.
The showdown at Galgenwaard Stadion in Utrecht was completely sold out—25,000 fans filled every seat.
From the team's hotel at Mitland, the route to the stadium was flanked by fans waving Chinese flags, wearing red kits, and holding up handmade banners. Many were hoping for a glimpse of the players as the team bus rolled past. Some had made the journey from China; others had come from across Europe. Many, despite their best efforts, hadn't been able to secure a ticket.
The frustration showed on their faces. Some stood in alleyways or outside pubs broadcasting the match. The stadium's limited capacity left no room for latecomers or miracle seats. The idea of changing venues had been floated weeks ago, but it was impossible to organize at such short notice.
As the bus neared the stadium, the noise intensified. Excitement buzzed in the air like static, and the players inside the bus could feel it. There was no mistaking it now: this was the final.
Inside the stadium, it was clear who had the majority of support.
A vast section of fans wore red, waved Chinese flags, and chanted in Mandarin. Their voices rose together in waves, forming a sea of support that overwhelmed the air. They weren't just students or immigrants—they were part of something bigger. A national wave of hope.
Many locals had joined them.
Yang Yang, already a household name in the Netherlands thanks to his phenomenal performances with Ajax, was a fan favorite. His name and number were visible on signs, scarves, and even replica Ajax kits customized with the Chinese flag. He wasn't viewed as a visiting prospect—he was embraced as one of theirs. In two seasons, he had done more than most players twice his age, winning titles and scoring in the most decisive of matches. The Dutch fans admired him not only for his skill but for how quickly he had made their league his playground.
So it wasn't surprising that the Dutch, for all their neutrality, had thrown their support behind the Chinese team—behind Yang Yang.
When the players of the Chinese National Youth Team stepped onto the pitch to warm up, the atmosphere ignited. The crowd roared. Flares lit up. Chants and songs echoed across the stadium.
Then came the most powerful moment: the singing of the Chinese national anthem by the fans. A thunderous, emotional wave that swept over the players like a surge of electricity.
Some clenched their fists. Others stood still, absorbing the moment with awe.
Yang Yang, however, stayed calm as ever.
He didn't get caught up in the emotion. Not because he didn't feel it, but because he had long since learned to master it. To his teammates, his composure was a stabilizing force. Wherever he went, calm followed. Confidence, too.
Then, a few minutes later, Argentina entered the pitch on the opposite side.
The crowd reaction was respectful but subdued. The support was there, but the stadium didn't stir for them the same way it had for China.
Yang Yang's eyes scanned their lineup, and then settled on a short figure wearing number 18.
Lionel Messi.
It was the first time they had laid eyes on each other in person.
Messi's head slowly turned, and soon the two were staring across the pitch, locked in a quiet, motionless moment. No hostility. Just silent tension. Mutual recognition. The kind that only exists between competitors destined to be measured against one another.
Yang Yang raised a hand slightly and gave a soft nod in greeting.
Messi responded with a brief wave—calm, composed, and respectful.
But Yang Yang couldn't know what was really stirring inside him.
Behind that quiet demeanor, Messi's heart was raging.
For months, he had lived in Yang Yang's shadow. The Chinese star who had already conquered Europe, who had scored in Champions League finals, who was being compared to Messi before Messi had even fully stepped onto the professional stage.
And now, here he was—face to face.
Messi had been preparing for this moment. Training harder than ever. Pushing himself not just to win for Argentina, but to prove something more personal: that he belonged on the same level. That Barcelona didn't need another wonderkid when they already had one.
This was more than a final for him.
...
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