A tense, almost suffocating atmosphere filled the player tunnel.
No one knew what awaited them once they stepped through.
Victory—or defeat.
Every player wanted to win, and because of that, everyone understood just how much this match meant.
Some instinctively licked their dry lips.
Some kept wiping sweaty palms against their jerseys.
Others prayed—eyes open, then shut again.
Outside the tunnel, the roar of the crowd swelled, the vibrations almost shaking the ground beneath their feet.
In that instant, heartbeats quickened across the line. The match was about to begin.
Kai slowly exhaled. His eyes hardened with resolve. Suddenly, he shouted:
"Brothers—let's go!"
The China Team erupted in response.
"Let's go!!!"
By contrast, Spain's side felt strangely quiet.
There were no rallying shouts, no gestures of encouragement.
When Kai's voice rang out, Cazorla opened his mouth instinctively—then stopped himself.
Pure reflex.
At the club, Kai always fired them up like this.
But now, Kai stood on the opposite side.
The starting lineups were announced:
China Team (4-4-2)
Goalkeeper: Tong Lei
Defenders: Zhuo Yue, Gao Leiliang, Fernando Kairui, Guan Zhe
Midfielders: Guo Liang, Kai, Yu Hao, Che Jingdao
Forwards: Chen Man, Wang Yi (C)
Spain Team (4-2-3-1)
Goalkeeper: Casillas (C)
Defenders: Alba, Ramos, Albiol, Juanfran
Def. Midfielders: Koke, Xabi Alonso
Att. Midfielders: Villa, Iniesta, Cazorla
Forward: Torres
On paper, the difference was obvious.
For China, only Kai and Wang Yi truly stood out.
Spain, on the other hand, was packed with big names—an all-star lineup by any standard.
But football wasn't played on paper.
If star players lacked cohesion, confidence, or form, they could still be beaten.
And in terms of mentality, compared to China's rising momentum, Spain carried an unmistakable air of stagnation.
When March of the Volunteers began to play, hundreds of millions of Chinese fans in front of their televisions sang along.
Pride shone on every face.
Inside the stadium, Chinese supporters were even louder.
After the coin toss between Wang Yi and Casillas, China won the kickoff.
As the two teams settled in their halves, Kai noticed Chen Man staring fixedly at Casillas as he moved towards his goalpost.
"What are you looking at?" Kai whispered.
Chen Man turned his head, grinning.
"He looks out of it."
Kai chuckled softly.
"You still haven't given up on that idea?"
Chen Man snorted.
"Just wait."
Kai shook his head, letting him be.
As long as it was within the rules, a goal was a goal.
The cheers from the stands rose another notch.
Kai stood directly opposite Cazorla.
Right now, Spain's most dangerous player wasn't Iniesta or any of the other household names—it was Cazorla, the man who could break lines on his own.
And Kai's assignment was clear.
Handle Cazorla.
On the other side, Cazorla adjusted his breathing, nerves creeping in.
He was genuinely tense.
Because standing across from him was Kai.
He had never imagined that one day his club captain would become his opponent. At Arsenal, every crushing tackle and timely interception from Kai had energized the entire team.
That wall had been crucial to their Premier League title.
Now, that same wall stood in his way.
The pressure was enormous.
"Can you deal with Kai?" Iniesta asked quietly.
Cazorla hesitated, then slowly shook his head.
"I'm not sure. I've never really faced him seriously."
"What about training?" Iniesta pressed.
Cazorla fell silent.
Iniesta didn't need an answer.
"It's fine," he said calmly. "We'll support you."
But Cazorla wasn't convinced.
He knew Kai too well—and Kai knew him just as well.
That familiarity gave Kai a clear defensive edge. And unlike the few players Kai truly feared, Cazorla didn't have overwhelming speed.
Beep—!
Referee Nawaf Shukralla from Bahrain blew the whistle.
The match began.
China kicked off and immediately played the ball backward.
Spain's high press came fast and fierce, forcing China to send the ball long. Wang Yi couldn't win the aerial duel, and possession changed hands.
China remained calm.
They knew maintaining possession against Spain was unrealistic.
Their chances would come through disciplined defense and sharp counterattacks.
As expected, Spain began circulating the ball.
China pressed and counter-pressed relentlessly.
At Spain's peak, this kind of pressure wouldn't have mattered.
But now, with form clearly declining, their passing rhythm lacked its former smoothness.
They looked… heavy.
That alone proved China's approach was working.
Just three minutes in, Iniesta switched the ball to Cazorla, giving him space to create something on his own.
But the moment Cazorla received it, Kai was already there.
Cazorla tried to control and turn—
No space.
Kai was immovable.
With his back to the goal, Cazorla nudged the ball forward, searching for an opening.
The pressure from behind didn't ease.
It closed in.
Every touch was disrupted.
In the end, Cazorla had no choice but to pass the ball back to Iniesta.
At the same moment, the pressure vanished.
Cazorla glanced at Kai's retreating figure, frustration flickering across his face, then refocused on the match.
"Cazorla—he couldn't get past Kai!" Duan Xuan exclaimed.
Seeing Cazorla, who had danced past defenders throughout the tournament, completely shut down brought visible relief.
Tao Wei smiled.
"They're club teammates. They know each other inside out. But from that exchange, Kai clearly had the upper hand. He'd already started closing in—if Cazorla had waited even a second longer, he would've lost the ball."
In the stands, Chinese fans leaned forward in anticipation.
And they didn't have to wait long.
Iniesta slipped past Yu Hao and attempted a through ball to Torres.
Suddenly—
Guo Liang slid across and cleanly intercepted, knocking the ball straight to Kai.
"Guo Liang! What an interception!" Duan Xuan shouted.
It was perfectly timed.
Kai didn't hesitate.
With a soft touch from his right foot, he immediately struck the ball with his left.
Bang!
The ball soared high, curving diagonally into the space behind Spain's full-back.
Alba sprinted back at full speed.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.
The red No. 7 was catching up.
Faster.
Closing in.
Alba was quick—but this was frightening.
Chen Man reached the drop point first, leapt into the air, and headed the ball back toward the center.
"Chen Man with the knock-down!"
Wang Yi charged in.
He cushioned the ball, keeping it close, aware of pressure from behind. He shifted his body, used his shoulder to bring the ball down, and prepared to turn.
Ramos stepped in.
His hand shot out, gripping Wang Yi's jersey, yanking hard.
Wang Yi went down immediately, arms raised.
The referee sprinted over and pointed decisively.
A foul.
China had won a free kick in a dangerous position.
"Wang Yi—what a touch! The turn—ah!"
Duan Xuan's voice rose, then fell with clear regret.
"He's pulled down by Ramos! But China wins a free kick!"
"The forwards are already moving up, preparing to attack the aerial ball."
On the pitch, Kai stood calmly just outside the box with the ball in front of him.
If Spain's defensive pressure had been lighter, he would have gone forward to challenge for the header himself.
But with the risk of a rapid Spanish counterattack, Kai deliberately stayed back, taking responsibility near the eighteen-yard box. His technique was among the best in the national team.
At the moment, he was China's second-choice penalty taker—and their primary set-piece specialist.
As he scanned the movement ahead, Kai tried to locate Wang Yi, only to see him tightly surrounded.
Understanding instantly, Kai raised an arm into the air.
The Chinese players nodded.
Beep!
Kai struck the ball.
A low, sharp daisy-cutter of a pass.
Wang Yi peeled away from the crowd, controlled it cleanly, then flicked it with a backheel toward the left flank.
Guo Liang was already there, lifting the ball forward with ease.
After a brief exchange, the ball was sent back into the middle.
But the delivery drifted too close to the goal.
Casillas reacted first, charging out to claim it.
The set-piece came to nothing.
"Tsk."
Kai frowned, clicking his tongue in frustration. It had been a real chance—one they'd let slip.
Almost immediately, he waved his arm, signaling everyone to drop back.
The Chinese players retreated in unison, like a receding tide.
Casillas, who had been considering a quick counter, abandoned the idea upon seeing China's swift defensive reset.
Holding the ball in one hand, he walked toward the edge of the six-yard box, scanning the field for options.
What he didn't notice—
Was the figure quietly drifting away behind him.
Kai noticed instantly.
Chen Man was moving his legs in apparent frustration, slowly walking out of the box.
But his eyes were locked onto Casillas.
Kai muttered under his breath,
"No way…"
The next second, Casillas tossed the ball down in front of him.
In that instant—
Chen Man exploded.
Like a cheetah unleashed, his acceleration was terrifying as he charged toward the ball.
Ramos and Alba spotted the danger at the same time.
"Watch out!"
"Danger!"
Casillas heard the footsteps and lunged forward in panic.
Too late.
Chen Man got there first, poking the ball away with his toe. Despite Casillas grabbing and dragging at him, he staggered forward and, in the most awkward posture imaginable, stabbed the ball toward goal.
It rolled.
Slowly.
Straight toward the net.
For a split second, the entire stadium fell silent.
Ramos sprinted back desperately, throwing himself into a slide, stretching every inch.
But he was half a step short.
The ball crossed the line.
BOOOM——!!!
The Baixada Arena exploded.
Chinese fans leapt to their feet.
Six minutes.
Only six minutes into the match, and China had scored.
Was it a beautiful goal?
No.
Did it matter?
Not in the slightest.
They used the rules.
Fair and square.
"Chen Man! Chen Man! Chen Man! CHEEEEEN MAAAAAAN!" Duan Xuan roared.
Tao Wei sat frozen for a moment.
Then the words slipped out before he could stop himself:
"Holy…!"
As commentators, they had seen countless goals.
But this?
This was rare.
And the mistake came from Casillas himself.
Chen Man sprinted wildly toward the corner flag.
He stopped, puffed out his chest, lifted his chin, legs paired straight, and snapped into a crisp military salute.
His grandfather had been a soldier, and this had become Chen Man's signature celebration.
The gesture was solemn.
The expression was not.
Mischievous or not—
They had scored.
"Unbelievable!"
"Damn it!"
"That's it, Chen!"
Chinese players swarmed Chen Man, dragging him into a chaotic embrace.
This goal was so unexpected that even they hadn't seen it coming.
Six minutes.
A perfect start.
In the commentary booth, Duan Xuan was still praising him.
"Chen Man's awareness was outstanding—he pretended to retreat, stayed unnoticed, and struck the moment Casillas let his guard down!"
Tao Wei shook his head.
"This World Cup has been brutal for Casillas. That was a fundamental error."
The camera cut to Casillas.
He knelt near the edge of the box, hands clutching his head, staring at the ball resting in the net—his face filled with regret, bitterness, and disbelief.
"Ah… Casillas," Duan Xuan said softly. "I still remember the glorious Saint Casillas of 2010. Four years have passed in the blink of an eye—even legends can't escape time."
"This was a serious mistake, but I hope people don't judge him too harshly."
The blow wasn't limited to Casillas.
The entire Spanish team looked shaken.
Confusion filled their eyes.
They had arrived dreaming of another title.
Instead, everything had unraveled in the group stage.
Mistake after mistake.
The contrast was stark—
China celebrating wildly.
Spain sinking in silence.
Spanish fans stared blankly, their expressions hollow.
A loss to the Netherlands.
A draw with Chile.
And now, elimination was looming.
No one understood how it had come to this.
But the truth was clear—
They were simply playing poorly.
Chinese fans, meanwhile, were euphoric.
Chen Man's sneak attack had handed China the perfect opening—an early lead and a massive psychological blow to Spain.
On the bench, Liu Hongbo and the coaching staff were celebrating just as wildly.
No one had imagined this start.
No one—players or coaches—had expected Chen Man to make that decision.
That made it even sweeter.
As the celebration faded, Kai reached out and pulled Chen Man to his feet.
Chen Man grinned, breathless.
"What did I tell you? He's a bit out of it—right?"
Kai laughed.
"You got lucky. If anyone had warned him, you wouldn't have pulled that off."
Chen Man waved him off.
"Doesn't matter. Did it go in or not?"
Kai raised his thumb.
"Brilliant."
Chen Man accepted it proudly.
Laughing, the Chinese players jogged back to their half.
Spain, by contrast, looked grim.
Conceding in the sixth minute was a devastating blow.
The already heavy atmosphere grew even darker.
Still, Spain refused to give up.
Driven by frustration, their attacks became more aggressive—almost reckless.
Kai organized the defense, eyes never leaving the field.
It was obvious now—Spain had issues.
Their passing lacked fluidity. Everyone wanted to solve the problem alone.
The rhythm slowed.
For China, that wasn't bad news.
What they feared most was Spain's intricate passing and constant movement.
Individual play was far easier to contain.
Kai also noticed something else.
Spain's attacks were slow.
Too slow.
Sideways passes. Backward passes.
Very few decisive balls forward.
They stretched the pitch, but without penetration, the threat diminished sharply.
Of course, danger still existed.
That danger lay in the connection between Xabi Alonso and Torres.
Two former Liverpool partners—one long pass could still change everything.
But China was ready.
They sealed off the far post, blocked the forward runs, and left no space behind.
No chances.
Not this time.
...
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