"This guy's seriously strong," Fernando Kairui muttered, rubbing his chest.
He'd absorbed the collision, but the pressure still left his breathing slightly tight.
Kai walked over and asked quietly, "Can you handle him?"
"Of course," Fernando said, puffing out his chest. "He plays on instinct. Once I lock down the first touch, he won't be able to change direction."
Kai nodded. "Stay sharp."
"Don't worry."
As Kai moved away, Fernando's expression hardened.
It sounded simple—but it wasn't.
Diego Costa was never an easy opponent.
Still, Fernando had no intention of asking for extra help. Kai was already covering an enormous amount of ground. If he needed constant protection as a center-back, that meant he wasn't doing his job.
Becoming a burden was unacceptable.
"Gao!" Fernando shouted. "Wake up—let's deal with these guys!"
"Let's go!" Gao Leiliang roared back.
The shout lifted spirits, at least briefly.
But cracks still appeared.
"Damn it!"
When Zhuoyue lost his man, Fernando stepped up immediately to cover. That movement forced Gao Leiliang and Guan Zhe to shift across as well.
The chain reaction opened space at the far post.
The ball floated in—and Cazorla moved to attack it.
But Kai surged forward, rose first, and headed it clear.
A collective breath was released.
As he landed, Kai shouted, "Slow it down! Don't rush—stay with your man!"
In the commentary booth, Duan Xuan couldn't hide his admiration.
"Kai is the textbook example of a world-class defensive midfielder," he said. "His defensive awareness and positioning are outstanding."
Tao Wei nodded. "Spain's struggles are directly tied to Kai's presence. Right now, this Chinese team simply cannot function without him."
But new problems were emerging.
Spain began focusing their attacks down the left.
"Left side!" Kai warned.
A second later, Zhuoyue hauled Villa down with almost everything he had.
Whistle.
Yellow card.
Kai rushed over. Zhuoyue was soaked in sweat, chest heaving violently as he tried to catch his breath.
Kai recognized it immediately—fatigue.
He glanced at the sideline. Liu Hongbo had already sent Xu Cheng and Gong Peng to warm up.
Changes were coming.
And it wasn't just Zhuoyue.
Several players were approaching their physical limits.
Even Kai himself didn't feel great.
Only ten minutes had passed since the second half began.
"Can you hold on?" Kai asked.
Zhuoyue forced a grin. "I want to say yes… but my legs are starting to shake."
Kai nodded. "Hang in there a little longer."
Zhuoyue took a deep breath and nodded back.
Another set piece for Spain.
Ironically, Spain's flowing passing hadn't worked all game—but their set pieces kept creating danger.
After tasting success, they leaned into it, deliberately forcing fouls.
Costa, Ramos, and others crowded the box.
The pressure intensified.
Costa wasn't Torres—his physical presence was far more imposing.
Fernando and Gao Leiliang alone might not be enough.
Fernando was strong in the air, but his reading of the ball's flight wasn't perfect.
Kai made the call himself.
He stepped in to mark Costa.
Fernando and Gao Leiliang shifted to contain Ramos.
The penalty area became a tangle of bodies.
Costa leaned into Kai, trying to back him down.
Kai held his ground.
Neither man gained an advantage.
It came down to anticipation—and jumping.
Kai trusted his leap.
Costa trusted his instincts.
All eyes turned to Iniesta.
The run-up.
The strike.
Kai prepared to jump—then stopped.
In the next instant, he spun and sprinted toward the far post.
The crowd was thick. He couldn't accelerate properly, forced to weave through bodies.
Too late.
Cazorla was already there.
Instead of shooting, he cushioned the ball back toward the center.
Kai shouted instantly, "Watch Costa!"
Too late.
Costa exploded upward, body arched back, then snapped forward.
Bang.
The header flew into the corner.
Tong Lei reacted—but couldn't reach it.
Spain had equalized.
There was no celebration.
Costa grabbed the ball from the net and sprinted toward midfield.
The Spanish crowd, silent for so long, stirred.
What if?
Back on the pitch, the Chinese players didn't look pleased.
It was only one goal—but it mattered.
After relentless set-piece pressure, Spain had finally broken through.
Kai looked toward the sideline.
Liu Hongbo was already signaling.
In the 65th minute, after Costa's goal, China made changes.
Guan Zhe came off for Xu Cheng.
Zhuoyue was replaced by Gong Peng.
Gong Peng, a defensive midfielder by trade, had experience at full-back. He wasn't flashy, but he was disciplined.
Given the circumstances, it was a sensible adjustment.
"China responds with two substitutions," Duan Xuan said. "Spain's pressure on the flanks has been relentless. The full-backs held on admirably, but set pieces finally broke them."
He straightened his tone. "Still, we mustn't lose faith. Spain needs six more goals. With 25 minutes left, that's an enormous task."
Tao Wei added quietly, "But China has loosened up a bit in the second half."
His gaze followed Kai.
Wang Yi wasn't the type to shout.
If someone was going to speak up, it had to be Kai.
On the field, some players looked relaxed.
After all, Spain was still six goals short.
"Pull yourselves together!"
Everyone snapped their heads around.
Kai stood there, eyes blazing.
"That was the first goal," he barked.
"This lead wasn't given to us—we earned it. And if anyone thinks it's safe, you're wrong."
He scanned every face.
"Stop hoping they'll give up. This is how teams like Spain create miracles."
"Think about what happens if this slips away."
Silence.
The message landed.
No one wanted to imagine that ending.
A comeback?
The thought alone sent a chill through the Chinese players.
After building such a huge advantage, if they still managed to throw it away, the backlash would be unbearable. Fans wouldn't just be disappointed—they'd be furious.
That realization jolted everyone awake. Their eyes sharpened, their focus snapping back into place.
And Kai finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
For the moment, the situation had stabilized—but no one was naïve enough to feel safe.
Spain was coming again.
Perhaps emboldened by their first goal, Spain launched a renewed, aggressive assault.
This time, everything revolved around Costa.
Previously, Spain had relied on Costa mainly as a link-up point for the midfield. But asking a battering ram to play with finesse had always been unrealistic.
Now they'd adjusted.
The plan was simple: get the ball into the box and let Costa finish.
Iniesta and Cazorla were finding far less space with Kai constantly shadowing them. Villa was barely able to step into the penalty area at all.
So Costa became their last hope.
And to his credit, he delivered.
Shot after shot came crashing in. Most were blocked, some skimmed the post, and others forced desperate saves.
Kai couldn't spare any attention for Costa. His responsibility was still Iniesta and Cazorla.
Inside the box, only Fernando Kairui and Gao Leiliang were left to deal with Costa.
They fought hard, but Costa grew more confident with every attempt. With endless service coming in, he was firing relentlessly.
The tension in the stadium was palpable.
Duan Xuan said anxiously,
"Spain has finally found their rhythm in attack, and it's putting enormous pressure on China's defense."
Tao Wei followed up immediately,
"They have to stop Costa. They can't let him keep shooting like this."
Everyone could see it—Costa was finding his touch. One clean look, and disaster could follow.
"Gao, cover me! I'm stepping up!" Fernando shouted.
He charged in, with Gao Leiliang sliding across behind him.
Fernando's press wasn't as explosive as Kai's, but it was fierce and committed.
Still, Costa's size told. A twist of the hips, a strong turn—and Fernando was momentarily pinned behind him.
Just as Costa drew back to shoot, Fernando lunged in from the side and poked the ball away with the tip of his boot.
Time ticked on.
China's defense felt like a small boat in a violent storm—rocked constantly, but somehow still afloat.
Kai glanced into the box, then upfield.
He saw Wang Yi already pushing forward again. Even Wang Yi had dropped deep earlier to help defend, but now, sensing a brief lull, he was moving back into attacking positions.
Chen Man was the same.
He'd been relentless all match, tracking back repeatedly to help Kai contain Cazorla while still offering an outlet going forward.
Around the 65th minute, he'd even sprinted from the center circle to chase down Cazorla, disrupting Spain's buildup entirely.
By now, everyone was running on fumes.
Kai was no exception.
Bent over with his hands on his knees, sweat poured down his face. The camera lingered on him.
"Wow—look at that," Duan Xuan exclaimed worriedly.
"This first time I have seen Kai this tired."
Tao Wei nodded.
"We used to tell Wang Yi to play with less pressure. Now Wang Yi's freer, and all of it has landed on Kai's shoulders."
They exchanged a knowing look.
Kai's control of midfield had held the entire structure together.
But the gap in overall strength was still there.
The attack was good enough. Wang Yi and Chen Man could carry the front line.
The problem lay deeper.
Kai was almost carrying the midfield alone.
Fernando fought desperately at the back.
Gao Leiliang's experience helped, but age was catching up.
The full-backs struggled with recovery and pace.
The framework existed—but it wasn't complete.
Chinese football needed more.
Thump.
Kai pinned the ball under his foot, using his body to shield it from Cazorla.
Right now, he was thinking about time. How to slow it. How to disrupt Spain's rhythm.
He'd love to control possession—but he knew better. Against Spain's press, a few careless passes could be fatal.
If necessary, the ball had to go long.
Iniesta stepped in from the left.
Kai shoved Cazorla aside, created a sliver of space, and launched a long ball downfield.
"Slow it down—run!" he shouted.
As Chen Man sprinted, he cursed under his breath,
"Damn it…"
The pass was fast and urgent. He had to go all out to reach it.
After everything he'd run tonight, his legs were screaming.
Still, he stayed level with Alba.
Just as they converged, Chen Man found one last burst.
"Get out of the way!"
He smashed the ball clear.
Not a shot—just survival.
The ball sailed over the crossbar and into the stands.
Chen Man bent over, gasping.
Then he turned, forced a grin for Kai, and gave a thumbs-up.
Kai simply nodded. The clearance had done its job—time, finally, had been bought.
But Spain refused to waste any.
The goalkeeper launched it straight back into midfield.
Kai's expression darkened.
"Drop back!"
China retreated once more, forming a compact wall in front of the box.
Another stalemate.
Chinese fans stared at the clock, hearts pounding. Even with such an advantage, the fear never quite left.
Spanish fans were no calmer.
Ten minutes had passed since the equalizer.
Fifteen minutes remained—maybe twenty with stoppage time.
Six goals in twenty minutes?
Even belief had limits.
And from the commentary booth came the familiar line:
"Time is running out for Spain."
Time really was running out for Spain.
Their attacks looked orderly, even elegant, but the moment they entered China's penalty area, they ran straight into a wall of pressure—tight marking, bodies flying in, passing lanes slammed shut.
Iniesta and Cazorla both considered taking matters into their own hands.
But Kai was there.
Watching. Waiting.
The slightest mistake, the faintest hesitation—and he was already stepping in.
Iniesta's footwork was still world-class. Even with his physical decline, his technique remained a clear advantage.
Yet tonight, he was miserable.
Under Kai's relentless pressure, his success rate in one-on-one situations was shockingly low. It felt as if this midfielder could read his mind—always arriving exactly where Iniesta planned to go.
What made it worse was that Kai wasn't just strong. He was flexible, agile, and capable of making emergency adjustments that shouldn't have been possible with that frame.
Iniesta slipped the ball to Cazorla and, watching Kai surge forward again, let out a quiet sigh.
"Does this guy ever get tired?"
Cazorla trapped the ball and immediately turned, using his body to shield it.
Thud.
He and Kai slammed together, neither giving an inch.
Cazorla held his ground—but only just. Keeping the ball under control felt like trying to protect a flame in a gale.
The pressure was overwhelming.
He had seen Kai's intensity before, back in club matches. But then, they were teammates. From that side of the pitch, it was impressive—almost admirable.
This was different.
Now, with everything on the line, that pressure felt suffocating.
Cazorla was exhausted. And yet, logic said Kai—who had been attacking and defending nonstop—should be even more tired.
Cazorla almost suspected his opponent had a second engine hidden somewhere.
Then—
Suddenly, the pressure behind him vanished.
His body instinctively leaned back.
His expression changed instantly.
Not good.
Before he could react, a hard shoulder slammed into him from the side. His balance collapsed, his line broken—
And the ball was gone.
"Kai!!! The steal!!!"
Duan Xuan's voice exploded through the broadcast.
"I've lost count of how many successful tackles Kai has made tonight, but to still press like this in the final moments—this is unbelievable!"
Tao Wei couldn't hold back either.
"Is China about to counterattack?!"
Kai answered with action.
The moment he won the ball, he didn't even lift his head.
A sharp, driven pass skimmed along the grass.
Like a blade.
The ball sliced between Ramos and Albiol. Albiol stretched a leg desperately, but it brushed nothing but air.
At the same time, Wang Yi burst forward from deep, sprinting diagonally into space.
Ramos turned and chased, closing rapidly.
Just as they were about to collide, Ramos shifted right, trying to lean into Wang Yi and knock him off balance—
And hit nothing.
He stumbled forward, completely wrong-footed.
By then, Wang Yi had already hit his second acceleration.
He collected the ball cleanly and stormed into the penalty area.
The stadium erupted.
Chinese fans exploded in sound.
Spanish fans covered their eyes.
Inside the box, Wang Yi slowed down, his gaze fixed calmly on Reina.
As Reina began to drop and spread himself, Wang Yi flicked his ankle—
A delicate chip.
"Wang Yi——!!!! This ball—!"
Duan Xuan almost screamed.
The shot drifted beautifully, skimming just under the crossbar—
Clang!
It struck the bar and bounced away.
Wang Yi froze, disbelief written all over his face.
Alba sprinted back and hacked the ball out to the sideline.
"Oh my God!!!"
Duan Xuan clutched his head.
"The crossbar again! That's the second time!"
Wang Yi dropped to his knees inside the box, shaking his head in frustration.
But it was only frustration—not despair.
He glanced at the clock.
Eighty-seven minutes.
Spain still needed six goals.
There was no miracle left.
A faint smile crept onto Wang Yi's face.
Even if Spain scored one more, they were still five goals short.
The score remained: 1–1.
Spanish players stared at the scoreboard, then closed their eyes in anguish.
They knew it.
Their once-every-four-years summer was over.
Spain's World Cup had ended here.
"There are three minutes of stoppage time," Duan Xuan shouted.
"These are the final three minutes! If China holds on, they will reach the World Cup knockout stage for the first time in history!"
Even with the odds overwhelming, no one dared tempt fate.
Still, praise poured out.
"This team is on the verge of history. Since 2002, twelve long years of waiting—three World Cups of hardship, countless young players heading to Europe, grinding through elite leagues—everything has led to this moment!"
"Wang Yi! Kai! Chen Man! Fernando Kairui! History will remember these names! They've carried the Chinese flag onto the World Cup knockout stage and made the March of the Volunteers echo through Brazilian skies once again!"
"Yes, Spain is still attacking. They're the defending champions, and they've played with pride. But these young Chinese players stood firm under that pressure. They fought through this Death Group and earned this place. Who dares say this qualification isn't deserved?"
"They deserve every bit of this applause!"
...
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