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"Pass it!"
"Over here! Over here!"
"Watch out!"
Bang!
Clang!
Lance bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
That last sprint had nearly killed him.
Fortunately, Morata's shot had struck the outside of the post. Otherwise, Belgium would have been in serious trouble.
Thirty minutes into the match, Spain had completely seized control.
Using their trademark possession-based football, they kept Belgium pinned back under relentless pressure.
Lance could already feel his teammates reaching their limits.
"The Spanish National Team are in excellent form today. Their attacks have been threatening from the very beginning."
"Koke has controlled the rhythm perfectly on both ends of the pitch."
"It's a shame they haven't converted their chances yet. Seven shots and still no goal."
"Meanwhile, Belgium are suffering from the same problems we've seen before. The attack lacks chemistry, and the defense is full of holes."
"If Lance hadn't repeatedly dropped back into defensive midfield to cover and intercept, Belgium's situation might be even worse."
The opening thirty minutes flew by.
The pace at both ends of the field was so intense that fans could barely catch their breath.
The commentator couldn't help turning to Xu Yang beside him.
"It looks like Belgium still haven't solved their problems."
"It's difficult for Lance to carry both the attack and the defense at the same time."
"How can Belgium break this deadlock?"
Xu Yang spread his hands helplessly.
Who was he supposed to answer that question?
This was no longer a tactical issue.
After a helpless laugh, he replied:
"It seems we can only hope the star players step up."
Before he could even finish speaking, a deafening roar erupted from the stadium.
The commentator's heart sank.
Not good!
Spain launched another attack.
Iniesta failed to break through and immediately recycled possession, passing the ball back to Koke.
After spending so much time with Lance at Atlético Madrid, Koke had gradually picked up some of his habits.
While Lance's Spatial Perception was a system ability, constant exposure had allowed Koke to develop a similar intuition.
Just a little of it.
But sometimes a little was enough to change a match.
Without waiting for a teammate to begin his run down the right wing, Koke instinctively lifted a chipped pass forward.
Even he hadn't expected Pedro to burst forward at exactly that moment.
For an instant, Pedro felt as if he had returned to Barcelona's golden era.
The pass reminded him of Xavi.
Beautiful!
Pedro controlled the ball inside the penalty area and shot immediately.
Courtois had no chance.
He could only watch helplessly as the ball flashed into the net.
"GOOOOOOOAL!!!"
"Pedrrroooooo!!!"
"Spain score first!"
The Spanish commentator practically exploded with excitement.
The Spanish supporters inside the stadium erupted as well.
Their cheers swept across the entire arena.
Belgium's players could only watch dejectedly as Spain celebrated.
As Koke ran past Lance, he offered an apologetic smile before joining his teammates.
Standing with his hands on his hips, Lance shook his head.
Koke is such a good kid...
How did he end up learning to play like this?
Chinese football forums instantly exploded.
"Can Spain actually win the tournament?"
"It's possible. La Liga teams have dominated European football for the last two years."
"If they defend the European Championship title, that would be incredible."
Three consecutive European Championship titles.
That would be enough to establish Spain as a decade-long dynasty.
The disaster of the 2014 World Cup would be remembered as nothing more than an accident.
After all, even with Xavi gone, Spain still had rising stars like Koke and Saúl.
"What about Lance?"
"Is he really getting eliminated?"
"Probably not."
"Going behind just activates Lance's buff."
Newer fans were nervous.
The veteran fans, however, had already started celebrating.
Lance glanced at the system interface.
[Anger Meter: 85%]
This match had been extremely frustrating.
Koke had spent the entire game using physical battles to limit him.
After countless training sessions together at Atlético Madrid, Koke understood Lance's habits better than most.
He knew exactly how to use legal body contact to disrupt Lance's balance, dribbling rhythm, and passing lanes.
Physically, Lance was still at a disadvantage.
At 184 centimeters and 80 kilograms, he wasn't weak.
But against a midfield workhorse like Koke, he couldn't dominate every duel.
"Sorry, Koke."
The problem was that his good friend didn't know about the Anger Meter.
The more physical the confrontation became, the faster it filled.
By the closing minutes of the first half, the notification finally appeared.
[Anger Meter: 100%]
Belgium pushed the ball into the attacking third.
De Bruyne played a pass into the center.
Before Lance could receive it, Koke was already pressing from behind.
His shoulder drove forward.
His legs kept probing.
He was doing everything possible to interfere.
Based on Koke's understanding of Lance, this level of pressure should have been enough.
Normally, Lance would choose the safe option and recycle possession.
That alone would count as a successful defensive sequence.
But the moment Lance received the ball, he did something unexpected.
Instead of controlling it with the inside of his foot, he stepped diagonally forward and lightly flicked the ball with the outside of his left foot.
"Damn!"
Koke's instincts screamed danger.
Whenever Lance used unconventional techniques, something outrageous usually followed.
Left?
Right?
Turn?
Countless possibilities flashed through Koke's mind.
Yet he couldn't find a single flaw.
All he could do was charge forward and try to disrupt the move before it developed.
Then Lance moved.
His body feinted to the right.
Koke instinctively followed the ball.
Only to realize—
The ball was gone.
"What?!"
His brain froze.
He had been completely fooled.
"Still too young, brother."
A faint smile appeared on Lance's lips.
As he brushed past Koke, he even had time to glance at his expression.
Everything happened in an instant.
By the time Koke spun around and reached out to grab him, Lance had already broken free.
Only then did the stadium erupt.
"Lance!"
"A flick-over-the-head dribble!"
The commentator's voice trembled with excitement.
When Belgium needed a miracle, they could always rely on Lance's individual brilliance.
No matter how poor the team's overall performance became, Lance's form never disappeared.
The breakthrough caught Spain completely off guard.
Nobody stepped up to challenge him.
For a brief moment, a huge gap opened twenty-seven meters from goal.
Lance chased after the ball.
Without taking a touch.
Without slowing down.
He struck it directly with his left foot.
Direct Strike Shot!
Aerial Thunder Beast Shot!
Ever since successfully combining compatible skills, Lance had begun creating unique fusion techniques of his own.
Now, two skills perfectly suited for volleys merged into one devastating strike.
Bang!
His weaker left foot unleashed a stunning volley.
The ball climbed high into the air before suddenly dipping toward goal.
David de Gea reacted immediately.
The Manchester United goalkeeper backpedaled frantically and leaped toward the ball.
It wasn't enough.
The trajectory was simply too strange.
The ball didn't begin dropping until it reached the crossbar.
"Impossible!"
De Gea's eyes widened.
All he could do was watch as the ball dropped into the net.
"GOAL!!"
"It's in!"
"Lance! What a world-class strike!"
After spending almost the entire half watching Belgium struggle, the commentator could finally unleash his excitement.
"It's Lance again!"
"You can always trust Lance!"
"Forty-fourth minute!"
"Lance scores a stunning equalizer!"
"1–1!"
"That's his seventh goal of the tournament!"
"He remains alone at the top of the scoring charts!"
"Seven goals in four matches!"
"Lance is firing on all cylinders!"