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"WTF???"
"Huh?"
"Jesus Christ!"
When Lance unleashed a left-footed rocket from twenty-seven meters out, the entire Spanish squad was stunned.
So stunned that when they returned to the dressing room at halftime, nobody spoke.
Nearly thirty people stood inside the spacious locker room.
Yet the room was silent.
The atmosphere was strangely oppressive.
In the end, veteran manager Del Bosque could only cough twice.
"That goal was unexpected."
"Don't let it affect you."
"Overall, we're still the stronger side."
"We played very well in the first half. Keep doing the same thing in the second."
Del Bosque tried to lift the team's morale.
Unfortunately, judging from the players' expressions, nobody was really listening.
Only after Del Bosque left did Isco quietly lean toward Koke.
"Hey, Koke."
"What?"
"That shot... it had to be luck, right?"
"No way he can score those consistently."
Koke shook his head expressionlessly.
As the man who had been beaten directly before the goal, he was naturally in a terrible mood.
"No."
"He does that all the time in training."
"If he decides to shoot, it's because he thinks he can score."
"..."
The locker room became even quieter.
Everyone knew Koke wasn't the type to joke around.
If what he said was true...
Then the Asian superstar on the other side was even more terrifying than they had imagined.
Lance himself had not expected his wonder goal to shatter Spain's confidence.
When the second half began, he immediately noticed the change.
Spain had become far more conservative.
Most of their possession remained in the backfield.
They rarely committed numbers forward.
Even the players around him looked hesitant, uncertain whether they should press him aggressively or keep their distance to prevent a breakthrough.
At that moment, Lance's Spatial Perception showed him something interesting.
The number of dangerous "puzzle pieces" appearing on the pitch had increased dramatically.
Strike while the iron is hot.
These were world-class players.
At any moment they could regain their composure and take control again.
He had to punish them while the opportunity existed.
"Eden!"
Hazard was dribbling down the left flank, attempting another breakthrough.
At his peak, the Chelsea superstar was one of the most dangerous dribblers in the world.
The moment he heard Lance's voice, he reacted instinctively.
Hazard could have ignored him.
Given his status in the Belgian squad, nobody would have questioned him if he chose to attack alone.
Instead, after beating Piqué with a stepover, Hazard feinted toward the outside.
Piqué immediately committed to a sliding tackle.
At the last moment, Hazard dragged the ball back, spun, and delivered a pass into the middle.
"Lance! It's yours!"
Even Lukaku was stunned.
"What?"
"He's actually passing that decisively?"
Hazard trusted Lance completely.
"That's it!"
On the touchline, Wilmots slapped his thigh and jumped to his feet.
This was exactly what a world-class attacking trio needed.
Chemistry.
Belgium's greatest secret had finally begun to emerge.
"Stop him!"
"Tackle him!"
"Sergio!"
Ramos and Busquets immediately converged.
The defensive leaders of Real Madrid and Barcelona temporarily put aside their rivalry and closed in from both sides.
Once Lance received the ball, escaping both of them should have been impossible.
Then their expressions changed.
The moment Lance moved toward the pass, he spread his legs.
And let the ball run through.
A dummy.
On the opposite side, De Bruyne arrived perfectly to collect it.
"Beautiful!"
"What a brilliant dummy!"
The commentator exploded with excitement.
From the commentary booth, he had already noticed De Bruyne's run.
He had been wondering whether Lance had seen it.
After all, De Bruyne had been positioned in Lance's blind spot.
How had he spotted him?
There was no time to dwell on it.
Belgium's attack had reached its decisive moment.
Busquets and Koke immediately rushed toward De Bruyne.
Ramos and Alba shifted their attention as well.
But De Bruyne didn't stop the ball.
With a simple touch of his right foot, he guided it directly into the penalty area.
"Oh no!"
Busquets turned his head.
And witnessed the scene he feared most.
After the dummy, Lance had never stopped running.
He accelerated straight into the box, perfectly timing his movement to stay onside.
The pass arrived at exactly the right moment.
"Lance!"
The defensive line had already been beaten.
The only man left was David de Gea.
The Spanish goalkeeper exploded off his line.
Arms spread wide.
Body lowered.
Eyes locked on the ball.
De Gea's footwork and reflexes were among the best in the world.
This was his territory.
"Lance—eh?!"
Countless possibilities flashed through the minds of everyone watching.
Control and shoot.
Control and turn.
Cross to Lukaku.
Attempt a header.
Instead, Lance chose something nobody expected.
He never even turned around.
Facing away from the pass, he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
Then—
"OHHHHHHHHHH!"
"LANCEEEEEEE!"
Martin Tyler's roar shook the broadcast.
Even he struggled to process what he had just witnessed.
De Gea's pupils contracted violently.
With his back to the ball, Lance casually flicked out a heel.
A blind backheel.
The football instantly lifted into the air.
A rainbow arc.
It floated over De Gea's head.
By the time the goalkeeper realized what had happened, it was already too late.
He leaped desperately.
The ball remained out of reach.
All he could do was watch as it drifted gently into the net.
"GOOOOOOOAL!"
"What a performance!"
"What an unbelievable piece of skill!"
"Lance scores!"
"A masterpiece!"
Martin Tyler, the Chinese commentators, and countless broadcasters around the world erupted simultaneously.
No description felt adequate.
The elegance.
The imagination.
The sheer audacity.
The goal seemed more like art than football.
"This is Lance!"
"The greatest artist on the pitch!"
"He has turned the European Championship into his personal stage!"
"My friends, this is football as art!"
If the twenty-seven-meter left-footed volley from the first half wasn't spectacular enough—
Then this effortless rainbow backheel was destined to become one of the greatest goals in European Championship history.
The most ridiculous part?
Lance never even looked at the goal.
The moment he struck the ball, he turned and sprinted toward De Bruyne.
At the same time, he waved Hazard over.
The three Belgian superstars came together.
Arm in arm.
Running toward the corner flag.
The image instantly became iconic.
"That's it!"
"That's exactly it!"
Wilmots nearly burst into tears.
He wasn't excited because of the goal.
He was excited because of the move.
Trust.
Understanding.
Perfect coordination.
For the first time, Belgium's Golden Generation had truly come together.
The real power of their attacking trident had finally appeared.
As for Lukaku—
He was undoubtedly a good striker.
A very good one.
But at the highest level of international football, he was more of a supporting piece.
Compared to the trio of Hazard, De Bruyne, and Lance, he was almost an accessory.
Spain were completely devastated by the goal.
For the remainder of the second half, they looked lost.
Only Koke continued to run tirelessly, defending and intercepting wherever he could.
Unfortunately, the outcome had already been decided.
The moment Spain drew Belgium, Koke had understood that possibility.
As the clock ticked down and the final whistle approached, he actually felt relieved.
Beep!
Beep!
Beeeeep!
"The match is over!"
"Full time!"
"With goals in both halves, Lance scores a brace and leads Belgium to a comeback victory!"
"Belgium defeat defending champions Spain 2-1!"
"They advance to the quarter-finals of the European Championship!"