Frankfurt Arena.
This modern stadium with its retractable roof turned into a giant pressure cooker tonight. The air was thick with anxiety, despair, and the smell of sweat. In the stands, the red and green of Portugal intertwined with the blue and white flags of Slovenia, but the roar of the crowd grew increasingly muffled as time passed.
The time on the scoreboard had already jumped to the 104th minute.
The score remained a glaring 0-0.
The Slovenia Team, a side considered a 'gift' before the match, had built a literal iron defense tonight under the leadership of their guardian deity, Oblak. They gave up possession and abandoned the attack, like a group of curled-up hedgehogs, using a dense 4-4-2 bus-parking formation to repeatedly repel the Portuguese onslaught.
"Damn it, did that goalkeeper eat a magnet?"
B Fernandes stood with his hands on his hips, sweat trickling from his soaked hair into his eyes, stinging painfully. Just moments ago, his powerful shot from the edge of the box had been incredibly tipped over the crossbar by Oblak's fingertips.
Cristiano Ronaldo stood in the penalty area, his chest heaving violently. After over 100 minutes of fierce battle, every muscle in his 41-year-old body was groaning with fatigue. But he still stared fixedly at that cursed goal, the fire in his eyes showing no sign of extinguishing.
"Don't stop!" Lin Yuan's voice came from behind, carrying a metallic hardness. "They're tired too. It only takes one chance to crack this turtle shell."
The whistle blew for the end of the first half of extra time.
Beside the Portugal Team bench, the atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy.
Everyone sat together in silence, save for the sound of ragged breathing and the tearing of energy gel packets.
At that moment, Cristiano Ronaldo suddenly covered his face, his eyes reddening slightly.
It was a massive release of pressure. As a veteran of five European Cups, he wanted to score so badly, he wanted to win so badly. He had missed two chances in that recent period, and that sense of powerlessness was eroding his nerves.
A hand, terrifyingly large, roughly grabbed Cristiano Ronaldo's shoulder.
It wasn't a consoling pat, but a grip strong enough to crush bone.
Lin Yuan stood before Cristiano Ronaldo, his face flushed red—a result of the congestion from prolonged high-intensity confrontation. He was soaked through, his jersey clinging to him and outlining muscle lines that looked like armor.
"Hold back your tears."
Lin Yuan's voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of bloodiness. "We haven't lost yet, what are you crying for?"
Cristiano Ronaldo looked up at this teammate who was nearly two decades younger than him.
"If you break down now, then we're truly finished." Lin Yuan leaned down, his fierce eyes locked onto Cristiano Ronaldo's. "I am your shield. As long as I'm still standing on this pitch, the sky won't fall. Go drink some water, then stand up and score. That's my captain."
Cristiano Ronaldo took a deep breath and wiped his face hard. That gaze belonging to a king, under Lin Yuan's provocation, reignited with a spark.
"Even if my legs break, I'm going to win," Cristiano Ronaldo said through gritted teeth... The second half of extra time began.
The Slovenians saw hope. They realized the Portuguese players' physical stamina had reached its limit, so they began to attempt counterattacks.
The 115th minute.
The most terrifying moment of the entire match arrived.
Portugal had pushed everyone forward, leaving only Pepe and Lin Yuan in the backline.
The 41-year-old Pepe tried to protect the ball near the center circle. This veteran, who had been performing steadily, suffered a fatal stumble under the strain of physical exhaustion.
The ball was lost!
Slovenian forward Benjamin Šeško successfully intercepted the ball!
It was a perfect one-on-one opportunity!
Šeško was like a young cheetah, sprinting wildly with the ball toward the Portuguese penalty area. Pepe chased back desperately behind him, but his heavy legs could only watch as the young Šeško pulled further and further away.
Portuguese goalkeeper Diogo Costa was forced to abandon his goal and charge out.
Portuguese fans throughout the stadium covered their eyes, not daring to watch the impending winning goal.
"It's over..." The voice from the commentary booth was filled with despair.
Facing the charging Diogo Costa, Šeško showed a level of composure beyond his years. He didn't fire a blind shot but chose to place a low strike toward the far corner.
The ball bypassed Diogo Costa's fingertips and rolled toward the empty net.
It was a certain goal.
Those words flashed through everyone's minds. Even Martinez on the sidelines had already closed his eyes in despair.
But at this critical juncture, a black shadow, carrying a sense of desperate tragedy, charged in from the side and rear.
It was Lin Yuan!
He had started his sprint the moment Pepe made the mistake. In that instant, [Savage Physique] was pushed to its absolute limit, his leg muscles even letting out a tearing groan from the excessive force.
But he wasn't going to make it.
At this speed, the ball would roll into the net before he could reach the goal line.
Clear it with his feet? Too late.
A sliding tackle? Not enough distance.
In the split second before the ball crossed the line, Lin Yuan made a move that caused commentators worldwide to scream in shock.
While running at top speed, he threw himself forward like a torpedo, diving without reservation—
Not with his feet, but with his head, with his face, to block that ball rolling along the ground!
[Milestone Achievement Triggered: Copper Head and Iron Bones (S-Rank)]
THUD!!!
The ball slammed solidly into Lin Yuan's face.
That dull thud was captured by the microphones behind the goal and broadcast clearly across the world.
The ball was blocked by this "human wall," bouncing back into the six-yard box, where it was immediately cleared by a rushing Dias.
No goal!
But Lin Yuan didn't get up immediately.
He lay prone on the turf, motionless. Blood flowed down his cheek, instantly staining the grass beneath him red.
"Medic! Medic!!!"
Cristiano Ronaldo rushed into the goal like a madman, kneeling beside Lin Yuan and waving frantically. Pepe also rushed over; when the tough guy saw Lin Yuan's wretched state, his eyes instantly reddened.
The replay on the big screen made people's skin crawl: Lin Yuan had used his brow bone and the bridge of his nose to forcefully stop a shot traveling at over 80 kilometers per hour.
He was guarding the goal with his life.
Two minutes later.
Just as the stretcher entered the field and everyone thought Lin Yuan was about to be carried off, the body lying on the ground moved.
Lin Yuan pushed off the turf and stood up unsteadily.
His appearance was somewhat horrifying: his nose was bleeding, his left brow bone was highly swollen, and an old scar had reopened. Blood flowed down his cheek, dripping onto his white shorts, making his naturally cold face look like an Asura returned from hell.
The medic rushed up to stop the bleeding and signaled for him to leave the pitch for a concussion protocol.
Lin Yuan shoved the medic's hand away.
"Don't touch me."
He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his voice slurred but filled with violence: "I'm still taking a penalty."
The medic was stunned: "You might have a concussion right now..."
"I said, get lost."
Lin Yuan snatched a wad of cotton from the medic's hand, roughly stuffed it into his bleeding nostril, and then, with his face covered in blood, turned to look at Šeško, who was already dumbfounded by the scene.
He flashed a ferocious smile.
His gaze seemed to say: Want to score? You'll have to step over my corpse.
The stadium erupted in thunderous applause.
Even the Slovenian fans stood up to applaud. This was a supreme tribute that transcended allegiances, honoring such a fearless spirit... The 120 minutes ended. 0-0.
The cruel penalty shootout.
The air in the Frankfurt Arena seemed to solidify. Players from both sides lined up at the center circle.
First round.
Cristiano Ronaldo stood at the penalty spot once again. Facing Oblak, the veteran took a deep breath, ran up, and fired a powerful shot into the bottom left corner.
Goal! 1-0!
Cristiano Ronaldo didn't celebrate; he just pressed his hands together in a gesture of apology toward the stands.
Following that, Portuguese goalkeeper Diogo Costa entered a god-like mode. He was like an insurmountable octopus, saving Slovenia's first two penalties in a row!
Third round.
If this goal went in, Portugal would reach match point.
Lin Yuan walked up.
His current image was extremely terrifying: cotton stuffed in his nose, half his face covered in blood, and his jersey collar also stained red.
He stood before the penalty spot, his black eyes staring through the blood and grime fixedly at Oblak.
Oblak was a world-class goalkeeper, but facing this blood-covered monster, his psychological defense wavered slightly.
Lin Yuan didn't use any feints.
He ran up and swung his leg, as if venting the fury of the entire match and the sharp pain from his brow bone.
BOOM!
An unreasonable, explosive shot!
[Heavy Cannoneer (S-Rank)]
The ball blasted into the middle of the goal like a cannonball. The power was so great that even the net let out a groan. Although Oblak had guessed the right direction (the middle), his body simply couldn't react in time.
Goal!
Lin Yuan didn't celebrate; he just turned around and looked coldly at the Slovenian bench.
After that, Diogo Costa saved Slovenia's third penalty!
Three penalties, all missed!
Portugal advanced 3-0!
The moment the final whistle blew, the emotions suppressed all night finally erupted.
There was no wild celebration.
Cristiano Ronaldo immediately rushed to Diogo Costa and hugged the hero. Right after, the entire team gathered around Lin Yuan.
Only then did Lin Yuan feel a wave of dizziness. As the adrenaline faded, the aftereffects of the concussion began to manifest. He stumbled and was caught by Pepe.
"You're a lunatic, Lin. A total lunatic."
Pepe looked at the wound on Lin Yuan's face and muttered to himself, his voice somewhat choked up, "But I love you to death, you lunatic. You saved my life."
If not for Lin Yuan's block, Pepe's mistake would have become the biggest stain on his career, and might even have made him a villain in Portugal.
Cristiano Ronaldo walked over, traces of tears still in the corners of his eyes, but now they were full of gratitude.
He reached out and gently touched Lin Yuan's swollen brow bone, his movements cautious as if afraid of hurting him.
"Does it hurt?"
"It's alright." Lin Yuan grinned, which pulled at his wound, making him hiss in pain. "Feels better than losing."
Cristiano Ronaldo didn't speak, but just hugged Lin Yuan tightly.
He buried his head on Lin Yuan's shoulder and didn't lift it for a long time.
In the stands, countless Portuguese fans waved their red and green flags. After this night, everyone knew that this Portugal Team, besides having an ageless king, now had a wall forged in blood—
The Wall of Sighs.
In the mixed zone.
When Lin Yuan walked out supported by two people, the reporters spontaneously made a path.
There were no sharp questions, no doubts about 'elegance'.
A reporter from Marca, looking at Lin Yuan's bloodied face, couldn't help but ask:
"Lin, what were you thinking at that moment? Weren't you afraid of being disfigured or seriously injured?"
Lin Yuan stopped in his tracks.
He used his good hand to slightly straighten his jersey collar, even though it was covered in blood.
"What was I thinking?"
Lin Yuan's voice was very soft, yet it reached the whole world through the microphones.
"I was thinking, behind my goal stands my country, and that old man who's about to retire."
"As long as I'm still standing, the ball isn't getting past."
After saying that, he waved his hand and walked deep into the tunnel.
[System Notification:]
[Milestone Reached: Great Wall of Flesh and Blood.]
[Your facial block in the desperate situation of extra time has shocked all of Europe.]
[Rewards: Head Impact Resistance +50%; Lifetime Bond with Cristiano Ronaldo reached maximum (Life-and-Death Friends).]
[notoriety points Conversion: prestige value unlocked. Now, you are not only feared but also revered.]
Under the night sky of Frankfurt, a new legend was being born.
Next stop, Hamburg.
Opponent: France.
It was an even more brutal battlefield, but with this blood-stained shield, the Portuguese were fearless.