Chapter 67: The Tyrant's Sacrifice
Munich, Allianz Arena.
This football cathedral, which has witnessed countless classics, was completely torn in two colors tonight. On one side was Spain's bullfighter red, and on the other, Portugal's deep crimson.
European Cup Semi-final: Portugal VS Spain.
This match was dubbed by the media as "the ultimate showdown of technique and power." Under the leadership of De la Fuente, the Spain Team had regained their peak-era pass-and-control dominance, and their midfield maestro, Rodri, was hailed as the world's best defensive midfielder.
In the locker room before the match, Lin Yuan was slowly wrapping bandages around his legs, each turn pulling tight into his flesh.
"Those two kids from Spain are fast."
Pepe walked over, the 41-year-old veteran looking more solemn than ever. "Yamal is only 16, and Williams is as fast as a gust of wind. Lin, our wings will be under immense pressure today; the midfield must cut off their supply lines."
Lin Yuan tightened the last bandage and stood up.
"As long as they are human, they have bones," Lin Yuan's voice was so calm it showed no ripple. "As long as they have bones, they will fear pain. I will let that 16-year-old kid know that there are no fairy tales in the adult world."
...The match began.
From the very first minute, the Allianz Arena turned into a giant pressure cooker.
The Spaniards did not try to physically challenge Lin Yuan like previous opponents; they were too smart. The midfield composed of Rodri, Fabián Ruiz, and Pedri was like a dense net, suffocating the Portugal Team with their relentless pass-and-control, pinning them in their own half.
20th minute.
Yamal received the ball on the right wing. Facing Mendes, the prodigy made three feints in quick succession, his footwork dazzlingly fast.
Lin Yuan covered the defense in position.
But as soon as he stretched out his leg, Yamal, like a slippery loach, deftly flicked the ball with the tip of his left foot, attempting to chip it over Lin Yuan's head!
The entire stadium gasped in surprise.
This was blatant humiliation.
But Lin Yuan did not turn back. The moment the ball flew over his head, he immediately turned and used his broad back to forcefully block Yamal, who was preparing to sprint forward and receive the ball.
"Bang!"
A dull thud.
The slender Yamal collided with Lin Yuan's back as if hitting a wall, bouncing off and falling to the ground.
"Whistle!" The referee blew his whistle. Lin Yuan committed a blocking foul.
Yamal sat on the ground, spreading his hands and complaining to the referee. Lin Yuan looked down at him, saying coldly, "This isn't kindergarten, kid. Want to get past me? Go back and practice for another ten years."
Although he defended that time, Lin Yuan clearly felt the strain.
Spain's pass-and-control was too fast; the ball flowed rapidly across the pitch, forcing him to frequently make lateral movements to cover. Each sprint, sudden stop, and turn severely drained his stamina.
The first half ended 0:0. The entire Portugal Team was in disarray, with a pitiful 35% possession.
In the second half, the situation changed dramatically.
65th minute.
Portugal, who had been suppressed, finally seized a counter-attacking opportunity.
Lin Yuan anticipated Rodri's pass in the backfield and successfully intercepted the ball. Without adjusting, he directly took a shot, sending a 50-meter long, low through ball!
This pass directly tore through Spain's high defensive line.
Leão received the ball and sprinted, using his speed to outmaneuver Carvajal, then passed it back in a cut-back.
At the far post! Cristiano Ronaldo arrived just in time, shooting directly without stopping the ball!
Goal!
1:0!
Portugal scored first in an extremely passive situation!
The Portugal stands at the Allianz Arena erupted. But everyone knew that the most difficult time had just begun.
Spain went wild after conceding the goal.
They took off a defender, brought on Olmo and Joselu, and began to press forward with all their might.
In the 80th minute, Lin Yuan used his face to block Rodri's certain-goal long-range shot at the edge of the penalty area, and half of his face instantly swelled red.
In the 85th minute, Lin Yuan cramped up. He fell to the ground after a slide tackle, painfully stretching his calf. But he refused to leave the field, getting up and continuing to run, even with a limp.
Time ticked by, minute by minute.
89th minute.
Injury time was about to begin.
Portugal got a throw-in in the attacking third. Cancelo was a bit overconfident, making a throwing error, and Rodri immediately intercepted the ball.
This was fatal.
Most of Portugal's forces were still in the attacking third, trying to waste time, leaving the defense completely empty.
Rodri didn't hesitate, sending a direct overhead long pass to Yamal on the right wing.
Open space! Huge open space!
Mendes had gone up to assist and hadn't returned, and Pepe was still running back from the center circle.
16-year-old Yamal received the ball, with an open field ahead of him, leading straight to Portugal's penalty area.
If he carried it in, it would be a one-on-one. With his technique, facing Diogo Costa, this goal was a certainty.
If that happened, the score would become 1:1, entering extra time. With the entire Portugal Team's stamina exhausted at this point, plus Lin Yuan's cramping legs, extra time would undoubtedly be their demise.
At this moment, all Portuguese hearts stopped beating.
Except for one person.
Lin Yuan.
He began to track back the moment Rodri passed the ball.
He was burning his last reserves of energy. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and his legs were as heavy as lead. But he was still accelerating, accelerating wildly.
Closer.
Yamal, with the ball, was about to enter the 30-meter zone.
Lin Yuan caught up to his side and behind him.
But he couldn't make a clean tackle. Yamal protected the ball very well and was extremely fast.
[System Warning: Stamina limit reached. Forced acceleration may lead to muscle tears.]
Lin Yuan ignored the warning.
A thought flashed through his mind:
Let him pass, possibly concede a goal, and everyone goes home together.
Stop him, definitely get a red card, I go home alone.
This choice, for Lin Yuan, didn't require a second.
He looked at the red-jerseyed figure ahead, a flicker of determination in his eyes.
"Sorry, kid."
Five meters from the top of the penalty arc—the absolute dividing line between a red card and a yellow card, and the last chance to intercept.
Lin Yuan didn't slide tackle.
He directly reached out both hands, firmly wrapped them around Yamal's waist from behind, and then, using his momentum, like in wrestling, he put his entire body weight onto him, pulling him back fiercely!
This was the most primitive, most brutal, and most effective—tactical foul.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!!!"
The whistle blew urgently and sharply.
Yamal was pulled down by Lin Yuan, and the two tumbled on the grass. The ball rolled away, taking with it Spain's last hope of equalizing.
Spanish players rushed over like madmen, surrounding the referee and roaring. Rodri even tried to push Lin Yuan.
But Lin Yuan had already stood up.
He pushed away the charging Spaniards, offering no explanation and looking at no one.
He just stood there quietly, watching the head referee, Michael Oliver, run over.
Oliver was expressionless, his hand reaching into his back pocket.
It was a red card.
Red card.
The entire stadium erupted in an uproar.
Lin Yuan looked at the red card, not even blinking.
He knew what this meant.
If they didn't win the championship, this might be his last match in this European Cup.
If they won the championship, he could only sit in the stands, wearing a suit.
For the final, he was suspended.
"Lin..."
Pepe rushed over, looking at Lin Yuan, his lips trembling. He knew what this sacrifice meant.
Cristiano Ronaldo ran back from the attacking third, looking at the red card in the referee's hand, then at the calm Lin Yuan, and the captain's eyes instantly reddened. He wanted to argue with the referee but was stopped by Lin Yuan.
"Don't go," Lin Yuan pressed Cristiano Ronaldo's arm, his voice hoarse but firm. "Don't get a card. We still need you for the final."
After speaking, Lin Yuan took off the wristband from his wrist and casually threw it on the grass.
He didn't spare a glance for Yamal on the ground, nor did he pay attention to the boos filling the air.
He turned around, straightened his back, and walked towards the players' tunnel.
As he reached the sideline, Martinez stood there, looking at him with tears in his eyes, reaching out to pat him.
Lin Yuan didn't stop, but as he passed his coach, he whispered:
"Hold on for these damn few minutes. Don't let my red card be in vain."
With that, his figure disappeared into the dark players' tunnel of the Allianz Arena.
Leaving behind only a suffocating silhouette and a tragic scene that would be etched into European Cup history... For the remaining few minutes, the Portugal Team fought like madmen.
Pepe headbutted an opponent's studs, Rúben Dias used his body to block shots, and even Bernardo Silva made a tackle in the penalty area.
They had only one thought: Lin's sacrifice must not be in vain.
Finally.
"Beep—beep—beep!!!"
The final whistle blew.
1:0.
Portugal, into the final!
As the whole team celebrated wildly, Cristiano Ronaldo did not join them. He rushed to the locker room tunnel immediately.
Pushing open the locker room door.
It was empty, save for one person.
Lin Yuan was still wearing his jersey, covered in grass and mud, sitting in front of a locker, holding his phone and watching the live broadcast.
Hearing the door open, Lin Yuan looked up.
Cristiano Ronaldo stood at the doorway, looking at the brother who had sacrificed himself to send him to the final.
"We won," Cristiano Ronaldo's voice was choked with emotion.
Lin Yuan smiled. It was the most relaxed he had smiled all tournament.
He tossed his phone aside and spread his hands:
"Then what are you waiting for? Come carry me to the shower, my legs are cramping, I can't move."
[ Hello fellas, hope you guys are enjoying the fic.
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