"Wang Yi steps up the pressure—he's really going for it! Chen Man and Jia Zhenhua join the press, and Jara panics a little… big clearance! Kai brings it down cleanly—watch Valdivia here… they collide—excellent! Kai wins the challenge and carries it forward!"
" Kai's already pushing down the flank, and no one's closing him! Who's he looking for on the left—wait, he's taking it himself! He hits it… long-range effort!"
Duan Xuan shot to his feet, hand smacking the table as his eyes locked on the flight of the ball.
The strike tore through the air like a cannonball.
Even Bravo, usually calm under pressure, froze for half a second before springing into a full stretch. The shot had too much pace—it skipped right through his gloves.
Bravo scrambled, but before he could recover—
Ding!
The ball clipped the post and spun out of play.
"Ahhhhh—!" Duan Xuan clutched his head. "The post! So close! What a pity!"
Tao Wei, who had been leaning forward the whole time, finally exhaled. Realizing it was his turn to speak, he cleared his throat.
"China opened with a very aggressive high press, something Chile clearly didn't anticipate. We're not keeping the ball, but that doesn't mean we're surrendering control."
"Wang Yi and the front line are forcing mistakes, breaking Chile's rhythm, and Kai—using that strength of his—pounced on an interception and unleashed a brilliant long shot."
He nodded toward the replay.
"That shot was gorgeous. Perfect timing. No one expected Kai to pull the trigger from there, but he did—and it nearly stunned Chile."
"That was a statement. A serious warning shot from China," Tao Wei added, his fist tightening with excitement.
Even though it was just the first meaningful attack, the energy across the stadium changed. China wasn't sitting deep and waiting—they were dictating the tempo through pure intensity.
And that long-range strike from Kai… beautiful. Even without a goal, it fired up the team.
"Brilliant!"
"My heart stopped!"
"Kai-ge, do it again!"
From the pitch, the Chinese players shouted praise, giving thumbs-up toward their midfield engine.
Kai, already jogging back into position, clapped loudly.
"Come on! Again! It's early—we've got legs. We messed up their rhythm, so keep running and keep pressing!"
Then he called toward the back line:
"Fernando"
Fernando Kairui immediately responded, "Here!"
"In the first half, I'll surge forward more. Defensive cover is yours," Kai said. "Yu Hao stays deeper—make sure you keep him organized."
Fernando nodded
"Got it. You focus on pushing up. As for their striker? If he dares come through me, he is getting the big boot."
Yu Hao shot him an unimpressed look—no one had asked his opinion—yet he quietly appreciated the plan. At least he wasn't the one taking on extra attacking duties.
Kai returned to his spot, raising his voice again:
"Head up! Get ready for the second ball!"
The Chinese players reset quickly, ready to swarm the moment Chile launched the ball long.
"Look at that organization," Duan Xuan said, giving a rare thumbs-up on air. "Everyone knows their role, and they're carrying it out well."
Tao Wei laughed.
"I've always said the old China sides were too quiet. But look at Kai—he hasn't stopped talking since kickoff. That's leadership. That constant communication makes everything sharper."
Kai hovered around the center circle, glancing repeatedly toward the right side, checking Chen Man's position.
Chen Man was undoubtedly China's biggest offensive threat, and his understanding with Kai had grown naturally, almost like the chemistry Kai once had with Walcott.
The only difference: Chen Man was even quicker, which meant Kai could play earlier, flatter diagonal balls.
Give him the right angle, and Chen Man could beat a full-back and cut straight into the box.
With that in mind, Kai drifted a little deeper and shouted:
"Pull back! Pull back!"
The China team dropped collectively, compacting their shape. It forced Chile to advance higher up the pitch while still worrying about the lurking high press—especially with Wang Yi tirelessly chasing up front.
Valdivia moved into China's half, trying to orchestrate.
Chile's 4-3-3 formation was actually a 4-1-2-1-2, where the two strikers were meant to break lines, while the attacking midfielder—the second "1"—had to feed both flanks and link up play.
And today, that responsibility fell squarely on Valdivia.
But unfortunately for Chile, Valdivia was completely locked down by Kai.
He had never experienced a match this suffocating. Every time the ball reached his feet, he didn't even dare think about turning or spraying a pass wide. Kai was glued to him—close enough that a single mistake could mean an instant turnover.
And once Kai won the ball, the counterattack that followed was a nightmare for Chile.
That was exactly what their coaching staff had warned: If you lose the ball, don't lose it to Kai.
It wasn't a tactic anymore—it was a survival guideline.
"Valdivia is really struggling out there," Duan Xuan said. "As their pivot, he's being pinned completely by Kai. He doesn't dare risk a forward pass, and now he can't fulfill his role at all."
Even though Chile was nominally the one attacking, anyone watching could tell who actually held the advantage.
Chile wasn't choosing plays; they were being forced into them, and it was only the opening stages, yet problem after problem was already piling up for them.
"They're getting pressed back," Tao Wei.
Valdivia truly was being suffocated. Kai, drifting through the midfield, kept tracking him with sharp little glances, always reading his next move.
Trying to open space through the China Team's central axis?
That was wishful thinking.
Right now, China's spine was rock solid:
Wang Yi — Kai — Fernando Kairui.
What exactly was Chile going to use to break through that?
Still, they stubbornly tried building through the middle, hoping to spread the ball wide from there.
Kai naturally wasn't going to let them catch their breath.
"Come on!!"
"Let's go!!"
Wang Peipei shouted himself hoarse, though his nerves were already stretched thin. When he turned and saw the older fans sitting calmly beside him, he nearly exploded.
"We're getting pushed back, and you're all just sitting there? I'm yelling here by myself! At least help out!"
Le Jianguo responded patiently. "We actually have the advantage."
Chen Peipei stared. "How? They're taking all the shots!"
Le Jianguo shook his head. "They've only taken two. And both were poor—completely off target."
Wang Peipei blinked. "So… what does that mean?"
Old Xu stepped in with a grin. "It means China will score first."
"Really?!" Wang Peipei lit up instantly. "Will my son score?"
"Uh…" Old Xu hesitated. "That part I can't guarantee."
"It's okay," she nodded. "As long as we score."
Le Jianguo leaned toward Old Xu and whispered, "How do you know we'll score first?"
Old Xu shrugged. "I don't. But saying it keeps your wife calm, and it saves you a lot of stress. You don't want her grilling you the whole match, right?"
Le Jianguo gave him a thumbs-up. "You're a genius."
Just then, the stadium erupted.
GOOOOOOOOO!!GOOOO!!
"What happened? What happened?!"
Le Jianguo and Old Xu quickly looked back at the pitch.
A perfectly weighted diagonal ball had just cut through Chile's defense, dropping right in front of Chen Man.
Chen Man sprinted onto it, blasted past Mena with a burst of pace, then cut inside in one sharp motion—straight into the box.
Suddenly, the Chilean goal was under real, immediate threat.
...
Let's rewind two minutes.
Chile was still trying to force its way through the middle, hoping Valdivia could create something. But China had already read that script. Under Kai's tight shadowing, Valdivia could barely turn, let alone thread a meaningful pass.
He had considered trying to shake Kai with a technique. Sure, Kai carried the Premier League label of being a master of stopping dribbles, but Valdivia had never seen it up close. And with how the British media loved to exaggerate, he thought he might still have a decent chance.
That fantasy ended the moment Kai pressed up on him.
The instant Kai stepped in, Valdivia panicked and shoved the ball backwards. A fraction slower, and Kai would've nicked it clean and launched a break.
Sweat trickled down Valdivia's back. The frustration was suffocating.
Physically and now technically—he had no edge.
And the pressure just kept piling up.
While Chile sputtered, China's pressing was firing on all cylinders. The defensive rotations were sharp, the communication steady—everyone knew their assignments.
This was the same foundation that earned China a draw against Italy in the friendly: disciplined shape, relentless pressing, and a defensive core anchored by Kai and Fernando Kairui.
And now Chile was walking straight into the same trap—trying to punch through the central axis without changing a thing.
At the 11-minute mark, the shot count was 1–2.
Kai had China's lone attempt, and it actually forced a save. Chile had two strikes, both sailing harmlessly high into the night sky.
Under that reality, Chile's sense of urgency only grew heavier.
Their game plan: press high, hold the ball, keep the tempo sharp.
China's approach: stay compact, defend in layers, break fast.
And right from kickoff, China had warned them—one mistake, and they'd pay.
Now Chile's attack felt like lifting a cauldron made of lead.
From the center circle, Kai watched everything with a steady, chilling clarity. He drifted subtly to the left, waiting.
Chile would look for Valdivia again.
And this time, he wasn't going to be polite.
Vidal threaded the ball forward.
Valdivia stepped up to receive.
He was so busy thinking about how to escape Kai, or where to play the ball, that he didn't feel the danger closing in—until he heard his teammate shout.
"Watch out!"
A cold spike shot down Valdivia's spine.
He stopped the ball, lowered his hips, and braced to shield.
But before any contact arrived, a foot slipped neatly between his legs and poked the ball free.
A red shirt flashed around him.
Kai had gone straight through. Under constant mistakes, Valdivia's movements had stiffened. His stance widened. And that tiny gap invited the tackle.
Duan Xuan's voice cracked in excitement.
"Kai wins it! China on the counter!"
China's plan was clear—transition instantly. Kai squared the ball to Jia Zhenhua, who didn't rush. He held his ground, received, and played a cushioned one-touch pass back inside, keeping the pace smooth so Kai could catch up.
Kai accelerated, reclaimed the ball, took a soft touch, and lifted his head.
And the whole Chilean side suddenly tensed.
Everyone remembered the long-range missile he launched in the opening minutes. No one wanted to be on another highlight reel.
Vidal reacted first, charging to close the angle.
Kai didn't bite.
He slowed, shaped up—and swung his left foot through the ball.
A curling, slicing arc cut between Medel and Jara, bending into untouched space on the right.
And from deep, Chen Man exploded forward, bursting past Mena, collecting the pass in stride, and storming into the box.
"Vintage Kai! That signature slicing pass!"
"Chen Man's inside! Danger for Chile!"
Inside the penalty area, Chen Man decelerated. No tricks—just a simple inside push.
Jara recovered desperately, lunging in. His studs grazed the ball, changing nothing except its speed.
And that tiny deceleration opened a lane for Wang Yi, who came charging in.
He skidded slightly but didn't hesitate—he angled his knee and forced the ball downward.
A striker scores with whatever part of the body the moment demands.
The ball bounced awkwardly toward the goal.
Bravo flashed across his line. The moment he arrived, the ball popped up right in front of him. Startled, he punched upward on reflex.
The ball rose, floating behind everyone.
Heads snapped upward.
Jara scrambled to his feet, preparing to clear.
But before he could swing—
A figure soared.
A full airborne arch—waist bowed, neck taut, chin tucked—then a violent forward whip.
A clean, thunderous header.
The ball rocketed toward goal.
This time, Bravo had no miracle left. He barely moved.
Swish.
The net rippled.
Pantanal Arena fell silent for half a heartbeat—
—and then detonated.
"KAI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
A tidal roar swept through the stadium.
At 18 minutes, China had struck first.
Kai had opened the scoring.
His first national-team tournament match.
His first goal.
A debut stamped in gold.
The Chinese fans erupted like a volcano, red shirts bouncing in unison.
Up in the press box, the CCTV team lost all restraint.
"Amazing!!"
"Kai! Brilliant!!"
"Goal!"
"Unbelievable!"
Everyone was a fan in that moment—directors, cameramen, reporters.
Wang Bingbing was swept up with them, heart pounding. Watching on TV was one thing, but being here—feeling the ground shake beneath your feet—this was something else.
"So good… too good…" she breathed.
Then she saw Kai sprinting toward their section.
He lifted a finger toward the stands to be quiet.
Bingbing blinked, confused.
Suddenly, the noise dropped.
Everyone around her froze, eyes locked on Kai, faces flushed, holding their breath.
Kai's right arm drew back.
And then—three explosive punches into the air.
The stadium detonated.
"KAI!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"KAI!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"KAI!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The sound cracked like rolling thunder.
Wang Bingbing felt every hair on her body stand upright.
What kind of player draws this kind of devotion?
What kind of presence commands this kind of roar?
So this was the famed three-punch celebration.
The applause rose like waves.
Kai stood in front of the stands, the spotlight drawn to him like gravity.
At that moment, Pantanal Arena had one name echoing across every seat—
Kai.
Surrounded by roaring supporters, framed by a trembling stadium, he stood like a beacon.
Bingbing tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes softening.
"This… is a hero."
...
Please do leave a review and powerstones, helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a