"Goal!!! Le Kai!!!"
"Kai's rebound strike!—"
Duan Xuan and Tao Wei shot up from their seats at the same time, voices cracking with excitement. At that moment, there was no 'lead commentator' or 'co-commentator.' They were simply two men completely losing it.
Before this match, both of them had braced themselves for the possibility of falling behind, hoping China could rely on a heavy defensive approach and sneak in a counter-attack.
But China's blazing start, followed by a wave of slick, confident play, left them stunned.
And now? A direct goal from pressing?
It was pure delight.
How good was that goal?
It was the perfect showcase of the trio—Wang Yi, Kai, and Chen Man.
Kai's tackle in midfield, the quick transition, and that outrageous pass.
Chen Man's raw pace to blow past Mena—something he'd done more than once.
And Wang Yi… somehow pulling off a shot while completely off balance.
Without that, the follow-up play wouldn't even have existed.
As for Kai's final header—solid and decisive. But the sequence leading up to it? That was what sent everyone into a frenzy.
In the past, it was either Chen Man sprinting blindly or Wang Yi forcing desperate shots.
That wasn't football; that was chaos.
But Kai's presence knitted them together. Suddenly, they were reading each other, syncing their movements, and amplifying each other's strengths.
Especially Wang Yi's knee strike and Kai's delivery to Chen—those were moments that made people gasp.
...
"That goal was insane!"
"Man, I've watched him pass in the Premier League—never thought I would see Kai delivering it on the national level."
"Wang Yi's knee shot? Unreal. How do you even get a shot off like that while falling?!"
Across comment sections and living rooms, fans erupted.
It was still early morning in China, yet the entire country felt wide awake.
Some fans had just stepped into the bathroom but sprinted out the moment their wives screamed—still wrapped in towels, dripping water everywhere.
Some were frying eggs, banging pots and spatulas together in celebration.
Some had stayed up all night in bars; the moment the ball hit the net, beer and fruit flew into the air.
A quiet morning instantly transformed into a roar.
Millions of voices blended into one thunderous, "Come on, China!"
...
At the dugout, the coaching staff and substitutes were just as wild.
Old Coach Liu Hongbo was the most excited of them all—arms raised high, shouting till his voice cracked.
Then came hugs, animated jumps, and celebrations that made them look more like schoolkids than professionals.
On the bench, Ouyang Fei watched Kai interacting with the Chinese fans, his gaze filled with admiration… and a hint of envy.
"Incredible…" he murmured.
..
In the Chinese supporters' section, Pat Rice and Arsène Wenger stood up briefly to applaud before sitting back down.
Pat exhaled. "Beautiful goal."
Wenger nodded. "If their number seven had played that pass with a cleaner curve, Wang Yi might've finished it directly. He also had the option to cut it back to Kai. Plenty of choices, yet he picked the toughest angle—and the pass wasn't even accurate."
Pat gave him a look. "Arsène, we're here to enjoy the match, not run a post-match analysis."
Wenger blinked, then smiled. "My mistake—force of habit."
"Think China can win?" Pat asked.
"No idea," Wenger replied. "But it won't be easy from here. Chile will hit back hard. This is where China's defensive resilience gets tested. As long as they don't keep attacking through the center, they should be fine." He analysed. "Trying to break through Kai at the central axis? The Chilean coach must be a brave man."
"That's Jorge Sampaoli—top Argentine coach," Pat said.
Wenger raised an eyebrow. "Top? Sorry, never heard of him."
..
On the touchline, Jorge Sampaoli stood stiffly, brows tightly locked.
This match was heading somewhere he never expected.
In theory, China and Chile were the weaker sides in Group B.
So whoever won today would have a strong chance of advancing.
But things were going wrong—very wrong.
Valdivia hadn't been able to orchestrate anything; Kai had him completely shut down.
The wings weren't producing. The midfield rhythm was shattered by China's relentless press.
He had to admit—their tactical setup wasn't working.
Valdivia simply couldn't handle Kai's pressure.
Fine. Attack the flanks.
Sampaoli stepped forward and began barking new instructions.
..
China finished celebrating, laughing as they jogged back into formation.
"Unreal!"
"Let's get another one!"
Chen Man strutted over with a grin. "What, no one's praising me? That breakthrough? That pass?"
"That pass was awful," Fernando Kairui shot back instantly. "You call that a through ball? We are not asking for Kai's level of passes, but at least bend it a little! A simple curve, and the cap taps it in. Don't make life so complicated!"
The two started bickering again.
Wang Yi stepped between them. "Man's pass was fine."
"See? He gets it." Chen Man lifted his chin smugly.
Fernando just rolled his eyes.
"It's just a curving ball," Chen Man added. "Give me a bit more time, and I'll whip out flashy curlers of my own."
The whole group burst into laughter.
Kai smiled and cut in. "Alright, focus. This is where it gets tough. Chile will push hard now. We need to lock things down for the next twenty minutes."
He turned. "Fernando, I'll drop back to help you."
"Got it," Fernando said with a thump to his chest.
Once China regrouped, Chile collected the ball and returned to the center circle.
Their expressions darkened.
They were furious with how passive they'd been.
Now, they needed to equalize.
Vidal barked, "Come on! We were asleep out there. Wake up! The goal's right in front of us—score it. Simple as that!"
Chile took a deep breath.
Kickoff.
Bang!
"Danger!"
Ding!
"Phew… off the post."
Duan Xuan exhaled sharply.
Chile came out swinging.
In just five minutes, they fired twice—both on target.
One of them needed a full-stretch save from Tong Lei to keep it out.
Chile wasn't playing around anymore.
Kai immediately called Yu Hao and Guo Liang back.
Chile had stopped trying to challenge him through the middle.
Once they realized that avoiding Kai was easier than confronting him, they understood the blueprint for attacking China.
But China's defense held firm.
With Yu Hao and Guo Liang dropping deeper, and the midfield tightened, Chile struggled to break into the box.
And in aerial duels, Kai and Fernando were dominant.
Eventually, Kai stationed himself on the left flank, doubling as a temporary full-back.
Most of Chile's threat came from Alexis Sánchez on that wing.
But once Kai locked onto him, Chile stopped trying to force their way through.
They backed off and reorganized.
They didn't dare risk giving China another chance to counter.
The flow of the match had completely escaped everyone's predictions. It was clear now—all underestimated China. Before kickoff, most people had them pegged as the weakest side in Group B. That belief didn't last long. Thirty minutes was all it took to force the world to re-evaluate.
Paul Merson, on Sky Sports duty in England, couldn't hide his surprise:
"They're not weak at all from what we're seeing; their structure is solid."
He wasn't alone. China's performance stunned viewers across the globe.
At the past three World Cups, China had been a group-stage regular but rarely a threat—usually grabbing one win or a couple of goals before bowing out early. Naturally, expectations remained low. Even with Kai, Wang Yi, and a new generation stepping up, the old stereotype stuck.
But today, China shattered that perception within half an hour.
A compact defence.
A razor-sharp counterattack.
A stable, disciplined central spine—and a collective intensity that never dipped.
Global audiences were suddenly paying attention.
For neutrals who live for World Cup chaos, this was perfect. The Netherlands had just humbled Spain in the earlier match. And now, if China took down Chile, Group B would be officially upside down.
"Hold your shape! Hold!" Kai kept calling out while tracking Alexis Sanchez's run.
Kai's recovery work made Sanchez's favorite angles vanish. Just like Valdivia earlier, Sanchez couldn't find a clean route to break through.
But Kai was only one man. With him covering Sanchez on the left, Valdivia drifted upfield again, linking with Vargas out wide.
"Come on—how long is this going to go on?"
Guan Zhe clenched his jaw in frustration.
Chile clearly identified his flank as the weak point. And he knew why—Kai couldn't be everywhere. Someone had to contain Sanchez.
"Yu Hao! Drop and help!" Guan Zhe called.
Yu Hao reacted immediately, but Vargas's footwork made the difference. Yu Hao was a technical midfielder, not a tackler, and Vargas skipped past him with ease.
Chile's plan was simple but ruthless. Stretch the pitch, avoid Kai's zone, and repeatedly target the weaker edges. It worked. Kai's extra running helped, but not enough to fully plug the widening gaps.
"China needs to hang on here…" Duan Xuan said anxiously.
With China's tactical shift, the cracks were obvious: Kai alone held the defensive midfield, and both wings were vulnerable. Guan Zhe and Zhuo Yue were being isolated again and again.
Still, China only needed to survive to halftime. Five more minutes at the forty-minute mark.
But the World Cup never runs out of surprises—mistakes and miracle goals come in equal measure. This time, both nearly arrived together.
Valdivia received the ball centrally, turned, and saw Kai charging at him. With no time to dwell, he lofted a diagonal pass toward the far right, into the space behind Guan Zhe.
"Ah, damn!"
Guan Zhe spun and sprinted.
Vargas was already accelerating. For a full-back, Guan Zhe wasn't slow, but he couldn't match Vargas's burst. Under pressure, he gambled on an interception.
He misjudged.
He leapt, feeling only the faintest brush of the ball against his scalp. No real contact. No change of direction.
Missed.
"Leiliang!" he roared.
He saw Gao Leiliang hesitate—only for a heartbeat, but enough to freeze the defensive shape.
"No…" Guan Zhe whispered, dread sinking in.
"Guan Zhe misjudged it! He's lost his man! Danger!" Duan Xuan's voice cracked.
In living rooms across China, tens of millions stiffened in their seats.
In the stadium, Chinese supporters held their breath. Chile's section, meanwhile, erupted.
"VARGAS! HIT IT!"
Bang!
Vargas cut inside and fired. He went for the far post. Tong Lei had no chance; the shot curved away too quickly.
Just as Vargas opened his mouth to celebrate his first World Cup goal, a blur of red tore into the frame.
Kai.
Hands tucked behind his back, chest widened, body straight as a board—he hurled himself across the shooting lane.
The shot slammed into his chest with a thud.
Kai gritted through the impact, crunching his abs to deaden the ball and keeping it within reach.
He crashed to the ground hard, but didn't waste a second.
"Fernando!" he bellowed.
Fernando Kairui charged in like a battering ram and smashed the ball away with a booming clearance.
The ball soared upward, drifted into Chile's half, and eventually skidded out of bounds.
And then—
The stadium exploded.
"AHHHHHH! KAI!!"
Duan Xuan nearly lifted out of his seat.
"That's unbelievable! A flying block from Kai! In that moment he became the Great Wall—standing between China and disaster!"
"If Kai isn't there, that's 1–1. No question. But again—at the decisive moment—it's Kai!"
Chinese fans screamed themselves hoarse. Some had closed their eyes when Vargas shot, unable to watch. Now they were hugging strangers, jumping, and shaking railings.
"Kai! Incredible!"
"He saved us!"
Meanwhile, Chilean supporters stood frozen with their hands on their heads. They were certain it was in. Vargas himself froze mid-celebration, hands still half-raised.
Kai had robbed him.
Vargas snapped out of it and stormed toward the referee.
"That crossed the line! That crossed!" he yelled.
Wang Yi sprinted over too, insisting emphatically that Kai had made a clean goal-line save.
The referee hesitated—he hadn't seen the exact moment clearly. He checked with the assistant.
The linesman shook his head.
No goal.
"Damn it!" Vargas squatted, clutching his hair in fury. A guaranteed goal—gone.
And China breathed again.
Vargas stood up and still shouted at the referee, insisting the ball had crossed the line. The slow-motion replay rolled, and before the image even froze, Duan Xuan leaned forward in a panic.
"A goal—" He caught himself mid-sentence as the frame stopped. "No… look here. There's still plenty of daylight between the ball and the goal line. This isn't even close. That's a clean save!"
Tao Wei chimed in, voice full of relief. "Exactly! Absolutely no issue with that call!"
Chinese fans roared across the stands, unable to describe Kai's save with anything other than unbelievable.
On the pitch, Kai took several deep breaths. The defensive pressure had been brutal.
Tong Lei jogged over. He reached out on instinct—his hand almost went to pat Kai's head before he hesitated and switched to a firm slap on the shoulder instead.
"Brilliant work," Tong Lei said.
Kai nodded. "Watch their shooting angles. I can't bail us out like that every time."
"Got it," Tong Lei replied.
One save like that was enough to turn the match.
It kept China in front, and it also landed a heavy psychological blow on Chile—especially Vargas, whose face was twisted with frustration. Kai had robbed him of his moment.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
By the 44th minute, both teams eased off the tempo, saving their decisive push for after halftime.
When the whistle blew, everyone headed straight down the tunnel.
...
Chile Locker Room
Inside Chile's locker room, Sampaoli forced himself to stay calm as he laid out the adjustments. He couldn't hide the disappointment—conceding first and failing to equalize was a fatal combination.
Trailing 1–0 going into the second half only increased the pressure.
"We need someone to draw Kai's attention," Valdivia said. "Then another runner goes through."
The entire room looked toward Sánchez.
Sánchez exhaled sharply. "I'll be the decoy if that's what it takes. But if I'm drawing him out, you all need to make sure Vargas can finish."
The weight shifted instantly to Vargas.
Sánchez still resented that earlier moment—he had found space, wide open. A simple pass, and Kai never would've had the chance to make that block. But Vargas chose glory and paid for it.
Vargas straightened. "I'll score. That was just an accident."
Sampaoli nodded. "Then Sánchez drags Kai away."
Sánchez pressed his lips together. His role was decided. Arguing would only fracture the team at the worst possible moment. He had no choice but to swallow his frustration and play along.
....
China Locker Room
"We pressed hard in the first half," Coach Liu Hongbo said, "and that pressure earned us a goal. But be honest—can we run at that intensity again?"
The players exchanged tired looks and shook their heads.
Their stamina had been chewed up by the nonstop pressing.
"So the second half is defense-first," Liu continued. "We lock down the back, wait for counterattacks, and protect this one goal."
Then he turned to the sideline. "Gong Peng, warm up. You're going in."
Yu Hao had helped Kai control the rhythm, but the match was shifting. Now they needed a pure defensive midfielder—the kind who could absorb contact and run endlessly.
Gong Peng—China's top ball-winner—was perfect for that.
After warming up, he walked straight to Kai.
"Kai, once I'm on, just shout, and I'll be there."
Although older, Gong Peng fully acknowledged Kai's leadership and ability.
Kai nodded. "Brother Peng, don't get mad if I start yelling."
Gong Peng laughed. "Yell all you want."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Big words."
The whole bench chuckled before settling down to recover their breath.
...
Commentary Booth
As the second half approached, Duan Xuan and Tao Wei summarized the situation.
"Chile will push harder," Tao Wei said. "China needs to stay compact. There's no way they can press the same way."
The signs were obvious—China had burned too much fuel in the first half. The substitution only confirmed it.
When the whistle blew to start the half, the Chinese setup immediately showed a shift toward defensive solidity.
Chile's players were furious.
They score once and then park the bus? Where's the ambition?
But China only cared about one thing: winning.
Even if it wasn't pretty.
.
Bang!!
Gong Peng threw his shoulder into Vargas, refusing to give an inch.
The two were locked chest-to-chest. Vargas was powerful, but Gong Peng wasn't called the country's top defensive midfielder for nothing.
Still… he silently wondered how on earth Kai had managed to knock this guy flying earlier.
Vargas snarled in Spanish, "Get out of my way!"
He cut sharply, exploding forward. Gong Peng's first step couldn't follow—but he didn't panic.
Because help was already there.
"Damn!" Vargas skidded to a stop.
Guan Zhe stepped in front, cutting off his path. At the same moment, Gong Peng circled from the side. Together, they smothered him and won the ball cleanly.
"Beautiful team defending! Vargas is dispossessed by Gong Peng and Guan Zhe working in tandem!" Duan Xuan called.
Gong Peng immediately looked up and sent the ball to Kai.
When in doubt, give it to Kai—that was the standing order.
Valdivia and Sánchez sprinted at him from both sides, determined to win it back. They both had grudges now.
Normally, Kai would've offloaded the ball early.
But not today.
He waited half a beat… then rolled the ball from right foot to left, and with a sweeping push, he burst straight through the gap between them.
Duan Xuan's eyes widened. "¡La Croqueta?!"
It didn't look elegant like Iniesta's finesse—Kai's version was a tank smashing through a narrow gate.
Calling it a dribble felt generous.
He simply bulldozed a path forward.
With two players beaten, Kai carried the ball into Chile's half.
Vidal hesitated for a split second, unsure whether to step up.
That hesitation proved fatal.
Kai had already released the ball.
A sharp pass found Jia Zhenhua. As he sprinted forward, Jia flicked the ball upward with his knee. It skipped past Isla's left, while Jia himself darted around the right.
"Beautiful! Jia Zhenhua!" the commentator shouted.
Jia's breakthrough ripped straight through Chile's defensive line, throwing their shape into chaos.
He caught up with the ball and sent a looping cross toward the center.
Wang Yi attacked it aggressively. With defenders crowding him, he arched his neck backward to glance the header toward the far post.
Waiting there was Chen Man, who hit a first-time volley—
Swish!
"Chen Man! The shot—!"
Duan Xuan leaned forward instinctively as the net shook.
But the camera cut to a different angle—revealing the ball had smashed into the side netting.
"Ahhhh—! Chen Man misses!"
Duan Xuan's cry echoed the heartbreak of millions.
That was a potential match-winner, but Chen Man just couldn't convert.
He dropped to his knees, hands clutching his head, disbelief written all over his face.
He even stared at his right foot suspiciously.
China's counterattack didn't produce a goal, but it left one message for Chile:
Do not give China a chance in transition.
If not for the number 7 missing, the match might already be decided.
Play resumed, and the match descended into a grinding stalemate.
Chile desperately needed a goal, but China's defensive block was stubborn and organized.
After the 70th minute, Kai started sweeping across midfield with relentless energy.
He had about twenty minutes of high-intensity pressing left in him.
He intended to use every second.
His teammates followed his lead, biting down and protecting the box with everything they had. They weren't letting Chile through—and if someone slipped in, they weren't getting a clean shot.
Chile's frustration grew with every wasted chance.
Especially Sánchez, whose temper was starting to boil.
"Vargas! Finish it! We need a goal!" Sánchez barked.
I've been dragging defenders around for you all game. Where's your end product?
Twenty-five minutes of pressure, five shots from Vargas, nothing to show for it.
Sánchez finally snapped.
If the right wing wouldn't break through, then he would do it himself.
"Give it to me!" he demanded.
It was the first time all half he'd directly called for the ball.
Valdivia hesitated—normally, that pass went to Vargas. But he'd had enough as well.
So he sent it to Sánchez.
Sánchez dropped deep to receive, then exploded down the flank.
Facing Guo Liang, he took a heavy touch forward and tried to burn him for pace.
He was just about to catch up to the ball—
When a figure slid in from the side, sweeping it out of play.
Sánchez had to leap to avoid the tackle.
Landing in shock, he saw Kai rising from the turf—and heard him say, without looking at him, and said in Portuguese:
"You're too slow."
Sánchez's temper broke. He shoved Kai hard.
Kai froze for half a second, then reacted instinctively—his arm shot up, grabbing Sánchez by the jersey.
At 168 cm and 62 kg, Sánchez looked like a child compared to the towering Kai.
Kai's hands clamped around the top of his jersey, driving him backward and sending him crashing to the grass.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Both teams swarmed the scene. At this stage of the match, a brawl could destroy everything.
The referee sprinted over.
Yellow cards to both.
Honestly, Kai's move could've been a red, but Sánchez provoked first, and Kai's earlier tackle had been clean. The ref judged it retaliation—reckless, but not enough for dismissal.
Chinese fans held their breath until the cards were shown.
Duan Xuan exhaled loudly. "Thank goodness it's just yellow. A red right now would be catastrophic. Kai has to keep his cool—he can't fall for these provocations."
Tao Wei nodded. "Exactly. They're doing it deliberately. Don't take the bait."
Wang Yi walked over and clapped Kai on the shoulder. "Forget them. Play the match."
Kai nodded. "Got it."
He regretted it the moment he grabbed Sánchez—but once he'd done it, he committed.
Still, the message was delivered:
Kai was not someone to be pushed around.
It lifted China's spirits and rattled Chile.
Chile resumed its assault, anxious and increasingly frantic.
They targeted Kai, trying to exploit his yellow card.
But he shut them out with clean, surgical tackles. Firm but fair—nothing the referee could whistle for.
Minutes ticked by.
Eighty.
China still held a 1–0 lead.
The Chinese crowd roared with every clearance, every tackle, sensing history.
Both managers made sweeping substitutions.
Chile sent on three attackers, throwing everything forward.
China reinforced the back line—digging in to survive.
Chile's pressure ramped up again, but Tong Lei turned into a wall. High saves, low saves—he refused to let anything through.
As the clock hit ninety, he launched a booming clearance.
It arced toward Chen Man.
"Chen! Your moment!" Tong Lei roared from the back.
Chen Man met the ball, chesting it down while turning sharply, shielding Mena.
Grass flew as he burst forward at full throttle.
His pace was electric—neck and neck with Jara as they hit the final third.
Jara stepped across to block him—
But Chen Man did a hard chop, sending the ball the other way.
A Cristiano Ronaldo-like feint.
He created space, drew back his left leg, and unleashed a thunderous strike.
The ball rocketed toward the goal.
Bravo dropped into a split, his trailing leg deflecting the shot wide.
"No way!!" Chen Man exploded in disbelief.
That didn't go in either?!
But before frustration could settle, Wang Yi arrived in stride, slotting the rebound calmly into the net.
China 2–0 Chile.
First minute of stoppage time.
A likely match-winner—and maybe the goal that sealed China's first ever World Cup victory.
"A last-minute winner!"
"Wang Yi!"
Duan Xuan shot to his feet, voice cracking with excitement as he spread his arms wide. "The captain has arrived! Here at the Pantanal Arena, in this razor-tight Group B clash, Wang Yi delivers a priceless goal for China!"
"That's right—this is a stoppage-time strike! With a two-goal cushion now, Chile most likely has no way back!"
...
"ROOAAARRR."
In the stands, tens of thousands of Chinese fans erupted once more. Drumbeats hammered like rain on a tin roof, and in the middle of that volcanic roar, Wang Yi pointed to the crowd, kissed the back of his hand, and finished his celebration with a flourish.
Kai was the first to come flying in, tackling Wang Yi to the ground.
"Skip! That was unreal!"
The rest of the squad piled on, creating a chaotic, laughing human mountain.
Chen Man arrived a beat late, looking a little deflated—until Kai wrapped him in a tight hug, patting his back.
"That cut-inside was world-class. You cracked the whole thing open."
Chen Man straightened instantly, eyes lighting up.
"Exactly! Without my run, there's no goal! That's just facts!"
Fernando chuckled. "Or, you know… you could've just scored it yourself."
Chen Man snapped back, "Oh, shut it!"
Everyone burst into laughter.
In the technical area, the coaching staff and substitutes, having jumped around wildly, finally settled back into their seats.
This one was done.
With just minutes left in stoppage time and a two-goal lead, there was likely no way back for Chile.
..
"That long pass from Tong Lei was gorgeous. Pin-point to Chen Man," Assistant Coach Zhang Chen remarked, grinning.
"A lucky strike," Goalkeeping Coach Fan Tielin countered dryly. "Give him a hundred tries, and he'll nail that one time. Pure luck!"
Zhang Chen paused… then slapped his thigh.
"Then it was a beautiful piece of luck!"
Fan Tielin laughed. "Exactly!"
Their expressions relaxed completely—victory was more than in sight; it was already in hand.
Across the pitch, Chile head coach Sampaoli wore a bleak expression.
The opening match of their World Cup campaign had collapsed in front of him.
A match they were expected to win… was lost.
Unacceptable.
Especially against the team every Group B side privately circled as the "must take three points" opponent.
But now? They'd failed to secure those points, and Spain and the Netherlands still awaited.
With his substitutions exhausted and his players rattled, there wasn't a single card left to play.
Two goals in two minutes? Impossible.
Chile's players felt it too—the weight of a chance slipping away.
They had created opportunities—many of them—but failed to convert.
China, meanwhile, had taken
its few chances and turned them into two goals.
A ruthless contrast.
For the Chilean players, the match felt suffocating from start to finish.
From China's surprise early strike to their disciplined counters and defensive structure, everything seemed to revolve around the rhythm China imposed.
They had never truly controlled the match.
And now… they had lost it—bitterly and painfully.
Up above, a Mexican began rolling across the Chinese fans in the Pantanal Arena as they sang.
Zero Point Band's "Believe in Yourself" echoed through the stands, sung by more than twenty thousand Chinese fans with full hearts.
The sound swallowed the night.
'How many times have we sweated profusely—'
'Pain filling our memories—'
'Because we believe—'
'Blood boils on the field—'
'A giant rises in the east—'
The chorus hit like a wave.
'Believe!'
'In yourself!'
'Oh~~~~~~~'
'You will surpass limits, surpass yourself!'
'Believe!'
'In yourself!'
'Oh~~~~~~~'
'When everything ends—you will be number one!'
As the final "Believe in yourself!" shook the stadium—
—Referee Noumandiez Doué's whistle blew.
Three long blasts.
Full-time.
China had won its opening World Cup match.
Across the nation, celebrations erupted instantly.
Some threw open their windows, banging pots and pans into the night.
"Let's go!"
Crowded subways saw sudden shouts—followed by embarrassed glances—then by entire train cars cheering together.
Bars, living rooms, KTVs—every corner of the country roared like a rising dragon.
...
On CCTV-5, Duan Xuan's voice trembled with emotion:
"After ninety minutes of fierce battle, the young men of China have defeated the Chilean team with courage and precision, earning their first win of this World Cup with two clean, decisive goals."
He drew a deep breath.
"Football has never been easy for us. We've endured setbacks and heartbreak. We've tasted helplessness, frustration, despair. And that is exactly why this moment feels so precious."
"In 2002, we broke through to the World Cup, but back then, we merely arrived. We didn't roar. We didn't truly challenge the world."
"But the day would come. If not this year, then four years later. One day, these young men will raise the five-star red flag even higher."
"This match was beautiful. From across the ocean in Brazil, our players have earned three invaluable points!"
"With this win, China now sits tied with the Netherlands on points—second in the group!"
"What excites us most… is that this World Cup is far from over. We can keep fighting."
As his heartfelt words faded, the match came to a close—but the fans refused to leave, lingering to sing a little longer before security herded them out.
Outside the stadium, Chinese fans were met by a flood of reporters.
Older fans smiled proudly, offering measured praise and earnest analysis.
Younger ones simply hollered, "One more win!"
That night, the city of Cuiabá shone with red.
...
Inside the locker room, the Chinese players bounced and shouted in pure joy.
Shirts tossed aside, voices cracking from singing—the first win had lifted a weight off their shoulders.
After the noise settled, Fernando and Chen Man were back at it again.
"Ninety minutes and not a single goal or proper assist. Rough day," Fernando teased.
Chen Man immediately bristled.
"How was that not an assist? The second goal—hello? Who do you think started that?"
Fernando shrugged. "If you count that, thank their goalkeeper."
Chen Man snorted. "The rules say it counts. Last pass before the chance equals an assist. Don't agree? Take it up with FIFA."
Wang Yi waved a hand, chuckling. "Alright, alright, settle down. I think we all know who the biggest hero today was."
All eyes turned to Kai.
His goal, his tackles, his interceptions—he had been everywhere.
He was unquestionably the man of the match.
Kai opened his mouth to downplay it—
—but Wang Yi cut him off with a shout:
"Brothers! Lift him!"
Laughter filled the room as everyone surged forward, grabbing Kai and hoisting him into the air, spinning him around like an airplane.
A perfect end to a perfect opening match.
...
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