The first half is over, and the second half is nearing its end.
Neither team has scored a goal, though the Barcelona Youth Team has attempted to change tactics. However, they're accustomed to using a "burst point" strategy to tear through the opposition.
But now their "burst point" is watched by Chen Zhong, like watching a child.
"Really pathetic." Chen Zhong once again used his body to shove Bojan to the ground, looking at the dirtied Bojan he said, "It's been the whole match! Can't you get past me once? Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"
Bojan stood up angrily, wanting to say something to Chen Zhong, but Chen Zhong was already shaking his head, turning back to his position, keeping his distance from Bojan, not wanting to hear what he had to say.
Bojan might still be afraid of Chen Zhong, but he wanted more than anything to beat Chen Zhong in a 1v1, to play tricks on the opponent.
He felt a fire inside his heart; if he doesn't release it, he might go crazy, he might go crazy!
"Chen, he seems to be about to go nuts."
"Ha!" Chen Zhong turned to glance at his teammate, mocking, "A laughable pride of a genius, knowing he can't get past me, still always wanting to duel me alone. But that's good, it saves me effort."
"I really didn't expect you could truly limit him; this is your first encounter with him!"
The voice of the teammate was full of admiration. Chen Zhong had risen to Castilla at the beginning of this year, and when Chen Zhong joined Castilla, Bojan had already gone to lower leagues to train.
"If no goal is scored soon, it'll go to penalties." Chen Zhong didn't bother with this discussion; his target has never been this Bojan. Anyone who could be intimidated by his "Butcher" aura is just a hothouse flower, faced with a little adversity, they probably won't survive.
Who was the last one to withstand his aura, anyway!?
Seems like it was Alvaro Morata, that tough kid from Getafe Youth.
"If we had Morata in our front line, the boy from Getafe Youth, maybe we'd have scored by now." Chen Zhong couldn't help but mutter as time slowly slipped by and his heart grew increasingly anxious.
And equally anxious was Schuster in the stands; he now looked like an angry lion, his entire face starting to flush red.
"Who's their coach?"
"Julen Lopetegui?"
"Fool, he should've let him go up front by now."
"That Barcelona boy has already completely lost himself on the field."
"What we need is a goal, a goal, a goal! Damnit! We need to score!"
Schuster cursed angrily; he didn't want to watch a dull penalty shootout. If he were coaching, he'd put Chen Zhong up front and start lofting high balls in, scoring one after another in front of those short Barcelona players.
"Wasteful, shameful waste, this fool." Schuster wished he could rush down and become the youth team coach himself: "I'd rather turn it into a goal-scoring match than watch such a dull game. What did Capello's 1-0 philosophy bring us?"
Francisco watched Schuster looking like he had words he wanted to say but held back; this was Bojan! The hope Barcelona had against Messi; during their major cleanup, there was even a rumor they wanted to use Bojan to replace Messi.
This was a presence unmatched among peers, having even broken Messi's record; he is the most dazzling among players of the same age.
No matter how much attention is given, it's not too much for such a genius.
Originally, Francisco wanted to say this, but now he found himself unable to speak, after a whole match of Schuster's brainwashing, he surprisingly also felt that maybe the team shouldn't be so conservative, so worried about Bojan, or even Messi?
As Schuster cursed, the match reached its final moments, and the whole stadium transformed from its initial casual atmosphere to being similar to a normal match.
Some were booing, some were cheering, and some, like Schuster, were angrily swearing!
Everyone's eyes focused on the last corner kick from Real Madrid, and Chen Zhong stepped forward like a heavy tank among a group of people in the penalty area.
His steps were steady and firm, as if with some kind of determination.
Around him, the players of the Barcelona Youth Team shouted loudly, surrounding this "monster," even the goalkeeper was eyeing him, ready to come out and grab the ball at any moment.
Such a posture was clearly treating him like a football superstar.
His teammate at the corner flag raised his right hand high, Chen Zhong also raised his right hand, as if saying give me the ball; the way he ignored everyone else filled the Barcelona Youth Team's defenders with fury.
"Keep an eye on him!" Bojan shouted loudly, then slowly moved out of the penalty area to stand near the center circle, his eyes flashing with fire, even calculating in his mind what he'd do to score and celebrate after the counterattack.
Who did he think he was!
Did he really believe he's invincible?
With so many of us, you probably can't take us all down and still head the ball in.
"This fool!" Schuster cursed as well: "How can he head the ball in this way? All the attention is on him; if the goalkeeper comes out, he'll grab the ball right away."
Schuster hoped Chen Zhong would show something in attack, but at this point in time, raising his right hand high like a flag and a nail, nailed in Barcelona Youth's penalty area.
What kind of chance do you have?
What can you do?
All those subtle gestures, little movements, what are they for? Do you have to be so ostentatious?
A Real Madrid Youth player took the corner kick, and Chen Zhong spread his arms wide under the siege of Barcelona Youth players, like a mighty eagle.
His thunderous roar made the Barcelona Youth players around him feel a tremor in their chests, even the young goalkeeper couldn't help but focus his gaze on him.
The "Butcher" aura, paired with this roar, made him the most eye-catching presence on the field at that moment.
The ball traced an arc; Barcelona Youth Team players wanted to jump but unexpectedly found themselves unable to; Chen Zhong's hands seemed to be exerting force pressing them down, and Chen Zhong...
He...
Why isn't he jumping!
No, why is he jumping like that!
Someone realized something, wanted to alert their teammates, but couldn't do it anymore.
Missed heading, missed heading, missed heading.
The ball passed over the largest group in the center; the goalkeeper, drawn by Chen Zhong's roar, though initially aware, was still a step too slow.
At such a distance, even the player's grandmother could easily slot the ball home.
"Hahahahahahahaha!" Schuster swung his golden hair, raising his arms in celebration, while Real Madrid Youth supporters around him joined their voices with his.
The sound was deafening, seeming to want to overturn the entire stadium.
"This kid! This kid!" Schuster turned to Francisco: "He's not stupid! He's not stupid!"