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"Puta!"
Cristiano Ronaldo, furious, slammed his captain's armband onto the grass.
The World Cup knockout stage he had placed so much hope on, the revenge match he had awaited for so long—who knew they'd concede a goal just 4 minutes into the game?
What was most infuriating was that Lance had easily broken through the penalty area, showcasing his skills against the entire defense, scoring a solo goal!
I, the esteemed Ballon d'Or winner Cristiano Ronaldo, have never scored a solo goal like that.
How dare you?
What are my teammates doing?
Cristiano Ronaldo, in a fit of rage, attributed the conceded goal to the defense's mistakes, nearly lashing out at his Portugal teammates.
After scoring, Lance celebrated with Belgium players.
They were even doing tricks!
Lance, Kevin De Bruyne, Eden Hazard, Divock Origi—the four of them suddenly froze, pretending time had stopped.
The opposing side was filled with the joyous atmosphere of being ahead.
Looking at Portugal, it was incredibly oppressive, and Cristiano Ronaldo was even more enraged.
"How the hell are you guys…—"
"Forget it, Cristiano, it's all my fault, don't blame them."
Pepe, though often hot-headed and prone to nasty fouls, was still loyal, taking the blame upon himself.
As a Real Madrid teammate who had fought alongside him, Cristiano Ronaldo found it difficult to erupt when Pepe spoke like that.
He forcefully swallowed his anger, glaring fiercely at the others.
"Be serious! Concentrate!"
Portugal players were unjustly scolded by Cristiano Ronaldo, but they dared not speak out.
Cristiano Ronaldo was their elder brother.
In the locker room, even Paulo Bento had to show him respect.
Last time, Nani had poached a goal from Cristiano Ronaldo, leading to it being disallowed for offside, and Cristiano Ronaldo had cursed him for half an hour in the locker room, with no one daring to intervene.
This showed the prestige of Portugal's spiritual leader within the team.
"I didn't do anything wrong; that Asian guy was just too agile…"
Bruno Alves felt very wronged.
He had truly done his best, working with his teammates to limit Lance as much as possible, but Lance's strength was simply too great.
"Forget it, let's try to defend our goal. We're only one goal down; there's still a chance."
Pepe quickly comforted his teammates.
He knew that he hadn't made a mistake, and neither had the defenders.
The Asian kid had simply performed beyond his usual level, just now, erupting with terrifying energy.
Pepe had never felt such helplessness even against Lionel Messi; any defender would have found it incredibly difficult to stop Lance just now.
Cristiano Ronaldo was purely wasting opportunities himself and taking his frustration out on his teammates.
There was no choice; today, they truly had to rely on Cristiano Ronaldo.
Otherwise, no one in Portugal could step up to save the team.
…
The match continued. With a one-goal advantage, Belgium played defensively and counter-attacked, executing their pre-planned tactics.
Portugal originally also played defensive counter-attacking football, but having conceded an early goal, they had no choice but to push forward and control possession, exposing their defense to Belgium.
"Attack for the first 15 minutes. If we can score, great; if not, don't rush. Fall back, stabilize the situation, and then plan further."
Paulo Bento gave real-time instructions, urging the entire Portugal team to attack.
At the same time, Belgium coach Marc Wilmots also called over Kevin De Bruyne on the sidelines.
"Kevin, tell them to fall back as much as possible and hold the line during this period."
"No problem, Coach."
"And! Don't commit too many players to the counter-attack to avoid being hit by a second counter-attack from the opponent."
"Understood!"
Kevin De Bruyne hurried onto the field, relaying the tactical instructions to his teammates.
The entire Belgium team tightened their formation.
Divock Origi, Eden Hazard, Lance, Kevin De Bruyne—the four formed the attacking group in the front, their only strength for counter-attacks, with both full-backs locked into defensive duties.
After cautious probing, Portugal gradually increased their intensity.
Thibaut Courtois in goal came under immense pressure!
"Portugal's possession, João Moutinho… good, to Cristiano Ronaldo on the left. He exchanges positions with his teammate, trying to cut inside from his more familiar area outside the box…"
"Change of direction to shake off the defender! He takes a shot himself!"
"Oh, that shot! That was really close!"
Zhang Lu's heart almost couldn't take it.
Cristiano Ronaldo's powerful long-range shot flew just wide of the post, less than 5 centimeters from going in.
A collective sigh of disappointment rose from the commentary box.
Soon, Portugal came back again.
Pepe won a header, flicking it to Raul Meireles, who then passed it to João Moutinho.
João Moutinho, as the central midfielder for Ligue 1 champions AS Monaco, had performed commendably in the World Cup, arguably Portugal's only good performer in midfield.
He aimed left but delivered a deceptive through-ball to the right, fooling Belgium and creating a huge opening on the right side!
"Nani!"
The famous "Nani Who Doesn't Pass," Nani, along with Antonio Valencia, Ashley Young, and Danny Welbeck, were known as Manchester United's "Four Dark Heavenly Kings." (T/N: Their title in China)
During his time at Manchester United, he had a Jekyll and Hyde quality—when he was brilliant, he was comparable to Cristiano Ronaldo, when he was poor, he was equally abstract.
In the World Cup, Nani's performance was average. João Moutinho delivered a truly exquisite through-ball, but Nani's run was half a beat slow, causing him to not reach it in time initially, almost letting the ball go out of bounds.
By the time he controlled the ball, Jan Vertonghen had already tracked back to mark him.
Nani tried a few feints but couldn't deceive Jan Vertonghen, so he had to create space and deliver a cross.
With a cross like that, it should have been easy to defend in the box.
Lance had already started preparing for a counter-attack.
Such a high and floating ball would typically be easily cleared.
Unexpectedly, Portugal's 30-year-old veteran Hélder Postiga, with his rich experience, suddenly made a run to the near post, intentionally faking a header.
This feint caused Thomas Vermaelen, who was contesting the ball, to be fooled and fail to clear it.
"I got it!"
In the center, Vincent Kompany roared, ready to clear the ball.
Suddenly, he felt a shadow appear before him!
The light was blocked!
Vincent Kompany, in mid-air, was startled. He glanced back with his peripheral vision and saw a figure, like Mount Tai descending, appearing beside him!
His jump height was even a few centimeters higher than Vincent Kompany's!
"Oh no!"
Bang—
Before Vincent Kompany could even feel nervous, that person had already unleashed a powerful lion-like header!
"Oh my! Nani's cross—Cristiano Ronaldo!"
"That's a goal! In the 19th minute of the first half, Portugal's cross from the wing helps Cristiano Ronaldo equalize with a header!"
"1-1! This clash of titans today is truly full of suspense!"
He Wei was stunned.
Was that goal conceded too easily?
However, Cristiano Ronaldo truly had something special; his jump height was comparable to a slam dunk, and his hang time and heading ability were too strong.
This was the value of a superstar!
Overly excited, Cristiano Ronaldo sprinted to the sidelines, leaping high and turning, performing his signature celebration.
"Siu—!"
In the stands, approximately 20,000 tickets had been sold to Portugal fans, who were equally boisterous, rivaling Belgium fans.
Lance had no complaints about this goal either.
Did Vincent Kompany defend poorly? He had tried hard enough.
However, Cristiano Ronaldo's bug-like jump height caught him off guard.
Lance was not disheartened by this conceded goal; instead, his lips curled into a smile, and the fighting spirit in his eyes grew even stronger!
"This is more like it! This is what a World Cup knockout match should be like!"
"Come on! Let's fight to our hearts' content!"