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"Mr. Bartomeu, Messi really is still one of the best players in the world, isn't he?"
"No, no, no, Mr. Gil, Lance is the stronger one. You really picked up a gem in the summer transfer window! How about this — we spend 200 million euros to buy Lance?"
"Hahahaha, that's a lot of money, I'll admit it scares me a little. Besides, our partner Mr. Zhang wouldn't agree either. Lance is their guy."
Inside the VIP box at the Wanda Metropolitano, Barcelona president Bartomeu and Atlético Madrid's largest shareholder, Gil Jr., harbored their own agendas while keeping up appearances on the surface.
Beside them, Wanda representative Zhang Lin looked visibly frustrated.
In truth, Wanda hadn't had much influence over Atlético Madrid's decision to sign Lance. It had been largely the Gil family's call. Wanda's boss, Old Wang, and their Spain representative Zhang Lin had played an advisory role at most.
Now that Lance had become the true core of the squad and their talisman, Gil Jr. was taking all the credit, claiming it had been his decision to bring Lance in despite opposition. He conveniently left out the times he had questioned Lance in board meetings.
Bartomeu and Florentino were both watching with hungry eyes, each wishing they could steal Lance away immediately.
Gil Jr. just wanted to show off in front of them.
Even with the score at 2–1 after Barcelona pulled one back, he wasn't worried. Against every opponent he'd faced, Lance had a 100% win rate against Messi. One goal wasn't going to change that.
...
In the final minutes of the first half, Barcelona's goal made Atlético Madrid considerably more cautious. No matter how Barcelona adjusted or stretched play, Atlético's defensive line held firm, and the MSN trio couldn't find a way through. Neymar's shot from the left was the last meaningful action of the half.
The 2–1 scoreline going into the break was something both sides could live with.
The second half opened with a sharper edge. Multiple players picked up bookings for heavy fouls as the match grew more combative.
Beep.
After his brilliant goal, Messi became increasingly aggressive. Koke couldn't afford to give him space. The moment Messi dribbled past him in the defensive half, Koke reached back and hauled him down, taking a yellow card.
Messi stood over the free kick.
"Sorry, Lance."
"You did the right thing. I would've made the same foul."
Lance quickly reassured Koke.
As stamina drops late in matches, defensive movements grow sloppy and players struggle to match their opponent's rhythm. Fouls become unavoidable, so Lance focused on covering for his teammates wherever he could.
"Messi! A left-footed curl!!!"
"Brilliant!!! Oblak!!!"
Duan Xuan was electric with excitement. Next door, the Catalan commentator buried his head in his hands.
So close.
Messi was in unstoppable form. The left-footed curl had nearly gone in, clipping the top corner. But Oblak, with his height and reach, managed to tip the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips at full stretch.
"I love you!"
Defender Giménez grabbed Oblak and kissed him.
"Get out of here, I'm straight!"
"Heh. If you were a woman, I'd definitely ask you out."
"That's disgusting, damn it!!"
Oblak looked ready to shove Giménez away. But the distraction worked. The psychological pressure hanging over Atlético's defensive line lifted noticeably.
During this spell, Barcelona were using their ball retention to generate wave after wave of pressure on the penalty area. Even against one of Europe's best defensive units, winning the ball back from Barcelona was almost impossible. After 20-plus passes, Atlético still hadn't been able to get a touch.
"This can't keep going. We need to punish them."
Griezmann muttered.
"How are you going to do that?"
"Me? That should be you, Lance."
Griezmann looked over at him.
"Come on! You can't just dump everything on me every time."
"Of course I can! Right, Fernando?"
Griezmann turned shamelessly to Torres for backup. Lance looked over to Torres, hoping the good-natured striker would shut this down.
Instead, Torres nodded along.
"That's right."
"Oh, for fu—"
Lance bit his tongue.
Even Torres had been dragged into Griezmann and Saúl's nonsense now. Fine. If it had to be him, it had to be him.
Messi had just put on a dribbling masterclass. Now it was Lance's turn.
Atlético had two problems at this moment. One, they couldn't get the ball off Barcelona. Two, even when they did win it in the defensive half, they couldn't move it forward without being immediately pressed.
Every time Koke, Gabi, Godín, or anyone else had the ball, they were swarmed. The high press was so aggressive it was practically in the goalkeeper's face. There was no space to build a counterattack.
So what was the answer?
With the restart imminent, Lance quickly settled on a plan. The only option was for the goalkeeper to play it long and skip past the press. Griezmann and Torres would push forward, and he would use Isagi Yoichi's Space Perception to find the most dangerous pocket. Then use Cannavaro's Muscle Memory for the physical contest, try to win the aerial duel against the defender, and then use his own dribbling to create a real threat.
Lance glanced across at the aggressive Alves and the slightly lighter build of left-back Alba on the right. He had already found his target.
"Hey! Over here!"
Lance called out to Oblak in the final seconds.
"What?"
Oblak looked over with a questioning expression.
Lance subtly pointed to the right side of the field, signalling for a long kick to that channel when the moment came.
Oblak paused for a second, then gave a quick nod.
Simeone had told the squad plainly: whenever Lance wanted the ball or had an idea, everyone needed to do their best to work with him. This was Lance's football intelligence, the instinct he had developed over time. He always had something up his sleeve.
Griezmann and Torres caught the exchange. Everyone understood. They got themselves ready.
Barcelona had no idea.
"Barcelona's corner kick is about to be taken. Atlético Madrid are setting up their defense. The clock reads 76 minutes. In nearly 20 minutes of this second half, Barcelona have controlled around 80% of possession."
"They look to have found the passing and pressing rhythm of the sextuple-winning era, putting continuous pressure on Atlético Madrid."
"Atlético's defensive line is under serious strain. Let's see whether they can hold firm and find a moment to counter."
"Iniesta! The corner goes to the near post!"
Piqué was shaping to head it when a pair of gloves arrived to take it cleanly above him.
Oblak had snatched the ball out of the air with everything he had. He dropped to the ground and pinned it to the grass.
Barcelona's players looked deflated and began retreating to their positions. They expected Oblak to take his time before restarting.
Instead, Oblak sprung to his feet and, catching everyone off guard, launched a long kick forward.
"Something's wrong!"
Messi reacted first and set off sprinting, but he was already too late to intercept.
The ball flew straight into the right channel of the attacking third. Alba's zone.
A red and white figure was already at full speed.
"Oh no!!"
Watching Lance sprint, his number 10 shirt streaming behind him, Messi felt a sudden dread.
"I've got it!!"
Alba hadn't seen the danger yet and called for the ball as he rushed into the aerial challenge.
The next second.
"Oh my!" Gong Lei exclaimed.
"Lance! Challenging for the header!!"
Everyone expected Lance to be knocked aside. Instead, his center of gravity held firm. Alba lost the aerial duel.
"Brilliant!! Lance keeps it!! Busquets!"
After the header, Lance landed and drove forward toward where the ball would drop. Busquets sensed it a split second early and sprinted to clear it before Lance could get there.
Just as Busquets was about to make contact, a foot appeared from nowhere and flicked the ball away from right in front of him. At the same moment, Lance slipped through from the other side with a nutmeg.
Busquets was left completely stranded, beaten on both sides at once. By the time he turned to recover, it was far too late.
The Wanda Metropolitano erupted.
"Lance!!! Beautiful!!! He's through!!! Straight into the penalty area!"
The remaining center-back Mascherano panicked, dropping his weight and holding his distance.
Lance bore down from the edge of the penalty area and instinctively used Bukayo Saka's feint from his Muscle Memory to sell the dummy. Although he didn't know who Saka was, the feint worked perfectly. Mascherano lunged. Lance dragged the ball across and left him for dead.
A fake shot followed, before he flicked the ball with his heel to change direction, using Nagi Seishiro's Muscle Memory to ghost past the rushing Ter Stegen.
The goal was wide open.
Barcelona fans, Barcelona players, Messi included, all felt the same despair in that instant.
Lance had torn through Barcelona's entire defense single-handedly, again. At the very moment their momentum was at its peak, a thunderbolt had come down and shattered their last hope.
Bang.
The shot ripped through the net.
Lance sprinted to the corner flag and dropped into a knee slide, punctuating the goal with perfect composure.
"Brilliant!!! That's a goal!!!"
"Atlético Madrid extend their lead! 3–1!!"
"Every time we think Messi has reasserted his dominance and defended his place at the top of football, Lance responds with something even sharper."
"Shattering the nearly decade-long era of two peerless stars."
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
"Welcome the football era that belongs to Lance!"
Duan Xuan's powerful, proud voice rang out across thousands of television screens.