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Tired.
So tired.
Completely exhausted.
Physically and mentally, Lance felt as though he had reached his limit.
The accumulated fatigue from a series of high-intensity knockout matches wasn't something that could be solved with two days of rest.
Even after downing two cans of [Ordinary Red Bull], the system item only removed the physical strain.
The mental exhaustion remained.
"No wonder people talk about the FIFA virus."
Lance stretched his sore shoulders.
"Players who go deep into major international tournaments always seem to struggle when they return to their clubs."
"Oh, come on."
Hazard and De Bruyne turned toward him simultaneously.
The disdain in their eyes was impossible to miss.
Hazard held back a laugh.
De Bruyne, however, showed no mercy.
"If anyone else said that, I'd think they were genuinely complaining."
"But when it comes from you?"
He pointed at Lance.
"That's called showing off."
Lance blinked.
The phrase he'd casually introduced months ago had already become part of De Bruyne's vocabulary.
"When next season starts, you'll probably be tearing up the league again."
"I hope you're right."
Hazard, De Bruyne, and Lukaku exchanged helpless looks.
This guy really knew how to make people want to hit him.
He was obviously one of the best players in the world, yet he always acted as if he were barely surviving.
Talking to Lance felt like listening to a student who consistently ranked first in the country complain about a difficult exam.
Then the results would come out.
Perfect score.
Highest marks everywhere.
Leaving everyone else wondering why they'd bothered worrying in the first place.
The three of them sat on the training ground, drinking water and chatting while recovering from the session.
Not far away, Courtois glanced in their direction several times.
The goalkeeper clearly wanted to join them.
Unfortunately, Lance's closest friend was Kevin De Bruyne.
And Courtois and De Bruyne had long since become strangers.
Some wounds didn't heal.
Courtois couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret.
If he hadn't made those mistakes years ago, perhaps things would be different now.
Maybe he'd still be sitting with them, laughing and talking.
Lance noticed his gaze.
He understood what Courtois was thinking.
But De Bruyne was his brother.
Getting involved in old business that wasn't his to settle would only make things awkward.
So he pretended not to notice.
Instead, he continued discussing Belgium's next opponent with Hazard and De Bruyne.
Time passed quickly.
Before anyone knew it, the semifinals had arrived.
The tournament schedule had been compressed because the Rio Olympics would begin shortly afterward.
Both the European Championship and Copa América had been forced into tighter calendars to accommodate the summer's international events.
Lance occasionally found himself thinking about glimpses of the future.
The Olympics would gradually lose much of their appeal over the coming years.
Hosting rights that countries once fought desperately to obtain would eventually become burdens many preferred to avoid.
Meanwhile, the World Cup would continue growing in prestige.
Nations around the world would compete fiercely for the opportunity to host it.
Football remained football.
Nothing matched its influence.
"It's kind of ironic."
"Hm?"
De Bruyne looked over.
"What is?"
"Nothing."
Lance stood up.
"Let's finish warming up."
Marseille.
France.
The home stadium of Olympique de Marseille.
Belgium and France occupied opposite halves of the pitch as players completed their final pre-match warmups.
Both squads appeared relaxed on the surface.
But beneath that calm exterior, everyone understood the significance of the match ahead.
The stands were already packed.
Belgian supporters.
French supporters.
Neutral fans.
Everyone had arrived early.
Massive flags and tifos covered entire sections of the stadium.
Lance glanced toward the crowd.
His eyes immediately found a familiar sea of red.
Many supporters were waving five-star red flags.
That wasn't unusual.
What surprised him was how many local supporters were waving them as well.
"Those people are all here for you."
De Bruyne smiled helplessly.
The scene really was remarkable.
Belgium's golden generation was filled with world-class stars.
Yet the team's biggest attraction was Lance.
Everywhere he went, crowds followed.
The cheers continued to grow louder.
Perhaps because the atmosphere was becoming increasingly one-sided, the French supporters decided to respond.
Soon, a chorus echoed through the stadium.
"La Marseillaise."
The French national anthem.
Its powerful melody rolled across the stands.
Thousands upon thousands of voices joined together.
"Arise, children of the Fatherland..."
The entire stadium seemed to vibrate.
Even some Belgian players looked impressed.
"Wow..."
The Belgian squad had already completed their warmup and were preparing to return to the locker room.
Then another song rose from the opposite side of the stadium.
At first it was only a few voices.
Then hundreds.
Then thousands.
The melody spread rapidly through the crowd.
Supporters who had come specifically to cheer for Lance began singing together.
Before long, many Belgian fans joined in as well.
Their pronunciation wasn't perfect.
Their lyrics weren't always accurate.
But they sang anyway.
Over the past two years, countless supporters had become familiar with the song through Lance's rise at Bayer Leverkusen, Atlético Madrid, and the Belgian national team.
The atmosphere grew louder and louder.
A sea of voices competed against another sea of voices.
Neither side willing to back down.
On the opposite touchline, Griezmann stared into the stands.
"My God..."
He blinked several times.
"Are their supporters always this crazy?"
One of his teammates laughed nervously.
"Are we sure this is still a home match?"
France possessed arguably the strongest squad in world football.
As hosts, they should have enjoyed a massive advantage.
Yet the atmosphere felt far more balanced than anyone had expected.
Griezmann's confidence had already taken a hit after watching Belgium eliminate Germany.
Now that confidence was slipping even further.
He immediately turned toward his teammates.
"Enough staring."
"Back to the locker room."
"Get focused."
The smiles disappeared.
Everyone nodded.
Because the match ahead would decide everything.
The European Championship semifinal.
Two of the strongest teams in world football.
One place in the final.
And ninety minutes to decide who would take it.