Chapter Nineteen: Free Kick

Fantasy is beautiful, but reality is harsh. Brazil is, after all, Brazil.

Their reaction was swift—within the blink of an eye, a defender had firmly positioned himself in front of Hao Haidong, blocking his way and preventing him from using his speed to his advantage. Then, goalkeeper Marcos, wearing the number one jersey, rushed out quickly and gathered the ball into his arms. In just those fleeting moments, a threatening attack had been effortlessly neutralized.

Mo Mo was stunned, unable to believe what he was seeing, yet it made perfect sense—they were Brazil! If it were Costa Rica, there might have been some hope, but the problem was that this was Brazil, heading toward their peak.

The game continued. Brazil began to slow the pace, while China retreated to their own half and switched to defense, a tactical arrangement made by head coach Bora Milutinović.

When hands are held in front of the chest, it symbolizes defense; when fists are thrown forward, it means attack. The Chinese team was waiting for just such a moment.

By the eleventh minute, both sides had launched two attacks. China’s first was a joint counterattack by Hao Haidong and Qi Hong, and the second saw Li Weifeng, number 14, charging forward with the ball—but neither posed much threat. Brazil, meanwhile, had two dangerous shots, both caught by goalkeeper Jiang Jin.

Throughout the match, China’s defense was well organized. Li Weifeng, number 14, was tasked with marking Ronaldo. So far, he had made three successful tackles against the Brazilian star. China’s defense during this period was impeccable.

“Beautiful! That’s Ma Mingyu fighting for the header! Ma Mingyu jumps high! Beautiful! Beautiful! Opportunity!”

A sweeping pass from China. Ma Mingyu won the aerial duel and headed the ball to a nearby teammate. A Brazilian defender rushed up to intervene, but the Chinese player immediately returned the pass to Ma Mingyu, and the Brazilian was beaten by a slick one-two.

Ma Mingyu controlled the ball on the wing, moving cautiously. Number 19, Juninho Paulista, pressed forward to challenge him. Ma Mingyu bent his left leg as if to break through on the left, and Juninho opened his legs, ready to shift. Then Ma Mingyu, with a deft touch of his left toe, sent the ball through Juninho’s legs, darting past him on the right.

The stadium erupted—what a move! Even Mo Mo couldn’t help but rise to his feet. How did he do that? Was this truly the Chinese team?

“Ma Mingyu has beaten a defender! Careful now! Beautiful!”

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Brazil’s defensive line was strong. A Brazilian defender quickly stepped up to cover. Seeing the threat of losing possession, Ma Mingyu made a split-second decision, throwing himself to the ground and sliding the ball away. Courage! Grit! Relentless!

Mo Mo found himself at a loss for words, yet the match was far from over. As the ball rolled out, a Brazilian player was about to gain control, but a Chinese player sprinted in, disregarding the risk of injury, diving in with a slide tackle, determined to win back possession.

But the Brazilian, with an inside touch of his right foot, hopped to evade the desperate challenge. Yet it wasn’t over! Another Chinese player rushed in, sliding in again, catching the Brazilian off guard. Just as he stopped the ball, a leg appeared and he lost balance, tumbling to the turf.

A shrill whistle pierced the air—China had committed a foul. No card was issued; Brazil had a free kick.

Mo Mo calmed himself. He remembered someone once mentioning the 2002 World Cup, dismissing it with a casual remark: “Those guys tried hard, that’s all! Lost 0:9 anyway.”

Was it the players’ fault? They fought, they struggled, they honored their jerseys and their fans! Did you know what they trained for in earlier years? Long-distance running! Did you know how much they were paid back then?

They dedicated their youth to the nation’s football, sweating, bleeding, and crying on the pitch. Look at their muscles, the sharply defined abs? They were pioneers, they were devoted, and they were also sacrificial.

They were, above all, makers of history. Without them, you wouldn’t even have the chance to complain about the 2002 World Cup! It would never have concerned you! As for the future of the national team, let’s leave that aside. But can you spare a bit of respect for the golden generation of 2002?

“Fourteenth minute! Ronaldinho has the ball! Successful defense! Beautiful! Number 14, Li Weifeng, again shines!”

To be honest, at first Chen Nu was nervous, fearing that China would be crushed by Brazil, but now he could relax. At least so far, China’s performance had been impressive. For any player fighting on the field, to be earnest, focused, and brave—if he accomplished these, he had a clear conscience.

There’s an old Chinese saying: Do your best, leave the rest to fate.

This was a foul just outside the penalty area, but a necessary one. Number 14, Li Weifeng, used a smart collision to snuff out a dangerous attack, and he hadn’t even received a card!

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Jiang Jin shouted instructions for the defense. Behind the goal, a red banner bore the word “China.” The players, drenched in sweat and out of breath, still looked intensely focused, forming a wall of flesh and blood before the goal in an instant.

“Number 6, Roberto Carlos, will take the free kick. We see goalkeeper Jiang Jin, eyes locked, bending his body as he prepares for Brazil’s set piece.”

Chen Nu’s voice was calm and steady. What’s the big deal? Our defense today is solid as a fortress. What will this free kick amount to? Jiang Jin has already made four crucial saves!

“Senior, who’s taking the free kick? Is it Ronaldinho or—?”

Mo Mo couldn’t help himself, asking a rather silly question. Ronaldinho was still at Paris Saint-Germain, just beginning to emerge; though he had a place in the Brazilian team, the free kicks wouldn’t fall to him just yet.

“Roberto Carlos is taking the free kick—why do you ask?”

The name was unfamiliar, but Mo Mo had some vague recollection. Before he could make sense of it, the match resumed.

A wave of exclamations rippled around the stadium. Number 6, Roberto Carlos, opted to shoot directly! The ball sailed over the wall, heading straight for the goal. Jiang Jin launched himself into the air!

Mo Mo squinted, estimating the trajectory. Jiang Jin’s leap seemed perfectly timed to intercept the ball.

The next moment, a thunderous roar erupted throughout the stadium, and Mo Mo couldn’t help but leap to his feet.