Chapter Thirty-Seven: Wounded

The scene just moments ago tugged at the heartstrings. Amidst the aerial contest between two Chinese players, Turkish goalkeeper Rustu Recber soared high, throwing himself forward fearlessly, fists outstretched, determined to keep the ball under his control.

Indeed, he succeeded, but not without consequence; the Turkish goalkeeper seemed to have injured his leg. He pressed his lips together, pain etched across his face, yet he still clung tightly to the ball in his arms.

“Turkish goalkeeper Rustu Recber has claimed the ball, but it looks like he’s hurt! The team doctor signals to Head Coach Gunes for a substitution—this will be a forced change! Rustu Recber departs to a rousing ovation from the crowd.”

At this, Chen Nu couldn’t help but feel moved. This is the allure of football! On the pitch, you can’t help but give your all.

“Rustu Recber will be replaced by Omer Catkic. It’s worth noting that this goalkeeper is not even 180 centimeters tall! This could be a real opportunity for Team China. Against tall goalkeepers, China’s headers are often neutralized with ease.”

Here, Chen Nu’s eyes lit up. Yes! This was indeed a chance! The only imperfection was Mo Mo… Mo Mo stood at just 170 centimeters, making him even less effective than Hao Haidong in aerial duels.

The match resumed, and China’s defense gradually returned to normal. Turkey did not continue to press their attack; after all, they already had three goals in hand. It was China who needed to hurry—they began to slow the tempo, shifting to a defensive counterattack.

In this respect, Turkey was far calmer than China, a trait of a seasoned team.

China managed several fine combinations, but still lacked solutions inside the box. Mo Mo, in particular, was tightly marked. Turkey assigned clear duties: wherever Mo Mo went, whoever’s zone he entered took responsibility for marking him.

Under such circumstances, even if Mo Mo could find the ball’s landing spot, it was futile.

“We are now in the thirty-ninth minute, and Mo Mo can hardly control the ball. When it comes to physical contests, he is at a clear disadvantage.”

Chen Nu’s expression grew worried. Although the Turkish defenders were not overly aggressive, Mo Mo was repeatedly bumped off balance and sent tumbling to the ground. The Chinese supporters around the stadium shouted again and again, hoping to see their team turn things around.

“Here comes an attack from Turkey—they win the ball in midfield, a long pass! Number 9, Hakan Sukur, receives it!”

Chen Nu’s eyes widened in anger. It was Xu Yunlong’s mistake: he tried a direct pass to Yang Chen, but number 22, Umit Davala, read his intent and intercepted. Xu Yunlong pressed forward to challenge, but Umit Davala launched a long ball to the edge of the penalty area.

“Brilliant! Number 17, Du Wei! Du Wei with a fantastic clearance! Who’s at the end of it? Yang Chen! Yang Chen charges for the ball!”

Clearly, Turkey’s earlier easy successes had left them with the impression that China’s defense was not much to fear. In the fortieth minute, when Hakan Sukur steadied himself after collecting the ball, he tried to break past Du Wei. But Du Wei, instead of backing off, stepped up and successfully cleared the ball with a powerful kick.

The ball flew toward midfield, where Yang Chen, who had dropped deep, leapt high and took control. He immediately played a short pass to number 8, Li Tie. Number 20, Hakan Unsal, came up to intercept, but Li Tie deftly flicked the ball backward with his heel, returning it to number 3, Yang Pu!

“Yang Pu has the ball, passes again to Yang Chen—a lovely one-two! Yang Chen bursts into the penalty area!”

Chen Nu’s voice was electric with excitement, as were the Chinese supporters all around—“Yang Chen! Score one!” they chanted, calling out his name, urging a goal.

“Number 4, Fatih Akyel, and number 2, Emre Asik, move up to intercept. Mo Mo is in an offside position. Yang Chen slices the ball with the inside of his foot, sending it wide to Yang Pu on the wing! Yang Pu gets the ball!!!”

As Yang Chen sprinted into the open space, the Turkish defenders chose to stop him outside the box. Three of them moved forward in unison, catching Mo Mo offside—their coordination was flawless.

“Yang Pu cuts inside, looking to invade the box! This is a golden chance! But Turkey reacts swiftly! Yang Pu crosses from the left! Yang Chen—header!!!”

Turkey’s reaction was sharp. After a moment’s hesitation on the flank, Yang Pu swung the ball into the center. Mo Mo was once more caught in a tangle of defenders, but Yang Chen sprinted in from nearby, rose high, and powered a header toward goal!

The ball arced beautifully, crashing towards the Turkish net. The stadium erupted.

Head coach Bora Milutinovic rose to his feet, hope blazing in his eyes. Even Hao Haidong shouted, “Goal! Goal!”

But Omer Catkic launched himself into the air, parrying the ball with a forceful punch that sent it flying all the way to the center circle!

“Omer Catkic with a superb save! The ball soars, landing near midfield! Number 15, Zhao Junzhe, collects it. Turkish forward number 9, Hakan Sukur, closes in. After a brief pause, Zhao Junzhe launches a long pass! On the left, number 21, Xu Yunlong, receives the ball!”

This marked China’s second attack. After Yang Chen’s header was punched away by Omer Catkic, the ball dropped near midfield, where Zhao Junzhe was the lucky recipient. Hakan Sukur tried to steal it, but Zhao Junzhe shielded the ball and sent a long pass to Xu Yunlong on the left flank.

“Turkey’s response is quick—Xu Yunlong tries to dribble past his man! He fails but keeps the ball at his feet! Another Turkish player comes to press—Xu Yunlong breaks through! Magnificent!”

After Xu Yunlong got the ball, Hakan Unsal came up to challenge. Xu Yunlong attempted a nutmeg, but it was initially blocked. Fortunately, the ball bounced back to him, and as another Turkish player rushed in, Xu Yunlong used the inside of his left foot to nutmeg Hakan Unsal, breaking through at last.

“Hakan Unsal is nutmegged by Xu Yunlong! He tries to grab Xu Yunlong’s jersey but fails! Xu Yunlong lifts a high cross! Yang Chen! Yang Chen is so quick!!”

Xu Yunlong wasted no time, lofting the ball into the box about ten meters from goal. Mo Mo was ready to move in, but a Turkish defender perfectly blocked his run.

Yang Chen’s speed was astonishing, reminiscent of his early days at Eintracht Frankfurt in the Bundesliga, when he became the team’s top scorer—he was just as fleet-footed then!

“Number 3, Bulent Korkmaz, tries to block Yang Chen, but Yang Chen’s acceleration is like the wind—splendid! He outpaces number 4, Fatih Akyel! Neither defender can keep up! Yang Chen shoots! A flying volley!”

In that instant, the Chinese fans erupted with joy, while the Turkish supporters were stunned into silence. Clad in his flaming red jersey, Yang Chen surged through the crowd, meeting the ball ten meters from goal, and struck it midair with the outside of his right foot!

The ball rocketed forward like a missile in afterburner, streaking straight toward the Turkish goal. Omer Catkic stood frozen, unable even to react.

Mo Mo stared wide-eyed, tracing the ball’s trajectory with his gaze.

Head coach Bora Milutinovic’s mouth hung open, speechless, as if waiting, yearning for something climactic.

A thunderous roar erupted the next second, as if a bomb had detonated within the stadium, shaking it to its very core.