The fan in question was wearing an Argentina jersey, though out of habit, he had a light jacket on top. His seats were located behind the goal—three tickets together in one row. But when he arrived, the spots had already been taken by hardcore Argentine fans.
He approached them politely to discuss the situation, but they replied arrogantly that this was Argentine territory. When he revealed his Argentina jersey underneath, they changed their excuse: this was a section for die-hard supporters only, and he should get lost.
Security eventually stepped in, but their intervention achieved little.
In truth, seats directly behind the goal aren't considered the best viewing spots. The sides of the pitch—especially near the VIP boxes and media stands—offer a far better experience, with shade, amenities, and privacy. Those areas are often preferred by wealthy fans who prefer to stay out of the spotlight.
However, the stands behind the goal are typically reserved for the most passionate fans. From there, supporters can distract opposing players during shots or penalty kicks, and when their own team scores at that end, players often celebrate with the fans right behind the net. It's an electrifying atmosphere.
But that's the kind of setup reserved for home stadiums.
At the World Cup, every ticket is sold equally. Even the most loyal fans don't get to break the rules.
But Argentinians didn't care at all—and what could anyone really do?
During the confrontation, the Argentines completely lost their civility.
"Hey, are you Japanese or Korean? Didn't your teams already get knocked out? Why are you here watching Argentina?"
Pure mockery at its finest.
The Asian fan's face went red with fury. "You're the damn Japanese! I'm Chinese!"
The other man burst out laughing. "Chinese? Then you shouldn't even be at this World Cup! You don't have the right to be here!"
"Go return your ticket already! Stop wasting seats. Real fans—fans of teams that actually qualified—couldn't get tickets because of people like you!"
"My brother missed out because of that. It's all your fault!"
"Wait—China? Oh right! That ridiculous, useless captain of Spain's team—isn't he one of yours?"
"Yeah, Su Hang! The Chinese guy!"
"Hahaha! Funniest thing I've heard all year! A backup captain—what's he got besides the title?"
"Ever heard of Messi? He's Argentina's genius. He's going to teach your Su Hang a real lesson tonight... well, assuming Su even gets to play!"
"And at the club level, Messi's going to lead Barça to destroy Real Madrid—kick your Su Hang off the pitch! Send him back to your second-rate Asian football! The world's biggest stage isn't for players like him!"
"Screw you! I'll smash you!" The Chinese fan exploded in rage but, realizing he was outnumbered, didn't charge forward. Instead, he tore off his Argentina jersey, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it furiously.
It's my jersey—I'll do whatever the hell I want with it.
That act immediately enraged the surrounding Argentine fans. Security rushed in and escorted the three Chinese fans out of the area, relocating them to new seats.
The stadium's poor management and the disgraceful behavior of certain Argentine fans were on full display.
Unbeknownst to them, the entire altercation was captured by nearby journalists from The London Globe.
As a rising media outlet, The London Globe had gained huge traffic thanks to Clara's reports but still lacked standing in the industry, often being pushed aside by bigger outlets. This time, they'd been relegated to the edge near the corner flag—and by chance, they caught the whole thing on film.
It wasn't just a fan clash. It involved China.
Since new ownership took over, The London Globe had shown growing interest in Chinese athletes and China-related stories, reportedly aiming to break into the Chinese sports news market. Some also believed this interest stemmed from their core coverage subject—Su Hang.
"Hey!" A young staffer beside the photographer called out to the Chinese fan.
He took off his press jacket, revealing a Spanish national team jersey underneath—number twenty-three.
"Hey, man… Su Hang… We are all Su Hang! Victory!"
He pulled off his jersey and tossed it to the fan.
The Chinese fan froze, staring at the jersey in his hands.
He wasn't an ordinary spectator. He was an intern football commentator—someone who actually understood the game.
It was that understanding that had made him appreciate the rising potential of Argentina's young star, Messi. Because of that, he had always supported Argentina and Barcelona.
But this year, in Germany, he'd felt something new—a bitter taste of Argentine arrogance.
He swore he'd never wear an Argentina jersey again as long as he lived.
And because he knew football, he had always been skeptical of Su Hang.
To him, Su Hang's playing style was chaotic. Aside from his strength and heading ability, he lacked technique or polish. His rare flashes of brilliance seemed purely accidental. Based on fundamentals, he wasn't the kind of player who could sustain success.
That's why he became one of Su Hang's biggest critics online.
His name was Ryan Zhang.
But now… something inside him was changing.
For the first time, he genuinely felt the positive influence Su Hang had brought him.
A Su Hang fan had just handed him a jersey—an act that reignited his love for football.
Even though Su Hang was only an ethnic Chinese player without Chinese citizenship—that had been Zhang's biggest reason for criticizing him—he began to question himself.
Was Messi a Chinese player? No.
Then why couldn't he show the same tolerance toward Su Hang that he did toward foreigners?
Was it just because Su Hang was of Chinese descent?
Just because he still had some connection to the mainland, did that mean he deserved harsher treatment?
Ryan Zhang looked at the anti–Su Hang group chat he'd created and, without hesitation, pressed "Disband."
At that same moment, The London Globe photographer whispered to his young assistant, "Hey, Fabrizio. I told you—just focus on filming. Don't do anything else."
"You're only thirteen. If anyone finds out your age, we'll be in trouble. I promised your family I'd get you into the match, but I don't want to be accused of using child labor."
"By the way, why do you, an Italian, like Su Hang so much? You've got plenty of stars from Italy."
The boy, Fabrizio, grinned. "They're all too old. And I think Su has a unique kind of charisma—not that others don't, but his is exactly what I like."
"Powerful yet graceful. Dignified but commanding."
"I started following him after those Champions League matches against Lazio and Roma. Not from the very beginning, but pretty early."
"I'm lucky I got to see those magical early games of Su Hang's career. I know this will be one of my favorite memories to talk about in the future."
The photographer chuckled and shook his head. "What a shame. I thought you'd prefer Roma's stars—or maybe someone from Napoli."
"After all, you're from Naples, and your last name is Romano."