"Steady on, Zheng-ge. Aren't you taking a bit of an advantage here? I'm nine years older than him!"
David Qin let out a couple of dry coughs at Zheng Zhi's suggestion.
"Zheng Ziyi, you should call him 'Uncle.' And you'd better start buttering him up now. Who knows, by the time you make the national team, he might be the captain of China!" Zheng Zhi laughed, ruffling his son's hair.
"Zheng-ge, why not let me get a taste of it now?"
David Qin rubbed his hands together, his eyes lingering on the captain's armband wrapped around Zheng Zhi's bicep with palpable envy. As a kid, he'd often dreamed of this—leading the national team out onto the pitch at a World Cup, that strip of fabric marking him as the leader.
"Don't let the weight fool you," Zheng Zhi said. He unfastened the band, running his thumb over the material before handing it to David. "It feels light in your hand, but it's heavy on your arm."
'Captain.' A title that carries prestige in any industry, but in football, its meaning is visceral. The legendary Inter Milan captain Giuseppe Bergomi once said that being a captain isn't just about entering the pitch first or exchanging pennants; it means being an exemplar on and off the field, minding the small details that affect morale, and being the first to stand tall when the tide turns. It isn't a symbol of power—it is the manifestation of responsibility.
As David took the armband, his gaze swept across the fans in the stands and his teammates on the pitch. Suddenly, the fabric felt significantly heavier.
"What? Feeling the pressure? Want to give it back?" Zheng Zhi asked with a knowing smirk. More than a world-class talent, he wanted to see if David had the stomach for leadership—the courage to carry the weight of a nation.
"Not a chance," David said, sliding the band over his left arm and tightening it. "I'm afraid of a lot of things, but pressure isn't one of them. The higher the pressure, the faster I move."
Zheng Zhi nodded, a flicker of genuine hope in his eyes. He wondered if, before he finally hung up his boots, he would get to see the day David Qin became the captain for real—not just wearing a piece of cloth, but becoming the soul of the team.
With the group stages concluded, the quarter-final bracket was set: China vs. South Korea, Australia vs. Uzbekistan, Iran vs. Iraq, and Japan vs. the UAE.
The "Big Three"—Japan, South Korea, and Australia—were the heavy favorites. Japan had stormed through the group stage with three wins and zero goals conceded. Australia had muscled their way past South Korea to claim their spot. But for the upcoming clash between China and South Korea, Korean media polls showed that a staggering 98% of fans expected a victory for the Taegeuk Warriors.
The reason was simple: "Koreaphobia."
While China had famously beaten Korea 1-0 in the 1978 Bangkok Asian Games, they had then failed to win a single match against them for thirty-two years. That embarrassing streak only ended five years ago in the East Asian Cup, when goals from Yu Hai, Gao Lin, and Deng Zhuoxiang secured a 3-0 win. However, critics pointed out that China had fielded their strongest lineup while Korea's European stars were absent. Historically, in thirty-three meetings, China's record stood at a dismal 2 wins, 13 draws, and 18 losses.
Online, the war of words was reaching a fever pitch.
@SeoulSocker: It's been 55 years since we won the Asian Cup. I feel like this is finally our year!
@KimchiKicker: First we crush China, then we get our revenge on Australia!
@HanballObserver: Don't sleep on China. They aren't the same team they used to be; they've actually improved.
@TigerDen99: Imagine being afraid of China. If we lose to them, our players should just give up and stay in Australia.
@K-LeagueFanatic: China has David Qin and ten statues. Shut him down, and we win at a stroll.
@SonnySideUp: Son Heung-min only lost to David in the Bundesliga because his teammates weren't up to par. In the national team, we will steamroll them.
@Tactical33Gnome1: My only memory of Chinese football is "Shaolin Soccer"—rough tackles and faking injuries to waste time.
Korean fans, as it turned out, were just as aggressive and prone to "delusional bias" as any domestic fan base, often criticizing others while ignoring their own history of controversial tactics. Chinese fans, naturally, weren't taking the insults lying down, firing back with detailed essays on the flaws of the Korean system.
While the fans bickered, the teams prepared with grim intensity.
"Cai Huikang, your interceptions at defensive mid are vital," Perrin explained during the tactical briefing. "Korea loves to exploit the half-spaces using speed and physical overlapping. Zheng Zhi, you need to be mobile to support the defense. When you press, I want high intensity. Don't be afraid to get physical."
He then turned to David Qin. "David, you know their defense—disciplined and coordinated. When you dribble, you cannot afford cheap turnovers. If you lose the ball, you lead the immediate counter-press. Disrupt their transition before it starts."
In their match against Australia, Korea had shown an incredible ability to win the ball back and transition into a lightning-fast counter. Had Australia not played a "dirty" game with the help of some favorable refereeing, the result might have been different.
"Understood," David nodded. He had spent hours studying the tapes. Korea's defense didn't rely on brute strength but on "endless running." It gave them massive coverage and numerical superiority in small zones. The downside? It was physically exhausting. His plan was to play conservatively early on, tiring out the defenders before going for the kill.
David suggested that Sun Ke, with his superior stamina, should start on the right to stretch the Korean line. Perrin was already a step ahead.
"We're adjusting the starting XI," the Frenchman announced. "Cai Huikang starts at holding mid, Sun Ke at right-mid. The rest remains unchanged."
Perrin wanted a solid spine so that Zheng Zhi wouldn't be tethered to one spot, allowing him to drift wide and support the flanks. This would liberate David Qin, allowing him to stay forward and focus entirely on the attack.
"And David," Perrin added, "if they man-mark you too tightly, swap wings with Sun Ke. Korea's right-side defense is slightly more vulnerable than their left. It'll throw their marking scheme into chaos."
In Perrin's camp, everything was built around David Qin. He was a pragmatist; he knew that to win, you play to your strengths and hide your flaws.
Meanwhile, at the Korean training base, Uli Stielike pointed to a data sheet. "I know many of you look down on China. You think just because we avoided them in the group stage, they are beneath us. But the data doesn't lie."
"47 tackles, 33 successful; 271 50/50 duels, 144 won; 1,601 passes, 1,387 successful..." Stielike clicked his mouse, bringing up a photo of a smiling teenager. "David Qin. The best young talent in the Bundesliga. His stats this season are phenomenal. Do you know his successful dribble rate?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "72% overall. On the left wing, it's a staggering 83%, with an average of 11.2 progressive carries into the box per game."
The Korean players stared at the screen, stunned.
"Kim Chang-soo, Cha Du-ri... do you have the confidence to stop him?"
Silence. After seeing those numbers, neither veteran was willing to make a promise.
"Then drop the arrogance! China is different now. If we want our revenge on Australia, we have to go through China with everything we have!"
Stielike's tone was harsh, but no one dared argue. The man was a Real Madrid legend with a trophy cabinet full of Champions League, La Liga, and Bundesliga titles.
Son Heung-min looked at David's luxury stats and silently compared them to his own. He came up short. Yet, he still believed Korea would win. Football was a team game; a superstar with mediocre teammates was destined for failure. History was full of such examples.
January 22, 2015.
David and his teammates arrived in Melbourne. If you wanted to find the heart of the Chinese diaspora in Australia, Sydney and Melbourne were the only contenders. Melbourne's Chinatown, specifically, was world-renowned.
It was the fourth day of the Lunar New Year—traditionally an auspicious day for ceremonies and cleansing. Thousands of local Chinese residents donned red jerseys and swarmed toward AAMI Park for the Asian Cup quarter-final.
At the pre-match press conference, Perrin was composed. "Everything has gone smoothly in Australia so far. It's freezing back home right now, so we'd much rather stay here—which means we have to win. Beating Korea won't be easy, but we have the momentum."
A reporter from Xinhua spoke up. "Mr. Perrin, David Qin is the tournament's top scorer with five goals. Uli Stielike has stated he has a specific plan to neutralize him at all costs. What is your response?"
Perrin tapped the microphone and smiled. "I feel like I've heard that before. I can't quite remember how those other matches ended, but my confidence in David is absolute. Actually, my mentor, Arsène Wenger, called me after the last match. He suggested I lean even harder into David's individual brilliance."
The mention of Wenger caused a stir in the room.
"He told me it was hard to believe David is only 17 because his style is so 'beautiful.' That was the word he used—'beautiful.' I think the last person he described that way was Dennis Bergkamp."
"Reports in England say Arsenal and Chelsea have bid for David and De Bruyne. Are you aware of this?" another reporter asked.
"I'm sorry," Perrin said, spreading his hands. "Transfer business has nothing to do with the national team, and David and I don't discuss it. But as a coach, I can tell you: no one says no to a player like David Qin."
In the tunnel before the match, David saw Son Heung-min. Despite having just used him as a punchline in the dressing room to fire up his teammates, David offered a friendly wave. "Good to see you again."
"I won't lose this time," Son said, his lips pressed into a thin line.
David blinked. Is it just me, or is Sonny starting to act like a lead character in a sports manga?
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