"South Korea is turning up the dial. Uli Stielike clearly understands the danger; he knows that if he allows his backline to contract, David Qin will simply pick them apart with his close control."
"But by maintaining this aggressive high line, he's not just suffocating China's left flank—he's systematically encircling the right as well. Oh, watch out! Ki Sung-yueng with a thunderous strike from distance!"
"Superb! Wang Dalei plucks it out of the air. How will China respond?"
Thirty-seven minutes had vanished from the clock. China had managed a solitary shot and only two corners, while South Korea dominated every statistical category. The scales of victory were tilting toward the Taegeuk Warriors, yet the Chinese fans remained undeterred, their rhythmic drumming shaking the foundation of AAMI Park.
As Wang Dalei rolled the ball out to Zhang Chengdong to initiate the build-up, Ki Sung-yueng noticed a sudden, fluid shift in the Chinese forward line.
"Stay in your zones! Don't get pulled out!" Ki barked at his teammates. He knew that in the face of rapid interchanging, man-marking was a recipe for structural collapse.
Zhang Chengdong held the ball on the flank. As the first Chinese player to break into the Portuguese top flight, his resume was as polished as his technique. From his days in the AC Milan youth camps to stints with Mafra, Leiria, and Braunschweig—including a legendary hat-trick against Benfica—he was a seasoned professional. Having transitioned from a winger to a full-back, his veteran composure had breathed new life into his career.
With a deft feint, he shimmied past Lee Keun-ho and waited for David Qin to hit the designated pocket before threading a low, direct ball down the line.
David hadn't even touched the ball before Ki Sung-yueng was glued to his back. A quick glance revealed Kim Jin-su closing in from the other side. The door was slamming shut. David shielded the ball, using his frame to keep Ki at bay, and recycled it back to the supporting Zhang Chengdong.
"Ah, the momentum stalls again. China is forced to reset," the commentator noted. "And South Korea refuses to bite. Stielike is keeping Son Heung-min on the right. He clearly believes the status quo favors them."
Indeed, Stielike viewed David's shift to the right as a desperate, nonsensical move by Perrin. Experience wasn't something you could download; a seventeen-year-old kid wasn't supposed to be a tactical chameleon.
But while China struggled to create clear-cut chances, they had stabilized their defense. Sun Ke's defensive appetite was far greater than David's, and David's presence on the right was forcing Ki Sung-yueng to stay deep. The Korean captain dared not leave the "Golden Boy" unattended for a second.
As the half neared its conclusion, David's internal clock was racing, though his face remained a mask of calm. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to force the issue.
When Zhang Chengdong received a square pass from Cai Huikang and Lee Keun-ho lunged in to press, David exploded into a forward sprint. Zhang, acting on Perrin's strict instructions to prioritize David, launched a long, diagonal ball toward the narrow corridor of the touchline.
The Korean fans didn't flinch. David hadn't even cushioned the ball before three white shirts converged on him like a closing fist. Not even a fly could have escaped that trap. The stadium erupted in a cacophony of whistling, a psychological wall intended to make the teenager fumbling his touch.
In that suffocating space, David tuned out the world. Everything narrowed down to the white sphere falling from the sky.
Kim Jin-su in front... Ki Sung-yueng behind... Kim Young-gwon closing the angle...
Just as the trap was about to snap shut, David moved.
As the ball hit the turf and nipped upward, he didn't trap it. Instead, he used his right foot to delicately flick the ball over the lunging Kim Jin-su, who found himself kicking nothing but thin air.
David spun—a pirouette of pure instinct.
Flick!
He tossed the ball over the head of the trailing Ki Sung-yueng. Two turns in the blink of an eye. Kim Jin-su, desperate to recover, instinctively thrust out a leg.
David's eyes were razor-sharp. He flicked the ball a third time.
A literal rainbow seemed to arc over Kim Jin-su's head. The Korean fans were aghast. How could anyone execute such intricate maneuvers in a space no larger than a telephone booth?
David barged past the stunned Kim Jin-su, cushioning the ball with his chest as he surged into the box.
"Useless!" Kim Young-gwon cursed under his breath, stepping in to deliver the final blow. But in that exact heartbeat, David's rhythm shifted again. He knocked the ball forward with a sudden burst of acceleration.
The Guangzhou Evergrande defender's pupils dilated. He realized, too late, why his teammates had failed to stop the boy. It wasn't a lack of will. It was a lack of capability.
In that moment, the crowd felt as though a vibrant melody was echoing across the pitch. David had transformed into a relentless blade, piercing the heart of the penalty area.
"Wu Lei!"
David looked up. He was on his weaker right foot with defenders recovering. The optimal choice was the pass. He fizzed a low ball across the face of goal. Ki Sung-yueng's desperate sliding block came up inches short.
Wu Lei, the man the world was watching, met the ball with a clinical first-time strike!
Thwack!
He went for the far corner. Kim Jin-hyeon was a statue, beaten before he could even react. As the net bulged, AAMI Park fell into a momentary, stunned silence before a roar that could have reached the heavens shattered the air.
"YES! LEVEL!"
The fans stared at the LED scoreboard as the digits flickered from 0-1 to 1-1. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy swept through the stands. In the commentary box, the atmosphere was electric.
"Absolute three-dimensional genius!" Derek Rae's voice cracked with excitement. "You simply cannot take the ball from him! David Qin! He has woven a tapestry of phantoms with those three consecutive flicks, escaping a three-man ambush that should have been impossible to navigate!"
"Kim Jin-su, Ki Sung-yueng, and Kim Young-gwon—they were chasing ghosts! And what a finish from Wu Lei!"
As Wu Lei slid toward the corner flag in celebration, David threw his arms around him. "How about that! Was that class or what?"
"Unbelievable!" Wu Lei shouted back, his respect for the younger man reaching new heights. He had expected David to lose the ball against three defenders. Everyone had. He recalled his first impression of David: Bloody hell, he's a beast. Now, he wanted to multiply that by ten.
"David, I am never doubting you again!"
David, suddenly modest, grinned. "Actually, even I'm a bit surprised. I felt... focused. Like everything slowed down."
On the touchline, Perrin's face was flushed a deep crimson. He punched the air, screaming, "I knew it! The boy's ceiling is in the clouds! Moving him wasn't about the goal—it was about tearing their structure apart from the inside out!"
Across the way, Stielike stared at a discarded water bottle by his feet. "How can a player like this exist?" He couldn't wrap his head around it. His tactical stifling had been perfect. Ki and the others had done their jobs. Who on earth escapes that corner with an assist?
He remembered a quote from his Real Madrid days, from coach Vujadin Boškov: God is never fair; the players he blesses with true genius can dismantle an entire system by themselves.
"Could I have stopped him in my prime?" Stielike asked himself. As a former legendary sweeper who had neutralized even the great Bernd Schuster, he whispered, "Maybe. Just maybe."
Eventually, he called Ki Sung-yueng over. "Stop trying to pick his pocket. Use your body. Foul him if you have to. Disrupt his touch before he gets into a rhythm."
Ki was barely listening, his mind still replaying that flick. He'd been closing from the blind side—how had the kid known he was there?
The Korean players took several deep breaths. Being dismantled so publicly by a seventeen-year-old was a massive blow to their psyche. "If he tries that again, let him feel it," Kim Jin-su spat through gritted teeth.
As the match resumed, China pressed their advantage. David, now operating as a de facto playmaker on the right, linked up seamlessly with Wu Lei and Yu Hai. On the opposite flank, Sun Ke continued to charge up and down the pitch with bionic endurance.
In stoppage time of the first half, the tension boiled over.
"David Qin tries to flick it past Kim Jin-su—oh! Watch out!"
"Kim Jin-su didn't even look for the ball! He's gone straight for the calf and followed through with a stamp! That is cynical, that is dangerous!"
David collapsed, clutching his shin with a mask of agony. Fortunately, he had sensed the malice and shifted his leg so the impact hit his shin guard. If he hadn't, it could have been a fracture. Now, he had to sell the contact to ensure the referee reached for his pocket.
The Chinese players swarmed. Wu Lei went straight for Kim Jin-su but was intercepted by a wall of white shirts. Shoving matches broke out across the pitch.
"Dirty bastards! You can't win the ball so you kick the player?" the fans screamed.
The referee's whistle shrilled repeatedly as he fought to separate the two squads before brandishing a yellow card at Kim Jin-su. "That's your first. One more and you're gone!"
Kim Jin-su didn't argue. He turned and walked away, his pulse still racing with adrenaline and resentment. He didn't regret it; he wanted David to know he was in a fight. As David stood up, he caught Kim's eye and offered a faint, mocking arch of his eyebrow.
"I'm alright," David whispered to his concerned teammates, pointing to the plastic guard inside his sock.
"Watch yourself," Zheng Zhi warned. He knew the cost of a bad tackle better than anyone. He'd seen careers altered in an instant.
David's eyes flashed with a cold, predatory light.
Peep-peep!
The half ended with the scores level at 1-1. David watched Kim Jin-su head for the tunnel. A gentleman can wait fifteen minutes for revenge, he thought. Let's see how you like it in the second half.
Inside the dressing room, Perrin worked through the tape at high speed. "They are over-relying on Ki Sung-yueng because Son Heung-min is being neutralized. Hold your positions and watch the late runs."
"They'll throw everything at us around the 70th minute when they think our legs are gone," Perrin continued. "Be aggressive. Take the yellow if you have to. And on the counter, Yu Hai, you drop back. Give the outlet to David."
He looked at the boy. "David, you stay on the right. They're the ones who have to adjust now."
"Can I cut inside, Coach?" David asked. "I want to test my left foot."
"Go for it," Perrin said. "I've seen your left in training. It's not your dominant side, but it's lethal enough. You have the green light. If you see the opening, pull the trigger."
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