Scolari pulled Lopez and a few of his key players aside for an anxious discussion.
Chen Yu stood nearby, feeling as if he were reliving an old dream.
After thirty minutes of extra ti, the two teams had actually gone to a penalty shootout once again.
Back in ’94, the World Cup was held in the United States. Chen Yu had been a student in California at the ti. A poor student at that. World Cup tickets were so expensive that he’d never had the chance to see a match in person. Besides, Chen Yu didn’t even like soccer back then; he hadn’t followed the World Cup at all.
He only started learning about the World Cup’s history after treating Ronaldo.
That year, it was Italy versus Brazil.
That year, Bebeto celebrated his goal with the famous cradle rock. Ronaldo was still on the bench, cheering his team on. And Baggio, the team’s star, shouldered the burden of the final kick—and left behind a scene that brought countless fans to tears.
It felt like history was repeating itself, though the players and circumstances were different.
"I’ll take it." As the others argued over who should take the first penalty, Ronaldo patted his chest, his gaze resolute.
Typically, the first and last kicks are the most critical.
Missing the first kick is a huge blow to morale.
And if it goes all the way to the fifth round, the final kicker will be under imnse pressure.
But Ronaldo wanted to have his destiny in his own hands, so he wanted to go first.
Scolari hesitated for a mont before nodding firmly. He then looked at Rivaldo. "Rivaldo, you’ll take the last one."
He then quickly decided on the players and the order for the remaining three spots.
Juninho would take the second. He was a free-kick master.
Ronaldinho would be third. The rising star was also skilled at free kicks, but Scolari’s only worry was whether soone so young could handle the pressure.
Scolari gave the fourth kick to Carlos.
"That’s the lineup," Scolari said, taking a deep breath. His hands were trembling with nerves, but he knew his players were even more tense.
So, Scolari gathered the five players and pointed toward the players’ tunnel exit, at the golden FIFA World Cup trophy.
"Gentlen, I’m counting on you!"
Scolari’s expression was grave.
Of the five, only Ronaldo had ever lifted the FIFA World Cup.
Chen Yu, however, frowned slightly. ’Using the FIFA World Cup trophy to motivate them right now... it seems fine on the surface, but won’t it just add to the pressure?’
’The pressure of a shootout is already imnse.’
After the lists were submitted, Rivaldo went forward for the Brazil Team to do the coin toss.
For Italy, it was Baggio, wearing the captain’s armband.
Baggio’s gaze was serene. He brought Italy good luck, winning the coin toss. Italy would shoot first.
According to FIFA statistics, the team that shoots first has a slightly higher win rate.
Chen Yu stood on the sidelines, his gaze locked on Baggio.
He would be the one to take Italy’s first penalty.
He walked past the line of his teammates, embracing each one and exchanging a word before walking steadily toward the penalty spot.
’At this mont,’ Chen Yu thought, ’I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind, or the pressure he must be under.’
’In fact, making Baggio take this penalty feels cruel. It’s like tearing open an old wound and pouring salt on it.’
Baggio stood still. He looked at the goal, so close he could almost touch it, then scanned the stands, which were as deathly silent as a tomb.
Then, he turned his head to look at the golden trophy he had pursued his entire life, the one that had slipped through his fingers.
From the sidelines, Chen Yu watched from afar. He couldn’t see much expression on Baggio’s face; it was as placid as a deep, still forest.
There was little ti for reminiscence. Colina blew his whistle, signaling for the kick.
Marcos stopped bouncing on his line, crouched slightly, and stared intently at Baggio.
Behind him, many of the Italian players couldn’t help but make the sign of the cross and pray silently.
Without much hesitation, Baggio began his run-up.
It took only a second or two. In the ti it took Chen Yu to blink, Baggio had already struck the ball.
Marcos dove to his right as the ball flew past him on the other side.
He had been sent the wrong way.
A great groan of disappointnt erupted from the stands.
The Italian bench erupted into a sea of celebration.
Scolari, anwhile, held his head in his hands in frustration.
Chen Yu’s gaze remained fixed on Baggio. After scoring, he didn’t celebrate. He simply stood facing the goal for a quiet mont.
Then he turned, and as he walked back toward his teammates, he smiled and waved to the fans in the stands.
In the stands, the Italian fans were ecstatic.
But then, to everyone’s surprise, all the Italian players standing near the halfway line suddenly dropped to one knee in unison.
Even Buffon, who was walking up to the goal, and the players on the bench did the sa, taking a knee.
Like knights, they all bowed their heads in a show of respect to Baggio.
Baggio froze, standing motionless as tears he could no longer hold back stread down his face.
"What are they doing?" Kaka asked from behind Chen Yu, a look of confusion on his face.
At that mont, it wasn’t just Kaka; every fan in the stadium was asking the sa question.
So Brazilian fans were waving their arms and shouting angrily, accusing Italy of wasting ti.
So what if he scored a penalty? Everyone knew about his regret from ’94, but that was eight years ago.
Chen Yu said nothing, his arms folded and his expression solemn.
Others might not have known why, but Chen Yu did.
All the Italian players were paying tribute to their legend.
This penalty kick wasn’t just Baggio’s last for the National Team in a World Cup; it was the last goal of his entire professional career.
That brief, two-second action would be the final kick of his professional career.
From this day forward, the running figure of the "lancholy Prince" would no longer be seen on the pitch. The curtain was falling on a legend of a generation.
At a mont like this, every player and every fan should offer him their blessings and respect, paying tribute to his brilliant eighteen-year career.
Baggio quickly got his tears under control, walking over to pull his teammates to their feet and embracing each of them.
It was as if they no longer cared about the outco of the shootout.
Ronaldo watched, bewildered, not understanding what was happening. But he quickly composed himself and turned his focus to the goal.
Buffon clapped his hands together, looking eager and ready.
The stadium once again fell deathly silent.
In the guest box, Pele silently clasped his hands in prayer.
Ronaldo started his run. He hit a low shot along the ground. Buffon didn’t dive; he had guessed the right direction, but he couldn’t get down in ti. The ball scraped past his body and rolled into the net.
1-1. The two teams were back on level terms.
After scoring the goal, Ronaldo let out a long sigh of relief. His whole body had felt stiff.
The pressure at that mont was just imnse.
The Brazilian fans in the stands celebrated, but quickly reined it in. The match wasn’t over. Their hopes could be crushed in an instant, and they could lose it all.
Totti stepped up next. Unsurprisingly, he buried it.
Juninho was up next for Brazil.
At only twenty-four, Buffon still seed a little green. Five years prior, during a World Cup qualifier, he had co on as a substitute, setting the record for Italy’s youngest-ever goalkeeper.
In ’98, he traveled with the squad to the World Cup but didn’t get any playing ti.
But this year, he was the starting keeper.
In the group stage and the knockout rounds, his form had been a bit shaky.
In the quarter-final, facing a one-on-one, his calm rush out of goal had eliminated Germany.
In the semi-final, it was he who kept a clean sheet, securing a 1-0 victory that knocked out Spain.
His form was getting better and better.
He stared at Juninho with unprecedented focus, then dove instinctively.
He blocked the shot.
The color drained from Juninho’s face in an instant.
Buffon leaped to his feet, jumped high in excitent, and let out a triumphant roar to the heavens as he landed.
That save was priceless.
Chen Yu’s heart was pounding uncontrollably. ’With that shot saved, the Brazil Team is in real trouble.’
Clutching his chest, he thought, ’No wonder they always say penalty shootouts are cruel. Experiencing it firsthand, I see it’s no exaggeration.’
「Third Round.」
Di Biagio walked up to the spot. The Italian players all looked much more resolute now.
Unsurprisingly, Marcos guessed the wrong way again. The ball was in.
The Brazil Team was now on the brink of defeat.
If Brazil missed this next kick, their hopes of victory would be all but handed over to the Italy Team. With his curly hair and headband, Ronaldinho walked to the penalty spot. He couldn’t help but look up. Behind the goal, a sea of Brazilian fans waved their national flags, cheering wildly for him.
The sound of Colina’s whistle by his ear made him flinch. He looked again at Buffon, whose fierce gaze was locked onto him.
An indescribable feeling sent a chill through Ronaldinho’s hands and feet.
He stomped his feet, shook out his wrists, took a deep breath, and began his run.
He chose to aim for the corner.
To the left.
Buffon had guessed the right direction, but Ronaldinho’s shot was aid too precisely for the corner.
No, it was *too* precise.
His attempt to hit the bottom-left corner struck the post.
Ronaldinho was completely stunned. He turned to look at his teammates, then at the bench, his face a mask of panic.
That one kick, it could be said, had all but buried Brazil’s hopes of winning the title.
On the sidelines, Lopez dropped to his knees in despair. Scolari stood frozen, as if he’d been put under a spell.
Chen Yu closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.
’Even if Brazil scores both of their remaining penalties, Italy only needs one more to win.’
The scales of victory had tipped completely in Italy’s favor.
Chen Yu’s gaze shifted to Buffon.
’Who would have thought that in such a critical shootout, it would be the young Buffon who would steal the show?’
’After one heroic save and another shot hitting the post, he was nothing short of a hero for Italy.’
「Fourth Round.」
It was Maldini’s turn to kick.
After 120 minutes of grueling play, a defender’s stamina was likely in better shape than most.
He walked slowly to the penalty spot.
Across from him, Marcos bounced nervously on the spot, trying to keep his body ready.
If he didn’t save this kick, the championship was lost.
Just then, Maldini turned his head, his gaze finding Baggio at the halfway line.
Eight years ago, Maldini had stood in that sa spot and watched Baggio miss that fateful penalty, turning him into a villain in the eyes of the nation.
Eight years later, it felt as though everything had co full circle.
Maldini raised his right arm and gave Baggio a thumbs-up.
Baggio paused for a mont, then returned the gesture.
It was a mont of silent understanding between two veterans.
The whistle blew.
Maldini took a deep breath and began his run.
There was no surprise.
A chip shot. The ball sailed steadily into the net, extinguishing all of Brazil’s hopes for a coback.
Italy are the champions!
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