Chapter 200: Paris Vitinya scores a header to break the deadlock, Cristiano Ronaldo tries to counterattack in desperate situations

Two people, three people.

Jude Bellingham ran to the right to cover Paris’s midfield passing lane, leaving a huge gap on the left.

Valverde pushed left, and another gap was torn open on the right.

The two of them fought desperately to block it, but there were too many holes.

Geng Ben couldn’t contain it, and in the 48th minute,

Paris sent in a cross from the left, but Carvajal pushed it out.

49th minute.

Dembélé broke through on the right flank, was fouled by Alaba, and Paris earned a free kick.

In the 50th minute, Paris took a free kick into the penalty area and was knocked out by Courtois’s double punches.

Every minute is nerve-wracking.

Real Madrid’s defense swayed left and right under immense pressure, making a pinnacle of danger.

That feeling wasn’t like playing a game at all; it felt like putting up a lottery ticket, like risking your life.

In the 51st minute, Modrić tried to play the ball in the midfield and defense.

He saw Jude Bellingham’s movement and was about to pass the ball to the ground.

But just as the ball left his foot, Vitinya attacked from the side.

His tackle was extremely fierce, as if he wanted to tackle the ball and kick it off together.

The ball was destroyed and bounced toward Paris’s midfield.

A Paris midfielder played the ball with one shot.

Without pause, he passed straight to the long ball.

The ball flew toward Real Madrid’s right flank.

Dembélé has already started.

His speed was fully unleashed at that moment.

Alaba turned to chase after him, but at thirty-three, his speed was even stronger, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

This is not a technical gap, nor a difference in awareness.

It’s speed.

Speed is something no one can handle.

Dembélé left Alaba behind within two steps.

He dribbled into the penalty area.

Single-blade.

Facing Courtois.

All 60,000 Parisian fans in the stadium raised their arms at the same time.

Get ready to cheer, get ready to celebrate.

Get ready to witness the first drop of blood in this second half.

Dembélé slotted the shot with his right foot.

The ball ran toward the far corner of the goal.

Tricky angles, precise power.

Facing this ball, Courtois made a move.

His body leaned completely to the right, and his 1.99-meter height was completely stretched out in that instant.

His arm stretched to the limit, his whole body lunging sideways, sweeping across the entire width of the goal.

His fingertips touched the ball.

Just a little bit.

The trajectory of the ball was slightly off-limits.

The ball grazed the goalpost and flew out of the goal line.

The cheers of 60,000 people at Princes Park Stadium stuck in their throats, turning into a huge sigh.

The chat exploded for two seconds.

After refreshing, it was all the same sentence.

“Courtois is awesome.”

“Door God.”

“What reaction speed is this? What kind of arm reach is this? Are they even human?”

“God is a gatekeeper.”

“Real Madrid’s fate shouldn’t have ended.”

But don’t get too happy too soon.

Paris won a corner kick, and the ball was sent toward the penalty area.

Real Madrid is one man short, and the penalty area is at a clear disadvantage in terms of numbers.

The ball traced an arc in the air.

The landing point is at twelve yards.

Vitinya started the game.

His timing for jumping was precise to the millimeter level.

Real Madrid Carvajal also jumped.

But Vitinya is half a head taller than him.

And Vitinya’s jump was earlier and fiercer.

His forehead slammed into the ball.

Powerful and heavy, like a cannonball.

It was a textbook header, the ball hitting the top right corner of the goal.

This time, Courtois did not touch the ball.

Although he pounced and used all his strength,

But the fingers were less than ten centimeters apart.

The sound of the ball hitting the net sank in the hearts of all Real Madrid players.

Thud.

The ball went in.

1-0.

Paris took the lead.

In that instant, the Parc des Princes pitches turned into a sea of purple flames.

Fireworks rose from the stands, and scarves swung wildly in the air.

The cheers of sixty thousand people shook the entire city of Paris.

Donnarumma knelt on the ground in his own half in Paris, howling to the sky.

Vitinya ran toward the corner flag area, sliding down and pounding with both fists, the veins on her forehead bulging one by one.

Everyone on the Paris bench surged out to embrace each other.

Enrique stands in the technical area.

He raised his arm to Yang Tian.

Then he nodded vigorously toward the stands.

Then his gaze swept across the entire court, looking toward the center circle.

Cristiano Ronaldo stood there.

He was already stepping on the ball.

Ready to kick off again.

No teammates by my side.

Only him.

Behind him were ten white figures, just stunned by the goal.

In front of him were eleven blue figures, their eyes burning with rage.

And sixty thousand fans are celebrating wildly.

The broadcast camera slowly moved closer, landing on Cristiano Ronaldo’s face.

A forty-year-old face.

Lines appeared at the corners of the eyes, and gray hair appeared at the temples.

But those eyes.

Amidst the purple fireworks filling the sky at Parc des Princes and the wild boos,

In those eyes.

No panic, no anger.

Not a trace of emotion fluctuated.

And there was only one thing left.

Something that made the smile on Enrique’s face slowly disappear after seeing him in the technical area.

Stay calm.

That kind of calmness wasn’t forced to be fought.

It wasn’t something you had to grit your teeth and endure.

It’s because they’ve been through so many storms and storms.

No matter how upheaval it is on the surface, deep down there is silence.

He Wei’s voice rang out again at that moment.

Very light, so light it feels like a whisper.

“0 to 1.”

“Away.”

“Real Madrid is one person short.”

“No Kylian Mbappé.”

“Facing the craziest attacking system in all of Europe.”

“Facing sixty thousand Paris fans who wish they could tear you apart.”

“Facing a genius coach who is already certain of victory.”

“This is a problem that won’t appear in any textbook.”

“Because textbooks don’t require you to win in this situation.”

“It only demands you lose dignifiedly.”

“But the person standing in the middle circle.”

“In his dictionary.”

He Wei paused for a second.

“There has never been a dignified loss to those four words.”

Cristiano Ronaldo lowered his head.

Looking at the ball beneath his feet.

Then he slowly lifted his head.

His gaze crossed the white line of the central arc.

Passing through the purple fireworks flying across the field.

Passing through sixty thousand twisted faces.

It landed on the distant white goal.

Donnarumma stood at the door.

At least seventy meters away from him.

But Cristiano Ronaldo’s gaze toward that goal was as if it were just a step away.

His right foot on the ball moved slightly.

Then he raised his hand.

Toward the teammates behind him.

Made a gesture.

A gesture no one had ever seen before.

The live comments went wild at that moment.

“He’s making a gesture again.”

“Wait, this gesture hasn’t appeared before.”

“New, he’s deploying new tactics.”

“No way, no way, 0-1 down and he’s still trying to counterattack.”

“He wouldn’t be thinking.”

“No, he can’t do it.”

“But he’s Cristiano Ronaldo.”

“He is Cristiano Ronaldo.”