Chapter 85: Penalty Kicks for Self-Redemption, Portugal Defeats Chile Away

Díaz placed the ball at the free-throw spot.

The boos of fifty thousand people flooded his ears, wave after wave.

The drumbeats were extremely dense.

Some people started throwing junk into the stands.

Security stopped them, but the hysterical atmosphere had already permeated every inch of the air.

Díaz stood in front of the ball and took a deep breath.

He remembered the moment he had been grointed today.

The feeling of the wind passing between my legs.

He remembered Osorio’s ox tail.

Left and right, his body couldn’t keep up with the opponent’s rhythm at all.

He remembered that goal.

That S-shaped arc grazed the far pillar and flew into a blind spot.

At that time, the cheers of over fifty thousand people buried him.

That feeling was even worse than losing a game.

You were clearly standing there, clearly reaching out, clearly doing everything you should.

But you just can’t stop it.

When talent crushes you, hard work is worthless.

This feeling was something Díaz had never experienced at Manchester City.

But today, he realized it firsthand.

So now he wants to score this goal even more.

Not to win.

It was to tell myself.

When you get beaten, only you can redeem yourself.

The referee blew the whistle.

Dias runs up the pace.

Three steps.

A powerful right-footed shot.

He didn’t pick angles or play psychological games.

It’s the most direct and violent approach, using the last guard method.

All his strength was drawn out.

The ball went straight for the goal.

The Chilean goalkeeper made the right judgment and lunged to the right.

But it was useless; that force was not something a goalkeeper could change with one hand.

The ball grazed his fingers and struck the bottom right corner of the goal.

A muffled thud rang out.

The ball went in.

3 to 2.

In that instant, the National Stadium in Santiago fell completely silent.

55,000 was pressed to mute.

The drumbeats stopped, and the singing stopped.

Even the air stopped moving.

Dias stood at the free-throw spot, looking up at the night sky.

He did not celebrate.

He stood there for two seconds.

Then he raised his head and roared angrily toward the sky.

That shout wasn’t excitement, not happiness.

It was venting—shouting out all the grievances, frustrations, and unwillingness of the day from my throat.

Before the voice faded, Bruno Fernandes pounced from behind.

His whole body hung on Dias’s back.

Dalot charged in from the left.

Neves sprinted over from the right.

Three people, five people, seven people.

White jerseys piled up together, forming a human wall.

Everyone was shouting, but no one could hear what they were shouting.

Sweat, mud, and bloodstains all mixed together.

At the far edge of the crowd, Cristiano Ronaldo was pushed inside.

It was Bruno Fernandes who reached out and pulled him in.

Cristiano Ronaldo was squeezed into the crowd, his band-aid swept askew.

He didn’t struggle either.

He was wrapped up, pinned down, and shaken by his teammates.

The corner of his mouth couldn’t help but curl up.

These brats.

The final whistle blew.

3 to 2.

Portugal away match-winning goal: Chile.

The Portugal players once again fell into a frenzy of celebration.

Dalot knelt on the grass, pounding the ground with both hands, shouting in Portuguese he couldn’t understand.

Bruno Fernandes lay on the grass, arms outstretched, staring at the starry sky over Santiago, his chest heaving violently.

Neves ran half the court, and finally ran up to Martinez, where the coach grabbed him tightly.

Meanwhile, Cristiano Ronaldo was thrown high into the air by his teammates.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Every time he took off, he could see the entire stadium.

Red stands, clearing smoke, silent drummers.

And in the corner, a Chilean Football Association flag quietly hidden away by fans.

When he landed, his gaze swept past the center circle.

Vidal stood there.

Hands on hips.

He didn’t leave, nor did he leave with his teammates.

Standing on the curve of the center circle, watching Cristiano Ronaldo being thrown up.

The chewing gum had long since disappeared.

Mohican’s head was covered in sweat.

No more mockery, no provocation, no longer that fake smile of ‘you’re just so-so.’

All he had was a very quiet gaze.

It was the kind of quiet that made you accept defeat wholeheartedly.

He remembered the word he had thrown out before going on stage.

Old man.

The real old man was, after all, himself.

The moment Cristiano Ronaldo passed by, Vidal should have known.

Thirty-nine-year-old Cristiano Ronaldo is still the same Cristiano Ronaldo he met in Turin.

Vidal took one last look at Cristiano Ronaldo’s back, then turned and walked toward the players’ tunnel.

After taking a few steps, he muttered something in a low voice.

No one heard.

But if someone gets close enough, you’ll find he’s right.

“Monster.”

That night.

This international friendly, which should have been ignored, exploded online in a way no one expected.

The trending topic on social media spread from San Diego to the world.

Cristiano Ronaldo helped short video of a penalty kick surpass 20 million views in just twenty minutes.

The freeze-frame image of Diaz’s match-winning goal has been turned into countless versions of the meme.

Europe’s major sports media unusually unified their narrative.

Marca front-page headline: The 39-year-old king is crowned on the South American continent.

The Daily Mail devoted an entire page to a feature feature: not just the shooter, but the leader. Cristiano Ronaldo teaches teammates tactics in San Diego.

The French football comment section was in an uproar—half were shouting for the Ballon d’Or, half for retirement, and the two sides were locked in a fierce battle.

ESPN’s post-game ratings show Cristiano Ronaldo giving him a 9 out of 10.

The comment was just one sentence.

“He is football.”

The Chinese internet is also going crazy.

Coach Zhang’s commentary clips were split into seven or eight short videos, each going viral.

Dias has once again become a new trending meme.

Bruno was divided between people and balls, turning into a meme template.

And the fact that Cristiano Ronaldo conceded a penalty itself sparked ten times more discussion than the goal itself.

The comment section was overwhelmingly clear.

“Vision, that’s vision.”

“At 39, I’m still teaching young people how to be the core.”

“He doesn’t need to prove he’s the boss with goals; he proves himself with handicaps.”

“This is the real GOAT.”

However.

Amid overwhelming praise, there are always a few eye-catching ones buzzing around.

A football self-media outlet using the traffic code of criticizing Cristiano Ronaldo posted an update:

“To put it bluntly, it’s about not daring to kick. When your stamina is exhausted, you don’t dare to take penalties yourself. If you miss it, it’ll be so embarrassing.”

“Shift the blame to your teammates. If you score, it’s your own broad mind; if you miss the penalty, it’s because your teammates lack ability. You’re just a shrewd old fox.”

He also added three dog head emojis.

This post was met with a flood of criticism, but also received hundreds of likes.

Cristiano Ronaldo saw this message while scrolling on the team bus.

He wasn’t angry.

He even twitched the corner of his mouth slightly.

Just then.

Ding.

A crisp system notification sounded in his mind.

Sarcasm adds 24 million points.

The satire value increased by 36 million.

Source: Negative public opinion on social media.

Cristiano Ronaldo turned off his phone and leaned back in the bus seat.

He closed his eyes and began to meditate.

But the curve at the corners of his mouth is even more pronounced.

Keep cursing.

Please, I beg you.

Curse more.