When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 108: Time is running out for the Germans.

2003 11 Month 14 Day.

The French team's chartered plane flew smoothly, and a relaxed atmosphere filled the cabin.

Zidane, Thuram, and Makelele sat together, flipping through the latest sports newspaper.

"Have you seen Van der Vaart's interview?"

Makelele pointed to the report in L'Équipe and said, "This kid is really unhappy about not being selected as Rookie of the Year."

Thuram took the newspaper and read aloud: "Van der Vaart said: 'Data doesn't tell the whole story; my performance at Ajax speaks for itself.'"

Zidane turned to look at Roy, who was sitting across the aisle.

Roy was wearing headphones and listening to music, his fingers tapping lightly on his knees.

“Hey kid,” Makelele waved his hand in front of Roy, “did you see Van der Vaart’s sour grapes?”

Roy took off one earphone and asked in surprise, "What did he say?"

Thuram handed over the newspaper: "They say your award was all thanks to media hype."

Roy flipped through the newspaper in his hand, which detailed the recent performance of Dutch rising star Rafael van der Vaart:

The 20-year-old Ajax attacker is in excellent form, having scored four goals in the Netherlands' last four matches and has become a key player in the attack.

In contrast, established strikers like Van Nistelrooy and Makaay appeared somewhat lackluster.

Dutch media praised Van der Vaart as the most successful example of the team's transition between generations.

In an interview, Van der Vaart discussed his preferred strike partners: "I score more goals when I partner with Kluivert, but it's also good with Van Nistelrooy. He plays up front and I play deep, and that combination is very threatening. But as for who I partner with, I'll leave it to the coach. I'll be happy if I get to start."

When asked about his best player, Van der Vaart said without hesitation: "Nedved. He led the Czech team to victory against us, and his ability in direct confrontations on the field is truly admirable."

Van der Vaart also revealed his future plans: "La Liga is my most desired league, especially Barcelona. As for the rumors involving Manchester United and AC Milan, they are not currently on my radar."

However, the young player's development has not been smooth sailing.

He was sent off with a red card for a retaliatory foul in the Dutch derby between Ajax and PSV Eindhoven, resulting in a three-match ban. Furthermore, he received a yellow card in the Champions League loss to Celta Vigo, meaning he will miss the next crucial match against AC Milan.

Roy glanced at it, a slight smile playing on his lips: "He's right, data certainly doesn't tell the whole story."

He handed the newspaper back to Thuram, put his headphones back on, and said, "But a goal is acceptable."

He paused, then added, "Since his favorite club is Barcelona, ​​you should just go along with him."

A burst of laughter erupted in the cabin.

Makelele patted Roy on the shoulder: "When you receive the award next January, remember to treat us to dinner."

Roy's lips curled slightly, and his gaze swept lightly over Henry, who was reading a magazine: "That depends on whether it's Thierry in December or if our ancestor Qi is treating us to dinner."

He deliberately emphasized the word "December," alluding to the upcoming Golden Globe Awards.

The laughter in the cabin suddenly took a subtle turn.

Zidane shook his head with a smile, Thuram feigned a cough to hide his laughter, and Henry's fingers paused slightly on the edge of the magazine.

"'European Rookie of the Year' doesn't mean anything," Roy said, fiddling with the headphone cord around his neck, his tone relaxed yet pointed. "It just means I'm a kid king."

Henry glanced over, his gaze lingering on Roy for half a second, before casually turning the page of the magazine.

During this period, he has indeed been working intensively to build momentum and win the Ballon d'Or – from giving an exclusive interview to France Football to arranging for the media to film training specials, every detail has been carefully planned.

I cried so hard at Vivian Foe's memorial match a couple of days ago.

On the other side of the cabin, Zidane seemed to be casually gazing at the clouds outside the window, but he was actually making plans in his mind.

He hasn't completely given up; deep down, he still longs to add another Ballon d'Or trophy.

After all, this year's competition is exceptionally open – Henry's club performance is impeccable, but the French national team's results are mediocre, and Arsenal's league title hopes collapsed at the last minute; Nedved led the Czech team to an excellent performance, but missed the Champions League final due to suspension; Maldini, as a defender, is naturally at a disadvantage.
Makelele keenly sensed the subtle change in the atmosphere and deliberately cleared his throat loudly: "Alright, alright, all you strikers know how to do is argue and bicker."

He deliberately put on a stern face and said, "If you ask me, this year's Ballon d'Or should go to the defensive midfielder who does the dirty work."

He patted his chest. "Like some people."

Laughter returned to the cabin, but everyone knew that behind this seemingly lighthearted joke lay the most authentic competition and ambition in the world of football.

Personal honors are something you have to fight for and grab when you should.

Aren't those celebrity scandals that suddenly break out every September and October all the same thing?

Those that broke out early were forgotten by fans after two months; those that broke out late were over before the awards were even announced.

Sunlight streamed through the portholes, illuminating everyone's faces. Henry was looking down at a magazine, Zidane was gazing out the window, and Roy was wearing headphones, pretending to listen to music—each person was secretly plotting their own schemes.

This is the world of top players. On the surface, everything seems harmonious, but secretly, who doesn't want to snatch the trophy for themselves?
Henry walked over with the magazine, casually tossed it onto the empty seat, and then sat down on the armrest next to Makelele.

“Claude,” he said with a faint smile, “after Chelsea’s 4-0 away win against Lazio last week, Abramovich is probably going to give Ranieri a raise. What’s it like playing for Chelsea? Does the owner just throw money around in the dressing room every day?”

Makelele was drinking mineral water when he heard this and almost choked: "Come on, you wouldn't come even if there was more money."

“If you transfer to Chelsea, you won’t even need to move your house. You can just drive from Hampstead in North London.” He deliberately dragged out his words, counting on his fingers, “Take the A40, then the M25, then back off the A4. If there’s no traffic, it’ll only take 45 minutes to get to Stamford Bridge.”

A burst of laughter immediately filled the cabin.

Thuram joked, "It seems Claude is going to be stationed here permanently; he's only been here a few months and he's already memorized all the transportation routes."

Henry immediately retorted, "45 minutes? That would be 3 a.m.!"

“Last time I crossed the Stamford Bridge, I was stuck in traffic for a whole hour near Earl’s Palace.”

Amidst the laughter of the crowd, Henry turned his gaze to Roy, who was wearing headphones: "By the way, I heard the old man has his eye on Nonda."

He deliberately used a casual tone, "You were teammates with him in Monaco, what did you think of him?"

The atmosphere in the cabin suddenly became subtle.

Everyone clearly remembers what happened at the beginning of 2003.

Roy, who had just joined Monaco at the time, pushed the team's star striker Nonda to the bench in just two games.

In the summer, with the arrival of Morientes, another striker, Pulso, also lost his starting position.

The current Monaco attacking duo could easily be called the "Real Madrid contingent."

One is Morientes, who is on loan from Real Madrid, and the other is Roy, who came from Real Madrid's youth academy.

Roy slowly removed the earphone from his right ear, revealing an innocent smile: "Nonda."

"He's a perfect backup striker, really. He's especially good at starting when the main striker is resting."

In the original timeline, Nonda should have won the Ligue 1 Golden Boot with 26 goals in the 2002-03 season and even made it into the 50-man shortlist for the Ballon d'Or.

"Life is unpredictable."

Roy muttered to himself.

He recalled Nonda's unwilling look on the training field—although he lost the Golden Boot, he also inadvertently avoided the injury that would change his career.

In the original timeline, Nonda's season-ending injury during the match against Paris Saint-Germain at the beginning of the season in August 2003 brought his peak years to an abrupt end.

Now, in November 2003, Nonda was still healthy, and at 28 years old, he was in his prime.

Roy stroked his chin, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Fate is so ironic: it stole his glory, but indirectly gave him a longer career. Now, being scouted by Arsenal might actually be a new beginning for Nonda.

Inside the cabin, the faint sounds of teammates chatting and laughing could be heard.

Roy looked out the window at the clouds drifting by and thought that this is how the world of football is—everyone's choices inadvertently change the trajectory of other people's destinies.

2003 11 Month 15 Day.

As night falls, Schalke 04's home stadium, the AufSchalke Stadium, is brightly lit.

The German fans' chants were deafening, and the black, red, and gold flags in the stands surged like waves.

The French team bus slowly drove into the stadium. Through the bus window, Roy could see the provocative gestures and exaggerated faces of the German fans outside.

In the locker room, Santini stood calmly in the aisle, his hands resting on the seat.

“Remember, their right flank is their weakness,” he tapped Hinkel’s name with a marker. “Roy, tonight you’re going to make the Germans remember your name.”

On the other side, the atmosphere in the German team's locker room was somber.

Waller frowned, his fingers tapping incessantly on the table, the sound echoing in the small space:

"Listen! Zidane must mark him the entire time!" He turned to Baumann and Jeremies. "You two take turns marking him closely, don't let him turn around. The moment he gets the ball, challenge him, even if it means fouling!"

He poked Roy's name with his finger: "Hinkle, that kid's too fast, you can't guard him one-on-one. Schneider, you drop back to help defend and force him towards the sideline."

Stuttgart's Hinkel wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded silently.

“As for Henry,” Völler looked at Frederick and Ballack, “Frederick will focus on defense, Baumann will cover and provide support. It’s better to let him cross from the byline than to give him the chance to cut inside!”

Finally, when it came to Trezeguet, Völler turned to the two center-backs: "Novoteni, you mark him. Wörns, protect the second ball. Don't let that big guy jump easily!"

Since taking over as coach, although he led the team to a runner-up finish in the World Cup and successfully qualified for the European Championship, one problem has always been a thorn in his side – the German team can never beat truly strong teams.

Apart from a lucky win against England three years ago, Germany has lost to strong teams like France, the Netherlands, Argentina, and Brazil every time they face them.

Three months ago, they lost 0-1 to Italy at home, and the criticism from the media and fans has never stopped.

Völler knew better than anyone that this match against France was far more than just a friendly.

"By beating France," he said, looking around the players in the locker room, "we proved that we are not just a paper tiger that can only bully weak teams."

In a corner of the locker room, Kahn suddenly stood up and slammed his glove heavily on the locker door: "Cheer up! Let them see how powerful German football is!"

But the atmosphere in the locker room remained heavy.

The players all knew that if they lost again tonight, they would face a barrage of criticism.

Völler concluded by surveying the entire team: "Remember, the French will relax if they don't score soon. Seize counter-attacking opportunities, Kuranyi and Bobic must push forward decisively!"

The two teams met in the players' tunnel.

Kahn stood at the front, his golden hair particularly striking under the lights.

He glanced back at the French players, his gaze lingering on Roy for a moment, a cold smile playing on his lips.

Roy met his gaze without fear, and their eyes met, as if sparks were flying in the air.

"Let's welcome both teams onto the field!" The stadium announcer blared, and the cheers from the fans instantly reached their peak.

The German team emerged from the tunnel first, with Kahn raising his arms to receive the adoration of the home fans.

Novotny and Warnes followed closely behind, their expressions grave.

Barak walked in the middle, occasionally whispering to his teammates.

Hinkle looked a little nervous.

The French team then entered the game.

Zidane walked at the front, looking calm.

Henry and Trezeguet walked side by side, exchanging glances from time to time.

Roy walked in the middle of the group, and he could feel the hostile looks from the German fans, which only made him smile slightly.

Makelele walked last, his expression as blank as ever.

When the two teams lined up for a photo in the center circle, Santini and Völler shook hands on the sidelines.

Santini wore a polite smile, while Völler simply nodded briefly, his eyes never leaving the pitch.

"It looks like the Germans are under a lot of pressure today," French assistant coach Domenech said in a low voice.

Santini nodded slightly, his gaze falling on Roy, who was warming up. "It's good to make them more nervous."

In the VIP box at the Veltins-Arena, Migliorgio and Eric Stryger sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

He was the Vice President of Global Brand Innovation at Adidas and the head of the football product line at the time.

The players on the sidelines were lining up to enter, but the two had already begun their conversation.

“Don’t rush to look at the contract terms,” Miliacho said, pointing to Roy who had just walked onto the field. “Look at the way this kid is on the field.”

Stryger adjusted his glasses: "He's good-looking, though not as good-looking as Beckham."

“They’re not the same thing at all,” Miliajo interrupted, shaking his head. “Beckham is a sunny icon, Roy is a different style altogether.”

As they were talking, Roy on the field looked up and scanned the stands, his eyes calm and indifferent.

Strig nodded slightly: "It is indeed very distinctive."

“That’s what makes it special,” Miliacho said, pressing his advantage. “What the football world is lacking right now are players with these kinds of sharp edges.”

The moment the referee blew the opening whistle, the entire stadium erupted in cheers.

Kahn's roar cut through the crowd's clamor: "Focus! Don't give them any chances!"

Kuranyi passed the ball back to Ballack, who was immediately marked closely by Makelele.

Ballack managed to pass the ball wide, but Schneider's cross was headed away by Thuram.

The French team quickly organized a counterattack.

Zidane received the ball in midfield and made a deft turn to get past Ballack's defense.

"Pretty!"

Santini, standing on the sidelines, couldn't help but applaud.

Zidane looked up and made a precise long diagonal pass to Roy on the right wing.

Hinkel was on high alert; he lowered his center of gravity and stared intently at the ball at Roy's feet.

Roy made a feint to cut inside, then suddenly pushed the ball forward, using his speed to outpace his opponent!

Hinkel turned around in a flustered manner to chase back, but could only watch helplessly as Roy crossed the ball from the byline.

"Danger!"

The German commentator exclaimed in surprise.

Trezeguet leaped high in the middle, but his header went just wide of the far post.

Kahn was furious and roared at Hinkel, "Focus! Don't let him break through so easily!"

Völler paced back and forth on the sidelines, occasionally shouting into the field.

Santini remained seated on the coaching bench, only occasionally getting up to direct the defensive line's positioning.

By the 10th minute of the match, the weaknesses in the German team's defense had begun to become apparent.

Ballack had to frequently drop back to the right flank to help defend, joining Jeremies in double-teaming Roy—a task that should have been the job of full-back Hinkel.

However, this passive adjustment actually gave France's right-back Sagnol a lot of open space.

19 minutes.

Sagnol suddenly surged forward from the right flank at high speed, and Roy, understanding perfectly, delivered a through pass, the two completing a textbook one-two pass.

Hinkel was completely outmaneuvered and could only watch as Sagnol crossed the ball from the byline.

Inside the penalty area, Trezeguet and Wörns engaged in a fierce battle, with Trezeguet leaping up to head the ball toward the goal!
Kahn once again demonstrated world-class goalkeeping reflexes, tipping the ball away with one hand.

But the disaster for the German team was not over yet – Fredrik, who was supposed to be marking the far post, completely missed his mark, and Roy appeared like a ghost in the most dangerous position, sending the ball into the net with a delicate tap-in.

"Goal! France leads 1-0!" The commentator's voice carried a hint of expectation. "Roy's clever run led to this goal!"

Indeed, against this German team that is in transition, such a goal was almost predictable.

Apart from Kahn and Ballack, who are still struggling to maintain a world-class level, the performances of other players don't even deserve the "continental" rating. Hinkel's clumsy turns, Wörns' slow defensive rotations, and Frederick's fatal lapses in marking all confirm the pessimistic predictions made by the German media.

When Roy celebrated his goal with a knee slide, the broadcast cameras captured a meaningful moment: Kahn was furiously yelling at the defense, while Völler on the sidelines looked livid.

This former world champions are no longer even considered favorites to win the European Championship. The German newspaper Bild's pre-match assessment, placing them in the "second tier," now seems remarkably accurate. Conversely, on the French bench, Santini's composed smile carries the pity of a strong person for the weak.

Roy's celebration instantly ignited the entire stadium.

He raised his right hand, his index finger held straight up in front of him, his eyes fixed on the area in the stands where the loudest shouting was coming from.

Amidst deafening boos from the crowd, he pointed his finger forward three times—each tap like a slap in the face to the Germans, each tap like a command to "shut up."

Miriamjo laughed: "Look at this kid, he's not afraid of causing trouble at all."

The century-old feud between Germany and France boiled over at this moment, and Roy's action was like throwing a spark into a powder keg.

Strig's fingers unconsciously tightened around the teacup, his face turning ashen.

As a German, he understood all too well the provocative nature of that gesture.

On the big screen, Roy's young and arrogant face was filled with disdain.

A water bottle flew down from the stands and hit the billboard, but Roy didn't even blink.

“Beckham would never do something like that,” Miliajo whispered in Stryger’s ear, her voice brimming with smug satisfaction. “But young people these days love to see this kind of tough guy.”

He pointed to the reporters' cameras flashing wildly on the sidelines, "Tomorrow, your front pages will all be filled with this image."

The game on the field continued, but the two players' attention had completely shifted to this business game.

“Eric, let’s get straight to the point,” Miriam twirled his pen, “How much does Oliver (Kahn) get from you? And Michael (Barack)?”

Stryger wiped his glasses: "Oliver's base is $150 million, plus a $1 bonus for each shutout game."

Seeing Miliacho raise an eyebrow, he added, "That's the going rate for goalkeepers. But Michael does have 180 million, after all, he's Germany's future captain."

At that moment, Ballack's long-range shot grazed the crossbar and flew out. Strig said, "Look at that shot! If it goes in, we'll give him a bonus of 3 for every long-range shot."

Migliorgio chuckled: "So how much are you planning to pay the kid who scored that goal?"

“Eric,” Miliacho put down his pen and leaned forward slightly, “we all know Roy’s potential. You saw it today, he toyed with your representative Hinkel on your German turf, and even Barak couldn’t stop him.”

His gaze swept over Roy on the field, "This kid might surpass Zidane in the future."

Strig's eyes flickered behind his glasses: "This is already the highest price we've offered for a newcomer. Nine million for six years, an average of one and a half million per year."

"So how much did you give Ricardo (Kaka) to AC Milan?" Miliacho suddenly asked.

Strig was visibly taken aback: "This... is not convenient to disclose."

He paused for a moment and then added, "Milan and we have a special cooperative relationship."

Miriam noticed that Strig's voice sounded a little unnatural when he said this, and he already knew the answer in his mind.

“But it’s less than a third of Zidane’s,” Miliacho knew perfectly well, “and you want the priority renewal option? That’s too demanding.”

He gave a meaningful smile: "We need to renegotiate Roy's price."

Stryger adjusted his glasses: "Roy doesn't have a Ballon d'Or, FIFA World Player of the Year, World Cup, or European Championship right now."

“Really?” Migliorio interrupted directly. “When Beckham signed his 1.6 million lifetime contract, did he receive any of these awards?”

Strig was momentarily speechless, and his expression turned rather unpleasant.

A chorus of boos suddenly erupted from the stands, and both players turned to look at the pitch—Roy was using a series of dazzling sudden stops to outmaneuver German defender Hinkel, drawing gasps from the stands.

Strig stared at the scene, lost in thought: "If... I mean if, Roy's next transfer target has to be a club sponsored by Adidas."

Miriam's eyes lit up: "How much can the amount be increased?"

Strig gave a professional smile and tapped his fingers lightly on the table: "Well, that depends on the specific performance and market response."

He deliberately remained vague, saying, "But it will definitely be more attractive than the current base price."

“Specific figures, Eric,” Miliacho pressed. “I need a specific range.”

Strig shook his head and pointed to the field: "Let's see what miracles he can pull off today."

He skillfully changed the subject, "After all, a young man who can make Kahn furious on German soil is worth our continued observation, isn't he?"

Miliajo knew he wouldn't get any more information for the time being, but he noticed that Strig's gaze followed Roy's every move.

This detail tells him that Adidas does indeed see Roy as a core asset for the future, but is not yet willing to reveal all its cards.

Migliorio pushed a napkin over: "Nike is offering more than $200 million a year, and only for five years."

He paused deliberately, "Nike is even willing to develop a separate line for Roy—you know, this kid hasn't even sat on the bench of a top club yet."

Actually, I sat there.
Strig tapped rhythmically on the table, but his eyes were fixed on Roy's movement as he dropped back to receive the ball on the field.

The 19-year-old was moving freely down the right flank, first making a sudden stop to shake off Jeremies, and then cleverly backheeling the ball to the onrushing Sagnol.

"Remember 1984? Jordan was begging to sign with Adidas, but you guys thought he was a guard and that it would be too much trouble for him to have his own signature shoes."

Before entering the NBA in 1984, Jordan was a loyal Adidas fan.

He has stated publicly on multiple occasions: "I dream of being an Adidas spokesperson, and I will sign with them as long as they match Nike's offer even slightly."

However, Adidas executives believe that basketball is a "sport for tall people," and consumers prefer centers (such as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) rather than guards like Michael Jordan.

Jordan wanted to have his own signature shoes with his name and logo, but Adidas refused, saying that "rookies don't deserve special treatment."

At the time, Adidas was focused on the European market and underestimated the potential of the NBA, and did not even make a formal offer.

Migliorio lowered his voice, "Nike is making more money in basketball than Adidas' entire football division does right now."

Roy suddenly accelerated down the wing, and Frederick made a sliding tackle but missed.

Straiger's forehead was beaded with sweat.

He clearly remembered that dusty file—in 1984, Adidas North America rejected Jordan's $25 endorsement offer, citing "the basketball shoe market is too small."

At that moment, Roy was finding Trezeguet with a volley, but the latter's header went slightly wide.

“We need longer contracts to spread the risk,” Stryger is still struggling.

"risk?"

Miliajo sneered and pointed at the big screen.

In the footage, Roy sprints back down the right flank to defend, and just as Ballack is about to unleash a long-range shot, he precisely positions himself to assist Dakul in making a tackle.

Barak angrily shoved Roy, their foreheads almost touching, before the referee rushed over to separate them.

"did you see it?"

Migliorio tapped the table. "This kid can run forty meters for a single defensive play and go toe-to-toe with a world-class midfielder."

He turned to stare at Stryger. "You missed out on Jordan back then because you thought the rookies weren't good enough. Now you want to make the same mistake?"

Adidas has made this mistake more than once:

Kobe Bryant terminated his contract early in 2002 because his design suggestions were ignored and he was unhappy with Tracy McGrady receiving a lifetime contract.

2003年口头协议10年1亿美元，签约时临时缩水至7000万，激怒詹姆斯转投耐克（7年9000万）。

The box was suddenly filled with gasps—Roy made a series of changes of direction on the right wing, and Hinkel was shaken and fell to the ground. The broadcast camera focused specifically on Waller, whose face was ashen, on the sidelines.

Stryger finally relented: "If he can maintain this level of performance until the end of the season..."

Before he finished speaking, Royne moved in and exchanged several three-passes with Zidane and Henry, repeatedly roaming in front of the German penalty area.

Migliorio slowly closed the folder: "Wait until the end of the season? I'm afraid Nike's offer will be more than 200 million by then."

Migliorio tapped the table: "Look at the stats. Roy has already scored seven goals in just four Champions League group stage matches this season."

He opened his notebook and wrote, "Although Ligue 1 is not as good as the Premier League and La Liga, it is still a league with a coefficient of 2.0 in UEFA's Golden Boot points."

As Stryger looked down at the data, Migliorgio added, "If he continues playing at this pace, he could very well win the European Golden Boot at the age of 19."

Just then, a gasp came from the German commentator in the audience:

"Watch this attack! Zidane receives the ball in midfield, looks up to observe—a brilliant lob pass over the German defense! Roy makes a high-speed run down the right flank, and he calmly controls the high ball with his chest!"

"Frederick is pressing forward! Roy remains calm, gently flicking the ball with his right foot, then cutting inside! Beautiful! The German defender is completely out of the loop!"

"Roy is crossing the ball now, it's fast! Trezeguet jumps at the near post! He misses the header! But wait, Henry is at the far post!"

"Henry leaps high! A powerful header! Goal! My God! Kahn has no chance! France leads 2-0! This combination was brilliant! From Zidane's pass to Roy's breakthrough, and then to Henry's finish, it perfectly showcased the art of French football!"

"Watching the replay, Roy's handling was so calm; at only 19, he acted like a seasoned veteran. And Henry, Arsenal's striker, scored with a header, a method he's least familiar with!"

“You know,” Milaccio pointed to the scoreboard, “the last player to perform like this at this age was Ronaldo.”

The halftime whistle blew, and players from both sides left the field one after another.

Miliacho gestured for Stryger to proceed to the open-air stands outside the box.

“Look to the right,” Miliacho said in a low voice, his finger subtly pointing to the VIP section on the right side of the stands.

Strig looked in that direction and saw Roy's female manager, Claire, leaning against the railing—her elegant silhouette outlined by a beige turtleneck sweater beneath her camel-colored trench coat. The German man in a suit standing next to her made Strig's pupils shrink.

“That’s... Puma’s Wolfgang?” Strig’s voice suddenly tightened.

He clearly recognized the signature silver-rimmed glasses of the Puma sports marketing director.

Miriam José handed over the binoculars at the opportune moment: "It seems our little ones have far more choices than we imagined."

In the shot, Wolfgang is leaning down and whispering something in Claire's ear, while Claire smiles and looks toward the players' tunnel—Roy happens to walk into the tunnel at that moment.

Milia Joel leaned casually against the railing: "We appreciate the possibility of collaborating with the Dassler family brand, but you see..."

He nodded slightly in the direction of the Puma executives. "The negotiation atmosphere over there is quite pleasant. To be honest, Puma's offer is the most sincere among all the brands currently available."

"We believe that under the current conditions, there is really no need to raise the price."

Just then, Claire turned her head and looked in their direction, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Miriam nodded in acknowledgment, then turned and continued, "After all, the most important thing in business cooperation is mutual recognition of value, not just a numbers game, don't you think?"

After the start of the second half, the French team continued to control the game.

In the 55th minute, the French team patiently passed the ball around in midfield.

Zidane suddenly stopped and changed direction, shaking off Jeremies's entanglement, and just as the German defense was about to close in, he delivered a low through ball—the ball passed through the narrow gap between Nowotny and Wörns as if it were precisely guided!

"The defensive line is pushed too high!"

Amidst the exclamations of the German commentator, Trezeguet sprang into action like a cheetah, perfectly beating the offside trap.

Kahn decisively rushed out of his goal, but Trezeguet took a shot directly from the edge of the penalty area! Kahn stretched out his body and blocked the ball with his fingertips!

"Kahn! It's Kahn again! This Bayern Munich goalkeeper has saved the day once more... oh no!"

Follow-up shot!

Trezeguet followed up with another shot, and the ball flew under Kahn's arm and into the net!
Inside the private box, Migliorgio's teacup hovered in mid-air: "Did you see that pass? Zidane's vision."

He glanced deliberately at Stryger. "But do you know why Zidane's pass was so easy?" Replays showed that it was Roy's cut inside from the right wing that drew Ballack's attention, while Hinkel stayed close up front, creating excellent passing space for Zidane.

The German commentator's frustrated voice came through the loudspeaker: "Three goals down. This is the worst performance by the German team we've ever seen."

On the sidelines, Völler roared angrily.

Inside the private box, the negotiations between Migliorgio and Stryger also reached a fever pitch.

As France extended their lead, Migliorgio grew increasingly confident.

In the 81st minute, the French team patiently organized an attack in the attacking third.

Zidane suddenly started from the edge of the penalty area, using a beautiful Marseille turn to get past Baumann, and then flicking his heel to get rid of the covering Wörns.

"Allez Zizou! (Go Zidane!)"

The French away fans in the stands cheered in unison.

Zidane and Henry executed a brilliant one-two pass, instantly tearing apart the German defense.

After receiving the ball on the left wing, Henry passed it back to Zidane. Zidane feinted with his right foot, but then gently flicked it up with his left foot, delivering a precise lob pass.

The ball sailed over Nowotny's head and landed at the far post!

"Allez Roi!"

Roy surged forward like lightning, and before the ball hit the ground, he unleashed a powerful volley!
Kahn made a desperate save, but the ball was too fast, and he and the ball crashed into the net. 4-0!

"TOR!!! Roy mit einem Hammerschuss! (Roy's powerful shot breaks through the goal!)"

"I can't believe it," the German commentator exclaimed helplessly.

After scoring, Roy leaped into the air, his right index finger pointing straight to his temple, his gaze sweeping over the silent German fans in the stands.

Germany's coach, Völler, looked grim, while the French bench was already in an uproar.

Zidane was the first to rush over and hug Roy, whispering something in his ear.

In another private box, Claire was smiling and clapping, while the Puma executive next to her had already stood up excitedly.

As the match neared its end, the scoreboard at the Veltins-Arena mercilessly displayed a score of 0-4.

French coach Santini made substitutions, replacing three key players: Roy, Henry, and Zidane.

As the three walked side by side to the sidelines, the stadium lights cast long shadows of them onto the grass.

The broadcast director skillfully switched the camera angles—in a close-up, 19-year-old Roy walked on the left, Henry on the right was bald, and Zidane, who was already balding, was in the middle.

The three players' jersey numbers stood out under the spotlight: 11, 10, and 12.

A few French fans in the stands stood up and applauded, while the majority of German fans fell into an eerie silence.

The photographer captured this moment, shooting the three leaving the field from behind: Roy's young and upright figure looked up slightly at the away fans' stands to Zidane's left, and the three walked in an unusually synchronized manner, their soaked jerseys clinging to their backs, the dark patterns on their numbers appearing and disappearing with each step.

Santini hugged his three favorite players one by one, while his teammates on the bench were already lined up waiting for a high-five.

This substitution was captured simultaneously by six cameras, almost guaranteeing it a front-page shot in major sports newspapers in both countries.

In stoppage time, Ballack delivered a precise low cross amidst a lax French defense, and substitute Klose slid in to score.

This goal should have sparked cheers from German fans, but the entire Veltins-Arena remained shrouded in a somber atmosphere.

Klose didn't even do his signature somersault celebration; he just walked back to the center circle with his head down—this belated goal seemed so insignificant in the face of the crushing defeat.

The score was 1-4.

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Germany's head coach, Ruud Völler, was already troubled by the public relations crisis surrounding Michael Ballack before the match. During the game, a struggling Ballack made numerous mistakes, while Zidane dominated with precise playmaking. Despite their different styles, this duel once again proved that Zidane was the undisputed winner.

— L'Équipe

"19-year-old French prodigy humiliates the German machine! 1-4 defeat sends shockwaves through the football world."

Roy scored 2 goals and provided 1 assist in this match, bringing his total to 7 goals in 4 Champions League games, leading the Champions League top scorer list. He broke through on the right wing with unparalleled ease, and in the 81st minute, his powerful shot beat Kahn's outstretched hands before he made his signature "salute" celebration, igniting the Veltins-Arena.

Partizan coach Lothar Matthäus angrily criticized: "Roy's celebration is an insult to German football! This arrogant young man needs to learn respect."

Gerd Müller, however, exclaimed, "His shots remind me of my prime, but with even greater explosiveness. German defenders are like wooden stakes in front of him."

Beckenbauer lamented, "While France is producing such talent, our youth training system is stagnating. This crushing defeat should be a wake-up call for the entire German football community!"

—Bild

The statistics are alarming: France had 18 shots, 10 of which were on target, while Germany only managed 5 shots, 1 of which was on target. Völler's record against top-ten teams in his coaching career is only one win, and this defeat further confirms his weakness of "failing against strong opponents."

"It's time to reassess the coaching staff's ability to innovate tactically." With the European Championship approaching, Völler doesn't have much time left to prove himself.

—Kicker

Amidst widespread speculation that Michael Owen might join Real Madrid, the News of the World conducted an exclusive interview with the Liverpool striker. Owen stated unequivocally: "I came to the Reds when I was 11 years old and have never thought about leaving. As long as my body allows, I'm willing to play here until I retire."

—World News Daily

(End of this chapter)