When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 179 You can never defeat me.
An atmosphere of anxiety permeated the stands of the Spanish fans.

The red waves of people rose and fell, with fans gathering in twos and threes, gesturing and pointing.

Some people kept shaking their heads, while others waved their arms excitedly, completely unaware that beer was splashing out of their glasses.

The entire stands were like a pot of water about to boil, with hushed discussions, sudden escalations of debate, and helpless sighs all mixed together.

"How can you defend against that ball? It's impossible to stop it!"

"It was so fast, it was like lightning."

"That shot in the first half, any other goalkeeper would have conceded another one, Casillas did his best."

"The technique is so precise, it's like playing a game."

"I think the coach needs to make adjustments quickly, otherwise we'll concede another goal."

"What adjustments are needed? It wouldn't matter who's in charge."

"It's just too agile; it's impossible to catch."

"If they score another one in the second half, this game will be very difficult."

"The key issue is that their momentum has been completely destroyed. Look at those guys on the field, they're walking with their heads down."

"We need to find a way to keep him in check, otherwise there's really no chance."

"Restrictions? How can you restrict them? They can play however they want."

"Just wait and see, there's bound to be more in the second half."

As the break time passed, the discussions gradually subsided, replaced by a sense of suppressed anticipation.

People spontaneously straightened their red jerseys, stomped on empty beer cans, and refocused their attention on the green field.

The air was thick with tension and resentment; everyone knew that the real test was yet to come.

The whistle blew to kick off the second half, and Raul gently passed the ball to Torres, as the Spanish red tide began to surge forward.

But everyone's eyes involuntarily drifted toward the French team's half.

The dark-haired striker was slightly hunched over, like a cheetah poised to pounce.

Spain's defense was clearly on edge.

Juanito and Helguera maintained an unusually close distance, a rigid tactical distance between them.

Puyol kept glancing to his left front, and every time Roy made the slightest movement, the Barcelona tough guy would immediately lower his center of gravity.

Raul Bravo was positioned a full five meters further back than in the first half, as if he were ready to chase back at any moment.

When the French team intercepted the ball and launched a counter-attack, the entire Spanish defense froze briefly.

Roy touched the ball for the first time, and Helguera rushed at him, but stopped abruptly as Roy changed direction.

He remembered the lesson he learned from nutmegging someone in the first half.

Juanito chose to fight and retreat, maintaining a safe distance of two meters at all times, with his arms outstretched as if driving away some dangerous animal.

Alonso was the most nervous.

The young defensive midfielder abandoned his midfield playmaking duties and stuck to Roy like a shadow, three meters away.

On one occasion, Roy suddenly started moving, and Alonso, in a moment of panic, reached out to grab the hem of his jersey.

This subconscious action drew a burst of laughter from the stands, but no one really found it funny.

During a throw-in, Puyol suddenly rushed to the center-back position and clapped his hands vigorously at his teammates.

The four red lines of defense immediately contracted, forming a mobile wall in front of the restricted area.

But as Roy dribbled closer, the wall unconsciously shifted back half a step.

Just like when the tide encounters a reef, it always recedes first before surging forward.

57 minutes.

Roy dropped back to the center circle to receive the ball, and Makelele's pass rolled precisely to his feet.

Zidane habitually moved to the left flank to create space, but found that Roy didn't immediately look for him.

Instead, he gently pulled the ball away with the sole of his foot, dodging Albelda's challenge, and then passed the ball to Giuly on the right wing with the outside of his foot.

Vieira, understanding perfectly, moved forward to support, while Roy had already quickly moved into the open space in the middle.

When Giuly's back pass came to his feet, Zidane instinctively raised his hand to ask for the ball, but Roy opted for a penetrating through ball, finding Vieira who was making a forward run.

Vieira dribbled the ball forward for more than ten meters before passing it to Henry on the wing.

Zidane stood there, hands on his hips, catching his breath.

He suddenly realized that he was more of a transit point than a starting point for an attack today.

For a moment, he frowned, instinctively wanting to regain control of the rhythm.

But when he saw Roy drop back to receive the ball once again and use a single pass to defuse Spain's pressing, the maestro simply shook his head.

The 32-year-old Zidane touched his thinning scalp and slowly walked towards the front field.

He recalled that a few years earlier, he had also received the scepter from the old captain Deschamps in the same way.

On the other end of the field, Roy was directing Giuly's runs, and the way he looked was just like himself a few years ago.

Roy gently pushed the ball with his right foot, then shifted his shoulder to the left, and Albelda immediately moved to block it.

Joaquin sprinted back down the right flank to defend, creating a pincer movement between the two.

Alonso came flying in from the side with a sliding tackle, his studs flashing.

Roy stopped abruptly, flicked the ball with his right foot, and it just barely cleared the sliding Spanish defensive midfielder.

Before Alonso could even get up, Roy had already darted out like an arrow, instantly shaking off three defenders.

The French fans in the stands erupted in cheers.

The audience in the front row all stood up, and some people threw their scarves into the air.

Beer foam arced through the air, crashing onto the field along with deafening shouts.

The figure in the blue jersey was dribbling the ball as if it were nothing.

As Roy sprinted with the ball, he suddenly turned his head and quickly made a gesture with his right hand.

Giuly immediately made a run along the sideline, and Raul Bravo quickly followed.

Just as the Spanish defender started his run, Giuly suddenly braked and made a cut to the right flank.

At the same time, Roy pushed the ball forward with his right foot and sprinted down the right flank.

Bravo hesitated for half a second before finally deciding to mark Roy, who had the ball.

Just as the two were about to make contact, Roy suddenly used the instep of his foot to pass the ball across to Giuly, who had made a run into the middle.

Bravo hurriedly turned around to intercept, but missed.

Giuly passed the ball back without stopping it, and Roy was already in position to receive it again.

Facing the double-team of Juanito and Helguera, he made three quick changes of direction in a row, and finally poked the ball towards the sideline with his toe, slipping between the two players.

Roy strode after the ball, looked up near the byline, and found that the near post had been blocked by Spanish players.

Instead of passing to the near post, he used his right foot to curl a low, flat arc, the ball bypassing the defender at the near post and accurately finding Lizarazu who had made a run into the far post.

The French left-back didn't stop the ball; he simply passed it back with the instep of his foot.

Makelele received a pass back at the edge of the penalty area, and Puyol immediately burst out from the side.

The Barcelona defender lowered his center of gravity, his shoulder ready for the challenge.

But Makelele got half a body length ahead, using his back to block Puyol, and flicked the ball to the right with his right foot.

The dull thud of their muscles colliding echoed throughout the penalty area.

Puyol gritted his teeth and exerted force, his left hand already grabbing the hem of Makelele's jersey.

The French defensive midfielder suddenly stopped, and using the momentum of the opponent's forward run, he turned sharply and cut into the penalty area.

Puyol stumbled, and it was too late for him to chase after him.

Makelele took a step back, swung his right foot, and unleashed a powerful shot.

The ball flew like a cannonball straight into the top left corner of the goal. Although Casillas touched the ball, the force was too great, and the ball still hit the underside of the crossbar and bounced into the net.

The entire goal took less than three seconds; from receiving the ball to shooting, it was a seamless process, and Puyol didn't even have time to foul.

18-year-old Ramos suddenly jumped up from the sofa, his blond bangs flying across his forehead.

He pointed at Puyol on TV and yelled, "Just take him down! What's with the sportsmanship at a time like this!"

He squeezed the beer can so hard it made a cracking sound, and his roommate glanced at him but didn't dare to say anything.

Ramos stared at the TV, grinding his teeth: "If I were on the field, I would have ruined his driving rhythm with the first contact!"

As he spoke, he gestured defensively: "Cut off his position, don't give him any space to turn. If he dares to force his way through, let him taste the grass!"

My roommate whispered a reminder: "This is a live broadcast of the European Cup."

That's why we need to be even more ruthless!

Ramos tugged at his collar, which bore the Sevilla crest, and said, "Let these talents remember that Spain's defense is not to be trifled with!"

With the match reaching the 68th minute, the French team still maintained control of the game.

Roy frequently dropped back to midfield to receive the ball, and played consecutive one-two passes with Giuly on the right wing, making the Spanish defense nervous every time he touched the ball.

But just as the French team pressed forward again, Alonso suddenly intercepted Vieira's pass.

The ball was quickly moved to Vicente's feet on the left wing.

The Valencia winger made a sudden stop and change of direction, shaking off Gallas before delivering a low cross.

Raul received the ball with his back to goal in the middle, and just before Makelele could pounce on it, he turned and gracefully flicked the ball up.

Joaquin received the ball diagonally from the right flank and passed it back to Raul before Thuram could get close.

"Pretty!"

The Spanish fans in the stands stood up.

After receiving the ball, Raul made no adjustments and immediately sent out a diagonal through ball.

The ball scalpel-like through the French defense, precisely finding Torres who had suddenly started his run.

The moment Torres received the ball, a fierce glint flashed across his sharply defined, handsome face.

He slammed the ball three meters with his right foot, and Abidal was knocked away by his strong shoulder as soon as he stretched out his leg.

As the Frenchman stumbled, Torres charged forward like a bull.

After shaking off Abidal, Torres took a long stride and dribbled straight into the penalty area.

Barthez rushed out of his goal, only to see the young Atletico Madrid player charging faster and faster, showing no sign of slowing down.

Twenty yards from the goal, Torres suddenly adjusted his footing.

His right leg swung up like a battering ram, and the instep of his foot struck the middle of the ball solidly.

A powerful shot struck the inside of the left post of the goal.

The loud "bang" shook the entire goal, and the ball slammed into the junction of the post and crossbar like a cannonball.

Although Barthez guessed the right direction, the ball was too fast.

When his glove brushed against the ball, it had already hit the post and bounced into the net.

The French goalkeeper knelt on the grass, turned around and saw the net still shaking violently, the ball spinning at the bottom of the net.

The Spanish Stand at the Algarve Stadium erupted like a volcano.

The die-hard fans, their faces painted with red and yellow flag paint, jumped up simultaneously, veins bulging as they roared, "TORRES! TORRES!"

Torres turned and rushed toward Raul, the Spanish captain grabbing him by the neck.

But the blond striker's gaze was fixed across the halfway line on France's Roy.

He roared at the top of his lungs, veins bulging on his neck.

"did you see!"

He broke free from Raul's arm and pounded the team emblem on his chest.

The frustration of being dominated by the French team in the first half was all released in this roar.

The photographers on the sidelines clearly captured the 20-year-old Atlético Madrid player giving the French prodigy a "we'll see" gesture, his eyes filled with the fierceness of an enraged young bull.

Spain's head coach, Sebastián, signaled two substitutions in quick succession.

Ruben Baraja replaced Albelda, and then Luke replaced Joaquin.

The French team also made a quick adjustment, with Sagnol replacing Gallas.

The three substituted players jogged off the field, while the substitutes adjusted their socks as they ran to their respective positions.

As the match entered its 70th minute, both sides engaged in a fierce and all-out offensive battle.

In the 71st minute, Zidane suddenly played a through ball with the outside of his foot, and Henry broke into the penalty area and took possession of the ball.

Casillas made a diving save, tipping the ball over the crossbar with one hand.

After the corner kick was taken, Roy's header hit the crossbar hard, and Spain escaped a close call.

Two minutes later, Alonso delivered a precise long pass from the backfield to Vicente.

Valencia's winger dribbled past two players and crossed the ball into the middle. Raul received the ball and made a brilliant pass, but Torres' powerful shot was blocked by Barthez's leg.

France immediately countered, with Giuly breaking through on the right and crossing the ball. Henry's volley was blocked by Puyol's face and went out of bounds.

In the 76th minute, the atmosphere on the field became increasingly tense.

Vieira tackled Alonso in midfield and received a yellow card.

One minute later, Baraja retaliated by knocking down Makelele and was also shown a yellow card.

Players from both teams huddled together and shoved each other, and the referee had to show three yellow cards to calm the situation down.

In the 79th minute, Zidane received the ball in midfield, suddenly changed direction to get past Baraja, and then used a step-over to turn past the onrushing Alonso.

The moment France's number 10 looked up to observe, Roy had already started the engine.

Zidane's through ball pierced the defense like a scalpel, and Roy received it perfectly while running.

His explosive power was astonishing; in just two steps, he left Juanito, who was chasing him, three body lengths behind.

Puyol chased back desperately, but Roy suddenly stopped on the edge of the penalty area, and the Spanish defender couldn't stop in time and slid out of bounds.

Roy burst into the penalty area like a blue lightning bolt, his short hair standing on end in the wind from his sprint.

Facing the onrushing Casillas, he swung his right leg dramatically and volleyed a shot into the far corner.

This convincing feint prompted Casillas to immediately step to the left to block.

As Casillas lunged to the left, he suddenly saw Roy's ankle twist slightly.

Casillas' heart pounded, and he heard the screeching sound of his sneakers braking sharply on the grass.

"Oops!"

As soon as the thought flashed through Cassie's mind, his right leg kicked in the opposite direction against his will.

He could hear his own rapid breathing and even feel his temples throbbing.

As the ball slammed away from his foot, Casillas' right hand was only halfway out.

Before the sensation of fingertips brushing against the ball could even register in the brain, the net had already started to vibrate with a "whoosh".

He was indeed tricked, but he still managed to make an incredible save in the split second he was out of position.

But the shot was too close, and the ball still crashed into the net.

Puyol was coming in with a flying tackle from the right, and Helguera's intercepting leg was already raised, but both were a step too late.

The entire save took less than a second, but Casillas's jersey was already soaked through.

He knelt on the door line, hearing his heart pounding as if it were about to burst his chest, and a buzzing sound in his ears.

The adrenaline made his eardrums feel like they were covered, and he could only hear the thumping of his own heartbeat.

A few seconds later, the sound suddenly burst through the barrier and into their ears.

The entire Algarve stadium was filled with French fans stomping their feet and chanting: "Roy! The Demon King! Roy! The Demon King!"

The sound waves seemed to make the stadium tremble slightly.

Cassie saw Roy pinned to the bottom by his teammates, his short black hair covered in grass clippings.

The French fans' stands had turned into rolling blue waves, and a burly, shirtless man was waving the tricolor flag like a cape.

The Spanish commentator's voice suddenly lowered:
"80 minutes, 3-1 Roy, and it's Roy again! This is his sixth goal of the tournament. Our lads have given their all."

"Looking at this scoreboard is like looking at the June weather in Madrid—it's suffocating. Casillas has already made three certain saves today, but this time he couldn't pull off a miracle."

"It has to be said that this year has completely belonged to Roy. He just lifted the Champions League trophy in May, and now he has scored six goals in four games in the European Championship. If he wins again this year, he will become a double champion, just like Suarez in 1964, winning both the Champions League and the European Championship."

(Besides Suarez, there are also Anelka and Karembeu from France and Real Madrid, as well as a Dutch international from PSV Eindhoven who won the 1988 European Championship.)

"And he's only 19! Look at this goal replay, that composure is terrifying—first observe Casillas's positioning, then use a feint to create angle."

"We are witnessing the beginning of a new era for the French team. We just never imagined it would come at the cost of the Spanish tears."

His voice was drowned out by the cheers of the French fans.

On the sidelines, Morientes was running back and forth in the warm-up area.

Raul walked to the sidelines to prepare for a substitution, and habitually took off his captain's armband.

His hand paused on the armband for two seconds, then he suddenly turned and walked toward Torres.

"You put it on."

Raul put the red and yellow armband on Torres' left arm and pressed hard on his shoulder.

Torres paused for a moment, then lowered his head, gritted his teeth, and tightened his armband.

In the 83rd minute, Spain launched a full-scale attack.

Morientes, after coming on as a substitute, challenged for a header for the first time and collided hard with Thuram.

Morientes headed the ball first, and Torres received it at the edge of the penalty area, quickly turned and shot.

Barthez dived to the side and tipped the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips.

The French coach immediately made a substitution.

Pedretti ran to the sidelines and replaced Giuly, who was already exhausted.

Meanwhile, Evra is also ready to come on, replacing the exhausted Lizarazu.

In the 88th minute, France won a corner kick on the right.

Zidane took the corner kick, and Helguera headed the ball out of the penalty area at the near post. The ball fell to the right side of the penalty area, where Henry got to it before Puyol could reach it.

Roy made a crucial run at that moment.

He moved quickly laterally, drawing away defenders Juanito and Bravo, creating space for Henry. After receiving the ball, Henry first flicked it to the right, shaking off Puyol, then suddenly changed direction, squeezing past Baraja.

With a very tight angle, Henry took a direct shot at the near corner, and the ball flew past Casillas and into the net.

The score became 4-1, and the French fans began to celebrate wildly.

Although Roy wasn't directly involved in the goal, his clever positioning created shooting space for Henry.

In the first minute of stoppage time, Torres was fouled by Sagnol, and Spain were awarded a free kick just outside the penalty area.

Alonso took a deep breath, ran up, and unleashed a low, powerful kick.

The ball went through the gap in the wall, Barthez's view was blocked, and it was too late for him to make a save.

When the score was set at 4-2, the referee blew his whistle, and the entire French substitutes rushed onto the field to celebrate.

French commentator Jean-Pierre slammed his fist on the table, his voice trembling slightly:

"Final whistle blows! 4-2! The French roosters march proudly into the semi-finals! Ladies and gentlemen, remember this night—we have defeated the mighty Spanish bullfighters!"

"This was a perfect victory for the entire French team! From Barthez's heroic saves to Thuram's ironclad defense; from Vieira and Makelele's relentless midfield duo to Zidane's masterful control of the tempo; from Henry's killer instinct in the final blow to Roy's stunning performance—every position played at a world-class level!"

"Special praise must be given to head coach Santini's tactical arrangements! His bold decision to use 19-year-old Roy as the attacking core has proven to be a stroke of genius in this tournament! His substitutions today were equally precise – the introduction of Pedretti and Evra helped the team secure the victory. And look at the bench with top players like Trezeguet and Pires; the depth of this French team is truly terrifying!"

"This is the foundation of the defending champions! This is the ultimate expression of team football! Santini has perfectly molded this talented team into a cohesive whole, with veterans like Zidane anchoring the team and rising stars like Roy shining brightly."

"Now, we welcome the hosts Portugal to the Estádio da Luz in Lisbon! Figo! Costa! Deco! But France is fearless! The victory in the 2000 European Championship final is still fresh in our minds! History is on our side! This French team is writing a new legend!"
"Let us sing Marseillaise! Warriors of France! Carry on with the glory of this victory! Allez les Bleus! Vive la France! The semi-finals, here we come!"

After the final whistle blew, Torres walked toward the center circle, panting heavily.

His blond hair was soaked with sweat, and his jersey was stained with grass.

Roy was celebrating with his teammates when he saw Torres approaching, so he took off his blue number 11 jersey.

"Well played."

Roy reached out his hand, his dark hair also sticking wetly to his forehead.

Although he is almost 7 months younger than Torres, 19-year-old Roy looks more mature.

Torres nodded and took off his red number 9 jersey.

"I won't let you have it so easy next time."

When he took Roy's jersey, his fingers trembled slightly, whether from exhaustion or resentment, it was hard to tell.

The two shook hands briefly.

Torres's hands were rough and strong, while Roy's were long and bony.

Their arms had freshly scabbed abrasions, proof of 90 minutes of intense competition.

"Looking forward to meeting you in the Champions League."

After Roy finished speaking, he turned and left, casually draping Torres's jersey over his shoulder.

Torres stood there, watching Roy's departing figure, clutching the blue jersey tightly in his hand.

6 month 26 day.

The match was played in the sweltering heat of the Algarve Stadium.

Sweden took the initiative from the start, with Ibrahimovic threatening the Greek goal several times, but all his attempts were thwarted by Nikopolidis.

In the 37th minute, Ljungberg broke through on the right and crossed the ball, which Larsson headed in at the near post, giving Sweden a 1-0 lead.

Greece didn't equalize until the 67th minute when Charisteas headed in a corner kick.

The score was tied 1-1 after 90 minutes, and the match went into extra time.

Both sides were clearly exhausted, and Ibrahimovic and Larsson's shots were just off target.

The game ended in overtime, with the score still tied at 1-1.

In the penalty shootout, both sides scored flawlessly in the first five rounds.

Round six.

Sweden's substitute, Kakarström, stood at the penalty spot and took a deep breath.

Run-up, shot—the ball flew high over the crossbar!

Greek captain Zagorakis calmly walked to the penalty spot, without even taking a run-up, and directly shot into the bottom left corner. Isaksson guessed the wrong way!

The moment the net trembled, all the players on the Greek bench rushed onto the field.

Before Zagorakis could even turn around, he was pinned to the bottom by his teammates who pounced on him.

Katsouranis knelt on the grass and roared to the sky, while Charisteas excitedly grabbed his jersey and ran wildly.

Coach Rehhagel clenched his fists on the sidelines, tears glistening behind his glasses.

The Greek fans in the stands erupted in cheers.

An elderly fan with white hair knelt on the ground and wept bitterly, while young people hugged and jumped for joy, and blue and white flags waved wildly in the stands.

Someone threw prepared fireworks into the sky, and the entire stadium was shrouded in blue smoke.

"Goal! 6-5! Greece! It's Greece again!"

Huang Jianxiang's voice boomed in the CCTV5 studio:

"This team, which no one favored, this team with odds of 80 to 1 before the match, created the greatest underdog miracle in the history of the European Championship!"

"Look at this Greek team. They don't have superstars or exorbitantly priced players, but they have an iron will! Rehhagel has forged an invincible iron army with German discipline! From shockingly defeating Germany in the group stage and drawing with the Czech Republic, to today's penalty shootout victory over Sweden, they are writing the most incredible fairy tale!"

"How many sure-fire saves did Nicopolidis make today? Charisteas is the hero once again! Zagorakis led this team of ordinary players, and they defeated stars like Ibrahimovic and Larsson with their teamwork!"

"This is football! This is why we love this sport! When everyone thought they were just there to make up the numbers, the Greeks proved with their actions that miracles can always happen on the football field!"

"Semi-finals! Greece has advanced to the semi-finals! Rehhagel's disciples are just one step away from the final! Let's see what miracles this legendary team can create! The Greek myth is unfolding in Portugal!"

6 month 27 day.

The match between the Czech Republic and Denmark kicked off at the Estádio do Dragão in Porto.

Denmark dominated possession from the start, but the Czech Republic maintained a solid defense.

In the 2nd minute, Nedved's low free-kick was caught by Sorensen.

In the 9th minute, Jankulovski received a yellow card.

The Czech Republic gradually found their rhythm. In the 11th minute, Baroš created a threat with a breakthrough, but Jan Koller's header went over the bar. In the 13th minute, Galasek's long-range shot went wide. Denmark didn't manage their first shot until the 15th minute, when Poulsen's attempt was blocked.

Both sides had their chances in the first half but failed to score. In the 36th minute, Ilanek was injured and replaced by Grygera. In stoppage time, Poborsky's cross grazed the crossbar and went out.

The second half saw a dramatic turn of events. In the 50th minute, Poborsky's corner kick was headed in by Jan Koller to break the deadlock. In the 63rd minute, Poborsky delivered a precise diagonal pass, and Baroš chipped the ball over the goalkeeper to extend the lead. Just two minutes later, Nedved provided a brilliant pass from midfield, and Baroš scored again to complete his brace.

Denmark brought on Madsen and Rommedal to strengthen their attack, but Cech made some brilliant saves, denying shots from Gronkjaer and Tomasson.

The Czech Republic ultimately defeated Denmark 3-0, with Baroš securing second place in the top scorer list with 5 goals, second only to Roy who scored 6.

The Czech Republic will face Greece in the semifinals.

They have achieved 4 wins and 1 draw in the European Championship finals and remain undefeated to this day.

丹麦则创造了欧洲杯决赛圈12场失利的最高纪录，这也是该队去年4月2日欧洲杯预选赛0比2负于波黑以来正式比赛首次告负。

With the Czech Republic defeating Denmark 3-0, the four semi-finalists of this year's European Championship have been determined.

On June 30, host nation Portugal will face defending champions France at the Estádio da Luz in Lisbon.

On July 1st, the dark horse Greek team will face the in-form Czech team at the Estádio do Dragão in Porto.

The winners of the two semi-finals will meet in the final on July 4 to compete for the ultimate championship trophy.

On the morning of June 28, Cristiano Ronaldo woke up with a start, his bedsheets soaked with cold sweat.

He dreamt that he was standing in the players' tunnel at Old Trafford, with no one around him.

Suddenly, familiar footsteps sounded behind him—it was Roy, wearing a blue French national team jersey, with a half-smile on his lips.

“Young man,” Roy’s voice echoed in the empty tunnel, “do you think being a starter for Manchester United is enough?”

He gently shook his head: "In my eyes, you will always be a pursuer."

Ronaldo wanted to argue, but found himself standing on the pitch for the Champions League final.

Cristiano Ronaldo once again broke through with the ball in his dream, and the stands at Old Trafford erupted in a deafening roar of cheers.

Just as he was about to accelerate, the blue figure appeared like a ghost.

Roy gently poked the ball with his toe, and it obediently rolled to his feet.

"Too slow, young man."

Roy's voice slithered into my ears like a venomous snake.

He turned and unleashed a long-range shot that swept across the field, the ball arcing in an uncanny curve into the top corner.

The scene in the dream suddenly changed.

This was the European Championship final, and Ronaldo had a golden opportunity just outside the penalty area.

He faked out the defender and was about to shoot when he found Roy blocking his way.

"You think you can get past me?"

Roy chuckled, made a clean sliding tackle to clear the ball, then got up, dribbled past three players, and easily slotted the ball into the net.

What frustrates Ronaldo the most is that every time he thinks he can finally beat Roy, reality slaps him in the face.

In a one-on-one opportunity, he confidently chose to chip the ball over the goalkeeper, but Roy, who suddenly appeared, cleared the ball with a bicycle kick.

After a brilliant breakthrough, he was about to celebrate when he realized the referee had indicated that Roy had already cleared the ball.
"That's the gap."

In his dream, Roy looked down at Ronaldo, who was collapsed on the ground, exhausted, and skillfully juggled the ball with his feet, saying, "You're always just a little bit short."

After saying that, he unleashed another volley, the ball whistling past Ronaldo's ear and into the net.

The most terrifying thing was the disappointed look in Ferguson's eyes from the stands.

"Wake up! This is just a dream."

Cristiano Ronaldo suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently.

The morning sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting warm, golden dapples on the hotel room floor.

He let out a long sigh of relief and reached up to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

"A damn nightmare."

He muttered something as he rolled out of bed and stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet.

The sounds of birdsong drifted in from outside the window, a typical Lisbon morning, while in the distance, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore could be heard.

Everything felt so real, so peaceful.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and splashed cold water on his face.

Water droplets dripped down his chin, glistening in the morning light.

"I will definitely defeat him and become stronger than him."

He said firmly to himself in the mirror.

Just then, the reflection in the mirror suddenly became distorted.

Cristiano Ronaldo stared wide-eyed as he watched his face in the mirror slowly distort like a melting wax figure.

His high, straight nose softened slightly, his brown pupils gradually turned into a deep black, and a familiar, chilling smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

Are you sure, young man?

Roy in the mirror spoke softly, his voice seeming to come from a deep well.

Cristiano Ronaldo took a step back in alarm, knocking over a glass on the sink.

Amidst the crisp cracking sound, he suddenly realized that the entire room had changed.

The sunlight disappeared, replaced by damp, chilly air.

Dark green water stains seeped from the walls, and strange mold grew on the carpet.

The most terrifying thing was that Roy in the mirror was slowly raising his hand, his fingertips piercing through the lens, reaching towards him.
"You can't escape it, little brother."

Roy smiled in the mirror.

Cristiano Ronaldo suddenly sat up; this time he was truly awake.

Outside the window, the morning light of Lisbon had just begun to stream into the room.

He touched his face to make sure it was still him.

But that voice still seemed to echo in my ears: "You can never defeat me."

Portugal advanced to the semi-finals of the European Championship, and head coach Luiz Felipe Scolari was extremely satisfied with the performance of the team's rising star Cristiano Ronaldo. When commenting on the newcomer who went from being a substitute to an absolute starter in the European Championship, Scolari used the word "qualitative change" to describe his progress.

"He has improved tremendously in his year at Manchester United and in his month at the European Championship," Scolari said.

Cristiano Ronaldo made his first appearance for the national team last August, when he was still a green newcomer.

He is now an important player for the Portuguese team, and has started in the last two games.

“He has become more mature and has begun to realize that the team as a whole is more important than the individual, and he is doing better and better in this regard.”

In the final stages of his first Premier League season at Manchester United, Cristiano Ronaldo's playing style underwent a significant change.

He reduced his fancy stepover moves and started using simpler changes of direction to break through the defense.

This change significantly improved his efficiency.

A simple feint, followed by a quick change of direction, and then a direct shot – the whole sequence was clean and efficient.

This style of play gave him an advantage in the competition for the forward position.

While Saha is technically versatile, he lacks consistency; Smith is aggressive in tackling but lacks Ronaldo's flair.

When Van Nistelrooy needed a partner, Ferguson's first thought was Cristiano Ronaldo.

He is no longer just a winger who only shows off his skills, but a real attacker who can create threats in the penalty area.

"He now knows how to finish attacks in the simplest way," Ferguson commented after training. "That's what a top player should be like."

Cristiano Ronaldo's transformation is not only reflected in the statistics, but also in his more important role in the team's tactics.

Ferguson also has high expectations for Ronaldo's development, but he revealed a deeper perspective to the coaching staff: Cristiano is like a modern Garrincha - his dribbling magic can confuse defenders, and his innate talent is reminiscent of the Brazilian legend.

If he continues on his current trajectory, he is expected to approach this goal in about three years.

The 19-year-old prodigy clenched his fists, his eyes burning with an indomitable spirit.

With the European Championship semi-final just around the corner, he is finally about to face Roy in his first head-to-head match.

"I will prove to everyone," Ronaldo muttered to himself during extra shooting practice after training, "I am the best."

The ball slammed into the net again and again, just like the doubts he wanted to shatter.

But whenever he stopped to catch his breath, images of Roy training on another field would flash through his mind.

The Frenchman didn't even need to exert any force; a gentle push was enough to send the ball arcing perfectly.

In 2004, Roy was like a football monster from the future.

While 19-year-old Cristiano Ronaldo was still struggling to establish himself in the Premier League, this French prodigy of the same age had already made the whole of Europe tremble.

The data doesn't lie—Roy scored 45 goals in a single Ligue 1 season, a full 37 more than Ronaldo's debut season in the Premier League.

In the Champions League, his record of 17 goals dwarfed all his predecessors, and even the final stage became his personal showcase.

The difference in technical skills is even more brutal: Roy's dribbling is as magical as Ronaldinho's, and every change of direction can cause defenders to twist their ankles.

His explosiveness left all defenders in despair.

Like a combination of Henry and Ronaldo in their prime, he can leave two or three body lengths in the air the moment he starts moving.

While other speedsters were still accelerating, Roy had already pierced the defense like a bullet.

Those defenders known for their speed are most afraid of facing him.

In an interview with Gazzetta dello Sport on June 26, Maldini, who had just celebrated his birthday, said: "I have never been afraid of any striker in my life, but after watching Roy's game footage, for the first time I thanked God that I didn't meet him in the Champions League. It's not because I'm afraid of him, but because my 36-year-old body can no longer keep up with such a monster."

“When I was younger, I could use anticipation to block his position, but now if I don’t stop him in the first confrontation, it’s impossible to limit him just by chasing back. This explosiveness reminds me of Carlos in his prime, but Carlos couldn’t make seven feints while changing direction at high speed.”

“I never admit defeat, but I have to admit that some young players are born to end the careers of veterans. Roy is one of those players.”

Arsenal's Cole said: "Defending against him is like trying to catch a lightning bolt. You see him there, and the next second he's gone."

The data proves everything: in the 30-meter sprint test, Roy's time of 3.7 seconds was 0.4 seconds faster than Owen's and 0.3 seconds faster than Henry's at the same stage. This tiny difference is a huge gap on the field. While other fast players were still focused on sprinting, Roy had already completed the entire sequence of changing direction, adjusting, and shooting.

Such speed is combined with the flexibility of a Brazilian player.

He can accelerate suddenly without a running start, just like a sports car equipped with an instant start device.

The speed that Cristiano Ronaldo achieves through sheer effort in training is just a stroll during warm-up for Roy.

What's even more terrifying is that all these talents are contained within the body of a 19-year-old boy, as if the Creator forgot to set an upper limit when creating football players.

While Cristiano Ronaldo was sweating profusely on Manchester United's training ground, the television was playing a loop of Roy's brilliant performance in the Champions League final.

The image of the French teenager casually dribbling past Porto's entire defense stands in stark contrast to the scene of Cristiano Ronaldo being knocked to the ground by a defender in the Premier League.

"Sometimes you have to admit that some people are just kissed on the forehead by God."

Queiroz, the former Real Madrid manager who returned to Manchester United as an assistant coach, revealed a harsh truth in his lament.

"When Manchester United took notice of him a little over a year ago, he was just a young upstart who relied on his speed to overpower opponents. Although he could score a lot of goals, he was still capable of defending. Now look at his free kicks, the curve and precision are just like Beckham's. What's most terrifying is his rate of improvement. His dribbling is now as imaginative as Ronaldinho's, but he never makes unnecessary moves. Every feint is for a more efficient breakthrough."

"Hard work is certainly important, but Roy is born with this magic. He perfectly blends the unbridled imagination of South American football with the pragmatism of European football. This kind of talent can't be caught up with just hard work."

"Some gaps cannot be bridged by hard work, just like how no matter how hard mortals train, they can never catch up with the pace of gods."

Before the morning mist had even cleared in Lisbon, Cristiano Ronaldo had already spent two hours training alone on the training ground.

His sweat-soaked jersey clung to his 19-year-old body, and every shot he took carried an almost obsessive force.

The dull thud of the ball hitting the net echoed in the empty stadium, like a series of unwilling questions.

Sweat dripped down his chin, splashing into tiny water droplets on the grass.

After completing each set of training, he would look up at the gradually brightening eastern horizon, where there was an unseen mountain peak.

He knew that there was another person standing on that mountaintop.

You can kick a perfect arc without extra practice, and make the most rational choice without thinking.

That talent is as natural as breathing, as dazzling as the sun.

Like Sisyphus in Greek mythology, who pushed a boulder uphill, the closer you get to the top, the clearer you can see the trajectory of that boulder that is destined to roll back down.

On the eve of the European Championship semi-final, Cristiano Ronaldo stood by the hotel window, gazing at the surging Tagus River under the moonlight.

Tomorrow, he will face off against the genius whose forehead has been kissed by the gods.

The sound of waves crashing on the shore in the distance was like a sigh of fate, but he chose not to listen.

On this night, he was still that boy who believed that hard work could overcome talent, and he still stubbornly believed that as long as he ran a little faster and jumped a little higher, he would one day be able to touch that unreachable sky.

(End of this chapter)