The perfect midfield: It starts with never passing the ball to Ronaldo.

Precise and concise goal trajectories are played in a loop on the big screen.

pretty face,

An elegant goal,

The Portuguese league's dragon has finally found its perfect knight!

"GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAL!"

"Super Mario!!!!"

"Coming on as a substitute, he scored twice!!"

"A perfect individual play! From dribbling past Matuidi to that low, diagonal pass that tore through the defense, and finally appearing in the perfect position to deliver the decisive blow!"

"calm!"

"wisdom!"

"Highly efficient!"

"This 18-year-old delivered a dominant performance in his Champions League debut!"

"Porto 2-0 Paris Saint-Germain, the suspense is almost over in the 83rd minute!"

"Time is running out for the rising stars of Ligue 1!!"

[Damn, what should I do if I have a strange stress reaction to this sentence structure?]

- [Haha, as a Paris Saint-Germain fan, I hope Porto suffers a disastrous three minutes!!]

[Holy crap! A brace? Champions League debut? And against a massively expensive Paris Saint-Germain?! What kind of sci-fi movie am I watching?!]

- [This positioning, this pass, this shot, Sporting Lisbon, you're so stupid!!]

[Having just conceded a goal and then being used as a backdrop for a pass, the world's best center-back is having a rough night!]

- [There's no way around it, PSG's defense is still gelling, you can tell from watching Ligue 1, let alone the high-intensity Champions League...]

- [Haha, who says people with connections can't play in the Champions League? My nephew is a genius!]

- [Surely no one still thinks that shot was a fluke, right?]

-【Of course, this is obviously a fluke. I'd call Mario the number one Portuguese 'Mongolian'~(#^.^#)】

- [Mario's pass was perfectly timed, and his vision was outstanding!!]

- [Haha, for Mario, Atsu is more important than Ronaldo; this guy has already given the Ghanaian several brilliant passes!!]

The live stream was flooded with comments, but the scene was even more spectacular, and the blue and white ocean of comments began to boil again.

Porto fans waved their flags wildly and sang deafeningly.

Super Mario!

Super Mario!

The shouts were unified and became the loudest call in the Porto night sky.

The Paris fans' stands fell into a deathly silence, with only sporadic boos and incredulous head shakes.

The hand that had been holding up the mocking sign about favoritism before the match fell limply to its side.

Some people stared blankly at the replay of the goal on the big screen, their expressions complex. There was no doubt that they also wanted such a free franchise opportunity!

It's all Sporting Lisbon's fault! How could you fire such a promising 18-year-old?!

Fuck!

French profanities rang out one after another, and Parisians, having found a scapegoat, expressed their emotions through swearing.

On the green football field.

"Joseph, you really are a genius!!"

"That pass was perfect, and my assist was pretty good too!!"

Atsu, who provided the assist, was very excited and pounced on Mario like a black panther, tackling the goal scorer to the ground.

Jackson, James Rodriguez, and Moutinho swarmed forward, piling up like a mountain of people, their roars and laughter echoing throughout the area.

On the bench, Mario's teammates, who were slightly dissatisfied with his rapid rise to prominence, dared not utter a single complaint.

His consecutive braces, coupled with his uncle's shrewd coaching style of recommending talent regardless of personal relationships, all contributed to his success.

Forget about being a regular rotation player, he'll soon become a starting player!

Putting aside his feelings of envy, jealousy, and resentment, he adjusted his facial muscles and quickly joined in the goal celebration.

Clearly, Mario's path at Porto is becoming increasingly successful after a perfect start in both the Portuguese league and the Champions League.

Inside the VIP box, Porto's player director watched Mario surrounded by his teammates, took a deep breath, and his face showed no more hesitation.

He no longer cared about any strategic maneuvering, simply took out his phone, dialed the number he had already saved, and the screen's light reflected a resolute glint in his eyes.

An eighteen-year-old prodigy can only belong to Porto!!

Ancelotti was also somewhat tempted by Mario, who bore a resemblance to Kaka.

Unfortunately, for the well-funded Parisian executives, they probably prefer to buy established, ready-to-play players.

Ibrahimovic stood near the center circle, his signature haughty expression replaced by gloom, hands on his hips, coldly watching the Porto players celebrating wildly, especially the young number 22.

At eighteen, I was still struggling in the Dutch second division, while this kid had already made a name for himself in the Champions League with a single goal.

It's one thing to have a smooth start to one's career!

What's worse, I've become the stepping stone for my rival to rise to fame!

Absolutely unforgivable!!!

Ibrahimovic's suppressed rage was completely ignited, and his cold blue eyes, as sharp as the Nordic ice plains, now burned with a terrifying fighting spirit.

With its massive 195-centimeter frame charging forward, the Swedes were no longer the elegant gods, but rather tyrannical kings whose territory had been invaded.

Paris Saint-Germain, spurred on by their defeat, launched a fierce and direct attack after falling two goals down and teetering on the brink of danger.

Ibrahimovic's long-range shot ignited the battle. Elton had just caught a high ball and hadn't even had time to observe it when Matuidi and Lavezzi, like two mad cheetahs, pounced on him from the left and right with the screeching sound of their studs!

The Porto goalkeeper could only kick the ball forward hastily. Like a frightened bird, the ball bounced and rolled with difficulty amidst the fierce physical pressure and sliding tackles of the Paris players. Each touch of the ball was accompanied by a dull impact and a player's muffled groan as they fell to the ground.

Verratti, like a tireless bulldog, relentlessly clung to Moutinho, who was trying to get a pass. The two wrestled in the confined space, and the sound of their muscles colliding was clearly audible.

Despite his poor defensive attributes and questionable physical strength, Mario maintained a positive attitude and diligently participated in defense, trying his best to impact the Paris attacking players.

The away team continued their attack, and their combination play on the flanks and in the middle became simple and brutal.

Jallet and Maxwell gritted their teeth and sprinted to the byline, using their last bit of strength to lob the ball high into the Porto penalty area.

Every time the ball was launched, it was accompanied by a collective gasp of astonishment from the stands of the Estádio do Dragão. Inside the penalty area, it instantly turned into a quagmire, with players and players tumbling head over heels!

Ibrahimovic stood firm in the center like a pillar of strength, while Otamendi and Maicon dared not relax at all, their arms, shoulders, backs, and every part of their bodies becoming fulcrums for the struggle.

"Zlatan!!!"

"The Swedes' flexibility is truly outstanding!!"

"A beautiful header!"

"Unfortunately, luck isn't on their side tonight!!"

"Porto's goalposts paid off at home!!!"

While the commentators were still lamenting Paris's attack, Mario had already replicated James's fast break speed!

Of course, as the true GOAT of future football, Jose only started moving after participating in defense.

At eighteen, he wouldn't prioritize personal statistics over team results!

On the third quick forward run, I finally got in sync with my teammates!

The player was running, the ball was chasing, and Sakho, who was trailing behind, was completely bewildered by what he saw.

Otamendi, that kid, can't even clear the ball and he gets an assist instead?!