Chapter 305: Chapter 252: He Has Hope to Be Crowned King

TWEET!

Seeing Owen’s astonishing forward speed, Roc Junior decisively fouled him, shouldering him to the ground.

The head referee, Ramos Riso, ran over and, with a blank expression, awarded a free kick from 30 yards out.

In the stands, many Brazil fans gasped, clutching their heads in their hands.

From this distance, the threat of a Beckham’s Arc was significant.

Scolari stood on the sidelines, his face taut and silent. He couldn’t really complain about the call.

He already felt lucky that Ramos Riso hadn’t shown a card.

After all, this Ramos Riso character was something of a thorn in the Brazil Team’s side. During the World Cup qualifiers, he had refereed a match where the Brazil Team inexplicably lost to Ecuador, a result that directly led to their perilous struggle in the group stage.

But the man was inflexibly impartial and utterly incorruptible, which was likely why FIFA had chosen him to referee this match after the scandal on the 18th.

This was England’s best chance in the 15 minutes since the match began.

Beckham stepped up to the ball.

In front of him, a nervous Marcos directed his teammates to form a wall. From this range, Beckham could shoot directly at the goal.

In the stands, countless fans rose to their feet, their eyes anxiously fixed on Beckham.

Chen Yu also felt a strange sense of nervousness. ’This isn’t going in, is it?’

Beckham began his run-up, accelerated, and struck the ball hard with his right foot.

The ball flew up, tracing a mystifying arc through the air. It skimmed just over the heads of the wall, dipped slightly, grazed the top of the crossbar, and shot into the goal.

Marcos leaped into the air, having judged the direction correctly, but a shot like that was impossible to save, even for a god.

In an instant, the entire stadium erupted as if it had been set ablaze.

Beckham sprinted wildly toward the sideline, jumping and leaping with excitement.

This priceless goal gave England a dream start.

On the field, the England players celebrated wildly while the Brazil Team looked somewhat dazed.

Scolari stood on the sidelines, his expression more solemn than ever. He hadn’t expected England to strike first, nor for their counter-attack to be so sharp.

He suddenly turned his head, scanned the stands, and his gaze locked onto Chen Yu, who was currently applauding.

That goal came from a sequence: Gerrard’s interception in the backfield, Beckham’s pass to initiate the play, and Owen’s lightning-fast counter-attack to earn the free kick.

Without Chen Yu, Gerrard might still be in the United Kingdom watching on TV, and Beckham might have been in the same boat, moping right alongside him.

As for Owen, his participation had been in doubt. They said he had a groin problem and had lost his speed. But now, after Chen Yu worked on him, it was as if he had returned to his prime.

Scolari sighed and snapped back to reality. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Falling behind so quickly had disrupted his plans. He went to the sideline and shouted at Ronaldo, signaling for him to press forward and attack.

England had the "Boy Wonder" Owen, but Brazil still had the "Alien," Ronaldo.

A completely healthy Ronaldo, in peak form no less.

Especially since Chen Yu had helped relieve the muscle tension in his thigh just yesterday. At this point, the only person who could stop Ronaldo was Ronaldo himself.

In the stands, Chen Yu sat back down and calmly continued to sip his Coke.

Beside him, Dean was also chugging his Coke nonstop. He muttered, "Looking at it this way, Brazil isn’t that strong. They even conceded the first goal."

Chen Yu nodded. "They aren’t. In this World Cup, Brazil is just one of the strong teams. Their strength is actually about the same as England’s."

Of the famous 3R, besides Ronaldo and Rivaldo, Ronaldinho was just a rising star—a super rookie, nothing more.

In the other positions, aside from Cafu and Carlos who had a bit more star power, the rest were a bunch of new players, with half of them from the Brasileirão. Compared to France or Italy, their lineup was genuinely a fair bit weaker.

Dean paused, confused. "Then why did you say you thought Brazil would win before? And what about that Blatter guy? Didn’t he also favor Brazil?"

Chen Yu turned to look at Dean and suddenly wondered if this was how Alina and the others saw him—the same way he was now looking at Dean, like a casual fan who knew nothing.

"Blatter was just being polite, you can’t take that seriously. As for me..."

Chen Yu looked toward the field, his gaze locking onto Ronaldo. "...it’s because Brazil has Ronaldo. A lot of the time, he alone is enough."

Without a doubt, Ronaldo’s peak year was ’98.

But starting that year, just like Hardaway, he began to suffer from frequent injuries. And so, the Alien’s progress halted, and he fell to the mortal realm.

But last year, he met me and made a healthy comeback.

People always said his club record wasn’t great, but last season, he led Inter to a commanding championship victory.

So, Chen Yu felt that this year’s Ronaldo was picking up where he left off in ’98, once again embarking on his path to kingship.

His age, physique, and technique were all at their peak. In Chen Yu’s view, Ronaldo already possessed the kind of unstoppable, problem-solving ability of a king of football—the ability to, when in form, just decide ’I’m going to take the ball from the backfield, dribble past everyone, and score.’

Therefore, how far Brazil could go this year depended entirely on Ronaldo.

If, under his leadership, he could triumph over the star-studded teams of France, Italy, and Argentina to win the championship, he would absolutely be qualified to be crowned king and usher in an era of his own.

This was also why Chen Yu had agreed to help treat the muscle tension in Ronaldo’s thigh yesterday without a second thought, and even used a Gold Level recovery effect.

It would be such a shame for a player who was supposed to reach his peak to be dragged down by injuries.

Sure enough, 14 minutes later, Ronaldo arrived.

In midfield, Ronaldinho executed a massive La Croqueta to get past Paul Scholes and quickly advanced. As he twisted and turned, the ball seemed glued to his feet. Several times it looked like he was about to lose it, but he never did.

Spotting an opening, he sent a through ball forward. Ronaldo surged to meet it. Facing Rio Ferdinand, who had been outstanding in the group stage, Ronaldo was like a god descending to earth. He accelerated, overtook him, and powered past.

Then, without breaking stride, he unleashed a powerful shot.

The ball, spinning slightly, whistled past David Seaman’s outstretched hands.

The angle and power were both judged to perfection.

Instantly, the yellow jerseys in the stands began to cheer wildly.

Ronaldo, however, wasn’t overly ecstatic. He calmly waved his arms, as if it were just another routine goal.

"See? That guy’s incredible," Chen Yu said, pointing at Ronaldo. "He’s like O’Neal. You don’t just know he’s incredible; you know that even if you give it your all, you still can’t stop him!"

Dean nodded thoughtfully and clapped politely.

The mention of O’Neal sparked a sudden thought in Chen Yu’s mind.

’If O’Neal really does come to the Phoenix Suns, will I be able to manage him?’

’For instance, the weight loss issue.’

’A heavy O’Neal has plenty of force, but the risk of injury is just too great.’

’The O’Neal of the past was a perfect combination of power and agility. That was the truly invincible O’Neal.’

’And with O’Neal’s personality, there really aren’t many people who can keep him in line.’

’Plus, the Suns have always had strict player management, so conflicts might arise.’

’But on second thought,’ Chen Yu decided the problem wasn’t that big a deal.

’Olajuwon and Ewing were able to play together peacefully. With a few psychological tricks, handling an O’Neal who’s just a bit mischievous shouldn’t be a problem.’

On the field, the two teams were back at square one.

However, after a round of probing, both teams had clearly loosened up and were playing more proactively.

Eriksson stood on the sideline, constantly giving instructions and signaling for them to make more use of Owen to create threats in front of the goal.

The previous goal was exactly the style of play Eriksson had envisioned for England: Gerrard anchoring the defensive midfield, handling defense and interceptions to secure their foundation. At the same time, Gerrard also had the ability to send the ball forward. By using long passes from Scholes in the center and Beckham on the right, they could exploit Owen’s speed to find scoring opportunities.

Not only did it carry on England’s fine tradition of "kick and rush" and long-ball tactics, but it also made excellent use of the technical advantages of Owen, an unconventional English forward known for his agility and speed. It was, in a word, perfect.

At the 39-minute mark, England found another opportunity.

It was almost the exact same play.

An interception in the backfield, a quick push forward by Scholes, and then a long pass to find Heskey near the penalty area.

For Owen’s sake, Heskey, a traditional center-forward, had basically been repurposed into a target man, solely responsible for supplying Owen with ammunition.

He leaped up to control the ball with his chest, but after it landed, he unexpectedly flicked it backward, letting it through.

The timing was perfect. Owen, as if by telepathy, suddenly burst forward, shrugging off Lucio to break free.

He received the ball, pulled it horizontally to the right to create space, and suddenly shot—a chip shot that sailed straight into the far corner of the goal.

Marcos flinched, once again watching helplessly as the ball found the back of the net.

2-1. England was in the lead once more.

Scolari angrily kicked over a water bucket. He knew England only had this one trick, but they still couldn’t defend against it.

Owen’s speed was just too fast, and his instinct for finding opportunities was incredibly sharp.

Thinking back to the last match against Denmark, Owen had looked like he’d pulled his groin, coming off to rest after only half the game. But today was a different story. His speed, his explosiveness... anyone who didn’t know better would think he was on stimulants.

’Chen Yu!’

Scolari rubbed his temples, a fierce headache setting in.

But there was nothing he could do. Chen Yu had treated Owen, but he had also helped Ronaldo.

Time ticked by, second by second.

The stingy Ramos Riso didn’t give the Brazil Team much time, adding only four minutes of stoppage time.

Just as Scolari was preparing to accept a 2-1 deficit at halftime, the Brazil Team, which had been idly passing the ball around midfield, suddenly exploded into action.

Ronaldo!

He suddenly took off, executing a one-two with Rivaldo. Then, like a wild stallion breaking from the herd, he charged madly toward the English goal.

Changing direction, performing step-overs, Ronaldo picked up speed, maintaining an unbelievable sense of balance. He blew past two players in one go, tearing through England’s entire defensive line.

Seeing he was about to be surrounded, he showed no signs of stopping. With a powerful touch to push the ball forward, he accelerated again, forcibly breaking through a gap between the defenders.

There was nothing but open space in front of him.

In the stands, tens of thousands of fans had already risen to their feet involuntarily.

Chen Yu was the same, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes glued to Ronaldo as he chased after the ball.

This moment was like the final sprint. If he went soft or hesitated now, he wouldn’t be a man.

"Go in!"

Chen Yu couldn’t help but shout.

Facing a hesitant Seaman, Ronaldo caught up to the ball and shot without a moment’s hesitation, the power still there.

Seaman collapsed to the ground, so close he could feel the ball graze past his thigh in despair.

In an instant, all the pent-up tension found its release, and a sky-shattering roar echoed throughout the entire stadium.

With his incredible individual skill, Ronaldo had saved the Brazil Team once again.