Chapter 312: Chapter 259: 35 Meters, Within Shooting Range

The air was scorching, and the temperature on the ground exceeded thirty degrees.

Batty gasped for breath, forcing himself to run across the pitch.

He felt exhausted.

Not physically, but mentally.

Thanks to Chen Yu’s treatment, the ankle that had tormented him and most affected his form had returned to normal. He no longer felt a stabbing pain with every step. But he truly could not break through the fortress-like defense Brazil had set up before him.

Attack after attack fizzled out. Every time he looked up, he was surrounded. The moment he got the ball, at least two players would swarm him.

That feeling of helplessness was slowly eroding Batty’s will, even though he had always been a fighter, the invincible War God.

After getting swarmed and tackled to the ground yet again, Batty slammed his fist on the turf in anger.

Then, he heard a massive gasp from the stands.

He quickly turned his head to look.

The Brazil Team was on the counter-attack.

Ronaldinho made a quick forward run, and Juninho immediately sent a pass his way.

After receiving the ball, Ronaldinho controlled it with a simple touch and passed it again.

The ball carved an arc through the air, heading straight for Ronaldo outside the penalty area.

Throughout the entire sequence, the ball was almost constantly in the air.

And this kind of passing was like a sharp dagger, piercing through Argentina’s defensive line.

Danger!

Batty, scrambling back to his feet, felt his heart pound.

Ronaldinho’s pass was perfectly weighted. After Ronaldo received it, only three players stood between him and the goal.

That’s right, and that number included the goalkeeper.

Without realizing it, Argentina had pushed too far forward, leaving a huge gap behind them.

Samuel tracked him with extreme caution, while Ayala shadowed him closely, ready to intercept at any moment.

Ronaldo was incredibly fast. With just one touch, he broke into the penalty area. As he sprinted, he began performing his signature step-overs.

Samuel, who was continuously backpedaling, felt his scalp tingle. In that instant, two words collided in his mind.

’Left or right?’

’Left!’

Samuel’s gaze hardened. He quickly adjusted his position, only to watch helplessly as Ronaldo changed direction again, knocking the ball forward to the right with his right foot.

He had created an opening, if only for a split second.

Then Ronaldo unleashed a furious shot. The force of the kick was so great that his body was almost lifted into the air.

The ball flew like a cannonball, grazing past Samuel’s body and through the gap between him and Ayala, heading straight for the far corner of the net.

The goalkeeper, Caballero, dove out of pure reflex, but he was a beat too slow. The ball was just too fast.

Missing by a hair’s breadth, the ball flew past his outstretched hands and into the goal.

At the 73-minute mark of the dull match, the Brazil Team finally broke the deadlock with a razor-sharp counter-attack.

The counter-attack was so fast that Scolari, who had turned to take a sip of water on the sidelines, didn’t even have time to react. He had seen Batty get dispossessed and assumed that, like the dozens of times before, it would come to nothing and the stalemate would continue.

But he never expected that in the time it took to have a drink of water, the Brazil Team had scored.

He instantly dropped his water bottle and roared at the sky in excitement.

Turning his head, he pulled the onrushing Lopez into a fierce hug.

His gamble had paid off!

Relying on the incredibly in-form and supremely talented Ronaldo was enough to solve their offensive problems.

Brazil didn’t need the 3R at all. 1R was more than enough!

Chen Yu hadn’t reacted either.

When the goal was scored, Chen Yu was drowsy, nearly nodding off from watching the game.

The sudden goal and the roar of the crowd startled him. It was only when he saw Ronaldo sprinting across the pitch that he realized what had happened.

Then, an excited Kaka, who was beside him, grabbed him in a hug, shouting and cheering.

But he reacted just as quickly, realizing he’d been a bit rash. He immediately let go, looking at Chen Yu with embarrassment.

’The kid’s pretty shy.’

Chen Yu chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, then pointed at Ronaldo and said, "Keep it up. In the future, Ronnie will be counting on you for passes."

In this World Cup, Kaka was purely there to soak in the atmosphere. His time to shine would be in ’06.

’And in ’06, Ronaldo will be 30, but with me keeping an eye on him, he should still be at his peak. By then, Kaka should be one of the ones passing him the ball.’

Kaka breathed a silent sigh of relief and nodded vigorously, his eyes shining as if lit from within.

This goal was a fatal blow to Argentina.

When you’ve fought hard for over seventy minutes only to have your opponent score first, the despair can swallow anyone whole.

On the other side, Belsa, who was habitually squatting on the ground, fell to his knees after the goal went in, his face a mask of desolation and despair.

With a one-goal lead, Brazil would only defend more fiercely. In the ten-odd minutes that remained, who could possibly save Argentina?

Belsa didn’t know.

The players on the pitch certainly didn’t know.

After that goal, Argentina was clearly stunned. Before, they had been constantly trying to push forward, attempting to break the Brazil Team’s dense formation. But now, they were mostly just passing the ball back and forth in the midfield.

Even Chen Yu could see that Argentina seemed to have lost their fighting spirit.

’No!’

Chen Yu’s gaze locked onto one person.

There was one person who hadn’t given up.

The War God, Batty!

As the forward leading the line, every time Argentina was about to launch an attack, he would be the first to sprint forward. When the line of engagement fell back, he would also be the first to track back and help defend. He was running even more tirelessly than Sorin and Saneidi.

Although he kept getting taken down outside the box, he didn’t give up. Instead, with each run, he became even more determined.

The seconds and minutes ticked by.

On the pitch, Batty could feel the weight in his legs, and his lungs burned as if they were about to explode. Still, he gasped for air, trying to wring out every last ounce of energy from his body.

’Ronaldo’s goal was a huge blow, but I am Gabriel Omar Batistuta!’

’I am the one and only War God on this green pitch.’

’I’m not Maradona. I can’t dribble past five players. But as long as the goal is within 50 meters, I can score.’

Receive the ball, start the run.

Batty had lost count of how many times he’d made that same move throughout the match.

The penalty area was right ahead. The Brazilians were lying in wait, like a great beast coiled in front of the goal, ready to devour any and all attacks.

This time, Batty charged forward again without a second thought.

Lopez and Otega started their runs beside him, but Batty didn’t even glance their way.

’At a time like this, who needs teamwork?’

Before every match, Belsa would hold excruciatingly long meetings, obsessively explaining his tactics. Under his 3-3-1-3 system, he could produce dozens, even hundreds of tactical variations, talking until everyone was drowsy.

’Besides Simeone, probably no one could remember it all.’

’If Ronaldo can score through individual skill, why can’t I?’

’I don’t need tactics. I don’t need teamwork. I am the War God, and I can score!’

After just two simple touches to move the ball forward, Batty stopped.

Any further and it was just a wall of players. There was no way through.

’The goal should be about thirty-five meters from here. Hmm, within shooting range.’

Looking up, Batty had already spotted a potential path for a shot.

’No time to think. Opportunities like this are fleeting.’

He adjusted his footing, twisted his body as if he were about to throw himself forward, and viciously struck the ball with his right foot.

A white streak of light shot past the sea of bobbing heads with earth-shattering power, heading straight for the goal.

The shot was aimed right down the middle, but its saving grace was its incredible speed.

The Brazilian keeper, Marcos, faced with this sudden strike, reacted with lightning speed, leaping up to tip the ball over the bar.

He touched it!

At 193 centimeters tall, he could easily touch the top of the crossbar, but this time, his right hand didn’t quite judge the position correctly. The ball grazed the inside of his wrist as it flew past.

The shot was too powerful. He couldn’t block it.

Landing with a muffled grunt, he turned to see the ball in the back of the net and furiously punched the ground.

Goal!

This sudden world-class strike left everyone stunned.

The Brazilian players turned their heads in a daze.

As for the Argentinians, after a moment of shock, they mobbed Batty in a frenzy.

The entire stadium erupted in an instant!

Belsa, who had been squatting on the ground with a look of despair, dropped to his knees with a thud. As if he had just witnessed the coming of God, he frantically made the sign of the cross on his chest.

The moment Ronaldo scored, Belsa’s mind had even started playing "Don’t Cry for Me Argentina."

But now, Batty had saved Argentina.

The next moment, however, Belsa pushed away his assistant coach who was about to celebrate. He rushed to the sideline, waved at his players on the pitch, and yelled for them to stop celebrating and get the ball back in play.

With the goal scored in the 84th minute, Argentina probably had only about 10 minutes left.

A draw was useless. This was a knockout match; there was no turning back.

Batty clearly understood this as well. He pushed away his celebrating teammates and hurried back to his own half.

On the other side, Scolari was getting anxious too.

They were just 10 minutes away from celebrating a victory, and now everything was back to square one.

"Argh, how did that go in?" Lopez slapped his own head in frustration, then looked up at Chen Yu with a resentful gaze.

A 33-year-old Batty, plagued by cartilage wear, could still pull off such a high-level world-class strike. Who was to blame?

Chen Yu looked at Lopez, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ’So, it’s my fault again, is it?’

’But it really hasn’t been easy for Batty. How many shots has he even taken this game?’

As the seconds and minutes ticked away, Ronaldo stopped loitering up front and began to drop back.

If the match ended in a draw, it would go to extra time. And the golden goal rule in extra time was too perilous—it was truly sudden death, with far too much left to chance.

Everyone knew this, but scoring a goal in just 10 short minutes was still an incredibly difficult task.

As the four minutes of stoppage time ran out, the referee blew his whistle. The two teams were still tied 1-1.

Scolari’s expression changed slightly. He quickly waved Lopez and Tesla over, and the three of them huddled together to discuss how to approach extra time.

They had two options before them. One was to strengthen their attack and try to score first.

And Scolari already had an idea of how to do that: substitute Rivaldo back in and return to their most familiar 3-5-2 formation.

But doing so would inevitably weaken their defense, and it might also give Argentina an opportunity to seize the initiative and score first.

The attacking power of their three forwards was nothing to scoff at.

The other option was to continue to park the bus in front of the goal, defend until the end of extra time, and then decide the winner by penalty shootout.

But similarly, there were too many uncertain factors.

They had defended like that for the entire match, yet Batty still managed to score through individual brilliance. If he did it again in extra time, Brazil would be left dumbfounded.

And even if it went to penalties, that too was brutally unforgiving. Anything could happen.

This was the semi-final. There was no room for retreat.