There were only two days of rest between the group stage and the knockout stage.
For Brazil and China, their clash was the opening game of the round, and with Brazil as the host nation, the spotlight was even brighter.
In those two days, the real contest was not on the pitch but in recovery. Every team had played three grueling matches; how quickly they could adjust and restore their strength would be decisive.
China's recovery was encouraging. Buoyed by praise and hype back home, the players' spirits were high. Despite the formidable opponent ahead, there was no trace of fear. Perhaps, deep down, they knew beating Brazil was unlikely, which paradoxically left them more relaxed.
Brazil, on the other hand, carried the weight of expectation. Facing China was seen as a favorable draw, yet the pressure was immense.
China was no pushover. Their resilience in the group stage had surprised many—holding the Netherlands and Spain to draws, and defeating Chile convincingly. This team had shown it could create moments of magic, and Brazil didn't want to be at the end of one.
Among them, Kai drew the most attention and had already become the figure Brazilians most worried about.
Neymar was Brazil's jewel, but how he would fare against Kai was uncertain. Kai's physical strength was exactly the kind of confrontation Neymar disliked.
Oscar, meanwhile, was burning with determination. He wanted to defeat Kai on the World Cup stage, to erase the shadow Kai had cast over him. He wanted to prove himself—to the world, and to a certain Portuguese man.
Unbeknownst to Oscar, Chelsea and Mourinho were already considering triggering Kai's release clause. If he knew, his fury would be boundless.
...
In Belo Horizonte, the streets had turned into a sea of yellow. Brazilian fans poured out in celebration, their samba rhythms filling the air. Chinese fans were present too, though dwarfed by the host nation's numbers.
Yet the atmosphere was friendly. Brazilian supporters welcomed their Chinese counterparts, even joining in their cultural dance performances. Samba and the Lion dance side by side—a vivid fusion of cultures.
At Mineirão Stadium, capable of holding 70,000, the stands were packed. Three sides roared with Brazilian fans, while one side was a wall of red, Chinese supporters waving flags and chanting.
For the Chinese fans, it was their first taste of what it meant to face a host nation's atmosphere.
"Damn it! We can't shout loud enough!" one fan groaned.
His friend laughed. "It's their home ground. How could we possibly out-shout them?"
Before the words had faded, another thunderous cheer rolled across the stadium. The crowd surged like a wave, sweeping along the stands.
The famous Mexican wave.
The Chinese fans quickly abandoned the idea of competing with the noise and joined in, laughing as the wave passed through them. They hadn't expected China to advance this far anyway. For them, it was about savoring the spectacle. As long as the team fought bravely, they would be welcomed home with applause.
Suddenly, the cheers swelled to a new peak.
All eyes turned to the tunnel.
The players were emerging for warm-ups.
Kai stepped out, and a blast of heat hit him. He thought to himself.
It's scorching. Another day of dehydration.
Chinese fans erupted in cheers, though their voices were quickly drowned out by the Brazilian roar.
Across the field, Neymar appeared. He had joined Barcelona the previous year and was riding high. Though Kai had debuted earlier, Neymar's fame was unmatched—hailed as a prodigy, a star overnight.
Kai's rise had been slower, built on sweat and persistence. Both men knew of each other, though they had never met on the pitch until now.
Neymar, still sporting his rough yellow hairstyle, wore the iconic number 10. He was the brightest star in the stadium.
After a few stretches and touches, Neymar picked up a ball, glanced across the pitch, and suddenly shouted:
"Kai!!!—"
Kai heard his name called and turned his head.
At that moment, Neymar flicked the ball into the air and struck it cleanly with his foot. The ball flew fast and true, and Kai instinctively puffed out his chest to cushion it. The ball settled neatly, hovering for a moment before dropping into his hands.
Kai frowned slightly, puzzled. What's that supposed to mean?
"This is a welcome gesture," Wang Yi explained with a smile as he walked over. "You're supposed to pass it back, or knock it around a bit. It's common in Brazil's domestic league—kind of a way of saying 'welcome.'"
Kai raised his brows. "How do you know?"
"I played in Brazil years ago," Wang Yi replied casually.
Kai nodded, then pointed toward Neymar before driving the ball back with a firm kick. Neymar trapped it effortlessly with the inside of his foot, gave Kai a thumbs-up, and flashed a grin.
The Brazilian fans roared their approval, clapping and cheering at the exchange.
Up in the commentary box, Duan Xuan chuckled.
"This is an unwritten tradition in Brazilian football. Passing the ball to an opponent is a gesture of respect or welcome. It doesn't happen often—usually only when the home player admires the opponent or they're friends. Kai and Neymar haven't interacted before, so this is clearly respect from an equal to another."
The mood on the pitch lightened. The tension gave way to a sense of sporting camaraderie. Of course, this was before the whistle. Once the match began, friendliness would vanish.
...
Meanwhile, in China's locker room, the tone was very different.
Coach Liu Hongbo's voice was sharp.
"Brazilian players have incredible footwork. If you can't keep up, tackle decisively. But be careful—avoid reckless fouls and unnecessary cards."
China's plan was clear: disrupt Brazil's rhythm, even if it meant fouling. It was the only way for a weaker side to fight a stronger one. They had come this far; they couldn't back down now.
Assistant Coach Zhang Chen turned to Kai.
"Kai, you'll be marking Neymar directly. He's yours."
Kai nodded firmly. Within the team, whenever an opponent seemed unstoppable, the responsibility fell to him. Coordinated defense might not contain Neymar—but perhaps Kai could, one-on-one.
Coach Liu Hongbo softened his tone.
"Listen, lads. You've already made history. Don't burden yourselves with pressure. Win or lose, you've proven yourselves. This match is a battle, yes, but no one can demand more from you. Play with courage, play with pride."
He paused, then added, "On the premise of fighting to win, go out there and play a good game."
With that, Liu Hongbo and his staff lined up at the locker room door.
One by one, the players rose, their faces solemn, and high-fived the coaches as they walked out.
This was China's first-ever World Cup knockout match. Their opponent: the mighty five-time champions, Brazil.
It was uncharted territory. The gulf in strength was enormous, and Brazil had the home advantage.
No one could predict how China would perform.
But one thing was certain—this was a historic moment, a bold step into the unknown.
...
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