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Chapter 217 - Chapter 217

Round 1

Ibrahimović sprang into motion!

He decisively struck the ball toward the right side of the goal!

Goal!

Deafening cheers pierced the silent night sky.

"Ibrahimović, approaches, shoots, and scores!" Drury roared. "He's given Man United a perfect start!"

Ibrahimović clenched his fists in celebration before quickly returning to the center circle.

No one spoke as they silently watched Karim Benzema.

At age 7, he was still a goalkeeper.

At 18, he swept Ligue 1's awards.

At 31, he became football's primary scapegoat.

Today, as an underappreciated supporting player, he took Real Madrid's first penalty.

Placing the ball, approaching, shooting!

Without the slightest hesitation, he pushed the ball toward the bottom right corner.

Though De Gea guessed the correct direction, he couldn't alter the ball's trajectory.

"Benzema calmly converts the penalty! He's defended the honor of Madridistas!"

Round 2

"Pogba will take the second penalty for Man United!"

Under the tense gazes of both sets of fans, Pogba deliberately extended his run-up, constantly altering his stutter-step rhythm.

Not only to psychologically torment Navas, but also to make it difficult for him to predict the shooting moment.

Ultimately, Navas guessed wrong!

Man United players erupted in joyful cheers.

Next up was Gareth Bale, another big-game player.

His hat trick against Inter Milan once made him famous overnight.

Then he became the terrifying wing wizard of the Premier League. Finally, he reached the shore of his dreams at Real Madrid.

Noticing his daughter's adorable smile in the stands, Bale's lips curled upward imperceptibly.

Without any surprise, he sent the ball into the top right corner.

Round 3

Now came Man United's third penalty taker.

Valencia tightened his captain's armband, squinting at the dazzling stadium lights.

Countless memories flashed through his mind.

From the little boy collecting plastic bottles on Ecuadorian streets to becoming the Red Devils captain.

He took several deep breaths in succession, his gaze burning intensely ahead.

When the referee blew the whistle, he unexpectedly kicked the ball toward the center.

Navas had already committed fully, diving desperately to his left because he knew Valencia couldn't use his left foot.

The ball brushed past him once again.

Manchester United had scored three out of three penalties!

Luka Modrić adjusted his hair, reaffixed his headband, his eyes showing no fluctuation.

Having grown up staring down wolves, tempered by war, herding sheep for survival.

God didn't seem particularly fond of this ordinary-looking common man.

So he could only advance step by step through hard work.

Without prolonged deliberation, he decisively pushed the ball toward the far corner!

The ball shot out like an arrow from a bow, grazing De Gea's fingertips before nestling in the net!

De Gea punched the turf in frustration.

Round 4

As the penalty shootout reached the fourth round, a tall figure emerged from the center circle—his name was Nemanja Matic.

He had joined Chelsea in 2009, only to be sent to Benfica as a makeweight.

Being cast out from the Top Five Leagues was a tremendous humiliation.

But Mourinho brought him back.

Therefore, he wanted to repay Mourinho with everything he had.

The man who once single-handedly marked peak Yaya Toure possessed tremendous courage.

He chose to push the ball toward the bottom left corner!

Navas still guessed wrong—truth be told, his mentality was somewhat shaken.

Real Madrid had the stronger overall squad.

Being forced into a penalty shootout was embarrassing enough. The nerves of players from both sides were stretched to the breaking point.

...

Toni Kroos slowly walked into the penalty area, bent down to kiss the ball, then placed it on the penalty spot.

He lived by a "95% rule"—meaning he passed the ball 95% of the time during matches, with a 95% pass completion rate.

What about penalties? He had his own unique technique—shooting accuracy that consistently placed the ball exactly where he intended.

Facing De Gea's tight defense, he chose to shoot toward the bottom right corner.

The ball departed with a dull sound, followed by a clear, ringing echo—like a death knell tolling for someone.

Clang!

De Gea excitedly punched the air in celebration.

Navas knelt nearby, hands clutching his head.

Toni Kroos slightly parted his lips, his eyes filled with helplessness and despair.

In his excessive pursuit of precision, he had struck the post instead.

He instantly understood the problem, but discussing it was meaningless.

Dispirited, he trudged back to the center circle.

...

Both on and off the pitch, the Real Madrid players felt the oppressive and desperate atmosphere, as if the air around them had grown heavy and cold.

At this moment.

Four hundred million viewers worldwide and 67,136 fans in the Kiev Olympic Stadium fixed their gaze on the figure in red.

He was the final obstacle standing in the way of Real Madrid's legendary third consecutive Champions League title.

His name was Jeremy Ling.

As the summer breeze carried the clamorous noise into his ears, he silently bent down, placed the ball on the penalty spot, and slowly straightened up, testing the turf around him.

His eyes remained locked on the ball, completely ignoring Navas's constant movements.

Standing at the edge of the penalty area, he took a deep breath.

He knew that if he could send the ball into the net, he would personally end Real Madrid's dream and create a miracle for Man United.

He now stood at the epicenter of this turbulent era.

An overwhelming tide of pressure surged toward him, freezing the blood in his veins, only to ignite it into a blazing fervor moments later.

Because this was exactly the moment he had been waiting for!

Meanwhile, Mourinho stood proudly on the sidelines.

Six years ago, he had knelt on the ground, pleading with the great Lady Luck.

But today! He would no longer plead.

No matter how fate toyed with him, he would not fall again!

In the stands, Marius tightly shut his eyes.

Guardiola's lips moved silently.

Maria stood with her hands clasped together, her golden hair cascading like silk, her eyes shining like bright stars.

She prayed that the future would unfold as she desired.

Beep!

The piercing whistle seized everyone's attention, and the taut strings of their hearts snapped at that very moment!

Ling seemed to channel all his glory, dreams, and responsibilities into the power of his shot.

In the instant countless eyes watched, the ball rolled and soared, as if time itself had frozen.

Navas stood frozen like a fool, feeling the insurmountable distance between him and the ball, as a profound despair washed over him.

His earlier antics had proven futile—Ling's penalty kick was as powerful and precise as ever.

BOOM!

As the net rippled, the Kiev Olympic Stadium erupted into a boiling frenzy, transforming into a surging tide of red!

Drury: "IT IS DONE! THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM HAS BEEN REALIZED! JEREMY LING HAS WON THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FOR MANCHESTER UNITED!"

Beglin: "They have climbed the mountain! They have finally touched the sky!"

Drury: "Look at the scenes! Bedlam in Kiev! Tears in Manchester! The boy who refused to lose has delivered the ultimate prize! Real Madrid's grip on the trophy is broken, and the Red Devils are Kings of Europe once more!"

Ling lay quietly on the grass.

Everything had finally come to an end; he could now rest easy.

At this moment, he had become the hero of the Red Devils, Manchester United!

Most of the Man United players rushed over wildly, while a small number collapsed to the ground, clutching their heads and weeping.

When the tension in their hearts finally snapped, they could no longer control their emotions.

Real Madrid players knelt helplessly on the ground, like deflated balloons.

None of them could have imagined that Real Madrid would lose the match, their dream of a three-peat brutally shattered.

The coronation of a new king must inevitably tread upon the bones of the defeated—only this time, they were the ones who had lost.

Ronaldo's eyes were vacant, a flicker of regret rising in his heart.

He didn't want to relive that suffocating despair, which was why he chose to take the fifth penalty.

Perhaps he wanted to be the hero in the spotlight.

But it shouldn't be held against him.

Because every player who steps up in a penalty shootout is brave.

At this very moment.

In London, in Liverpool, in Manchester, in pubs along the River Thames, countless Man United fans were surely celebrating with joy.

And of course, a storm was also brewing in distant China.

In the coastal city, the sea breeze dispersed the summer heat but couldn't extinguish the passion in people's hearts.

Whether at home, night markets, bars, or schools—regardless of which team they supported—the long-suppressed, deeply buried, boundless emotions erupted like volcanic lava.

Some had once asked if Chinese football could still be saved, but no one could give a clear answer.

After Ling joined the Man United first team, every match he won created an impact, even if it was just a tiny, insignificant ripple.

But as these ripples gathered bit by bit and merged with the passion of the Chinese people who loved football, they would form an unstoppable force—a tidal wave of momentum.

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