Football: Start with the Kaka template, dominate the football field!

July 11, early morning. St. Petersburg Hospital.

The disinfectant had a pungent and cold smell.

When Qin Feng woke up from his coma, the first thing he saw was Old Wang's anxious face and the clear liquid dripping from the IV drip.

"Awake? Awake!"

Old Wang was so excited he almost jumped up. "You slept for a full twelve hours! That's a concussion! Do you understand what a concussion is?!"

Qin Feng tried to sit up, but felt as if his entire body had been disassembled and reassembled. The sharp pain in his brow bone made him gasp.

[System Notification: The host is currently in a weakened state due to the "Divine Descent" side effect. Current all attributes: 30%. Remaining recovery time: 48 hours.]

30% status.

Now, he can't even outrun a high school student on the school team.

"What's the date?" Qin Feng's throat was so dry it sounded like he'd swallowed a handful of sand.

"Number 11. We have to fly to Moscow tomorrow." Perrin walked in, his eyes also dark-rimmed. The French coach looked at his most prized student, hesitant to speak.

"Coach, what are you trying to say?"

Perrin paused for two seconds, then handed over a tablet computer.

The screen displays the odds for the final match offered by the betting companies.

Croatia to win: 1.45

Draw: 3.20

China wins: 7.50

this is the truth.

Even though the Chinese team eliminated Brazil and France, they were still considered the underdogs by investors and experts. After all, those were Croatia, whose entire team played in the top five European leagues, while the Chinese team... apart from Qin Feng, was entirely made up of grassroots players.

"They said your tank was empty," Perrin said, pointing to the glaring 7.50. "They said the Chinese team's miracle was over."

Qin Feng stared at the number and suddenly smiled.

He pulled the needle out of the back of his hand, and a little blood seeped out, but he didn't care.

"Then let's go to Moscow."

He stood up, swayed slightly, but quickly regained his balance.

"Go tell the whole world that these odds... are wrong."

……

July 12. Moscow, Sheremetyevo Airport.

When the Chinese team's chartered plane landed, the place had already become a battleground for the media.

The hatch opened.

Qin Feng, wearing sunglasses and a sharp national team suit, was the first to step out of the plane.

Click!Click!

The flashes of light turned the room into daylight!

Everyone stared at his brow bone. A white gauze was stuck there, standing out starkly against his black hair.

"Qin! Will your injury affect the finals?"

Will you start?

Qin Feng didn't stop, but turned his head slightly, took off his sunglasses, revealing the scar and his still sharp eyes.

He gave a thumbs-up to the camera.

He didn't speak.

But this action instantly ignited global social networks.

Scars are a man's badge of honor! The king descends upon Moscow!

……

However, behind the act of forcing herself to stay upright was extreme weakness.

Back in his hotel room, Qin Feng locked the door, slid down the door panel, and collapsed onto the carpet.

That domineering aura in front of the camera crumbled instantly, replaced by cold sweat and trembling.

The countdown on the system panel is still ticking.

Two more days.

We have to get through this.

……

At the same time.

Croatian training base.

Luka Modric was sitting on an ice bucket on the sidelines, his feet soaking in the icy water.

This 33-year-old midfield maestro looks thin, haggard, and wrinkled. His running distance is the highest in this World Cup, a staggering 63 kilometers run with his life on the line.

"Luca," Rakitic walked over, "Did you see the news? Qin has arrived."

"I've seen it."

Modric picked up his phone from the side; the screen showed a photo of Qin Feng giving a thumbs-up at the airport.

"He looks a lot like me."

Modric suddenly said.

"What?" Rakitic was taken aback.

"That look in your eyes." Modric pointed to the screen. "That... look of someone who'd die if they didn't fight for their life."

He stood up and stepped barefoot onto the grass.

"But he has to lose."

Modric's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable resolve.

"Because Croatia has no way out."

……

June 15st. Final day.

A torrential downpour hit Moscow.

The Luzhniki Stadium, this steel behemoth that can hold 80,000 people, is now shrouded in rain, making it appear even more somber.

In the locker room.

Perrin didn't devise any tactics. Because all tactics are ineffective against the midfield control of a team like Croatia.

"There's only one thing."

Perrin looked at the room full of injured players. Zheng Zhi's brow bone was bleeding, Feng Xiaoting's knee was wrapped in bandages, and Zhang Linpeng was receiving pain-relieving injections.

"Don't let the ball stay at his feet for more than three seconds." Perrin pointed to Modric on the tactical board. "He's the brain. Cut off the brain, and the limbs will be paralyzed."

Qin Feng sat in the corner, tying his shoelaces.

The countdown timer on the system panel finally reached zero.

[System notification: All attributes restored to 100%.]

[Passive Talent "Master of the Big Scene" Activated: 10% Attribute Bonus in Finals!]

The power returned to my body.

Qin Feng stood up and stomped his foot hard.

"Walk."

There is only one word.

……

Players' tunnel.

The two teams stood side by side.

Chinese red, plaid shirt.

This was perhaps the most down-to-earth final in World Cup history. There was no Brazilian samba, no German machine, only two challengers fighting to the last drop of blood for their dreams.

Modric stood next to Qin Feng.

The two locked eyes.

There was no provocation, no trash talk. Only extreme respect and extreme cruelty.

"Ready?" Modric held out his hand.

"Always be prepared." Qin Feng shook hands with him.

Clench both hands tightly, then release them.

It's like two swordsmen about to draw their swords, exchanging a final greeting before a life-or-death duel.

……

"beep--!!!"

Argentine referee Pitana blew his whistle!

The 2018 FIFA World Cup final in Russia has officially begun!

Fighting in the rain.

The slippery grass made the ball roll extremely fast.

As predicted before the match, Croatia displayed suffocating control from the start.

Modric is like a tireless metronome, orchestrating play in midfield. Every touch, every turn, is textbook perfect.

5 minutes.

Modric receives the ball in the center circle.

Qin Feng pounced on him immediately!

This is the first head-to-head clash between the two teams' core players!

Despite Qin Feng's aggressive pressing, Modric remained calm. He used his seemingly frail body to hold his position and gently flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot!

Fried meatballs!

Even when facing the "King of Dribbling" Qin Feng, Modric still dared to use technical moves to get past him!

Qin Feng missed his target!

Modric then launched a long pass!

The ball found Perisic perfectly on the wing!

Perisic cuts inside and shoots!

boom!

The ball grazed the post and went out of bounds!

The audience gasped!

Just five minutes into the game, Croatia created a deadly opportunity!

"That was too steady..." He Wei, sitting in the commentary booth, was sweating bullets. "Modric's escape was so effortless. That's masterful control."

On the field.

Qin Feng watched Modric's retreating figure, his eyes narrowing slightly.

This is the skill of the world's best midfielder. If you follow his rhythm, you'll be slowly worn down, like a frog being boiled in lukewarm water.

"Since we can't take it..."

Qin Feng glanced at his nervous teammates behind him.

This rhythm must be broken!

We must stir up this stagnant water!

12 minutes.

China intercepted the ball in their own half! Zheng Zhi cleared it with a long kick!

The ball flew high towards the midfield!

The ball landed poorly, between two Croatian players, Brozovic and Vida.

In general, for this kind of play, the striker will choose to drop back to receive the pass.

But Qin Feng did not.

He looked at the landing point and suddenly started moving!

They weren't going for the ball!

They were targeting people!

boom!

While running at high speed, he forcefully broke through the defense of Brozovic and Vida, creating a gap!

That's pure violent aesthetics!

Brozovic was knocked off balance!

Qin Feng took the initiative and used his chest to deflect the ball!

At this moment, in front of him was Croatia's entire defensive line.

Rakitic rushed over, attempting a foul tactic!

But Qin Feng had already accelerated!

This time, he didn't use any fancy dribbling moves.

He simply moved the ball to the right front!

Striding forward!

Kaka's signature dash!

Stop him!!!

Croatian goalkeeper Subasic roared!

Qin Feng, dribbling the ball, charged straight into Croatia's penalty area like a runaway heavy tank!

Lovren pounced!

Qin Feng hooked his right foot and then flicked his left foot forward!

Cow's tail!

Lovren was knocked to the ground by the fake!

Just outside the penalty area!

Qin Feng didn't shoot!

Because he saw that Modric had already tracked back and blocked the shooting angle!

But he didn't pass the ball!

He suddenly took a shot from the edge of the penalty area!

It's not a jerk!

It's a fine-tuned shot!

The ball traced an extremely high arc, flying over everyone's heads!

Heading straight for the far corner of the goal!

when!

The ball slammed hard into the junction of the crossbeam and the pillar!

The bottom line has been popped out!

A collective sigh of regret filled the room!

"What a pity!!! It was only a few centimeters short!!!"

Although the ball didn't go in, that kick was like a thunderclap, waking everyone up.

Qin Feng stood in front of the penalty area, looking at the still swaying goal, then turned around and looked at Modric.

The two looked at each other in the heavy rain.

Qin Feng wiped the rain off his face, grinned, and revealed a set of white teeth.

That smile carried a chilling, wildness.

"This ball is a greeting gift."

"You're next, and that'll be your life."