"Henry's Touch—a superstar-level skill. Thirty-two-year-old Henry sits there, eyes full of emotion, watching a reflection of his twenty-two-year-old self. Everyone remembers Henry's goals and assists… but only the true fans remember how good he was at protecting the ball."
"Your dribbling, ball control, agility, and lower-body strength have improved."
"Your shielding ability has improved."
"'Marseille Turn' detected. Skill synergy activated."
"When surrounded by two or more defenders, you can trigger the special move Power Spin."
"This move focuses on physical strength rather than elegance, allowing you to spin through tight pressure while maintaining balance and control."
"During the spin, your stability and ability to shake off defenders are greatly enhanced."
"After completing a full 720-degree rotation, your shooting, passing, and speed will temporarily increase."
?
??
???
"Wait, hold on—did the system just glitch?"
"I was supposed to get something cool, and it gives me this clunky Power Spin instead?"
System: "What's wrong? You don't like it?"
It's not that I don't like it—it's just that using this move might cost me fans!
People might think I don't even know how to play!
And Zidane—if he sees his graceful Marseille Turn turned into this rough, tank-like Power Spin, I'm afraid he'll never recover!
As a result, Su Hang's stats changed:
Ball Control: 81
Dribbling: 81
Agility: 76
Power: 81
For a physical player like him, the Power Spin was an unexpected blessing.
Given his style, he rarely had a chance to use Zidane's elegant turn.
Most of the time, his game was all about raw strength—battling defenders head-on and forcing openings.
The Power Spin, though, was like dropping a metal bolt into a blender—chaotic but brutally effective!
Thanks to the Moment Card, his Shooting and Speed also went up, reaching 87 and 75 respectively.
...
In the locker room, Aragonés was furious.
"Look at that first half! What were you all doing out there?!"
"If it weren't for Su, I don't even want to imagine the score right now!"
"Villa, did you forget your shooting boots? Can you still score?"
"García, where's your passing? Did you leave it in the hotel?"
"Fàbregas, besides passing backward, what else do you do? Is this how you play at Arsenal?"
"Ramos, you're softer than a puddle! Are you really trying to make yourself useless?"
"Everyone—except Su Hang—I'm disappointed in every single one of you!"
"You'd better wake up in the second half!"
Aragonés was a tough coach who knew the power of a proper tongue-lashing.
When players lost focus, a blast of fury from the boss could jolt them back into the game.
Sure, a few might crumble under pressure, but most responded better—or at least more consistently.
Still, that kind of fire couldn't be used all the time, or it would crush creativity and turn stars into robots.
...
The second half began.
Germany had clearly adjusted their tactics to shut Su Hang down.
Frings and Ballack—one of them was on him at all times.
No player had ever drawn that kind of attention before.
And let's not forget—Ballack was the brain of Germany's midfield.
This was "core versus core." They wouldn't have done it unless absolutely necessary.
But Su Hang handled it smartly.
He kept dropping deep, linking play, but stopped making those daring solo runs that had lit up the first half.
His touches were quick and simple, more like a hard-working midfielder.
With his vision, he connected Xavi and Alonso perfectly, helping Spain control the rhythm.
The team looked calm, organized, and in sync.
In the 52nd minute, Xavi threaded a dangerous pass forward.
Su Hang received it, waited for García's run, and slipped a perfect through ball—just as Frings clattered into him.
Frings expected Su Hang to spin and dribble like before, but Su passed instead.
García took the shot instantly, but the angle was too straight—Lehmann gathered it easily.
The whistle blew. Frings saw yellow. Spain earned a free kick.
Alonso went for goal directly—just over the bar.
In the 63rd minute, Germany ramped up the tempo, pressing high with intent.
You could tell they'd planned this.
Fàbregas, Alonso, García, and Xavi exchanged passes, working the ball until it reached Su Hang.
Frings and Ballack closed in fast.
Instead of passing, Su Hang turned his back to shield the ball while dribbling.
He spun halfway—a half Marseille Turn—using his strength to hold off Frings.
Then, as Ballack lunged in, Su pivoted again, his left leg planted as he kept the ball glued to his feet.
Frings kept poking, trying to nick it away.
After a full turn, Schweinsteiger joined the press.
Su turned again, using Schweinsteiger's body as a screen to block Frings.
It looked messy—Su was off-balance, bumping and twisting, and Spanish fans were holding their breath.
Then—bang!—the moment Frings was blocked, Su flicked the ball sideways with his right foot, powered past Schweinsteiger, and shrugged off Ballack's desperate tug on his shirt.
My control's like Henry's!
"This—this is unbelievable!"
"He's through! Su Hang's broken free!"
"Incredible!"
"Surrounded by three defenders, Su Hang spun through the pressure and came out clean!"
"It wasn't pretty, but it was brilliant ball protection!"
"Su Hang's driving forward, right to the edge of the box!"
"Metzelder steps up, Mertesacker's adjusting his line!"
"Through ball! Su Hang slides it through beautifully! That's pure Guti right there—He would be proud!"
Thud!
Villa burst into the box, took one touch, and unleashed a rocket—no hesitation.
If he'd taken even one more, Mertesacker would've blocked him.
Whoosh!
At that range, Lehmann could only pray—there was no saving it.
And today, the gods finally stopped favoring Germany.
"GOAL!"
"Three to one! Villa makes it three! Finally, he didn't waste it—otherwise I'd have strangled him!"
"But let's be honest—ninety percent of that goal belongs to Su Hang!"
...
(35 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser