San Sebastián Airport was packed with people.
Reporters, armed with cameras, surrounded the area, making it impassable.
Flashbulbs popped like raindrops, and microphones pointed like daggers at the Rayo Vallecano players.
"Lu Chuan! Lu Chuan!"
Shouts rose and fell, everyone waiting for the figure at the center of the storm.
"What is your response to the break with the Football Association?"
"Will you regret this decision?"
"Rumor has it you might never represent the Huaguo national team again. How do you feel?"
Lu Chuan kept his head down, walking quickly. Reporters surged around him like a tide, cameras and microphones almost poking his face.
Paco Jémez stepped forward, shielding Lu Chuan with his body. The Rayo Vallecano coach's gaze was stern, his voice as hard as steel: "Move aside! This is Spain, we only talk about football."
He stopped, scanning the group of reporters in front of him, every word forceful: "I will not answer any questions unrelated to the match. My players' only task right now is to prepare for the game."
At the hotel entrance, reporters remained persistent. Paco sneered: "You want answers? Then watch tomorrow's match!"
The first adaptive training session took place on the training ground of Anoeta Stadium.
The moment Lu Chuan stepped onto the grass, he immediately felt a heaviness in his body.
His muscles ached, his joints were stiff, and every step felt like walking on cotton. The side effects of "adrenaline burst" arrived as expected; his explosiveness had clearly decreased.
Team doctor Tony walked over with a worried expression, his brow furrowed: "Lu, your muscle tension isn't right. I suggest you only do recovery training today."
Lu Chuan shook his head, sweat dripping down his cheeks: "I'm fine."
"Your physical indicators show you need rest," Tony insisted, "At least reduce the intensity of physical contact."
"I know the importance of this match," Lu Chuan gritted his teeth, "I won't let the team down."
Tony looked at his stubborn gaze, sighed, and walked to Paco to report the situation.
Match day arrived, and Anoeta Stadium was packed. Fans from the Basque region are known for their fervor; their songs echoed through the sky, creating a hellish home atmosphere.
Martín Ødegaard took the ball in midfield, his footwork as fluid as flowing water.
The Norwegian prodigy used a subtle feint to bypass Comesaña, then delivered a surgical through-pass.
Rayo Vallecano's defense was instantly torn apart, creating dangerous situations in front of the goal.
Ødegaard's passes were breathtakingly precise, each one striking at the heart of Rayo Vallecano's defense.
His dribbling was as elusive as a ghost, leaving Rayo Vallecano's midfielders scrambling.
"Boo—"
Piercing whistles came from the stands. Every time Lu Chuan touched the ball, it was met with a chorus of boos and taunts.
"Huaguo man, go home!"
"Troublemaker!"
"You don't deserve to be here!"
Insults cut into Lu Chuan's ears like knives. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and forced himself to focus on the game.
Physical fatigue made every challenge difficult. Facing Real Sociedad's center-back Robin Le Normand, Lu Chuan's speed advantage was completely gone.
Le Normand, standing at 1.9 meters tall, was muscular and experienced in defense. He used his body to block Lu Chuan's runs, preventing the Huaguo forward from getting ideal space to receive the ball.
Lu Chuan tried to use changes of direction to break free, but his footwork lacked its usual agility. Le Normand easily matched his rhythm, using his shoulder to push him out of position.
In the 25th minute, Real Sociedad's attack surged forward like a tide.
Oyarzabal received a pass on the left wing, facing Rayo Vallecano's right-back Advíncula. The Real Sociedad captain's eyes were sharp, and his footwork was clean and decisive.
He used an inside cut feint to trick Advíncula, then sent in a cross. The ball arced perfectly through the air, heading straight for the center of the penalty area.
Alexander Isak leaped high; the Swedish striker, 1.92 meters tall, had astonishing jumping power. He got ahead of Catena, heading the ball into the net.
1-0, Rayo Vallecano was trailing away from home.
Anoeta Stadium instantly erupted, blue and white scarves waving like waves. The roar of the Real Sociedad fans was deafening, celebrating the crucial goal.
Lu Chuan looked down at the grass, a wave of frustration washing over him. He touched his pocket, his fingertips finding the small piece of paper.
On the note Esther had slipped him before the game, there was a simple smiley face, and below it, written in English:
"Fight for yourself, my hero."
The frustration was as heavy as lead until he felt the item in his pocket.
The note was already a bit soft from sweat, but the writing on it reminded him that someone still believed he was a hero.
Lu Chuan's breathing calmed, and his focus shifted from the grass back to his opponents.
He no longer clashed head-on with Le Normand but began to play with his mind. The Full Field Vision skill activated, and everything on the field became clear.
The positions of all 22 players, their running routes, and passing timings were all within his grasp. He was like a calm analyst, searching for Real Sociedad's weaknesses on the field.
Real Sociedad's attacking football was indeed spectacular, and Ødegaard's passing was full of creativity.
However, at the moment of transition from attack to defense, a temporary vacuum would appear in front of their defensive midfielder, Igor Zubeldia.
This was the only flaw in their tactical system, and also their most fatal weakness.
During a dead ball situation, Lu Chuan quickly ran to captain Trejo.
He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly: "Óscar, after winning the ball, don't look for me, pass directly into the space in front of Zubeldia! I'll be there to receive it!"
Trejo's eyebrows raised. He looked at Lu Chuan; this kid's mind was still so clear when the team was in its most passive state.
He didn't ask any more questions, just patted Lu Chuan's shoulder firmly, which served as his response.
For the remainder of the first half, Lu Chuan no longer ran blindly. He used his limited stamina to observe Zubeldia's defensive habits, calculating the opponent's reaction time.
Every run was preparation for the second-half counterattack.
At halftime, the locker room was silent. Players hung their heads, sweat dripping down their cheeks.
Paco Jémez slowly walked in, his gaze sweeping over everyone. His expression was calm, without anger or blame.
"I saw your effort," his voice was soft, "But it's not enough."
Paco walked to Lu Chuan, looking at the young man who was breathing heavily. Lu Chuan's face was pale, sweat beaded on his forehead like rain, but his eyes were unusually bright.
"How much longer can you last?" Paco's voice held concern.
Lu Chuan looked up, his voice hoarse from panting, but his tone was unwavering: "Coach, in the second half, just give me the ball, once is enough."
Paco gazed at him, seeing something astounding in this young man—the will of a true warrior.
"Alright," Paco nodded, "Then I'll give you this chance."
The atmosphere in the locker room subtly changed; teammates all felt the firm belief emanating from Lu Chuan.
The second half was about to begin; the real battle had just started.