Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Club World Cup Semi-Final vs Paris Saint-Germain (1)
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It's been nearly 20 years since Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani of Qatari capital injected his funds.
Paris Saint-Germain, who still hold the unchallenged top spot in France's Ligue 1, are now aiming beyond France to claim the world's pinnacle.
Having won the 24-25 Champions League and followed it up with the 26-27 edition, they've proven themselves one of the world's elite clubs. Now, they're hungry for success in the Club World Cup.
After suffering a heartbreaking loss to Chelsea in the 2025 Club World Cup final, their obsession with this tournament runs especially deep.
And right in the middle of that, they've drawn Real Madrid—the team that's repeatedly knocked them out of Champions League tournaments whenever they've met in the knockout stages.
For them, this is a match they absolutely cannot lose.
Real Madrid vs Paris Saint-Germain
The clash between these two powerhouses kicked off at the Etihad Stadium in Manchester, England.
——
Beep!!—
The match began with Paris Saint-Germain's kickoff.
As soon as the whistle blew, PSG sent the ball back to their keeper, and their players surged forward en masse.
Lee Kang-woon, receiving the ball at the back, began slowly dribbling it upfield.
Mbappé had pressed up immediately at kickoff, but there was still some breathing room.
With utmost caution, Lee Kang-woon's left-footed kick launched the ball far downfield.
...
The kick sailed effortlessly over my head.
The ball headed toward the space on our right where Arnold was positioned.
Players swarmed it immediately.
Khvicha, Dembélé, Diouf, Mendes—even in our half, there were more PSG players.
Arnold received it but immediately surrendered possession to PSG.
Khvicha took off on a dribble, slicing into the box in an instant.
The fullback Arnold was already beaten, and Real Madrid's midfielders hadn't dropped back yet.
Inside the box, only two center-backs and the keeper.
Dembélé and Désiré Doué were pushing in, creating a 3-on-2 numerical advantage.
Khvicha exploited it, moving freely; whenever someone closed him down, he'd feint a pass, gaining a psychological edge.
Real Madrid's center-back duo held firm, maintaining distance until Khvicha opted to go it alone.
Thwack!!—
Fortunately, Khvicha's shot struck the post and bounced out.
Just a fraction more toward the inside, and it would've ripped the net.
Real Madrid, nearly conceding right from kickoff, snapped to attention and began executing their prepared game plan.
"Push up!!!"
Mamardashvili shouted to advance the line while setting up for the goal kick.
PSG's high press was so intense that a short pass risked disaster.
Thud!!—
Confirming his teammates were up, Mamardashvili launched it without hesitation.
Truth be told, Mamardashvili is a solid keeper, but his distribution isn't his strength.
Just a few years ago, he ranked near the bottom among top-five-league keepers in long-ball accuracy.
He's improved since those dismal days, but it's still no asset.
Even so, Mamardashvili struck it with confidence—or rather, unwavering faith.
His goal kick sailed beyond the halfway line toward the central area.
Not targeting a specific player or precise spot.
Just roughly toward midfield.
Thump—
A slight Eastern kid with no standout physicality, who looked weak in aerial duels, somehow claimed it like magic.
Whooooaaaa!!—
The ball wobbled just before landing, deviating slightly left of center.
In crude terms, he intercepted a total stinker with a fully extended leg.
That unpredictability shook off Andy Diouf, who had positioned for a standard trajectory.
Against a player disadvantaged by pure height in aerial contests, dropping the ball on an unforeseeable path seemed oddly effective.
Deviating from normal flight meant even a 187cm giant couldn't react in time with his agility.
I bolted into the created space ahead, scanning for the next pass.
Vitinha running level with me, heading back to the box.
PSG's back four turning sideways, backpedaling.
Honestly, Real Madrid had a glaringly obvious, easy scoring route.
Thud!!—
Behind PSG's center-backs.
Not quite far enough for the keeper to claim it outright—an awkward spot.
Just drop it in that precarious no-man's-land.
Whooooaaaa!!—
Real Madrid's emperor delivered a clinical finish powered by overwhelming pace.
——
Real Madrid's opening goal came all too easily.
No need for intricate tactics or deep analysis of the opponents.
Just Ban Yeager's incisive through ball and Mbappé's run.
A simple combo, but one with devastating power.
Meanwhile, PSG, having conceded so early, saw their preparations go up in smoke.
They switched to their contingency plan for falling behind from the start.
On top of that, Luis Enrique instructed Vitinha to man-mark Ban Yeager one-on-one.
Normally, he'd assign the 187cm/81kg physical beast Andy Diouf, but Enrique saw differently.
"He's not someone you can bully with strength."
Even in his first touch, it was clear—this wasn't a player you could erase with physical battles.
Agility against agility.
Superior basic defending and work rate, but his smaller frame was a weakness in body contacts.
Vitinha was the perfect fit to shadow Ban Yeager.
——
20 minutes after Real Madrid's opener.
"Huff, huff..."
Vitinha, tasked with one-on-one marking Real Madrid's #18 Ban Yeager.
He'd shadowed him faithfully for the full 20 minutes per Enrique's orders.
'What kind of freak is this guy?'
Despite sticking to him, no notable plays or results.
Was it because he failed to shut him down?
No, that wasn't it.
The ball simply wasn't coming his way.
'No way...'
It felt like Ban Yeager was facing racial abuse from his own teammates—the ball wasn't reaching him at all.
Yet Ban Yeager roamed the pitch with a relaxed, intrigued expression, sightseeing.
Another 10 minutes passed, leaving just 10 until halftime.
They needed a goal before the break to head to the locker room with momentum.
'Gotta press him now?'
Perfect timing: Arnold received Mamardashvili's pass but was hemmed in, unable to return it.
Vitinha momentarily shelved the marking order, prioritizing PSG's press.
Thwack!!!—
Suddenly, Arnold hoofed it away.
Without checking ahead, the ball flew to an unexpected spot.
'What... huh?'
And there was Ban Yeager sprinting toward where it was heading.