Chapter Thirteen: Explosion

Previously, it had already been mentioned that Costa Rica’s goalkeeper, number 1, Lonis, had rushed out, while the defenders around him craned their necks, eyes fixed on the ball soaring through the sky, desperately chasing after it. As the ball was about to descend, Lonis leaped high, arms outstretched, and the Costa Rican defender jumped as well, attempting to head the ball. Both their gazes were locked onto the ball, oblivious to everything else.

There are countless trajectories a ball can take, but in the end, it was the defender who reached it first, the ball crashing hard against the goalkeeper’s hands and bouncing away, spinning at an angle within the penalty area. The spot where it landed was neither near nor far from Mo Mo, but for the Costa Rican defender, it was within reach.

This was a contest of speed. Judging by appearances, Mo Mo, with his explosive acceleration, seemed certain to reach the ball before the defender. Yet in that instant, the Costa Rican defender resolutely chose to go for a sliding tackle, sending the ball flying again.

Originally, the ball was rolling toward Mo Mo’s left, but with the defender’s intervention, its path abruptly changed, now flying toward Mo Mo’s right—and from that angle, the ball would eventually roll out of the goal.

“The Costa Rican defender launches a sliding tackle, the ball is sent flying! If you look at it this way, the ball will roll out of the goal in the end. Mo Mo has jumped! He’s leaping over the Costa Rican defender. He hasn’t given up! Not at all!”

At that moment, Mo Mo’s mind was clear, his psychological composure unwavering. The surrounding noise was chaotic—cheers, shouts, the cries of Costa Rican fans and players—but Mo Mo was undisturbed.

His eyes stayed fixed on the rolling ball as he ran with every ounce of energy in him, feeling as if he might burst apart.

Gradually, Mo Mo felt his balance slipping, as if he were running too fast, teetering on the verge of falling.

He sensed countless eyes watching him—teammates, coaches, his countrymen.

He gasped for breath, every inhalation swelling his chest uncomfortably. “Give up! You’ll never catch it!” It was as if someone whispered in his ear.

Steadying himself, Mo Mo finally realized that at his current speed, the only outcome would be for him and the ball to cross the sideline one after another. But would he simply give up? No! Never!

“Mo Mo! Mo Mo! Mo Mo! Mo Mo! Mo Mo! Mo Mo goes for the slide shot!”

Chen Nu had been shouting Mo Mo’s name ever since he took possession of the ball, and then suddenly, like an explosion, he let out a roar! But even without his shout, everyone could see it—Mo Mo threw himself forward in a sliding tackle. Would he catch up? Could he?

“The ball! The ball! The ball is in! Mo Mo! It’s Mo Mo!”

In that split second, Mo Mo seemed to fling himself forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, sliding toward the ball. As he caught up to it, everyone saw it, the cameras captured it: Mo Mo lifted his head as much as he could, and as his body pressed close to the ball, he hooked it with the instep of his right foot, sending it rolling at an angle into the net. At that moment, the Costa Rican goalkeeper, Lonis, who had arrived late, lunged as well but could not stop the ball.

The entire Gwangju stadium erupted instantly. Every Chinese person went wild. Bora Milutinovic punched the air fiercely—there’s hope! There’s still hope! While everyone was immersed in the goal, Mo Mo calmly picked up the ball from the net.

Though his whole body trembled, and despite knowing that whether they won or lost, both Costa Rica and China would ultimately be defeated by the champions or third-place teams, Mo Mo was unwilling to lose just like that. There was still a chance! Still hope.

“Good lad!”

Hao Haidong, who had intended to celebrate, saw Mo Mo’s composure and suppressed his own emotions. Fan Zhiyi also couldn’t help but punch the air. Were they still hoping for the round of sixteen? Did they know the next opponents would be Brazil, the champions, and the strongest Turkey (their best historical performance)?

Mo Mo cleared his mind of distractions and stood once more at the kickoff point. Now, he distinctly felt the gaze of the Costa Rican players—a feeling as if every pair of eyes said, “Hey, kid! We’ve got our eyes on you.”

Of course, this was just Mo Mo’s perception. In reality, they wouldn’t focus solely on Mo Mo just because he scored; there were others to watch as well, such as Hao Haidong and Qu Bo, all dangerous players.

But it was necessary to strengthen the defense against Mo Mo. Once again knocked to the ground, Mo Mo turned his head, seeing the apologetic look on the Costa Rican defender’s face. He truly couldn’t be angry—it was a fair collision, and Mo Mo’s physique was just too frail.

“The match has reached the 72nd minute. Costa Rica’s number 5, Martinez, breaks through in midfield—Ah! Too reckless! Number 21, Xu Yunlong, yanks Martinez down. He’d already received a yellow card earlier! Referee! The referee shows the yellow card! Two yellows turn to red, Xu Yunlong is sent off!”

Chen Nu’s voice was laden with emotion, yet he could not vent it. At that moment, he didn’t know what to say. Should he blame Xu Yunlong? Xu Yunlong had stopped a dangerous attack, but was it worth it?

Bora Milutinovic seemed unsure how to express his feelings about the decision. He raised his arms, wanting to shout, but didn’t know what to say. The cheers for the Chinese team were still audible, but everyone understood that with one player down, winning was now extremely difficult.

By the 74th minute, Bora Milutinovic substituted Yu Genwei for the exhausted Fan Zhiyi, using up all of China’s substitutions.

Regardless of being a man down, the match continued. Costa Rica had several dangerous shots. Number 11, Ronald Gomez, fouled Wu Chengying during his breakthrough and received a yellow card. The pace of the match did not slow despite being a man down.

“This is a free kick opportunity! Yu Genwei was brought down, number 10, Centeno, receives a yellow card. This is a perfect chance to equalize!”

By now, the match had reached the 86th minute. Number 18, Li Xiaopeng, took the free kick. After a brief consideration, Li Xiaopeng rushed forward and struck the ball, which traced an arc straight toward the penalty area.

Mo Mo’s eyes widened, but he was helpless. A Costa Rican player stood before him, like a mountain, his eyes mocking.

“The ball drops into the box—ah! What’s this?”

Li Weifeng fought for the ball on the right side of the box, but after it bounced, Costa Rica’s goalkeeper, Lonis, caught it. Li Weifeng, unable to stop himself, crashed into teammate Yu Genwei’s head, causing him to fall injured in the box.

Bora Milutinovic slapped his thigh heavily—this was disaster upon disaster! Medical staff rushed onto the field to treat Li Weifeng, who fortunately wasn’t seriously injured and soon returned to play.

The match continued. Costa Rica won a fine one-on-one opportunity, but Jiang Jin came out decisively and disrupted Ronald Gomez. Gomez’s action was delayed, allowing the defenders to intercept the ball.

On the sidelines, the fourth official raised the electronic board: three minutes of added time. From the sidelines, voices called out again and again, “China! Go! China! Go!”

Loud and united, filled with hope and expectation, making Mo Mo wish he could score again, and again, and again, to repay them—they deserved that reward!

But the defender beside him left him no room to maneuver. Mo Mo was like a magnet; wherever he moved, someone stuck to him. In just over twenty minutes on the field, he had fallen more than ten times. Every time he tried to start, a Costa Rican player blocked his way.

After one fall, Mo Mo turned his head and saw in the stands a wave of shouts, “Don’t!” They all saw it—at least the Chinese fans present did, regardless of what the media would later report. At this very moment, those in attendance witnessed it.

The Chinese team was fighting hard! They did not betray their fans’ support.

Mo Mo clenched his fist tightly, knowing time was running out. He didn’t care about training points, didn’t care about his future—he just wanted to score a damned goal to show the fans: We did not let you down.

“This is a clearance from number 4, Wu Chengying. Time is almost up, but on the field... Eh? Mo Mo! This is a classic Mo Mo counterattack!”

Chinese fans, who had been dejected before their TVs, suddenly looked up. They saw it!

A small, frail figure in a dirty white jersey rushed toward the landing spot of the ball, with a Costa Rican defender trailing behind.

“One-on-one! Mo Mo has the ball! Challenge! It’s a challenge!”

Chen Nu’s voice soared in excitement! Yes! This is Mo Mo! This is the classic Mo Mo counterattack!

Mo Mo didn’t try to control the ball—there was no time. He jerked his head, smashing the ball toward Costa Rica’s goal.

His face was flushed, with a mark left by the ball around one eye. He squinted with one eye closed, looking somewhat comical—but no one laughed, no one.

What Mo Mo-style counterattack, what comedy? What injury, what glory? Mo Mo thought none of it.

His last remaining eye, blurred by tears, reddened and watched the ball fly toward the penalty area.

He ran and ran, simply not wanting to let the fans down, simply wanting to score another damned goal.

“Mo Mo! Mo Mo! It’s Mo Mo! China! Go China! Go Mo Mo!”

Chen Nu’s voice was hoarse, but no one blamed him. Whether at home or in the stadium, every Chinese person was standing, shouting like mad.

On the field, every player, regardless of team, could only watch Mo Mo’s back—that number 37, knocked down again and again, now sprinting toward Costa Rica’s goal with the ball.

No! There was one who wasn’t watching Mo Mo’s back—that was Costa Rica’s goalkeeper Lonis!

Hao Haidong couldn’t break through his goal, Yang Chen couldn’t break through his goal, and you? Mo Mo! Do you want to try a second time?

Two figures closed in quickly—one white, one gray, both aiming for the ball rolling between them!

This was Mo Mo’s challenge; this was China’s challenge in their first World Cup appearance.

Come! Come! No matter how strong you are! We will never be afraid!

The next moment, the entire Gwangju stadium seemed to erupt in a massive explosion—a tidal wave of sound. Was it in?