Dominating Football with Perfect Ball Control

Chapter 441: 441. Mbappé Appears!

Check out advanced Chapters on P@treon: [email protected]/CosmicKaminari

----------

3-3!

Before the match, no one expected France and Belgium to play at this intensity. Before the football media could push out news alerts, social network notifications had already exploded. People who stayed up late but didn’t get a chance to watch the match — night-shift ride-share drivers, insomniacs scrolling through their phones — were stunned by the stream of updates flooding in.

[France 1-0 Belgium]

”What’s going on? Can God Lance equalize?”

[France 1-1 Belgium! God Lance scores a bicycle kick miracle goal!]

”Holy crap, worthy of God Lance!”

[France 2-1 Belgium! Kanté scores!]

”Seriously, is France that fierce? God Lance, don’t lose again...”

[France 2-2 Belgium! Lance scores a brace!]

”Holy crap!!”

[France 3-2 Belgium]

[France 3-3 Belgium! Lance achieves a hat-trick and strongly equalizes!]

”...”

Numb. Truly numb.

That was just the reaction of people who weren’t watching live. Anyone who caught the broadcast knows words cannot describe how electric this match was. Fans were still hungry for more goals, but the coaches on both sides were the first to grow restless. Whether it was Wilmots of Belgium or Deschamps of France, both made gestures to press down, signaling their players to slow it down.

Slow the pace. Don’t go too fast, or the tactics will collapse entirely and the match will descend into chaos.

By the 70th minute, with both sides having run themselves ragged, stamina had reached its limit. The pace dropped sharply, and both teams turned cautious. Through to the 80th minute, neither side managed to score.

Time passed bit by bit.

Belgium’s Wilmots was already running scenarios for extra time and penalties.

”Both sides are prioritizing defense right now. After all, the previous goal-fest was too intense, and the players’ legs simply can’t sustain that level of running.”

”France is about to make the first substitution. The fourth official’s raised the board — looks like two consecutive changes.”

France moved first.

Veteran Cabaye came on to help stabilize the midfield, replacing Blaise Matuidi, who picked up a knock in a tackle. At the same time, right winger Payet made way for a young player.

Commentator Liu Jiayuan did a double-take when he saw the teenager step onto the field.

”Wait — number 10?”

He checked the data. Sixteen years old.

Probably the youngest player ever to appear for France.

If Lance hadn’t already represented Belgium at sixteen, breaking the record for the youngest international, this moment would have belonged entirely to this young player.

”This sixteen-year-old is wearing the number 10 jersey and plays for Monaco in Ligue 1.”

Monaco wasn’t particularly high-profile, so Liu Jiayuan worked from the notes in front of him. Social media, meanwhile, lit up with questions.

”Who is this kid? He looks so young.”

”Number 10 at sixteen? Seriously?”

”Is he stronger than Griezmann?”

The internet had no idea who this youngster was.

Only Lance, watching from the other end of the field, widened his eyes.

”Holy crap — they actually put him on.”

It was none other than the man many would one day call the King of Football.

Kylian Mbappé.

Others might not know Mbappé’s ability, but Lance couldn’t be clearer. Still, he reminded himself: the kid was only sixteen. He shouldn’t be operating at 2018 World Cup level yet.

France kicked off immediately and launched into attack. The ball moved from Pogba’s feet out to the right flank. Belgium left-back Alderweireld hadn’t yet realized the gravity of the situation.

”Watch out!”

Lance’s warning came too late.

Mbappé received the ball and took a sudden heavy touch forward.

”Hmph. Too young.”

Alderweireld snorted and turned to chase. A kid like this doesn’t know his place — nobody tries to burst past like that...

What?!

Before he could set his feet, a gust of wind swept past him. The teenager had simply left him behind with an acceleration that didn’t seem real.

”Holy crap??!!”

The entire stadium gasped.

Mbappé had just blown past a seasoned international defender with raw speed. He didn’t go around him. He went through him.

”Holy crap!” Liu Jiayuan blurted on air, then caught himself, though it hardly mattered. Everyone watching felt exactly the same.

Mbappé bore down on goal. But he was still young, and the shot came a fraction early. Courtois read it perfectly, stretching out a foot to make the block.

”Brilliant save!! Courtois!!”

Belgium fans exhaled. Yet Mbappé’s very first touch had already sent a tremor through the entire defense.

For the next few minutes, Belgium focused almost entirely on stopping him.

”Mbappé!! Outside overtake again!! He shoots!!”

”Slightly off target. His speed is genuinely terrifying. Fortunately, the shot was rushed.”

”France down the right again! Mbappé drives forward!! He’s pulled down outside the box.”

The referee awarded the free kick and showed Alderweireld a yellow card. Belgium quickly made a change, pulling off the overwhelmed left-back and bringing on Kompany, who had only just returned from injury, with Vertonghen shifting to mark Mbappé directly.

”Griezmann’s free kick!! Just over the crossbar!! Inches away!!”

Griezmann buried his face in his hands. Two centimeters. Two centimeters from sending France into the final.

Lance felt a cold sweat break across his back.

”You’re too dangerous, man.”

”I can’t help it, Lance. I want to win. I want to go to the final.”

”Sorry. So do I.”

They exchanged a brief look — almost a smile — then both faces turned serious again.

The match had reached its most critical stage. Belgium’s defense was hanging on. Lance had to find a way to score. Even at sixteen, even lacking experience, Mbappé was enough to tear any backline apart on his own.

Space Perception — fully activated.

Lance scanned the field, reading every gap, every line, every moment of hesitation.

Finally, in the second minute of stoppage time, he found it.

France threw everything forward in a high press, leaving the backline stretched just slightly too thin. Courtois, unwilling to risk a delay, launched a long kick into midfield. Half a second later, it would have been Giroud’s ball. A harmless clearance, France fighting calmly for the second ball.

But Umtiti, going up for the header, missed the threat coming from the side.

”Watch out!!!”

Griezmann’s shout reached him just as Umtiti’s vision went dark.

A tall figure had risen cleanly above him and redirected the ball.

”Lance!!! He wins the header!!”

”Lukaku flicks it on!! Hazard drives forward!!”

One header in stoppage time. One last chance.

Full-line counterattack.

The red jerseys surged forward in an instant, a full-scale assault sweeping across the field.

”It’s over! Stop them!!”

Griezmann’s heart sank. He’d seen this before — at Atlético Madrid. That same fearless, relentless charge. That same unconditional belief in the man leading it.

Lance won the header. Lukaku flicked it on. Hazard collected on the left flank and blew past Koscielny like he wasn’t there.

”Hazard!! Past two!! He’s one-on-one!!! Hazard!!”

This was the Premier League’s King of Dribbling at full tilt, bearing down on his London derby rival, Tottenham goalkeeper Lloris.

Hazard carried the ball into the box and shaped for a chip.

”Don’t even think about it!”

Lloris threw himself into a final dive.

And then Hazard squared it.

Lloris hit the ground and looked the wrong way. The ball rolled across the box.

Belgium’s number 10 arrived precisely on time.

At the edge of the box, Lance didn’t think. He committed fully.

[Fierce Tiger]!

Bang.

The shot screamed into the net.

The stadium erupted.

”LANCE!!!! A game-winner!! A world-class winning goal!!!!”

”Four goals!! He led Belgium past the host nation and into the final!!”

”It’s over!! It’s all over!!”

Liu Jiayuan’s voice still echoed around the Vélodrome.