Check out advanced chapters on P@treon: [email protected]/CosmicKaminari
----------
What does powerlessness feel like?
Cristiano Ronaldo experienced it firsthand at this very moment.
He had tried his best, even scoring a header early on to take the lead. Don't teams that score first in a major final usually win the championship?
"Why?"
"Why on earth is this happening?"
As the Belgium players hugged each other in celebration, Cristiano Ronaldo muttered to himself. He had been so confident before the match. Santos had led the entire squad with a determination to win, believing this trophy was a gift from God and that no one could stop them.
Who would have thought that on the other side stood someone who didn't believe in God? He was a god himself.
The 3-1 scoreline caused Portugal's morale to collapse. While Cristiano Ronaldo was still fighting on the field, he could feel clearly that his teammates had already given up. It reached the point where he was being toyed with by Belgium's relentless passing, contributing a meme-worthy expression of helpless rage to the world.
In the 83rd minute, Marouane Fellaini, who had replaced Nainggolan, caught Cristiano Ronaldo with a sliding tackle and sent him to the ground.
Tweet!
The referee raised his hand. Yellow card, Fellaini.
Cristiano Ronaldo was carried off on a stretcher by the team doctors, his hands covering his face, expression hidden.
Bruno Fernandes, who came on as a substitute, was not yet the leader of this Portugal side. The young Bruno was still crouching beside Cristiano Ronaldo, trying to comfort him, unaware that at this moment, Cristiano Ronaldo actually felt something close to relief.
"If I'm injured, then losing the title today won't be blamed on me, right?"
"Just let it all be destroyed..."
Another final. Another Lance comeback.
Cristiano Ronaldo was completely numb. He didn't know when he would face him again, but for today, he just wanted to escape.
"Champione, Champione! Ole, Ole, Ole~~~~"
The match wasn't even over, but the Belgium fans in the stadium had already broken into championship songs. Young Lukaku raised his hands and waved to the stands in celebration, prompting fans watching online to complain.
"What does the championship have to do with him? He's the one celebrating the most."
"Whatever. Lukaku might not have the glory, but he put in the work. Helped Lance draw defenders away up front."
"All you can say is, God Lance is truly a god!"
The center of attention, Lance, felt a flicker of dissatisfaction as Cristiano Ronaldo was stretchered off. The European Championship had momentarily become less important to him.
For Lance, what was already in hand was already in the past, even though at this very moment he was still on the field of a European Championship final and hadn't even lifted the trophy. His mind had already drifted forward. Toward the Champions League title and the treble a year from now. Toward the World Cup two years after that.
Championships are never enough. The more, the better.
The European Championship was not the ultimate goal of his career. The World Cup was. And the Ballon d'Or. The FIFA World Player of the Year.
"My journey has only just begun!"
If De Bruyne knew what Lance was thinking right now, he would surely be stunned. At this moment, De Bruyne was completely swept up in the atmosphere of winning, losing focus on the field. His stamina depleted fast, and he made several consecutive errors. Wilmots quickly brought him off to let him rest.
As long as Lance was on the field, there was no fear of a Portugal comeback.
"It's over. It's all over."
On the other side, Santos shook his head and sat back on the bench with his arms folded.
Lance picking himself up from the grass triggered a roar from the entire crowd. He stepped up and curled a free kick perfectly into the net. Two goals and one assist in the final. A superstar-level solo performance.
Portugal's spirit was gone.
"Let's wait for the World Cup. Hopefully by then we can find some promising youngsters..."
Sometimes matches are just like that. The suspense rarely holds until final injury time. The clues are already visible halfway through.
"...That said, none of this diminishes the greatness of this European Championship final!"
"Lance has led Belgium to make history! He himself has made European Championship history!"
"This is Lance! The kid who is always creating miracles!"
Duan Xuan had already begun his victory speech.
Even though the outcome was settled, during the final minutes of garbage time, fans watching at home couldn't bring themselves to turn off the TV and go to sleep. Everyone was still riding the wave of what they had just witnessed. Still savoring Lance's 40-meter volley that drew them level. Still savoring that outside-of-the-boot ball that looked like both a shot and a pass, setting up Hazard to take the lead. Still savoring that free kick so elegant it barely seemed real.
The stands had turned into a singing competition. After the Belgian songs finished, the fans followed tradition and broke into a mix of songs from across the crowd. The local French supporters were clapping along, playing hype squad. The Stade de France had become a carnival ahead of schedule.
Finally, referee Clattenburg checked his watch. Injury time had crept past two minutes and forty-five seconds, and Portugal had clearly stopped fighting. He didn't bother waiting any longer. He took a deep breath and blew sharply.
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
"The match is over! The match is over!!"
"With a brilliant performance from Lance, Belgium have come back from a goal down to score three in a row!"
"They defeat Portugal 3-1 and win the European Championship for the first time!"
Just as fired up as Duan Xuan was the commentator on the online streaming platform, Jian Jun.
On screen was the joyful chaos of Lance and his teammates embracing and celebrating. Even in the heat of summer, it felt like a New Year's celebration.
"Let us all shout together!"
"Belgium are champions!!!"
"Lance is champion!!!!"
Tonight was destined to be a sleepless night.
Marca: "God-Slayer Lance! 3-1 Victory Over Ronaldo's Portugal, Belgium Wins First European Championship!"
AS: "Lance's 2 Goals and 1 Assist in the Final! Belgium Shatters Ronaldo's European Championship Dream, Crowned King of Europe for the First Time!"
The Guardian: "Historic Victory! Lance Leads Belgium to First European Championship Title!"
The Times: "A New King with 12 Goals is Born! Lance Orchestrates Comeback, Belgium Reaches the Top of Europe!"
L'Équipe: "Lance Conquers France! Belgium Defeats Portugal 3-1, Lifts the Henri Delaunay Trophy for the First Time!"
La Gazzetta dello Sport: "Lance Becomes a God in the Final! Two Goals and an Assist Orchestrate 3-1 Comeback, Belgium Crowned King of Europe!"
The next day, fans who had missed the match woke up to find the world had changed. How could they have skipped a live broadcast like that? It felt like missing out on a fortune.
Every media spotlight was fixed on one name, and news headlines across the world said the same thing. Lance had topped the trending lists on Instagram, Twitter, and Weibo simultaneously, all with the same selfie.
In the photo, Lance sat leisurely in the stands, the European Championship trophy, the highest honor in European international football, resting casually beside his leg. The composition was amateur. The lighting was off. The framing was nothing special.
But only one person in the world could take a photo like that.
"Wait!!"
Sharp-eyed fans spotted something immediately. Through the reflection on the trophy, a second figure was faintly visible, standing very close to Lance. A slender young girl.
"Big news!!"
Rumors about Lance briefly overtook the championship itself in the trending charts. Winning the title wasn't surprising anymore. But an official relationship announcement? That would be world-shaking.
While the whole world buzzed with speculation, the person in question had already quietly boarded a plane thousands of miles away.
"Home at last!"
"Lance, are you nervous about going back?"
"A little."
"How about now?"
Hiss.
A cool, soft hand slipped quietly into his palm. Lance swallowed hard.
His heart was beating even faster than before.