Dominating Football with Perfect Ball Control

Chapter 443: 443. The Eve of the Final

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”Are you in France?”

”Yes, look — does this look familiar?”

”Saint-Denis! Holy cow, you actually came.”

”Of course. I promised to watch you play in person.”

”But I’ve been preparing for the final these past few days. I’m afraid I won’t have much time...”

”I know. Just focus on your game. We’ll celebrate together after you win the title.”

”You really believe I can win it?”

”When have I ever not believed in you?”

After hanging up, a wave of warmth washed over Lance.

For some reason, as long as Chloe was coming to watch, he never felt panicked — no matter the situation. Even back when Real Madrid put four past him in the Champions League Final, knowing Chloe was watching, even if she wasn’t there in person, made him feel like she was always beside him.

From a nameless youth player at Bayer Leverkusen to wherever he stood now, she was the one thing that hadn’t changed.

After all, she was his first fan. And the most important person to him.

”Lance, on the phone with your girlfriend again? Look at that smile.”

”I’ve told you — she’s not my girlfriend.”

”Right, right, right.”

De Bruyne had known since their time at Bayer Leverkusen that there was a girl very close to Lance. He’d watched countless moments that looked like they were about to tip into something more, and somehow, even now, they still hadn’t officially become a couple.

De Bruyne wasn’t the type to make a fuss about it. Otherwise he’d have played matchmaker long ago.

”The final is more important. Are you confident facing Cristiano Ronaldo?”

”Hilarious.”

De Bruyne blurted out the catchphrase like a native.

”You’ve beaten Cristiano Ronaldo so many times. Still worried about this one?”

”Our group stage didn’t go smoothly. Our defense has big problems. And Portugal has had serious luck in this tournament.”

”That’s true.”

De Bruyne nodded. Lance was right. Belgium was a squad with very obvious strengths and equally obvious weaknesses. Throughout the tournament, football media had picked the team apart from every angle, designing tactical frameworks for Portugal — how to neutralize Lance, break up the front three, exploit the defensive gaps.

Belgium had beaten France 4-3, sure. But they didn’t look like champions.

Portugal did.

Anyone who had followed enough international football understood what a tournament champion actually looks like. It isn’t the team that dominates their group or thrashes opponents by three goals. History had its own recurring pattern.

A team stumbles through the group stage, keeping quiet. In the knockout rounds, they grind out results — one goal per game, no more — looking evenly matched against every opponent. Then, at the crucial moment, they knock out the heavy favorite, and somehow they’re laughing at the end.

Having seen how things originally played out, Lance knew Portugal was following that script almost exactly. A third-place group stage finish, all the way to the final. In the original timeline, Cristiano Ronaldo was even injured and had to watch the decisive moments from the sideline.

Now Cristiano was fit. No suspension. Starting from the first whistle.

Good news: Lance was his nemesis.

Bad news: a fully fit Cristiano Ronaldo meant more variables.

”Whatever — thinking about it too much is useless. In one word: just go for it.”

That had always been Lance’s football philosophy. Never mind all the analysis. Let the field decide.

European Cup Final Day.

Fans around the world had been counting down for a week. The moment was finally here.

”I told you we should go to the stadium, but you had to earn those extra few bucks.”

”If we leave, what are all the international students going to do?”

In Munich, the Chinese restaurant run by Lance’s family had already set up the TV. Like bars large and small across Germany, it was packed. The place had become a regular matchday base over time — whenever there was a big game and every bar in Munich was too crowded to get into, people ended up here.

Lu Yongping and his wife liked turning on the TV for the big games, and it had gradually become tradition.

On the night of the Champions League Final, they had gone to Milan to watch in person, and the group chat had been full of complaints — nobody could be there to witness Lance lifting the treble together. So when Zhao Ping got back to Munich, the first thing she did was post in the group: free draft beer on the day of the Euro Final, everyone welcome, come cheer Lance on.

The response was overwhelming. Three hours before kickoff, the restaurant was already full. The free beer ran out early, which only boosted actual sales. Lu Yongping wouldn’t stop calling his wife a sales genius, which earned him a long, withering look.

As the time for kickoff approached, the lively chatter gradually faded. Everyone held a glass, eyes fixed on the TV screen.

Scholl, Kahn, and other familiar faces sat together breaking down the game, keeping fans company as they counted down to the opening whistle.

And far away, countless families, dormitory rooms, street food stalls, and bars were seeing the same scene.

At around 7 PM on July 9, 2016, CCTV’s main news broadcast carried a preview for a European Cup final for the first time in its history.

”Now, a sports news flash. Tomorrow morning, Beijing time, the 2016 European Football Championship Final will take place at the Stade de France in Saint-Denis. Belgium face Portugal. Lance, as a key player for Belgium, will start. He is the first player of his background to appear in a European Cup Final and has broken the tournament’s all-time scoring record with eleven goals. The match kicks off at 3 AM Beijing time on July 10. CCTV’s General Channel and Sports Channel will broadcast the final live in full. Stay tuned.”

CCTV wasn’t even pretending to be neutral.

This was clearly a contest between two foreign nations, and the European Championship had nothing directly to do with the country. And yet CCTV had picked a side without hesitation.

With Lance in it, the 2016 European Cup had drawn attention comparable to previous World Cups — arguably more. Viewership projections for the final exceeded those of the 2014 World Cup Final. CCTV’s ratings had a chance to clear 5.59%, with total audience share expected to approach 75%. For a 3 AM broadcast, TV viewers were projected to top one hundred million, with online streaming expected to match that figure.

Almost everyone who could stay up that late was watching.

The whole country was pulling an all-nighter for this.

On the pre-match show ”European Cup Night,” host Shao Shengyi looked slightly overwhelmed by the scale of it all. Zhang Bin, steady and experienced, kept things on track beside him. Fan Zhiyi, Sun Jihai, Zheng Zhi, and other football figures joined to offer their predictions.

”I think Lance will be champion. Maybe 2-1, takes the title.” Fan Zhiyi’s Shanghai-accented Mandarin carried full conviction.

Sun Jihai frowned, more cautious.

”I don’t think this final will be easy. Portugal have stronger overall cohesion, and their luck in this tournament has been remarkable.”

Sun Jihai had been a Premier League starter. He knew how these things worked. When the talent gap between two sides is small, tactics matter less than mentality, preparation, and luck. And Portugal had clearly been the luckier team. If it weren’t for Lance carrying Belgium, they would have been eliminated weeks ago. Lukaku had taken over twenty shots across six games without a single goal. Genuinely outrageous.

The microphone passed to Zheng Zhi. He was quiet for a moment, thinking it through properly.

”I hope Lance can win the title. I believe in him. I won’t predict the score.”

Zhang Bin stepped in, adjusting his glasses.

”That’s right. The ball is round, and anything can happen. So let’s hand things over to the venue. Let’s witness this final together.”