"The penalty shootout is about to begin. Spain are fortunate, because behind the selected goal, it's packed entirely with Spanish fans."
"France will take the first kick. Mbappe is standing over the ball!"
"De Gea is dancing on the line, trying to put him off."
"Mbappe begins his run-up!"
"He shoots!"
"Beautiful!"
"He places it right into the corner!"
Mbappe pumped his fist toward the French fans in celebration.
Next up for Spain was Diego Costa.
Heavy Metal was utterly composed.
After placing the ball, he simply drove it down the middle and sent Lloris the wrong way.
"Great penalty!"
"Diego Costa has nerves of steel!"
...
"France's second taker is Pogba!"
"He shoots!"
"And it's in!"
...
"Isco steps up to the spot, and he goes down the middle again!"
"Beautiful!"
"Spain are using this approach to wear away Lloris's confidence!"
The third round began.
"Fekir steps up to the ball. He is the man who helped France turn the score around."
De Gea was still dancing on the line.
"He shoots!"
"Saved!"
"Fekir went down the middle, and De Gea blocked it with his left leg!"
De Gea pumped his fist and roared.
The Spanish players could not hold back their shouts of celebration.
It was only one saved penalty, but for them, it was priceless.
The Spanish fans only dared to release their emotions for a brief moment before holding their breath again, staring nervously at Spain's third taker.
Iniesta.
The immensely experienced Iniesta.
Iniesta stood over the ball and placed it carefully on the spot.
The French fans broke into a storm of boos, while the Spanish fans erupted in cheers, trying to drown them out and protect Iniesta from the pressure.
"Hah."
Iniesta took a deep breath.
Run-up.
Shot.
He went for the top corner.
The top right corner.
"Great penalty!"
"Although Lloris guessed the right way, anyone who dares to aim for the top corner in a Penalty Shootout is a true warrior!"
"Even if the goalkeeper guesses correctly, he still can't reach that kind of shot. It's the absolute corner!"
Iniesta pumped his fist toward De Gea, giving him encouragement.
The Spanish fans erupted in a thunderous wave of cheers.
"The third round is over, and France are now one behind!"
"The next two rounds are crucial for both teams!"
In the fourth round, France sent up Kanté.
A small body, yet it held enormous energy.
"Beep!"
Kanté started his run-up.
He smashed it straight down the middle.
This time, De Gea could not keep it out.
"France are still alive."
"Now stepping up to take the kick is captain Sergio Ramos."
Sergio Ramos also had the heart for big moments. He stood over the ball, his determined eyes fixed on the goal.
After a two-step run-up, Sergio Ramos added a small hop and pushed the ball to the right.
He sent Lloris the wrong way with complete composure.
"Great penalty!"
"Sergio Ramos did not waste the chance!"
"The penalty shootout now moves into the decisive fifth round."
"First, France must score if they want to remain on the stage of the World Cup final."
Tolisso stood over the ball, facing countless boos and raised middle fingers from the Spanish fans.
He threw everything into his run-up, then struck it toward the top corner.
Another shot into the corner.
"Swish!"
"It's in!"
"Tolisso has not wasted the chance. He has helped France cling to their final lifeline!"
"Now!"
"The moment that will decide the outcome of this entire match!"
"The penalty that will decide where the World Cup trophy of the 21st FIFA World Cup goes!"
"Has arrived!"
"The player stepping up for Spain in the fifth round only needs to score, and he will end this battle once and for all!"
"End this purgatory!"
Every gaze focused on the Spanish squad, until that young figure slowly walked out.
Leo Lin set off with steady steps, his face expressionless.
Casillas did not even dare to look.
Hierro, Xavi, Xabi Alonso, Villa, and Raúl stood shoulder to shoulder.
Every Spanish player was clapping for Leo Lin, cheering him on.
And in front of him, the Spanish fans all began turning their backs to the goal.
Derek Rae spoke in astonishment.
"Can you believe it!"
"The Spanish fans have turned their backs completely. They are not watching Leo Lin take the final, decisive penalty!"
"This is a ritual among European fans. It means that even if they don't watch, they know this ball will go in!"
"The Spanish fans have given Leo Lin the highest possible trust!"
"A different kind of support!"
North America, the Iberian Peninsula, China, the Pampas.
The hopes of Spanish fans all over the world surged toward Luzhniki.
Inside the stadium, tens of thousands of figures had their backs to the pitch. They were like countless rays starting from different points, yet all stretching toward the same end, converging on a young man in red.
That young man held the ball under one arm. With his free hand, he first wiped away the sweat sliding down in front of his eyes, then wiped the remaining moisture from the ball.
Then, facing all those red backs before him, as if facing the rising sun in the east, he lowered his head and slowly placed the ball down.
He took two steps back.
One step diagonally to the side.
He raised his head.
His broad, powerful back seemed to merge with all those red backs.
The floating light shone like gold.
...
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