Pfft!
Simon practically burst out laughing beside him.
Domenech glared at Simon like he wanted to eat him alive.
Simon flinched, then slowly said, "You know… astrology, right?"
"People joke about it all the time, but sometimes the energy on a team really does feel out of balance."
"Do you know why none of your players can stop Su Hang?"
Domenech frowned.
"Because France doesn't have enough Leos. Su Hang plays with the exact kind of fire-sign intensity that thrives under pressure. Unless you've got a whole pride of Leos to counter that heat, he's going to set the tempo of the entire match."
"And you, the head coach, are an Aquarius. Meanwhile, Su Hang's lunar birthday aligns him with a strong fire element."
"Water usually cools fire—unless the fire is building from inside, fueled by the momentum around it."
"He's running on turf that only amplifies that drive, so instead of simmering down, everything just gets hotter. The water evaporates, the Aquarius cracks, and the fire spreads across the pitch."
Simon kept rambling on and on.
Somehow, Domenech actually took it seriously.
Yes—Leo energy is strong…
Sure, Henry scored, but his overall performance tonight clearly couldn't compare to Su Hang's.
France had twice taken the lead, up by two goals at most. The whole crowd surged with blue waves—water boiling over.
But after Spain equalized, the stands fell silent. Isn't that water boiled dry?
Then next… the fire burns through the water jar, igniting the entire stadium—red rising in full celebration?
Regret.
All Domenech felt in that moment was crushing regret.
If only he'd brought Pires, another Leo.
Henry is a Leo.
Gallas is a Leo.
Add Pires, and three lions make a pride—enough to suppress Su Hang!
No—
Right now the water is only gone; the water jar hasn't shattered yet. There's still time.
"There's still time! There's still—" Domenech grew more agitated as pressure and emotion crashed over him. His breathing suddenly hitched. "Med…icine… quickly…"
Simon reacted instantly. "Medicine! Heart pills! Domenech is having an episode!"
France's assistant coach rushed over and handed him quick-acting heart tablets.
Simon fed him the pills and water in one smooth motion.
Only then did Domenech manage to steady his breathing.
Fans in the stadium had all noticed the commotion.
Commentators began explaining to viewers what had happened, since the broadcast cameras hadn't shown it.
Partly out of respect—when something like this happens to an elderly person or a patient, the cameras instinctively pull away.
And partly because play had already resumed—the camera crew must prioritize the match.
Derek Rae: "Perhaps Thuram's red card was too shocking. France manager Domenech appears to have suffered a cardiac episode."
"Fortunately, thanks to the quick response from Spain's assistant coach, Mr. Simon, Domenech should be fine."
"This is the spirit of football! On the pitch, we battle as opponents."
"But off it, the light of humanity never fades."
"No matter the final result, Spain deserves respect!"
Domenech, now out of immediate danger, looked gloomy.
The water jar had shattered.
His Aquarian heart had nearly shattered with it.
And next…
...
Back to the match.
While Simon and Domenech were rambling away in superstition, Spain took the free kick earned by Su Hang—from a very promising position.
Su Hang stepped up to take it himself.
This was his third direct free kick attempt of the match.
The Beckham Curve special effect, "Banana Free Kick," activated successfully.
The ball curled over the wall and bent viciously toward the top corner.
But Barthez produced a godlike save, somehow slapping the ball away.
No wonder he's famously known as "Butterfingers"—most keepers with that nickname actually have real skill behind the jokes, otherwise how could he still be the starting keeper in such a high-pressure match?
Half of Domenech's heart attack came from Simon.
The other half came from that free kick.
Gallas blasted the ball clear. Ribéry picked it up outside the box and immediately launched a counterattack.
Zidane, Henry, Wiltord—France's three arrows burst forward together!
Su Hang closed in on Ribéry right away.
But Ribéry passed ahead of time to Henry.
Su Hang spun around instantly and tore after him.
Henry drove down the wing, cut inside after entering the final third, pulled Puyol out of position, and slipped a diagonal pass to Zidane.
Casillas rushed out.
Zidane controlled and chipped it delicately.
Casillas, already falling, could only watch helplessly as the ball arced toward goal.
At that moment, in the eyes of French fans worldwide, that wasn't a football—it was a rainbow.
Whoosh!
A gust of wind flashed past Zidane.
He looked toward the red number 23.
"It's Su Hang!"
"Su Hang is still chasing! He sprinted all the way from the attacking third back to the box! He hasn't given up!"
"Su Hang is fast, but he might still be too late! The ball is almost at the goal!"
"And it's still at a height— even if he gets there, he won't be able to—"
Whoosh!
On the broadcast screen—
Su Hang hit maximum speed, then suddenly leapt.
As he arched backward, he hurled himself upward into the air.
A bicycle kick!
There are many bicycle kicks in this world.
The Premier League's best goal in twenty years—Rooney.
The longest bicycle kick in official competition—Ibrahimović.
The most artistic—Ronaldinho.
The most iconic—Cristiano Ronaldo's semi-final overhead that froze Buffon.
Neymar, Mandžukić, Shaqiri— even Su Hang's little brother Torres—have all scored spectacular overheads.
But only Bale has scored a bicycle kick in a major final.
A truly impossible aerial somersault—straight out of legend.
Thud!
The ball rocketed toward the edge of the box.
Clang!
Su Hang's back smashed into the goalpost before he dropped to the ground.
Inside and outside the stadium, everyone—players and fans alike—fell into three seconds of total silence.
Three seconds later, Zidane finally turned and signaled to the referee that he had scored.
Henry and Wiltord insisted the ball had already crossed the line.
Casillas, Puyol, and others sprinted toward Su Hang.
That impact had been terrifying.
His back had slammed into pure steel.
There was no way he wasn't hurt.
"Kick it out! Kick it out!" Aragonés yelled at Albelda, with the team doctor already waiting on the sideline.
Su Hang could not get injured—absolutely not.
If he went down, Spain's extra-time plan was finished.
What, were they supposed to rely on Torres and Iniesta to score?
Albelda, having just controlled the ball, was preparing to send it out of play.
The French players, seeing this, eased up slightly, shifting their focus to the referee—hoping he'd rule the ball had crossed the line before Su Hang's clearance.
But the one who had taken the brutal collision—Su Hang—struggled to push himself up from the turf.
His face twisted in pain, clutching his back, he staggered forward toward the edge of the box and shouted at Albelda:
"Give me the ball!"
The Bale Moment timer was ticking — under twenty seconds left!