"What could possibly stop him now!"
"Su Hang's hunger for goals is unstoppable!"
"Four to three! Su Hang charges the length of the pitch on a solo run and completes his hat trick!"
"This is his tenth goal of the World Cup! He's dragged the Golden Boot standard back into double digits!"
"He's also become the fourth player in World Cup history to hit double digits in a single tournament!"
"The three before him were: German legend Gerd Müller, who scored ten at the 1970 Mexico World Cup…"
"…Hungarian legend Ferenc Kocsis, who scored eleven at the 1954 Switzerland World Cup…"
"…and French legend Just Fontaine, who netted thirteen at the 1958 Sweden World Cup!"
"Four knockout matches, three hat tricks! No one could've imagined this level of performance before the tournament! His average of 2.5 goals per game surpasses all three legends! Their World Cup averages were 1.078, 2.2, and 2.167!"
"At the same time, Su Hang has become only the second player in history to score a hat trick in a World Cup final—second only to former England forward Geoff Hurst!"
"Forty years later, the miracle has returned!"
"But more astonishing than the number is the sheer quality of this goal!"
"He shook off Henry, soared over Zidane's sliding tackle, left Makélélé eating dust, then overtook on the outside and passed the ball to himself three seconds ahead! Finally, he beat the keeper in the box and rolled it into an empty net!"
"Through five defenders, past six challenges! This goal is destined to become one of the greatest in World Cup history—honestly, I don't even want to add 'one of'!"
"And even more incredible than the goal itself… is what it means!"
"Given the timing, this could very well be the winning goal!"
"This goal might decide where the World Cup ends up!"
In the stands, Mbappé was screaming like a madman, roaring himself hoarse—
as if he were the one who had just scored a hat trick in the World Cup final.
Below, Haaland was just as fired up, blood pounding in his head.
One day, he swore, he would lead his national team to a World Cup final—
and just like Su Hang, take a seemingly ordinary Spain and turn it into world champions.
The two kids made grand vows. And truthfully, they weren't the only ones—countless young fans were making the same promise in their hearts.
Ninety-nine point nine nine percent of them would never achieve it.
But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Su Hang had lit a fire inside them.
Among them, someone would eventually fulfill that first dream, become a great star, and pass that fire on.
On the pitch, Su Hang called his teammates over and sprinted toward the corner flag. He grabbed the camera from their London Metropolitan Daily photographer and filmed close-up shots of nearly everyone.
His teammates shouted wildly into the lens.
Torres: "We're gonna win! We're gonna win!"
Iniesta: "Unbelievable! That was a godlike goal!"
Alonso: "Captain! You'll always be my captain!"
Albelda: "This has to count as my assist! It's the most important pass of my life!"
Puyol: "I've lost it! I must be crazy—because I'm actually wishing you'd transfer to Barça!"
Sergio Ramos: "I knew it! You can lead us to every title! You're the best striker in the world—the absolute best!"
Casillas: "The World Cup! My God! We're actually going to win the World Cup!"
Simon: "Extra time? To hell with extra time! Su Hang said no!"
The bench players rushed over, the coaching staff followed, everyone piling into the shot.
After more than a minute of stunned silence, Zidane finally snapped France back to attention, reminding the referee that Spain's celebration had gone on too long.
Only then did the referee remember Zidane's reckless sliding tackle. Grateful for Zidane's own reminder, he showed him a yellow card.
Given the timing, the score, and the stakes, it was a lenient decision.
Truthfully, a red card would've been justified.
Zidane didn't argue.
The referee then urged Spain to get back into position.
Su Hang quickly returned the camera, then held the lens up to his face and yelled:
"Attention! Attention! The Spanish Invincible Armada… is setting sail!"
"Siu!"
The next instant, a thunderous roar echoed around the stadium:
"Siuuuuuuu!"
...
For the next few minutes, all eleven Spanish players packed tightly around their own penalty area, sealing it completely.
With one man down, France struggled to create real chances and resorted to pumping long balls from the wings—even Zidane was forced into it.
In the 91st minute, Sergio Ramos headed the ball clear.
Su Hang chased it down and launched a booming long pass.
Torres burst forward from midfield at full throttle, starting a counterattack.
If Barthez hadn't already been positioned outside his box and rushed in to boot the ball away, Torres might have gone one-on-one and scored!
In the 94th minute, as Barthez intercepted another long ball from Su Hang near midfield, the referee blew three sharp whistles.
Match over.
The World Cup was over.
Spain had defeated France 4–3 with a dramatic last-minute strike—
and climbed to the top of the world.
Boom!
This time, nothing could stop the Spaniards from storming the pitch.
Aragonés burst into tears. The World Cup trophy he had spent a lifetime preparing for—his greatest dream—had suddenly and unexpectedly fallen into his hands.
He stood there stunned.
His worldview shattered.
But in that collapse, a new one rose—bigger, stronger, clearer, and utterly trustworthy:
You can always count on Su Hang.
Simon was probably the calmest among the coaches. He kept glancing nervously at Domenech, terrified the old man might have another breakdown.
Others might not know the cause, but Simon did.
Domenech had been driven to this point… by him.
If anything happened to the man, Simon feared he'd be held legally responsible.
He was scared stiff now and didn't dare provoke anyone from France.
Besides—from players to coaches—not a single person on the French side looked normal anymore.
Some were sobbing. Some were staring blankly into the distance.
Even Zidane, famed for his iron mental strength, stood there hands on hips, staring at the goal without moving.
Su Hang walked over, also hands on hips, standing shoulder to shoulder with Zidane as they looked at the goal together.
Su Hang was at his brightest on the pitch.
But during celebrations, most players went straight to their families. Su Hang, meanwhile, found himself free.
What? His family?
They were earning millions by the minute—no way would they spend over a hundred minutes watching him play a match.
If they called during tomorrow's lunch break to congratulate him, that would already be amazing.
Scheduling a simple meal with them required booking ahead of time.
Of course, Su's parents didn't want to live like this. But every time Su Hang had advised them over the years, the family business had seized a new opportunity and taken another leap forward.
The company grew rapidly, expanded into more industries, and kept stretching their workload until it felt like they needed several dozen more people.
And since everything would ultimately belong to Su Hang anyway, they couldn't help feeling like someone was exploiting them.
Zidane finally broke the silence.
"What do you want? A jersey swap?"
Su Hang shook his head. "No. I already promised mine to a kid."
Zidane sighed. "Haven't had an experience this awful in a long time."
Su Hang: "I'd like to say I understand how you feel, but I can't lie. You know—I've never finished second."
Zidane was speechless.
Your turn to show off.