Chapter 106 — The Counterkill: Xia Qi's Apotheosis
Sergio Busquets threw the ball in.
"Busquets throws to Andrés Iniesta."
"The ball is pressed by Theo Walcott, and it falls to Cesc Fàbregas."
"Lionel Messi drops back to receive."
On the pitch,
when Lionel Messi dropped back to the center circle to get the ball, Barcelona's players began to spread out, dragging Arsenal's defensive shape apart for Messi.
It was already the 88th minute; the 90 minutes of regular time were nearly over.
The fourth official held up the board to show stoppage time — five minutes.
"There isn't much time left for either side. Neither team is happy with a 4–2 scoreline. In the remaining seven minutes, if Barcelona can pull one back and take three away goals home, their chances of reaching the semis would be at least seventy percent. Conversely, if Arsenal keep a three-goal advantage, their chance is roughly seventy percent. If the 4–2 score stands to full time, the tie is about fifty-fifty. So these last seven minutes are crucial; they could decide the whole tie."
Barcelona's players knew how important this sequence was. They gritted their teeth and summoned their last reserves, battling fatigue and beginning off-the-ball interchanges.
On Arsenal's side, Xia Qi was the first to charge toward Messi.
Messi made no superfluous move; he simply nudged the ball and at once changed direction, leaving Xia Qi behind.
The Barcelona fans in the Emirates erupted in ear-splitting cheers.
Xia Qi felt a buzzing in his head, as if he might explode.
He wasn't stunned by the fans' noise — he was stunned by Messi.
He knew Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo were the strongest on earth, but he hadn't expected Messi to be this overwhelmingly good.
To defend Messi wasn't the human Xia Qi but AI-controlled Xia Qi, and yet Messi still moved past him as calmly as someone crossing a quiet street at dawn.
The commentators said: "Xia Qi is 1.89 meters tall, Messi is only 1.70 — almost twenty centimeters difference; Messi's center of gravity…"
That line was wrong!
The presence of AI ignores differences of body type; the damage caused by a tall player suddenly dropping their center of gravity is something the host will taste alone after the match.
Why could Messi get past so easily?
Because the greatest simplicity is most profound.
Messi reduces complexity to simplicity and uses a tiny rhythm difference to the utmost, turning it into a kind of "way" — and overcoming artificial intelligence.
At least at present, AI still has weaknesses compared to humans.
Xia Qi didn't know whether to be happy or ecstatic as Messi flashed by him and began to accelerate furiously down the right.
Kevin De Bruyne and Mikel Arteta moved to press Messi.
One man wasn't enough, so they sent two — the ideal was lofty, the reality…
Messi, in a near-mad state, used a sudden stop + drag + change of direction; De Bruyne was gone. How Xia Qi would die from it, that's how he perished.
Then Messi executed a "shoulder drop" feint so realistic it sent Mikel Arteta sprawling.
In a few seconds, Messi toasted three men!
Even though he was away, the stadium felt almost like a home crowd now; everyone chanted:
"Messi!"
"Messi!"
"Messi!"
Beating three men wasn't Messi's final form: he kept driving forward.
"Messi's still running!"
"He's too fast!"
"Santi Cazorla comes across — oh no, beaten!"
"Messi changes direction and pastes Gibbs; Gibbs wanted a tactical foul but couldn't hold Messi."
"Messi!"
"Messi has beaten five players — by himself he tore through Arsenal's entire left flank."
"Arsenal are in danger!"
Arsenal fans watched Messi glide through their left wing like through open air and trembled; some even began to pray.
Faith works.
God answered:
Just as Messi prepared to cut inside toward the edge of the box, the Xia Qi who had been 'eaten' by Messi revived — he tracked back and was there while Arsenal supporters prayed for a hero.
In an instant the Emirates shook with cheers.
Regardless of the final outcome, Xia Qi's all-or-nothing, never-give-up spirit deserved recognition.
"This kid — he reminds me of Patrick Vieira," Wenger thought.
Wenger remembered the iron-willed hard man; Xia Qi carried that flavor. Having been beaten by Messi, he still chased back without giving up.
To fall and rise again — that, too, is a kind of iron blood.
Messi looked up at the defender now blocking his path: Xia Qi. In Messi's eyes, besides killer instinct, there was admiration.
Don't doubt it: when masters admire someone it usually means they intend to test or sacrifice that player, and Messi was no exception.
Facing Xia Qi's closing defense, Messi decided to use his signature move — it was a form of respect to the junior.
Messi faked a move to the right.
"Messi's shoulder drop!"
The feint was incredibly realistic; ninety-nine point nine percent of the body weight seemed to tilt to the right.
A few seconds earlier Arteta had fallen to that same trick — it had become Messi's trademark.
Xia Qi's mind constantly yelled at the AI: don't fall for it.
Xia Qi couldn't reliably tell whether Messi's tilt to the right was truly fake, but the "Messi shoulder drop" was so notorious you had to be cautious.
Yet the AI had its own judgement: it decided Messi's shoulder drop was genuine, and committed.
This shows how deceptive the "Messi shoulder drop" was. Those who fell for it — Arteta, Boateng… — shouldn't blame themselves too much. The move is not just against humans; it also fools AI — utterly inhuman!
On the pitch,
the AI's commitment had method. On one hand it blocked Messi's passing lane; at that moment Messi couldn't pass to Pedro on the same side.
On the other hand, the AI planned to step in and intercept when Messi's power waned, and to prevent Messi's right-side burst when his power remained fresh.
This defense deserved full marks from Messi — if the move weren't a feint, the path to the outside would indeed be the right play; Messi might have been trapped now.
Xia Qi was no simple player,
so the deception continued…
Seeing Xia Qi come up, Messi leaned back and flashed his right foot.
The AI judged Messi was about to show his final intent and force a pass to Pedro…
So it immediately committed to the interception!
From Xia Qi's perspective, Messi had lifted his leg to pass; the supporting foot was planted and the ball briefly left the control of both feet — this was a prime moment to step in and nick it.
But Xia Qi knew Messi wasn't that simple. So many had been undone by the "Messi shoulder drop" — the quick one-two, drag and change of direction. Without those details, he wouldn't have gotten past anyone.
Did Xia Qi think Boateng was a novice?
"No!"
"Don't, AI — don't!"
In his head Xia Qi begged the AI like an abused girl, pleading for it not to step in.
But the AI activated anyway.
And sure enough!
As soon as the AI went for it, Messi swiftly withdrew the raised leg. The pass that would have been played to Pedro didn't roll out to the right; it clipped off the left side of Messi's supporting foot.
Immediately Messi completed the second half of the "shoulder drop" → the "shoulder recover," pulling his previous weight back.
Then he twisted to the left, reached the ball, and rolled it away.
When the sequence finished, Xia Qi became another victim of Messi's fabled shoulder drop.
"Lovely, Messi… oh, cough, what a back-leg flick!"
As Zhan Jun was commentating, the game suddenly changed!
Zhan Jun choked on his own saliva with excitement — that spit was sweet. Though a Messi fan, as a Chinese commentator he had to side with the Xia vs. Messi duel in spirit.
On the pitch,
Messi's left-side pass was sent out; in lightning time, with all eyes on the play, Xia Qi quickly flicked his right leg to knock the ball back from Messi's pass.
Messi's left-side breakthrough had been for nothing!
A dribbling run without the ball is a joke.
In this human-versus-machine skirmish, artificial intelligence lost.
Xia Qi didn't know whether to be happy or ecstatic.
After Messi swept past Xia Qi, he looked back in surprise — the ball had gone. The back-leg flick was so beautiful some might think Xia Qi was lucky to win the ball, but Messi knew otherwise.
Xia Qi's interception and counterattack were deliberate.
It wasn't "I toy with him," but "he was playing along with me." A bitter smile crossed Messi's mouth as pride collapsed.
On the pitch,
Xia Qi carried the ball forward.
At that moment the human Xia Qi scorned his teammates in his head — in front of him were all "enemies," no "allies."
In other words, his teammates were all collapsing onto Messi, all tracking back to defend; even the striker Mario Balotelli had returned to the box.
Fortunately, with one-click AFK activated, Xia Qi's emotions couldn't block the AI's run.
The AI controlled Xia Qi: first a heavy push forward with the left foot, then a fierce stomp with the right.
The player shot forward like an arrow from a bow.
"Striding out!"
"Arsenal start the counterattack."
The Emirates' supporters' moods turned on a dime like summer weather — just a moment ago it was cloudy (calm), now bright sunshine (ecstatic).
"Xia Qi!"
"Xia Qi!"
"Xia Qi!" the chants that had been for Messi now startled Barcelona fans.
Messi watched Xia Qi's receding back and bitterly composed himself before chasing after him.
Xia Qi's regain + counterattack happened in an instant.
Barcelona's players were still occupied shielding for Messi; their reaction lagged behind the focused fans.
On the pitch Xia Qi streaked toward Barcelona's goal — the speed, the long strides and carrying style reminded people of that "silver-saddled white horse crossing the spring breeze" — the son of God-like figure.
From his own half to Barcelona's half, Xia Qi covered it in a blink.
Seeing Sergio Busquets step in front under the fans' urging, Xia Qi learned and applied a "Messi shoulder drop" to trick Busquets into giving up his balance, then nudged the ball the other way and turned his body to bite back — revenge with the same medicine.
"This can't be! Impossible!"
"How can someone that tall move so fluidly?"
Xia Qi had performed the "Messi shoulder drop" in previous matches, but never with such naturalness and fluency.
Put another way: before, the "Messi shoulder drop" was Messi's move; Xia Qi was an imitator. Tonight, after being personally schooled by Messi, the "Messi shoulder drop" became "Xia Qi's shoulder drop," with his own flavor. Taller than Messi, his drop-and-recover looked like Michael Jackson's classic tilted return move.
Busquets stared, dumbfounded, forgetting to press or chase back.
After a second of silence the Emirates exploded into thunderous applause.
On the pitch Xia Qi accelerated!
The one-click AFK advantage showed brilliantly in the second half.
Others' stamina had fallen but Xia Qi's remained unchanged. Fans assumed it was iron willpower, and the cheering grew even louder.
Gerard Piqué reacted quickly: he rushed out of the box to charge at Xia Qi.
Xia Qi made no extra moves — he nudged the ball to the right and did to Piqué exactly how Messi had done to him.
"The rhythm difference!"
"The ultimate in extreme rhythm difference!"
"I have no proof, but I suspect Xia Qi is 'getting revenge' — he's humiliating Barça using Messi's own method."
"What a petty man!"
"Oh! Marc Bartra has also been beaten — now ahead of him is only Barça's goalkeeper Víctor Valdés."
On the pitch, facing the keeper rushing out, Xia Qi again showed the shoulder-drop trick. Valdés thought Xia Qi had committed his weight and dove left without hesitation, opening his area.
But he misread it.
Under Valdés' stunned gaze, Xia Qi pulled his balance back, merged with the ball, slipped around Valdés on the other side, and tapped into an empty net!
"Goal!"
"That one-man end-to-end run is back!"
"Amazing — what a gripping drama with twists and turns. One minute ago Messi had beat five men and seemed about to tear through Arsenal's whole defense."
"Xia Qi, who had been 'eaten' by Messi, revived and at the last second stood in Messi's way."
"Against Messi's dribbling Xia Qi still had no complete solution, but he seized the tiny flaw in Messi's carrying and used a back-leg flick to win the ball and signal Arsenal's charge."
"Then, returning Messi's style move-for-move, he rounded the keeper and slotted home."
"That is Xia Qi's apotheosis. No matter how your face ages or your memory fades, when you think of Xia Qi you will remember tonight's 'counterkill.'"
"Allow me to call it a counterkill — originally Messi stormed toward Arsenal, but instead Barça was counter-killed by Xia Qi."
After Xia Qi tapped the ball into the empty net, Messi had just slotted into the area. Looking at the ball bouncing in the net, he regretted it.
He regretted being too relaxed pre-match!
Although the coaching staff had prepared tactics for Arsenal, he and his teammates hadn't taken it fully to heart.
Facing a foe that had knocked them out five seasons in a row, Barcelona's players really found it hard to be concentrated before the match.
Now they, like Messi, regretted it — especially Piqué. He remembered those condescending words he'd said to Xia Qi and didn't dare to look at him now.
The Emirates exploded: many fans ripped off their shirts and wildly waved them overhead — if the match hadn't still been running they'd have stormed down to the pitch.
They hysterically chanted: "King! King! King!"
The web ignited as well:
"Holy crap! Doing a five-goal haul against Barça's high-end lineup — Xia Qi impressive (voice crack)!"
"Incredible goal, an unrepeatable counterkill."
"Awesome! The new wave pushes the old — the old wave dies on the sand. Sympathies for Messi!"
"Not surprised. Xia Qi scoring five shows his悟性 (football intelligence). Learning and applying Messi's ways on the fly — insane!"
"Wasted talent! With such悟性 what else to do? Why play football? Jealousy makes me split into two faces…"
On the pitch, Xia Qi did a Cristiano Ronaldo-style palm-flip gesture to announce he had scored five goals tonight.
On the sidelines, Barcelona's head coach clasped his head; after a howl he slowly looked up to the big screen where Xia Qi's goal was replayed.
On the other side Wenger said proudly: "Pat, this year we'll end the trophy drought — not just because we won, but because that iron-blooded fighting spirit has returned…"
The score was 5–2 — Arsenal leading by three, the future looked bright.
There were five minutes left in the match; Wenger decided to substitute. Captain Thomas Vermaelen came on to replace Xia Qi.
Wenger wanted Xia Qi to take in the crowd's ovation alone — the highest reward a coach can give a player.
The whole stadium stood and applauded, including the traveling Barcelona fans. If there was any small flaw, it was that it was a home ovation; it couldn't equal being cheered on in an away stadium.
By the pitch stood a beautiful photojournalist — an S-shaped figure with breasts that made men fantasize.
The female journalist squatted to catch a close-up of Xia Qi. The Xia Qi who earlier slapped palms with Vermaelen suddenly stepped beyond the touchline, misstepped, and tumbled like a rolling gourd toward that journalist.
"Ah!"
The crowd gasped!
In the south stand Alice stomped and spat: "Pervert! Men are all trash."
In the VIP box Emma Watson adjusted her top slightly and thought: apparently Xia Qi didn't like small — he liked extra large.
Except for Arsenal players and coaches, almost everyone thought Xia Qi had deliberately groped the journalist.
After all, one second he was full of vigor and the next a limp mess — who would believe otherwise?
This time Xia Qi's collapse was different from when he'd played Bayern; last time was pure exhaustion, this time it was a muscle strain (pain).
At 1.89 meters tall, doing a 1.70-meter player's move — the aesthetics come with a price. Could he avoid injury?
Luckily, the system's injury was mainly pain; no sick leave, and it would heal by the next day.
The journalist also thought her charm had attracted Xia Qi.
"I'm Emily. I'll wait for your call."
She quickly recited a number and signaled a colleague to bring a business card so Xia Qi wouldn't forget.
"You're really beautiful; I'm smitten by you."
Xia Qi took the card, gave a polite compliment, and with the team physio's help returned to the dressing room.
["This Xia Qi is so professional! Acting the whole show — look at his walk, and his leering face — I almost believed him."]
["I actually understand Xia Qi — at his age I loved big-busted women too…"]
The online tone turned increasingly lewd and will not be elaborated here.
Thomas Vermaelen walked onto the pitch, took the captain's armband and shouted:
"Xia Qi's show is over. Now it's our turn. This is our ground. We can't let La Masia's drama queens remember only Xia Qi — now they'll remember our names."
"Yes! That's right! Time for us to shine."
On the pitch every Arsenal player bristled with spirit. Xia Qi's counterkill rekindled their fighting will.
If Xia Qi could avenge being 'eaten' by Messi — with two shoulders carrying one head — why couldn't they do the same?
Fight!
Fight!
Fight!
Play resumed.
In the final five minutes, Barca's mindset destabilized. The usually seamless Tiki-Taka began to suffer unforced passing errors.
This was very un-Barça, and very un-Bayern — Bayern would have fought to the last minute.
In the third minute of stoppage time, Mikel Arteta and his former comrade Cesc Fàbregas began arguing while Fàbregas was being marked.
No one knew what Arteta had said to Fàbregas. Embarrassed and angry, Fàbregas shoved Arteta.
The old Arsenal loyalty and brotherhood is complex.
Arteta pushed Fàbregas back without courtesy.
Whether Arteta pushed hard or Fàbregas was weak, Fàbregas stumbled back several steps and fell backward in a manner that didn't look feigned.
At that instant the match descended into chaos.
Andrés Iniesta and Gerard Piqué rushed at Arteta. Both experienced, they boxed him in verbally without escalating to fists.
Arteta hated these two — had they not persuaded Fàbregas to leave, maybe he'd have stayed.
Arteta wasn't a fool either; he mostly used words.
Three men scuffled and more players joined.
Vermaelen looked down at Fàbregas on the turf: "Are you getting up? How long are you going to play this act?"
Fàbregas, face twisted, reached for Vermaelen to help him up, but Vermaelen didn't move.
Embarrassed, Fàbregas stood amid the stadium's hissing and booing. Vermaelen stared a while, shook his head, and strode toward Iniesta.
Fàbregas turned to the touchline and glared at Wenger.
Wenger yelled at Arteta: "Where's your intelligence? You're a starter and Cesc is a sub — is this substitution favorable for us? Don't you know you're indispensable?"
Though Arteta was being scolded, Fàbregas felt the sting.
In Wenger's mind he used to be the indispensable one; now Arteta was a fragile treasure and he was pottery — thinking about it, it was true.
Fàbregas tasted bile.
The referee showed yellow cards — one to each participant.
This outcome was of course disadvantageous to Arsenal.
The referee added the time lost to the scuffle back on. That was torture for a psychologically shattered Barcelona and for Fàbregas.
Every touch Fàbregas made afterward was met with huge boos.
This time Wenger didn't stop the fans.
With Fàbregas broken, the rest of Barcelona had little fight left; only two players still ran with purpose: Lionel Messi and Andrés Iniesta.
But it was of little use.
5–2 was the final score.
At the final whistle Arsenal substitutes poured onto the pitch; the Emirates erupted and the cheers thundered to the sky!
"Ladies and gentlemen, the match is over! Arsenal have beaten Barcelona 5–2 in the first leg of the Champions League quarterfinals — a very favorable score. But they conceded two away goals, leaving Barca a chance to breathe."
"This match is one of the season's most exciting Champions League games and could be selected as one of the greatest in Champions League history."
"Congratulations to Xia Qi for his five-goal haul in the Champions League knockout and to Arsenal for the victory. Fans, we'll see you in our next broadcast."
(END CHAPTER)
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