Toulon Cup Semi-Final: Sweden U21 vs China U20 Part End

Quack... Quack... 

The locker room was eerily quiet, save for the labored gasps of the players, their heavy breaths filling the air. Though it had only been forty minutes in the first half, each player looked as though they'd been pulled from the depths of a grueling marathon, sweat-soaked and drained. 

Sweden had piled on the pressure relentlessly, suffocating the Chinese side. The Swedish team wasn't just bigger and stronger, they were also sharper in their passing and positioning. Their defense was impenetrable, well-organized, and methodical. From the perspective of the young Chinese players, it felt as if they were facing a tactical machine. 

In contrast, the Chinese team had been plagued by errors, misplacing passes, gifting the opposition countless opportunities. Their defense, usually a point of pride, had crumbled under the weight of the Swedish attacks, conceding set-piece after set-piece in dangerous areas. The penalty box felt like a battlefield, and the Swedish onslaught was unrelenting, pressing down like the weight of a mountain on the shoulders of the Chinese defense. 

Even Feng Xiaoting, who was often regarded as an "air bully" for his aerial dominance, was dwarfed by the physicality and technique of the Swedish players. How could they defend against such a well-drilled team when they were constantly outmuscled and outmaneuvered? 

The difference in quality was painfully clear to the players on the field. While fans in the stands or viewers at home might still believe in a possible comeback, the players knew the truth. Their expressions were enough to tell the story, faces etched with frustration and exhaustion. 

Yang Yang sat slumped in his seat, his head buried between his legs. He watched as droplets of sweat fell from his forehead and gathered into a small puddle on the floor. Slowly, he began to calm himself, forcing his mind to focus. 

When they had first returned to the locker room, Yang Yang had wanted nothing more than to lash out at his teammates. Before the match, they had all agreed to follow the coaching staff's strategy: stay composed, defend as a unit, and then slowly build up the attack. But out on the pitch, his teammates had been impulsive, chasing the game recklessly. 

It was obvious that the Swedish team had deliberately set a trap, baiting the Chinese players to overcommit, yet his teammates had walked right into it. It was infuriating. If they had simply stuck to the plan, they might have stood a chance. But now, it felt like they were throwing themselves at the opposition, only to be ruthlessly punished. 

Yang Yang gritted his teeth, struggling to contain his frustration. Scolding them now wouldn't solve anything. What mattered most at this moment wasn't assigning blame—it was finding a solution. 

It was like being on a sinking ship. Someone had punched a hole in the hull, and water was flooding in. Now wasn't the time to argue over who made the hole. The priority was to plug it before the entire team sank. 

The tension in the room was palpable. Coach Zhang Huarong stood at the front, his face stern and contemplative. He knew the situation was dire but was at a loss for a perfect solution. 

"Does anyone have anything to say?" Zhang Huarong finally broke the silence, his voice grim. 

No one spoke for a moment. Then, to everyone's surprise, the goalkeeper, Guan Zhen, stood up. His head was bowed, and his voice was laced with guilt. 

"I'm sorry, it was my mistakes that hurt the team. I should have been more focused, but I let my concentration slip..." 

Guan Zhen's voice faltered as he trailed off, clearly overcome with regret. It was obvious to everyone in the room that he wished he could turn back time and undo the mistakes he had made. 

Feng Xiaoting stood up next, his voice equally somber. "I share the blame. I didn't track their number 11 properly, and I let him get in behind me. I should have done better." 

The room remained heavy with silence. The players avoided eye contact, each of them processing the weight of their failures. 

Yang Yang, still sitting with his head lowered, reached up and touched the crest on his jersey. His fingers clenched around the fabric as he thought about the responsibility he carried, the weight of defending his country's honor. He had promised himself that no matter what happened, he would give everything to protect that crest, to uphold its dignity. Losing like this was not an option. 

Suddenly, Yang Yang stood up, his decision made. 

"Coach, may I say something?" Yang Yang's voice was calm but firm. 

Coach Zhang looked at him with surprise. It was rare for Yang Yang to speak up in the dressing room, and for a moment, the coach hesitated, unsure of what Yang Yang might say. But when their eyes met, he saw the determination burning in the young player's gaze and gave him a nod of approval. 

"Of course. Anyone can speak." 

The entire room shifted its focus to Yang Yang, many of his teammates holding their breath, anxious about what he might say. Some of them feared that he would point fingers, calling out individual mistakes. 

Yang Yang began simply. "Yes, Guan Zhen and Feng Xiaoting made mistakes on that goal." 

The tension in the room spiked, the players sitting on edge. 

"But let me remind everyone here: without Guan Zhen, we wouldn't have made it this far. Against Colombia, France, Turkey—he was the one saving us, over and over again." 

"And Feng Xiaoting? He's been playing through a thigh injury this whole tournament. He hasn't been at his best, but he's out there fighting. Today, he's marking a Swedish striker who's taller, stronger, and in top form. Except for one moment, he's been solid. Can we really blame him for one slip?" 

Yang Yang's words silenced the room. His rhetorical questions hung in the air like a challenge. 

"Everyone makes mistakes. They're the goalkeeper and the center-back, so when they make one, it's magnified. But what about us? How many times have they bailed us out when we've lost the ball, when we've been caught out of position? Now that they've slipped, we should remember how often they've covered for us." 

He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each player. "When the avalanche comes, no snowflake is innocent. We lost the ball as a team. The goal is on all of us." 

The room remained silent, but Guan Zhen and Feng Xiaoting were visibly moved. Yang Yang's words carried weight because he was the team's star player. If anyone could hold them accountable, it was him—but instead, he had chosen to stand by his teammates. 

Yang Yang stepped forward, helping both Guan Zhen and Feng Xiaoting back to their seats. "We're in this together. We still have time to turn it around." 

Then, he added, "I still remember AC Milan's 4-1 victory over Deportivo in the Champions League knockout stage, and how they lost 4-0 in the second leg. Adriano Galliani said something afterward: 'That loss will feed us for three years.' Winning feels good, but you learn the most from losing. This first half, we learned. Now, we fight in the second." 

The players in the room nodded, his words resonating with them. They weren't defeated yet. 

Coach Zhang stepped forward, his voice carrying a newfound energy. "Yang Yang is right. We've come this far by playing as a unit, by defending as a team. We may not be as technically gifted, but we have heart. We've fought for everything we've earned." 

"0-1 isn't the end of the world. We can still win this. Sweden's defense is strong, especially in the center, but they're vulnerable on the wings. We'll attack down the flanks and create openings." 

He turned to Yang Yang. "You'll play on the right in the second half. Are you ready?" 

Yang Yang looked up, eyes full of determination. "I'm ready." 

... 

... 

In stark contrast to the tense and somber mood that gripped the Chinese dressing room, the Swedish locker room radiated a sense of calm confidence. Laughter echoed softly, and the players moved with a relaxed ease, reflecting their one-goal lead on the scoreboard. 

Why shouldn't they be at ease? They were in control of the match, leading 1-0. From the Swedes' perspective, it was a familiar situation. Based on their performances in the tournament so far, once they gained the upper hand, it was rare for their opponents to turn the tide. Portugal had discovered this hard truth when Sweden outmaneuvered them on their way to the championship. 

A few players, draped in their blue and yellow jerseys, spoke in low voices, their tone almost dismissive as they analyzed the first half. 

"Honestly, the Chinese team isn't as good as people thought. It's just that Yang Yang—he's the only one giving us any trouble," one of the defenders remarked, leaning against the locker, his face still flushed from the intensity of the first half. 

"Yeah, he's tricky," another chimed in, adjusting his shin guards. "But difficult or not, we've got the lead, haven't we?" 

The group chuckled, their confidence palpable. 

"Our defense has them completely rattled," a midfielder said with a grin. "As long as we keep Yang Yang under control, they won't pose any real threat. Without him, their attack is toothless." 

The players nodded in agreement. They had executed their strategy perfectly in the first half—close down Yang Yang, isolate him from his teammates, and deny him any space to work his magic. As a result, the Chinese team had struggled to string together meaningful attacks, looking increasingly disjointed and frustrated as the half wore on. 

"Let's just keep doing what we're doing," the team captain said as he stood up. "We've got them where we want them. Stick to the game plan, and we'll finish this off in the second half." 

The discussion in the Swedish locker room revolved entirely around the first half—and especially around Yang Yang. 

This was no surprise. 

His name carried weight now, like the shadow of a towering tree. After his decisive goal in the Champions League final, Yang Yang's fame had skyrocketed, even though he was just 17 years old. His sudden rise to stardom had naturally sparked competitive fire among his peers, including the Swedish players, most of whom were two or three years his senior. 

They all understood the significance of tonight's match. If they could keep Yang Yang under wraps, the headlines tomorrow wouldn't just be about Sweden's win; they'd be about how they had shut down the teenage prodigy who had taken Europe by storm. 

No one knew Yang Yang better than Lindgren. As his former teammate in Ajax's second team, Lindgren had spent countless hours on the training pitch with him, witnessing firsthand his development into the player he was today. Before the match, Lindgren had shared his insights with the Swedish squad, offering tactical advice and personal anecdotes on how to neutralize Yang Yang's threat. Now, those lessons were proving invaluable. 

"We can't let our guard down for even a second," Lindgren cautioned his teammates as they gathered around him. "Yang Yang is tough—mentally and physically. He won't give up, no matter how much we pressure him. He's going to come out in the second half even more determined. We've got to stay on him, not give him an inch." 

The Swedish players weren't naive. Many of them had already gained valuable experience playing in domestic leagues, and they understood that Yang Yang's success wasn't a fluke. His meteoric rise hadn't come by chance, and Lindgren's warnings reinforced their need to stay vigilant. 

"His first touch is not that good," Lindgren continued. "He's a natural right-footer, but don't be fooled—his left foot is just as dangerous. In the second half, we have to stay tight on him, step by step. Don't let him get the ball cleanly. If we have to foul him, then foul him. Whatever it takes, we can't let him turn and face goal." 

The head coach echoed Lindgren's sentiments, laying out the game plan for the second half. Their mission was simple: continue to frustrate Yang Yang, suffocate his space, and protect their lead at all costs. 

As the players absorbed the instructions, a surge of motivation swept through the room. They knew what was at stake. If they could keep Yang Yang frozen out of the game and maintain their 1-0 advantage, they would secure a place in the final. 

This was their moment to prove themselves, not just to their coaches or fans, but to the world. 

... 

... 

After switching sides for the second half, the Chinese team adopted a more defensive posture, focusing on absorbing pressure and launching quick counterattacks. The players showed resilience and grit, determined to claw their way back into the match. 

Yang Yang had been shifted to the right flank, but Sweden's defense remained just as vigilant. They had studied the three teams that had underestimated Yang Yang earlier in the tournament, all of which had been undone by his brilliance. Sweden was determined not to join that list. 

Yet Yang Yang wasn't rushing. He continued his intelligent runs, weaving in and out of spaces and looking to unsettle his marker. His constant movement gradually wore down the Swedish defenders, pulling them out of position and creating pockets of space for his teammates to exploit. 

Chen Tao, who had moved into a more central role, frequently found himself drifting into the gaps left by Yang Yang's movement. Just minutes into the second half, this tactical shift bore fruit when Chen Tao surged down the right, drawing a foul that earned China a free-kick. Wang Hongliang, from the China U20 team, unleashed a powerful volley toward the goal. It was a stinging strike that forced the Swedish goalkeeper into a full-stretch save. Zhu Ting followed up but was a step too late to capitalize on the rebound. 

Though they hadn't scored, the Chinese team's counterattack rattled the Swedes, forcing them to reassess their approach. It was a glimmer of hope, a reminder that if they remained patient and disciplined, chances would come. 

Bolstered by this, the Chinese players dug deeper into their tactics. They knew they couldn't match Sweden's physicality or individual technical ability, so they leaned on their collective effort and strategic play to mount a response. 

The Swedish team, sensing the shift in momentum, quickly tried to readjust, but the Chinese side remained committed to playing through Yang Yang on the right. In the 49th minute, another attack originated from that side. Yang Yang drew defenders away with his movement, allowing Chen Tao to make a timely run. The ball was fed into his path, but Zhu Ting was brought down just outside the penalty area, earning another free-kick for China. This time, however, Wang Hongliang's strike was blocked by the Swedish wall. 

Though the two promising chances hadn't resulted in a goal, the pressure was mounting, and Yang Yang, despite feeling a hint of frustration, kept his composure, continuing to encourage his teammates. 

Patience was the key now. 

The game seemed to settle into a tactical stalemate, with both sides hesitant to overcommit. Yet Yang Yang could sense a shift. At the 55-minute mark, it became clear that the Swedish defender marking him was struggling to keep pace. Yang Yang, however, still brimmed with energy. For him, the Swedish defense—while solid at the youth level—didn't compare to the Champions League defenders he had faced, particularly during the final against Porto. He knew that with the right movement and teamwork, Sweden's defense could be undone. 

Yang Yang began to demand the ball more, raising his hands frequently and pulling into deeper areas. However, he remained patient, passing back to his teammates when needed, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

That moment came soon enough. As he retreated to the 30-meter mark, the Swedish defenders hesitated. Yang Yang's run wasn't tracked tightly, and when the ball was played into him, he controlled it on his chest before dropping it to his feet. In a swift motion, he turned to face the Swedish defense, his posture poised for attack. 

Through his [God's Vision], Yang Yang saw the positioning of his teammates and the three Swedish defenders closing in. This was exactly what he had been waiting for. 

With a sharp diagonal pass, he threaded the ball toward the middle, gesturing to Chen Tao to move up on the right. Chen Tao made a bursting run, and Yang Yang followed up by pushing the ball into the penalty area, drawing the attention of three Swedish defenders, including Lindgren, his former Ajax teammate. 

Lindgren knew Yang Yang well. He kept a respectful distance, not diving into tackles, wary of Yang Yang's deceptive movements. He forced Yang Yang toward the sideline, cutting off his direct route to goal. Chen Tao, though fast, had overrun the play, and with no support from right-back Liu Yu, Yang Yang had limited options. 

The teamwork was still too disjointed. 

Left with no other choice, Yang Yang feinted and broke down the right side of the box, using his acceleration to gain just enough space for a cross. Surrounded by three defenders, Yang Yang's tight dribbling kept the ball at his feet, preventing any of the Swedish players from getting a clean tackle. Eventually, Swedish defender Patrik Haginge was forced into a desperate challenge, fouling Yang Yang and conceding a free-kick in a dangerous position. 

Lindgren, shaking his head in disbelief, helped Yang Yang up. "I'm doing my best to keep up with you, but you still got away from me," he muttered with a wry smile. 

Yang Yang grinned back, patting him on the shoulder. "You defended well, but just like in Ajax's second team, I still dribbled past you." 

Their shared history added a friendly layer to the rivalry, but both knew this wasn't the time for pleasantries. Lindgren, realizing the danger of the free-kick, shouted to his teammates, "Watch out! He's dangerous from these set pieces!" 

Yang Yang gave him a playful nod as if to say, I warned you. 

As the Chinese players gathered around, Yang Yang whispered instructions to Wang Hongliang and called over Feng Xiaoting, giving him some final words of encouragement. 

Now, standing over the ball, Yang Yang surveyed the crowded penalty area. The physical disparity between the Chinese and Swedish players was painfully obvious. The Swedes towered over their Chinese counterparts, their strength a visible advantage in every aerial duel. From any angle, it seemed impossible to deliver a ball that wouldn't be cleared away. 

The Swedish defense had set up its wall, but the illusion created by Wang Hongliang's positioning at the edge of the box—seeming like a decoy or potential receiver—kept them on edge. 

When the referee's whistle blew, Yang Yang moved decisively. His left foot planted at a precise angle, and with his right foot, he executed a perfect inside-foot cross—a technique honed through the skills he had inherited from Beckham's repertoire. 

The ball arced beautifully over the wall, dipping sharply toward the back post. The entire Swedish defense, including the goalkeeper, had been drawn toward the front of the penalty area by the initial run of the Chinese attackers. Deceived by the flight of the ball, they were caught off guard when it curved away from them, heading directly toward the back post. 

There, lurking unmarked, was Feng Xiaoting. Having darted out of the crowd in the center, he found himself in perfect position to meet the cross. His header was clean, powerful, and direct, leaving the Swedish defense scrambling to recover. But it was too late. 

The ball rocketed into the back of the net, and Sweden's defenders could only watch as Feng Xiaoting celebrated. The Chinese U20 team had clawed their way back into the match, and Yang Yang's clever free-kick had been the key to unlocking the Swedish defense. 

... 

"Goooooooooooal!!!" 

The roar of the commentator echoed through the stadium as the ball struck the back of the net. 

"Goal!!!" 

The Chinese fans erupted in celebration, their cheers filling the air with renewed hope and excitement. 

"In the 57th minute, China U20 have equalized!" 

Feng Xiaoting's header had broken through the Swedish defense, leveling the score at 1-1. The players on the field rushed toward Feng Xiaoting, surrounding him in a wave of red jerseys, their faces alight with elation. The bench erupted as well, with coaches and substitutes leaping to their feet, fists pumping in triumph. 

"Feng Xiaoting's header has brought the Chinese team back into the game!" The commentator's voice was electric, reflecting the shock and joy of the moment. "The score is now tied, 1-1, and both teams are back on level ground!" 

It was a goal that had come out of nowhere, much like Sweden's goal in the first half. But behind the scenes of this equalizer was the brilliance of Yang Yang's free-kick. 

"That free-kick from Yang Yang was simply world-class." The commentator emphasized. "The arc of the ball was so precise, so deceptive, that it completely fooled everyone—including Sweden's goalkeeper, Christoffer Källqvist." 

The Swedish defense, caught off guard by the beautifully executed set-piece, could do nothing but watch as the ball curved away from them and landed perfectly at the feet of Feng Xiaoting. Källqvist had been left stranded, deceived by the trajectory, his dive coming too late to prevent the goal. 

"It wasn't just the header that made the difference," the commentator continued, "but the quality of the delivery. Yang Yang's ability to whip the ball with such precision, creating a perfect arc that bypassed Sweden's towering defenders, is a testament to his exceptional skill." 

On the field, Yang Yang smiled, quietly satisfied. While Feng Xiaoting had scored the goal, it was Yang Yang's set-piece that had created the opportunity—a perfect combination of vision, technique, and execution. 

... 

As soon as the ball crossed the line, Feng Xiaoting sprinted to the sideline, his face alight with excitement. He threw his arms around Yang Yang, his voice barely able to contain the rush of adrenaline. 

"It's amazing! Absolutely amazing!" Feng Xiaoting shouted, his words coming out in a blur of exhilaration. "You really put the ball right at the back post, just like you said! You did it!" 

Feng Xiaoting was practically incoherent, overcome with the thrill of the moment. His disbelief at Yang Yang's pinpoint accuracy was clear, as if he couldn't believe the execution had been so perfect. The rest of the team rushed over, a flood of red jerseys engulfing the pair in celebration. 

It wasn't until now that many of the players realized—Yang Yang had planned this all along. That cross to the back post hadn't been a lucky strike, but a deliberate, calculated move. The revelation left them both stunned and in awe of Yang Yang's tactical mind. 

But the shock quickly gave way to joy. The scoreboard read 1-1, and the Chinese team was back in the game. The sense of possibility filled the air. They weren't beaten yet; there was still everything to play for. 

Amidst the celebration, Yang Yang's voice cut through the noise, calm and steady as he reminded his teammates: "Remember what I said—if we stay patient and keep our defense solid, we will win." 

... 

... 

After leveling the score, the Chinese team's confidence surged, and with it, their hunger for victory grew even more intense. Every player was energized, their movements sharper, their determination clear. The momentum had swung in their favor, and they knew it. 

The Swedish team, sensing the shift in mood and the increased pace of the game, began to tighten their defense. They couldn't afford another lapse. Player fatigue was becoming evident, and Sweden's priority now was to prevent any further breakdowns in their backline. They consciously pulled back, trying to preserve their lead by crowding the defense. 

But the Chinese team wasn't about to ease off the pressure. They repeatedly sought out Yang Yang, the focal point of their attack, to spearhead dangerous runs down the right side. 

Less than ten minutes after their equalizing goal, the Chinese team launched another swift counterattack. Yang Yang received the ball on the right wing, his body poised for action. With a fluid motion, he controlled the pass from deep and instantly flicked the ball over the advancing Swedish left-back, a perfectly timed move that sent the defender off-balance. 

With his acceleration, Yang Yang surged into the penalty area, and just as Lindgren moved in to close him down, Yang Yang deftly cut the ball across to Chen Tao. Without hesitation, Chen Tao tried to return the ball, but the pass came in awkwardly—a half-height delivery that was difficult to control. 

Yang Yang didn't panic. His instincts took over as he adjusted his body mid-stride, lifting his right thigh to cushion the ball down to his left foot. Before Lindgren could close the gap, Yang Yang swiftly poked the ball with his left foot, sending it past the Swedish defenders and into the box. 

The Chinese fans erupted as Yang Yang chased down his own clever touch, racing toward the ball with only one man to beat—Christoffer Källqvist. As the Swedish goalkeeper rushed out to close the angle, Yang Yang showed no hesitation. With a subtle fake, he sent Källqvist diving the wrong way before calmly slotting the ball into the open net. 

The stadium exploded with joy. In less than ten minutes, China U20 had scored twice! 

Yang Yang, overcome with excitement, sprinted toward the sidelines, arms raised, his voice carrying across the field in celebration. He shouted uncontrollably, his face lit up with pure elation. Behind him, his teammates followed in a flood of red jerseys, chasing him down as they celebrated the stunning goal. 

Even head coach Zhang Huarong couldn't contain himself. He dashed to the sidelines, his arms wide open, embracing Yang Yang in sheer jubilation. The entire team swarmed around, their celebrations filled with disbelief and joy. 

2-1! 

China had turned the game on its head. In a dramatic reversal, they had taken the lead, and the Swedish team, stunned by the sudden shift, could only look on in disbelief. The Chinese bench was alight with energy, knowing they had seized control of the match.