Chapter 1111 266: The Charm of That Fall_2

This time, the Paris Saint-Germain players were more united in opinion than ever before.

They were going to attack with absolutely nothing held back.

They were going to smash San Remo's goal, smash the only barrier blocking their road to the Champions League semi-finals!

In the eighty-fourth minute, Fernandez was dispossessed in his own half by the supposedly "weak" Angel's Wings, Miguel.

Miguel picked up the ball and counterattacked, enormous threat.

But the next moment, Kaint reached out and grabbed Miguel, yanking him down to the ground.

Boos broke out around the stadium.

The main referee rushed over and showed Kaint a yellow card.

That was a tactical foul.

The yellow card was deserved.

In the eighty-fifth minute, Miguel took a tactical free kick.

Sevajos received the ball, flicked it over the defender, went past Morici, then lifted it again, trying to get past Lam.

The ball flew over Lam's head; seeing he couldn't stop it, Lam immediately exaggerated his movement and crashed into Sevajos.

Sevajos hit the turf and slammed the grass in fury.

The main referee came over and showed Lam a yellow card as well.

Of San Remo's three midfielders, two were now on yellow cards; the situation was extremely dangerous.

Sure enough.

In the eighty-seventh minute, Miguel, unusually, cut inside from the half-space.

Camihong stepped up to press.

Miguel passed to Sevajos.

Camihong lunged toward Sevajos, while Lam dropped back to cover Camihong's position and kept an eye on Miguel.

The coordination was quite good.

But Sevajos pulled off a rabona nutmeg straight through, easily beating Camihong.

Sevajos nudged the ball forward and accelerated, driving through the middle.

Bernulin stepped out.

Sevajos laid it off.

Miguel cut inside from behind Sevajos, running from Sevajos's right over to his left, meeting this ingenious blind-area pass with a first-time through ball.

It pierced right through San Remo's entire defensive line.

Stiepelman knocked the ball out to his right, shaking off Naji inside the box.

Areola rushed out immediately.

But with a little poke of Stiepelman's toe, the ball skipped over Areola.

In that split second, the entire Parc des Princes fell deathly silent.

Even fans around the world held their breath, waiting for this ball to drop.

Inside the six-yard box, there was no defender left.

The trajectory of this ball… it was certain to go in!

Stiepelman had even raised his hand in early celebration.

Bang!

The ball hit the ground.

It was less than twenty centimeters from the goal line.

Roughly twenty centimeters from the left post as well.

With that trajectory, it should have brushed past the post into the goal, finally hitting the side netting as it went in.

If nobody touched it.

"Stiepelman with the chipped shot! Beautiful!"

"Perfect! Perfect curvature!"

"Boe has also made a run inside from the left without the ball, his attacking awareness is excellent."

"If Stiepelman's shot somehow doesn't cross the line, Boe can still follow up into the empty net. But Stiepelman's too accurate—when you're a top-class central forward, your shooting has to be reliable."

"Huh? What's Boe doing? That action is… a shot?"

"There's no need, this ball was going in anyway!"

"If Boe touches the ball now, it's basically stealing a goal from Stiepelman; that's really not cool."

"Exactly! If there were San Remo defenders nearby, then for safety's sake Boe could put it in early—steal a goal from his teammate and nobody would complain, because that's the awareness a forward should have."

"But with San Remo's goal wide open and Boe still doing this, it does look a bit nasty."

"Still, you can understand Boe's mindset. He's played really well this match, but he hasn't got a goal or assist to show for it; wanting one is normal, it's just… you wonder if this will affect his relationship with Stiepelman."

Under the gaze of everyone, Boe's foot touched the ball.

He really did mean to score, even if it meant poaching his teammate's goal.

But he didn't expect that one touch to change the ball's path, sending it straight off the post and back out.

Then it bounced off his standing leg and went out for a goal kick.

At that moment, the whole stadium was silent.

Even the San Remo fans didn't quite understand what had just happened.

Only after a long beat did the San Remo supporters start to cheer!

"Thanks, Boe, for sparing our lives!"

"French Jesus, Boe!"

"Paris Saint-Germain's executioner, Boe!"

The San Remo fans were howling with laughter.

This was practically heaven lending them a hand.

Sure enough, all that talk about timing and conditions—nothing is ever stronger than human screwups.

"Oh! My God, Boe has actually blocked a certain goal! He doesn't look like Paris Saint-Germain's forward, he looks more like San Remo's centre-back!" The commentator was stunned. "He's collapsed to the ground clutching his head in agony; none of this should have happened."

"If you'd known it would end like this, why do it in the first place? Boe, oh Boe, don't be greedy!"

Every Paris Saint-Germain fan and player on site had their heads in their hands in despair.

None of them could have imagined that Stiepelman's goal would be blocked by one of their own.

This...

"F*ck!" Stiepelman couldn't hold it in.

Sevajos and Miguel's blood pressure shot through the roof as well; they almost broke down on the spot.

The Paris Saint-Germain head coach even dropped to his knees, anguished.

This...

Boe had practically single-handedly ruined all of Paris Saint-Germain's efforts.

Shit, this deserves death by a thousand cuts!

On San Remo's side, Areola's conceded goal had turned into a goal kick instead; he was over the moon.

He even forgot to yell at the teammates who'd just defended so poorly.

Lam grabbed Kaint and said to him, "Didn't expect you and Boe to have such a deep bond. What Boe did is admirable, but you must never imitate him."