Chapter 698 - 11: The Uncharacteristic Italy! Ma’el’s Enigmatic Smile! Enough Is Enough!

"Bang!!"

Giroud in the central position managed to reach the perfect spot, but just as he was about to head the ball, Chiellini lifted him slightly with his body.

This caused him to lose his balance, and the ball flew towards the stands at an absurd height.

Landing back on the ground, Giroud felt a bit frustrated. This was definitely not his true level, but he knew that protesting now would be useless.

Four minutes later, Ma’el noticed the strategy Italy’s defenders were attempting to employ against them and chose to shoot directly from 35 meters away.

He thought the opponents might become complacent at this distance and not resort to tricks to stop him.

"Bang!!"

As he shot, he felt a powerful force slam into his side, knocking his single-leg balanced body off course.

After hitting the ground, he couldn’t even be bothered to look at the ball’s trajectory and immediately looked for Marchisio, who had just rammed him.

This constant behavior was unacceptable... At this moment, he wasn’t thinking about whether his team had used similar tactics. All he wanted was to vent his frustration.

He approached Marchisio to confront him, but the latter, feeling a bit intimidated, turned around and slipped away.

"Whistle!" The referee finally blew the whistle for the foul, seemingly trying to control the on-field situation.

The France team’s players quickly surrounded the referee, anxiously negotiating, but to no avail. They then looked thoughtfully at the Italian offensive players.

The match seemed to change from this moment on, with movements growing increasingly aggressive, as if everyone had thrown caution to the wind.

Deschamps, with his arms crossed on the sideline, watched this scene with some discomfort, but did not say anything for the time being.

The team was still in the lead and was not the side feeling pressured.

On the other side, Prandelli did not stop his players, instead continuously gesturing for them to press forward and seize the opportunity to counterattack.

Time moved past the 80-minute mark, with the tension and intensity on the pitch becoming increasingly pronounced, as if everyone were a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.

"Bang!"

At the 85th minute, Nasri, before his energy was completely depleted, delivered a smooth overhead pass into the penalty area.

Ma’el suddenly cut in, appearing ghostlike behind the defensive line.

"Direct pass and incisive run! A classic connection between the midfield and winger, the France team’s chance to clinch the match has arrived!

"Buffon charges with great determination, there’s no way Ma’el can stop this ball, and an aerial strike seems unlikely. He must score with a difficult move!"

"....."

Inside the box, as Ma’el approached the ball, his world seemed to quieten, and the previous noise vanished, leaving only the ball above him and the opponent’s goal in his mind.

He lost all ability to think and instinctively flung his body forward, aiming for a volley like Roberto’s decisive strike against Paris.

"Clap!"

"Oh.....!" It was only after he shot that he regained all his senses, and emotions surged back, causing him to watch the ball’s trajectory intently.

He knew this was likely the crucial shot that could send the France team into the semifinals!

"Clap!" But a pair of outstretched hands, part of five fingers open wide, blocked his dream of sealing the match, Buffon, once again Buffon, in a desperate jump tipped the ball behind the net.

Gone!

Just a little short!

"Bang!"

As Ma’el descended from the air, regret filled his eyes, and he felt his left shin collide with Buffon’s knee in mid-leap, resulting in a crisp sound.

Upon landing, a sharp pain surged through, causing him to clutch his leg and roll around the ground.

"Whistle whistle!"

Under the worried gazes of Deschamps and the France team’s fans, amidst the chaos, the team doctor quickly ran onto the field. After examining, they found it was fortunately just another hard knock like last time.

"Phew.....!" At this moment, who knows how many people let out a long sigh of relief.

After spraying pain relief, Ma’el was escorted off the field by the team doctor. After a few steps, he shook off the doctor and tried walking on his own.

He knew the team still needed him, so he had to quickly adjust on the sidelines and strive to return to the pitch as soon as possible.

Knockout matches are different from group stages; the team needs more goals to secure the match, right up until the final whistle!

"Whistle!" At this point, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the France team to take the corner kick.

Nasri stood by the ball and signaled to the France players in the box, observing his teammates’ movements while noting the Italian players’ eager expressions, seemingly ready to counter decisively.

In his heart, he couldn’t help feeling a bit tense, as these somewhat chaotic moments are often prime for scoring.

"Bang!" He subsequently delivered a cross to a slightly deeper area, hoping his teammates could reach this spot.

The referee waved to the sideline, indicating that if the player was ready, he could return to the field.

Ma’el quickly touched the grass he loved deeply and sprinted towards the area in front of the box, his eyes fixed on the opponent’s goal.

"Bang!"

This ball was cleared by Italy’s Bonucci out of the box, sending the ball once again towards Nasri’s control zone. He secured it, preparing for another cross.

"Recover! Recover! Recover!!"

Bonucci initially intended to lead the players in pushing out, but seeing Nasri’s actions, he quickly signaled for everyone to fall back.

Ma’el’s eyes shifted, and as he approached the box, he covertly waved towards Nasri.