Sochi.
With snowy mountains at its back and the Black Sea before it, at forty-three degrees north, it had been a holiday retreat in the Former Soviet Union. Stalin had built a villa here, Khrushchev had come here to grow corn, and Brezhnev had hunted here.
In abandoned underground steel fortresses, officials of the Former Soviet Union had once decided the fates of countless people.
Tonight.
The city was buzzing as fans from all over the world poured into the Fisht Olympic Stadium between the mountains and the sea.
The 2017 FIFA Confederations Cup semifinal was about to begin.
The German media took a pragmatic stance.
"Kicker: No one can underestimate a team with Li in it. The Germany National Football Team must proceed with caution."
"Bild: A warning to Löw—how do we face the Emperor of Football?"
However.
More online attention went to The Sun.
It cared little about the match itself. Its headline read: "After the white nights: The demure Angelina has arrived in Sochi. The battlefield has shifted from the Neva River to the Black Sea. How will she face the Emperor of Football?"
The tactical analysis room at the Germany National Football Team's camp.
The blinds were half closed, and the Black Sea breeze slipped through the gaps, carrying a salty dampness.
Clips of Li Luo's performances in this FIFA Confederations Cup played on the projection screen.
"Li on the National Team and Li at his club are two different types of player."
Kroos spoke with complete seriousness.
He couldn't help recalling his encounters with the Chinese prodigy in the previous two editions of the UEFA Champions League.
"Tony..."
"Jerome said we need at least three men assigned to Li to contain him."
Hummels felt a twinge of regret. In 2015, he had cultivated an