Boulogne kicked off, but Auxerre won possession in less than half a minute.
Pedretti received the ball at the back and looked up-Zhang Kuang had already pushed up against Boulogne's defensive line and was tussling with their center-back, Brillon.
Boulogne's shape was compact, with four defenders lined up across the back and two holding midfielders shielding the edge of the box, trying to use their numerical advantage to block Auxerre's passing lanes.
But Pedretti was no ordinary defensive midfielder.
In the third minute, he picked up the ball in midfield. Brillon and the other center-back, Pedro, were both marking Zhang Kuang, but Zhang Kuang suddenly dropped back, opening up two steps of space. Pedretti delivered the ball to his feet with surgical precision.
Zhang Kuang received it with his back to goal, and Brillon immediately pressed tight against him.
A physical contest.
Brillon stood 1.86 meters tall and weighed eighty-three kilograms. He was no defender to be pushed around. But the instant he pressed up against Zhang Kuang, he felt a wall.
Not steel reinforcement, but a wall of poured concrete.
Zhang Kuang did not budge.
He nudged the ball with his left foot and shifted his weight slightly. Brillon instinctively moved with him-but Zhang Kuang's next move was faster.
He knocked the ball from his left foot to his right heel, then spun sharply!
A beautiful turn to escape his marker with his back to goal!
Brillon was left behind and could only reach out to tug him back. But Zhang Kuang had already gathered speed, and his arm seemed cast from iron. Brillon could not hold him back at all.
"Zhang Kuang turns! He's shaken off Brillon!" Bart's voice suddenly rose. "He drives into the box-shoots!"
Bang-
A full-blooded right-footed instep drive sent the ball straight toward the near corner. Boulogne goalkeeper Fabri instinctively stretched out his right hand, just managing to tip it over the byline.
A corner.
"Wow-" Dugarry exclaimed in the commentary box. "That was a high-quality shot!"
"His very first touch," Bart analyzed. "Received it with his back to goal, turned, beat his man, shot-all in one fluid motion. That doesn't look like an eighteen-year-old rookie making his debut."
Zhang Kuang got up from the ground and brushed the grass clippings off himself, his face expressionless.
He gave Pedretti a thumbs-up, a gesture the broadcast camera quickly caught.
"He already has an understanding with Pedretti," Dugarry said. "The timing of that pass and the line of that run weren't spur-of-the-moment decisions. They've practiced that."
The corner came in, Birsa delivering the ball into the middle of the box. Grichting rose to challenge for the header, but the ball went wide of the post.
A goal kick for Boulogne.
The seventh minute.
The same script played out again. Pedretti won the ball in midfield and immediately sent a long pass toward Zhang Kuang. Zhang Kuang held off Brillon and chested it down. The instant the ball dropped in front of him, he laid it off to Oliech, who was advancing down the flank.
Oliech reached the byline and crossed.
The ball flew toward the far post.
Zhang Kuang burst into motion inside the box. The explosiveness of his first step left Brillon completely unable to keep up. By the time he reached where the ball would drop, he was a full body length ahead of Brillon.
He jumped.
Zhang Kuang's legs launched him into the air like springs. He contracted his core and met the ball squarely with his forehead.
The ball smashed into the turf, bounced once, and was smothered beneath Fabri.
Although it had not gone in, the entire Stade Abbé-Deschamps let out a collective sigh, followed by enthusiastic applause.
"That leap..." Dugarry shook his head in the commentary box. "That leap isn't Ligue 1 level. That's the level of a top UEFA Champions League center-forward."
Bart watched the replay, in which Zhang Kuang was clearly more than half a head above Brillon in the air. "His timing, core power, and heading technique are all very solid. This new Auxerre signing looks like something special."
The camera panned to the touchline. Fernandez stood with his hands in his pockets, his face expressionless. But his assistant coach, Stéphane, could no longer stay seated and was standing on the sidelines, shouting something.
In the fifteenth minute, Zhang Kuang threatened again.
This time, it was through pressing high up the pitch.
Boulogne defender Pedro had the ball on the edge of the box. He hesitated for just a moment, and Zhang Kuang came charging in from the side. In a panic, Pedro passed back to his goalkeeper, but the pass was too weak. Zhang Kuang sprinted at full speed-
Fabri rushed out of his box and hoofed it clear. The ball grazed the tip of Zhang Kuang's boot as it flew away.
So close.
Zhang Kuang stopped, put his hands on his hips, and watched the ball fly away, shaking his head.
"His instinct for pressing is good, too," Dugarry remarked. "He's not the type to wait for the ball. He's willing to do the dirty work."
"And he really is fast," Bart added. "Pedro was completely left behind on that sprint."
In the twentieth minute, Oliech broke through down the right and crossed again.
Caught between Brillon and Pedro, Zhang Kuang could not jump, but he used his body to keep both men behind him. The ball struck his shoulder and bounced over the byline.
Brillon stumbled a step as he landed, and the look he gave Zhang Kuang changed.
What kind of training had this kid done to build a body like that?
In the twenty-fifth minute, the chance finally came.
Pedretti had the ball in midfield. Boulogne's two holding midfielders rushed up to press him, but he beat the first with a simple feint, then delivered a precise diagonal long ball.
The ball flew toward the right flank.
Oliech surged forward at speed and brought it under control near the touchline. He glanced into the box-Zhang Kuang was prowling near the top of the arc.
Oliech did not hesitate.
He pushed the ball forward with his left foot, then curled it up with the inside of his right.
The ball traced a beautiful arc, bending around the defender at the near post and flying toward the center of the six-yard box.
Zhang Kuang moved.
First, he feinted a run away from the box, and Brillon took a step with him. In that one step, Zhang Kuang sharply turned his ankle and shot toward the far post like an arrow.
Brillon was left behind. Pedro tried to chase from behind, but Zhang Kuang was too fast.
He jumped.
Zhang Kuang's legs drove him into the air once more. This time, he rose higher than ever-his core strength stretched his body fully in midair, like a bow drawn taut.
The ball arrived.
His forehead met the ball, not with a light glance, but with force.
The power of a header came from the core, and at that moment, Zhang Kuang's core unleashed astonishing strength.
A tomahawk header.
The ball slammed toward the bottom-right corner like a cannonball. Fabri moved to make the save, but it was too fast. Before his fingertips could reach it, the ball had already struck the net.
1-0.
Bart's voice almost cracked in the commentary box. "This new signing packs a punch... Oh, GOOOOOOOOOOAL!
Zhang Kuang! Zhang Kuang, this new Chinese signing-Zhang Kuang has scored! His professional debut, his first goal! That was a super header!"
The stadium erupted.
The twenty-four-thousand-capacity Stade Abbé-Deschamps seemed to have been set ablaze. Cheers, applause, and whistles merged into a wave of sound that surged toward the winter sky.
After landing and seeing that he had scored, Zhang Kuang quickly ran to the corner flag. He swept both hands backward and leaped, turning 180 degrees in the air. The instant he landed, he flung both hands back with the motion-
"Siu--!"
A roar burst from his chest.