In another timeline, plenty of spectators would surely have said, "Isn't that Cristiano Ronaldo's celebration?"
But in this timeline, no-Cristiano Ronaldo would not perform that celebration for the first time until 2013.
Now, in this timeline, it belonged to Zhang Kuang.
This would be his signature celebration.
"That celebration!" Dugarry burst out laughing in the commentary booth. "What swagger! He's pointing at his back-look at my name! Look at my number!"
The broadcast camera held an exceptionally long close-up on Zhang Kuang.
He stood near the corner flag, his white number 33 shirt gleaming in the sunlight. Light and shadow traced perfect lines along his profile, the corners of his mouth lifted, and his eyes held an almost brazen confidence.
That was not showing off. It was a declaration.
I'm here.
The entire stadium was chanting his name.
"Zhang! Zhang! Zhang!"
In the stands, several longtime Auxerre fans hugged one another, shaking their heads and murmuring, "How long has it been since we had a striker like this? How long?"
Boulogne's head coach, Guyot, stood on the touchline with his hands on his hips, looking as though he had swallowed a fly.
"Fuck..." he cursed under his breath, turning to his assistant coach. "Where did this Chinese guy come from? Why didn't our scouts find him?"
The assistant spread his hands, at a loss for words.
On the touchline, the corners of Fernandez's mouth finally lifted a little.
But he quickly restored his poker face and shouted onto the pitch, "Don't let up! Keep going!"
The 31st minute.
Zhang Kuang received the ball at the top of the penalty arc and squared it to Jelen. Jelen let fly from distance at the top of the arc, the ball tracing a curve, striking the left post, and bouncing back.
Jelen clasped his head in both hands, his face full of disbelief.
Zhang Kuang walked over and patted his back. "It'll go in next time."
Jelen glanced at him and nodded without speaking.
The 38th minute.
Pedretti chipped a pass into the box. Jelen beat the offside trap and went one-on-one with Fabri. He chose to side-foot it toward the far corner, but the ball skimmed past the post and rolled over the goal line.
Jelen knelt on the ground and buried his face in the grass.
Zhang Kuang walked over and hauled him up. "Stop kneeling. The match isn't over yet."
The 43rd minute.
Pedretti had the ball in midfield, and Boulogne's defenders no longer dared rush in lightly. He looked up. Zhang Kuang was roaming near the top of the penalty arc, with Brillon and Pedro surrounding him, not daring to give him any space.
Pedretti did not play a pass along the ground.
He sent a chipped pass forward.
The ball soared high, clearing the heads of Boulogne's entire defensive line and dropping toward the top of the penalty arc-not inside the box, but at the top of the arc.
Zhang Kuang judged where it would land and charged over to establish his position. Brillon shoved desperately from behind, but could not budge him at all.
As the ball dropped, Zhang Kuang did not take a touch to control it.
The instep of his right foot. A volley.
"Bang!"
The shot sounded like a rumble of thunder, audible throughout the stadium.
The ball barely spun, arrowing straight toward the top-right corner. Fabri did not react at all-no, he did attempt a save, but only after the ball had already flown into the net.
2-0.
"GOOOOOOOOOOAL! Oh my God!" Bart's voice exploded through the commentary booth. "What a shot! A thunderous volley! A worldie! An absolutely flawless worldie!"
After landing, Zhang Kuang performed that celebration again.
"Siuuu!"
This time, the nearby fans shouted along with him.
Dugarry received the data in the commentary booth. "A shot speed of 119 kilometers per hour! From the ball reaching his foot to the shot, no pause, no adjustment, just one touch! Honestly, I haven't seen that kind of technique in Ligue 1 for a long time."
Bart added, "And he's only eighteen. The first match of his professional career, and he's scored twice before halftime. One header, one volley. Two goals, two different styles."
"Jelen hit the post in the thirty-seventh minute and put a one-on-one wide in the fortieth-but none of that matters anymore," Dugarry said. "What matters is that Auxerre finally have someone who can get the job done in the box."
Fernandez gave his assistant coach a fierce hug. Now he was happy. Zhang Kuang, a super finisher-they had signed the right man.
Meanwhile, in a stadium box, Auxerre's Grandet of a chairman, Alain Dujon, was grinning from ear to ear. He had never expected Auxerre to pick up such an incredible bargain. Now the stadium's advertising fees would go up, and perhaps they could even win the title this year.
Boulogne's head coach, Guyot, slammed the mineral water bottle in his hand hard onto the ground, sending up a lovely spray of water, then began cursing again.
After one minute of first-half stoppage time, the referee blew his whistle. 2-0.
The home side's players were all wildly excited, crowding around Zhang Kuang. Some ruffled his hair, some put their arms around his shoulders, some slapped his backside, and some even pinched his inner thighs.
Someone even reached straight in to tug his dragon rod.
In the dressing room.
Fernandez closed the door and turned to look at the players.
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he picked up a bottle of water from the table, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and then calmly said something that shattered everyone's composure:
"Good. You all did very well in the first half. Keep it up, try to get Zhang a hat trick, and then make him buy you dinner."
The players froze for a moment, then burst out laughing.
Stéphane could not help laughing beside him, then hurriedly coughed twice to pretend to be serious.
"You played very well in the first half." Fernandez walked over to the tactics board. "But Boulogne will definitely change their shape in the second half. They'll drop their holding midfielder deeper and tighten their marking on Zhang. Pedretti, you need to release the ball faster."
Pedretti nodded.
"Zhang, they might put two or even three men on you in the second half. Don't force it. Move the ball on and stretch their defensive line."
Zhang Kuang wiped the sweat from his face and nodded.
Fernandez looked at everyone. "Two-nil is a dangerous scoreline. You all know how easily it can distract you. The defensive players want to hold on, while the attacking players want to build on the lead, and that makes it easy for the opposition to seize a chance.
"Get control of the tempo first in the second half. Don't rush to attack. If they still haven't scored after seventy-five minutes, they'll collapse on their own. Then we'll build on our lead."
The second half began.
Sure enough, Boulogne changed their shape. Guyot took off a striker and brought on a defensive midfielder, switching from 4-4-2 to 4-5-1. The three central midfielders lined up flat, aiming to strangle Pedretti's passing lanes.
From the 50th minute to the 65th, the match became a stalemate.
Auxerre's possession dropped to just over forty percent, and Zhang Kuang received the ball noticeably less often up front. Whenever he got it, at least two men marked him tightly, with a third covering behind them.
Zhang Kuang did not force it.
He spread the ball wide to Oliech and Birsa while continuing his runs to stretch the defense. Boulogne's entire back line was forced to follow his movements, and gaps gradually began to appear.
In the 67th minute, Auxerre won a corner on the right.
Birsa walked over to the corner flag and placed the ball. He looked up at the box-Zhang Kuang was strolling back and forth near the edge of the penalty area, looking as though he were out shopping.
Birsa raised his right hand and made a signal only his teammates understood.
He ran up and curled the ball with the inside of his right foot, sending it toward the penalty spot-but Zhang Kuang was still outside the box.
"Birsa's corner comes into the middle of the box... wait, Zhang Kuang's moving!"
Zhang Kuang's stroll came to an abrupt halt.
He drove his right foot into the turf and launched himself forward from a step outside the penalty area, like a cannonball leaving the barrel.
He was too fast.
So fast that Pedro, who was marking him, had no time to react, let alone reach out and grab him.
As Zhang Kuang burst into the box, the ball reached its highest point. His legs powered him upward again, sending his whole body into the air.
In midair, his body was side-on to the goal, the strength of his waist and core drawing him taut like a bow. The instant the ball passed overhead, he whipped his neck-
A lion tossing its head.
The ball was hammered toward the unreachable top-left corner.
Fabri flung himself into the save, but the angle was too acute and the ball too fast. All he could do was watch it fly past his hand and strike the inside of the net.
3-0.
"A hat trick!" Bart's voice had already gone hoarse. "A hat trick! A hat trick on his professional debut! I've commentated on Ligue 1 for fifteen years, and I've never seen a debut like this!"
"Siuuu!"
Zhang Kuang's celebration appeared in the stadium for the third time.