Halftime, in the away dressing room.
Fernandez closed the door and stayed silent for a few seconds.
"We played well in the first half," he told the players. "But Nice's defense is starting to adapt. They'll press more aggressively in the second half. We need to play faster."
He walked over to the tactics board and drew a few lines.
"Zhang, don't drop so deep in the second half." He drew a circle at the top of the penalty arc with his marker. "Stay right here. If Nice's defensive midfielder follows you out, the space in the middle goes to Jelen and Oliech. If he doesn't, receive the ball here-and shoot straight away."
Zhang Kuang nodded without saying anything more.
"Birsa, fewer crosses and more cuts inside in the second half," Fernandez continued. "Nice's fullbacks aren't quick. You can create chances with your left foot."
Birsa nodded.
"One last thing." Fernandez tossed the marker aside and looked at everyone. "We need another goal in the first fifteen minutes of the second half. Get the second, and this match is over."
Meanwhile, in the home dressing room, Nice's head coach Nicolle was flying into a rage. He was particularly unhappy with the defending against Zhang Kuang, believing the team had done a poor job of containing him.
"Fofana, Digard, what's wrong with you two? One of you got a yellow card as soon as you made contact with Zhang, and the other turned timid after just one bit of contact. Is that Chinese kid so terrifying? You can't even touch him?"
Nicolle grilled Fofana and Digard.
Digard said, "Coach, there's something sinister about that Chinese guy. We can't outmuscle him or outrun him. His movement is far too elusive.
"Besides, I got my yellow because I tried some dirty tricks on him. I secretly pinched him, and he hit me back without anyone noticing. It hurt so much I fell to the ground.
"Then he falsely accused me of racism. I lost my temper and called him a yellow monkey, and that was how I got booked. More importantly, the kid threatened me. He said he'd kill me if I tried any more dirty tricks."
"????" Not only the head coach but every Nice player froze. Was this Chinese guy really that fierce?
"He hit you? Why didn't you tell the referee?" Nicolle demanded.
Digard glanced at Fofana, who lifted his shirt.
"Coach, Chinese Zhang hit me too. I even lifted my shirt to show the referee right then, but there wasn't any visible injury at all. Still, it hurt so much I nearly passed out.
"I just had the team doctor check me, and there's no injury either. I suspect that kid knows some kind of Eastern martial arts. That's why we didn't dare try any more dirty tricks afterward.
"But we simply can't stop him by defending cleanly. He doesn't look that muscular, but his body's like a lump of iron. Our bones hurt when we crash into him, and it's very hard to budge him."
The defenders Mbiwa and Oye nodded repeatedly in agreement, indignantly declaring that they had made physical contact with that monster several times without managing to move him at all.
Enormous strength, a body of iron, blistering speed, elusive movement, powerful long shots, and ferocious headers.
Only after hearing the players' descriptions and complaints did Nicolle realize that Chinese Zhang was much harder to deal with than he had imagined.
Nicolle said, "All right. Since we can't shake him in physical challenges, cut off the passes to him. Shut down every passing lane to Chinese Zhang..."
Nice made the first substitution as the second half began.
They took off a striker and brought on a defensive midfielder, switching from 4-4-2 to 4-5-1. The five midfielders spread across the pitch in a line, their kill zone stretching from the center-circle arc to the top of the penalty arc, with just one aim-to keep Zhang Kuang from receiving the ball in dangerous positions and cut off the passing lanes to him.
In the 52nd minute, Zhang Kuang received the ball outside the penalty arc, and Digard immediately closed him down. Zhang Kuang held him off with his back to him, played the ball wide to the advancing Oliech, then turned and charged toward the penalty area.
"Don't let them pass to that Chinese guy! Cut him off! Cut him off!" Nice's head coach shouted from the touchline.
Oliech chose to cut inside rather than cross.
Nice's left back moved with him, but Oliech had decent technique. A feint opened up an angle, and he squared the ball into the middle with his left foot.
Zhang Kuang received it at the top of the penalty arc.
The ball bounced once in front of him, with just the right pace and just the right height.
He raised his right foot.
Thump-
Another long-range shot.
This time, the ball was faster and the placement even more difficult, arrowing toward the bottom-right corner.
Ramé reacted quickly enough this time, launching himself like a spring and pushing the ball behind with his right hand.
"What a save!" Bart shouted. "Zhang Kuang's shots are so dangerous! If Ramé hadn't reacted in time, that was a certain goal!"
"Chinese Zhang is such a threat from distance. He looks every bit a match for Cristiano Ronaldo and Messi-difficult angles, tremendous power, and incredible ball speed."
"Yes, this is a player with very distinctive qualities. His shooting is beautiful to watch, a feast for the eyes, with a real beauty in its violence..."
Zhang Kuang stood at the top of the penalty arc, hands on his hips, watching the ball fly behind the goal. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
No rush.
We're already ahead.
Time is on Auxerre's side.
In the 58th minute, Pedretti sent a long ball from the back straight toward Zhang Kuang.
As the ball dropped from the air, Zhang Kuang leaned into Mbiwa with his back to goal and brought it down on his chest. The instant it hit the ground, he backheeled it to Jelen behind him.
Jelen met it with a fierce shot, but Ramé saved it. Furious, Jelen pounded the turf. Zhang Kuang was scoring, and he wanted to score too. If he didn't score soon, he would lose his place as the team's leading scorer.
Besides, since Zhang Kuang had joined the team, he had been getting more chances. Zhang Kuang drew away a lot of defenders, reducing the defensive pressure around him.
And although Zhang Kuang's passing, receiving, dribbling, and other fundamentals were somewhat poor, his final ball as a focal point was still very dangerous. Jelen simply hadn't taken his chances.
The 64th minute. A corner.
Birsa sent the ball toward the six-yard box. Zhang Kuang darted left and right, slipping into gaps everywhere. Suddenly, he ran from the front of the penalty area toward the byline on the right, then leaped while the ball was still in the air-
No one could stop him this time, because no one had expected anyone to intercept the ball halfway through its flight. It hadn't even reached its intended landing point.
Zhang Kuang got his head to it, twisting back to gaze at the moon as he sent the ball smashing toward goal. Nice's goalkeeper went pale, thinking it was certain to go in, only for a Nice defender standing on the goal line to block it with his body.
"Whoa, that was dangerous-huh? Renato! Renato, the center back who just joined Nice, has made his mark! He rushed in front of goal and used his body to block that certain goal."
"Oh, what a shame, what a shame! Such a wonderful effort wasted. That elusive movement, combined with an astonishing leap and a ferocious header-it's such a shame it didn't go in."
"Has anyone noticed that Chinese Zhang's heading looks a lot like Cristiano Ronaldo's?"
"Huh, now that you mention it, it really does..."
"A second consecutive corner! Auxerre have been attacking fiercely during this spell!"
Unfortunately, this corner posed no threat. It was delivered too close to goal, and Nice's goalkeeper leaped high to claim it.
The 67th minute.
Pedretti won the ball in midfield and looked up. Zhang Kuang had already set off from the top of the penalty arc, charging toward Nice's penalty area.
This wasn't an organized attack, but a counterattack. None of Nice's back line could keep up with Zhang Kuang's pace-at full sprint, he was like a wild horse that had broken its reins. No one could hold him back.
Without hesitation, Pedretti launched a pass of over forty meters toward the top of Nice's penalty arc.
Zhang Kuang judged its landing point as he ran and received the ball two strides to the right of the arc.
This time, he faced Nice's entire defensive line-Mbiwa and Oye, one ahead of the other, forming a barrier.
Zhang Kuang didn't slow down.
He nudged the ball a step sideways with his right foot. Mbiwa shifted across to block him, and Zhang Kuang cut it back with his left. Mbiwa shifted again-then, just as Mbiwa transferred his weight, Zhang Kuang gave the ball a gentle poke with the tip of his right boot, sending it between Mbiwa's legs.
The ball went one way, the man the other.
Mbiwa was utterly bewildered.
Zhang Kuang swept past him and went clean through on goal.
Ramé came off his line.
Zhang Kuang glanced at Ramé's position and chose the simplest option-
A right-footed chip.
The ball traced a beautiful arc, sailed over Ramé's head, and dropped into the goal behind him.
2-0.
"GOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!" An astonishing roar erupted from the commentary booth. This was simply too exciting.
No one had expected Zhang Kuang to score this time not with a header or a long shot, but with a chip past the goalkeeper after beating his man.
"Siu----!"
Zhang Kuang performed his celebration by the corner flag once again.
This time, Auxerre's bench exploded.
Assistant coach Stéphane rushed to the touchline, pumping his fists and shouting.
Fernandez raised both hands above his head and applauded.
"A brace! Zhang Kuang has a brace!" Bart's voice had already gone hoarse. "Two matches, five goals! This Chinese guy is out of his mind!"
Dugarry shook his head in the commentary booth. "He's not out of his mind. He's good. I take back what I said after the last match."
"What did you say?"
"I said he might be a dark horse in the second half of the Ligue 1 season," Dugarry said. "Now let me correct that-he's no dark horse. He's a genuine top-class striker.
"Two goals: one a cannon blast from distance, the other a one-on-one chip. His finishing is so complete. He's equally good with both feet, strong in the air, strong from distance, and now he can finish one-on-ones too.
"He's only eighteen. I can't imagine what he'll be like at twenty-five."
"Maybe he'll already be at Real Madrid or Barcelona by then," Bart added with a laugh.
"Maybe."
In the 76th minute, Fernandez made a substitution.
Daniel Niculae replaced Zhang Kuang.