Chapter 91: The Galactic Battleship

After Villarreal successfully reached the Europa League semifinals, La Liga held two of the four places: Sevilla and Villarreal, with one each for Liverpool of the Premier League and Shakhtar Donetsk of the Ukrainian league. The semifinal draw was conducted at random, with no seeding, and clubs from the same league no longer avoided one another.

In the end, Villarreal had the misfortune to draw the Reds, Liverpool, widely regarded as the strongest favorites to lift the trophy.

“Do they really have to talk us down like this? Liverpool have lost plenty of matches in the Premier League this season too. We held Barcelona to a draw; we’re not any worse than them, are we?” Dai Zhiwei said, displeased at the wave of pessimism surrounding Villarreal.

Still, his words lacked conviction, because on the very night the draw was announced, they lost 2-1 away to Rayo Vallecano.

In the twelfth minute, Miku of Rayo Vallecano had a shot from the left side of the box saved, and Javi Guerra followed up from close range to score, leaving Villarreal behind early on.

The Yellow Submarine equalized in the twenty-fifth minute. Dos Santos slipped a through ball in, and Dai Zhiwei met it with a volleyed poke from ten yards out on the right side of the box, sending it into the far corner for his thirteenth La Liga goal of the season.

Regrettably, in the eighty-ninth minute, Tito swung in a cross from the left, and Miku rose to head home from fourteen yards, sealing the match with a late winner.

After this defeat, Villarreal’s gap to fifth place in the table was cut back to nine points, and with only five rounds remaining, even a Champions League berth no longer seemed entirely secure.

As if that were not enough, three days later they were to face the mighty Real Madrid in the thirty-fourth round of the league.

For football fans, Real Madrid is a side that needs no introduction.

Madrid had already lost away to Villarreal this season, their only defeat in the past ten league meetings between the two sides, yet in the history of their league clashes, they had never lost at home to the Yellow Submarine.

Across thirty-one league meetings, Madrid had the upper hand with nineteen wins, nine draws, and three defeats, including eleven wins and four draws at home.

For this match, Bale and Carvajal were both out injured, Danilo returned from suspension, and Lucas Vazquez, Modric, Casemiro, and Ramos were rotated into the side.

Real Madrid lineup:

Goalkeeper: Navas

Defenders: Danilo, Varane, Ramos, Marcelo

Midfielders: Modric, Casemiro, Kroos

Forwards: Lucas Vazquez, Benzema, Cristiano Ronaldo

Villarreal lineup:

Goalkeeper: Asenjo

Defenders: Mario, Bailly, Bonera, Rukavina

Midfielders: Dos Santos, Trigueros, Bruno, Denis

Forwards: Bakambu, Dai Zhiwei

“This is a real challenge!” In the players’ tunnel, Dai Zhiwei looked at Real Madrid’s line-up beside him, eyes shining.

Without question, this was the most glittering team he had faced so far, even more star-studded than Barcelona.

“I’m honestly a little excited!” For today’s match, Dai Zhiwei had even gone to get his hair done before kickoff; his slicked-back style was coated in wax. “I just hope a header doesn’t ruin this look.”

After the match began, Villarreal attacked first.

In the opening minutes, Dai Zhiwei did not feel that the famed Real Madrid were anything particularly special; Kroos even made one crude error in controlling the ball, gifting possession directly to the opposition.

While Dai Zhiwei was still dismissive, Rukavina’s lofted pass from the back arced toward him.

In that instant, the place where the ball dropped and the rhythm of his own stride aligned so perfectly that it felt especially satisfying, as if someone had flicked it toward him by hand from close range.

“Come on, Galactic Battleship!”

Dai Zhiwei killed the ball with his chest and pushed it forward at once, then dribbled toward Real Madrid’s penalty area, where Ramos was already closing him down.

“Perfect!” Dai Zhiwei skimmed his right foot over the ball, performed a beautiful stepover, and linked it straight into a feint with a sharp change of direction!

He was highly pleased with the sequence, convinced that apart from a foul, no one could possibly stop him.

As it turned out, he was right. Ramos had originally intended to use his strength to dispossess him, but in the blink of an eye Dai Zhiwei had burst past him and into his blind side.

But in the next moment Ramos twisted around behind him and drove both arms in hard.

At that point Dai Zhiwei felt one hand shove forcefully at his waist while the other clamped briefly around his neck, and in that instant of breathless panic he lost his balance.

Crash!

Once his balance was gone, Dai Zhiwei was sent sprawling onto the turf near the center circle at the Bernabeu by Ramos.

“Damn it!”

He scrambled up at once and rushed straight toward Ramos, rage flaring when he saw that contemptuous look on his face.

You foul and then act like you’ve done nothing wrong?

What, do you think I’m one of your adoring fangirls, so you can stand there all swagger and attitude?

Take this as advance revenge for Salah!

Seized by anger, Dai Zhiwei launched into a full-on verbal barrage.

Yes, a barrage.

Perhaps his saliva was especially overactive at that moment, because with one explosive curse, he sprayed spittle directly into Ramos’s face from nearly a foot away.

Absolutely outrageous!

At this point, Ramos could no longer maintain his swaggering pose. Looking as if he meant to devour Dai Zhiwei alive, he shoved him back hard.

But Dai Zhiwei, after all, came from the Chinese top flight and knew a thing or two about scrapping; he could not possibly go without showing some spirit. Before Ramos’s hand even reached him, he slapped it away with a loud smack.

That did it. Ramos’s temper exploded, and he moved in at once to try to lock him up by the throat.

Any ordinary youngster would surely have gone soft at the sight of Ramos looking so ferocious, but Dai Zhiwei was a true heir to kung fu football, and he charged in ready to fight.

He even had a good thought in mind: if he and Ramos got into a fight and were both sent off, that might not be a bad trade for Villarreal at all.

Unfortunately, before the next round between Dai Zhiwei and Ramos could begin, the two were separated by players from both sides.

Ramos might be a bully on the pitch, but in front of Cristiano Ronaldo, he still had to keep his head down.

This time, however, their clash still drew punishment from the referee: one yellow card each, a perfectly even hand.

The result made Dai Zhiwei laugh aloud, after all he was a forward and had few chances to be booked, while for Ramos, Villarreal’s center-back, a yellow card was like a shackle around his neck, bound to make him play more cautiously.

“We’ve won out!”

Dai Zhiwei even ran up to Ramos with a grin, only for the other man to bite back his anger and refrain from lashing out again.

“What a shame!”

The Real Madrid supporters in the Bernabeu, however, would not let it rest. Seeing that the referee had not favored the home side, they broke into loud jeers, deeply displeased, after all this was the Bernabeu.

Yet after the two yellow cards, Real Madrid’s players clearly grew even more determined, pinning Villarreal’s few attacks back into the visitors’ half.

“Did someone take stimulants? Why are they so fierce?”

Dai Zhiwei stood helplessly just ahead of the center circle, growing frustrated as the ball still refused to come his way.

Fortunately, Real Madrid were not the kind of side, like Barcelona, that merely inflated possession for the sake of statistics; they could not keep the ball glued to their feet forever.

Whenever Dai Zhiwei did get on the ball, there were always one or two players right on top of him, pressing tightly without diving in, simply staying attached to him.

Casemiro seemed to have taken it personally and relentlessly tracked him from box to box.

That shadow alone was troublesome enough, but Ramos, still angered by Dai Zhiwei, would occasionally come up to double-team him, and that was enough to make life miserable.

For Casemiro and Ramos alike were among the finest defenders in the world, each one of them a top-five player in his position. Dealing with one was already difficult enough; facing both at once was truly a matter of life and death.

Around the midpoint of the first half, Ramos and Casemiro double-teamed Dai Zhiwei, won the ball at his feet, and quickly sent it forward to Cristiano Ronaldo, waiting on the line of attack. But as Ramos slid in to take the ball, he also brought Dai Zhiwei down with him.

“You looking for trouble?”

Dai Zhiwei sprang up and lunged at Ramos like an angry bird, but remembering he was already carrying a yellow card, he stopped with about eight inches to spare.

“This isn’t over!”

He shook a clenched fist in Ramos’s direction, refusing to back down.

If giving the middle finger during a match had been legal, he would have raised both hands without the slightest hesitation.

Unable to endure Ramos’s constant close-range harassment, Dai Zhiwei’s movement became more elusive; now he drifted to the right flank, now he dropped deep to collect the ball and hit long passes. At that point Ramos, as a center-back, simply could no longer stay glued to him.

Regrettably, while Villarreal were being pinned back and beaten by Real Madrid, all of this seemed little more than futile effort.

Still, his movements did have some effect. At least during that stretch, the defenders on Real Madrid’s back line were run ragged by him, forced to follow him and unsure whether to chase or hold.

All in all, in the first half hour of this match, Dai Zhiwei had not taken a single shot and had not provided a single assist. Aside from a yellow card and running everywhere in chaos, it looked as though he had done nothing of substance.