As both teams continued their warm-ups on the pitch, the stands at Galgenwaard Stadion gradually filled, the atmosphere growing more electric with every passing minute.
Among those arriving in the stands were several figures well-known to Ajax fans: Sneijder, Vermaelen, Charisteas, and others from the squad. Alongside them were familiar faces who had once worn the Ajax shirt—Ibrahimović and Van der Vaart, both now playing abroad but still deeply connected to the team and their former teammate Yang Yang.
Their appearance in the stadium instantly sparked cheers from the crowd. Fans of both Ajax and the Chinese national team welcomed them with enthusiasm, their presence only adding to the sense of occasion.
Amsterdam and Utrecht were separated by barely 50 kilometers, but for Yang Yang, these weren't just teammates—they were brothers. And today, they had come to stand by him.
Down on the pitch, Yang Yang noticed the stir in the stands and waved up at them, smiling.
"Come on, Yang! Beat Argentina for me!" Ibrahimović shouted, voice booming above the noise.
"You've got this! Come on!"
"We believe in you, Yang Yang!"
"Don't give them a single chance!"
The Ajax players—past and present—shouted with full force, voices filled with loyalty and pride, with a hint of playful provocation.
Naturally, this drew a reaction from the Argentine supporters on the opposite side. Jeers followed, but they were quickly drowned out by the overwhelming response from the Dutch and Chinese fans, who rose up together to silence the challenge.
In numbers and in noise, the Argentines were no match.
The game hadn't even begun, and they had already lost the first round.
Watching it unfold, Ibrahimović chuckled, visibly pleased. He looked ready to start something more, but Maxwell, sitting beside him, nudged him with an elbow, then gestured for Vermaelen, Sneijder, and the others to look in a specific direction.
"Wow, Maxwell, checking out girls now?" Ibrahimović teased, catching on a little too quickly.
"Not bad," Vermaelen added with a grin. "She's stunning."
"Pure student look," someone muttered. "Top-tier. Easily outshines the Hollywood crowd."
"There are girls like this in China?" Sneijder asked, half-incredulous.
Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Just look properly," he said, already pulling out his phone. He opened a photo and showed it to the group.
The players leaned in. The girl in the photo was the same one sitting just a few rows away from them in the stands.
The resemblance was exact. No—she wasn't just similar. She was the same person.
"What's going on?" Van der Vaart asked.
Before anyone could answer, Nicklas Bendtner spoke up a little too loudly, "Wait, isn't that Yang Yang's girlfriend?"
"Shhh!" Maxwell hissed, shooting a glance around the crowded stands. "Reporters everywhere. Keep your voice down."
Bendtner instantly slapped his hands over his mouth. Fortunately, the noise around them masked what he'd said. No one outside their group seemed to have noticed.
"She's really his girlfriend?" Ibrahimović asked, wide-eyed.
Maxwell nodded. "He won't admit it, but we've all seen the signs."
"He's always texting her at night," Vermaelen added. "Always calling. She even gave him a handmade bracelet before the Champions League Final. He's head over heels. He can deny it all he wants, but who's buying that?"
Everyone shook their heads. They didn't need convincing.
"Honestly, though," Sneijder said, "Yang Yang has good taste. No wonder girls at his school were sending him love letters."
"Ah... those girls weren't bad," Vermaelen muttered. "But compared to her? Not even close."
Sometimes, beauty didn't need to be explained. Especially not when it made even university heartthrobs look ordinary.
The young Ajax players huddled together in their section of the stands, their attention less on the pre-match warm-up and more on a different kind of topic—Yang Yang's love life.
"Even Yang Yang has a girlfriend now," Heitinga nudged Sneijder playfully. "What are you waiting for, Wes? You better make a move soon."
Sneijder rolled his eyes and sighed. "Great, now I'm getting life advice from Heitinga."
The teasing continued, but despite all the jokes, there was one thing they all quietly wondered: Was that girl really Yang Yang's girlfriend? She was almost too beautiful to be true.
"You lot really know nothing, huh?" Ibrahimović scoffed, wearing a look of exaggerated disappointment.
"He keeps it tight," Sneijder said. "Never confirmed anything."
"You've been away too long, Zlatan," Maxwell added. "We don't have concrete proof."
The Swede shook his head dramatically. "What a bunch of amateurs. If he won't admit it, make him admit it."
Maxwell shrugged. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that?"
Without answering, Ibrahimović suddenly stood up, his tall frame towering above the rest.
"You. You. You." He pointed one by one to Maxwell, Vermaelen, Sneijder, and Maicon. "Let's go."
With the swagger of a mafia boss, he led the group across the stands like he was marching into a boardroom. Even in a crowd, his towering height made him hard to miss. Fans greeted them along the way, but he stayed focused on his target.
Not far from them sat Su Ye and Wei Zhen, chatting quietly. Su Ye immediately noticed the group approaching. Recognizing them as Yang Yang's close teammates, she rose to her feet politely.
"Hello," she said with a warm smile. "Is there something you need?"
The moment she spoke—her voice soft, melodic, paired with her graceful poise—it caught Ibrahimović completely off guard. For a brief second, the usually unshakable Swede stood frozen, unsure of what to say.
Behind him, the others tried—and failed—to hide their amusement. This moment would definitely be retold for years, likely ending up as a highlight in someone's post-retirement memoir.
"Huh?" Su Ye tilted her head slightly, confused by the silence.
"Uh—nothing," Ibrahimović finally stammered. "We just wanted to come over and say hello."
"Yeah, exactly," Maxwell added quickly. "Just a friendly hello."
"Yang Yang always talks about you," Vermaelen said sweetly. "But I have to admit, you're even more beautiful in person."
Su Ye blushed slightly. It was clear they had misunderstood something, but before she could clarify, Ibrahimović suddenly remembered why he had come over in the first place.
"Anyway," he said, regaining some composure, "while Yang Yang's in the Netherlands, we've got your back. We won't let him get distracted. Especially not by those school girls constantly throwing love letters at him."
Everyone nodded in mock solemnity.
"Yeah, yeah, we'll keep him away from the red-light district too."
"He's focused. Football first. No time for girls."
"Honestly, if I were a girl," one of them added, "I'd marry him."
"Wait, what?" Douglas turned to the speaker. "Did you just say that out loud?"
"I mean—if."
"Sure."
"But you were the one talking about the red-light district just now."
"I… okay, never mind."
Su Ye couldn't help laughing, and the sound made all of them smile. "He was right," she said, half to herself.
"What did he say?" Ibrahimović asked cautiously. Something told him this wasn't going to go well.
Su Ye gave a knowing smile. "He said... you're all a bunch of wonderful friends."
They all groaned at once.
Maxwell put a hand over his face. "We're never going to live that down."
"I'm going to strangle him after the match," Sneijder muttered.
"No, no," Vermaelen said. "Let's wait until we get back to Amsterdam."
Ibrahimović shook his head in exaggerated defeat. "Next time we come say hi, we better be prepared."
Su Ye chuckled again. In front of her, these famously competitive young men looked like schoolboys trying to impress a teacher.
One thing was certain—Yang Yang had their loyalty, but she had their respect.
...
...
Argentina Dressing Room – Pre-Match
Back from the final warm-up session, Lionel Messi sat quietly in front of his locker. His head rested against the cold metal of the closet behind him, eyes closed, thoughts drifting.
Around him, his teammates were busy with their final preparations—tightening laces, adjusting shin guards, listening to music. The usual buzz of matchday filled the air, but Messi remained still, untouched by the noise, isolated in his own thoughts.
A moment later, Marcelo Rufino, the team's psychologist, walked over and took a seat beside him.
"What's on your mind?" he asked gently.
Messi opened his eyes slowly and glanced at Rufino, then shook his head with a faint, almost apologetic smile.
In the past, Argentina's youth national teams had never been accompanied by a dedicated sports psychologist. But in the lead-up to this World Youth Championship, the AFA had organized an intensive 40-day training camp. During that time, both Messi and his roommate, Sergio Agüero, had shown signs of mental fatigue and pressure.
Recognizing the emotional strain, head coach Francisco Ferraro had requested a psychologist to be embedded with the squad—someone who could connect with the players, especially those carrying the heaviest expectations.
At first, Messi had been hesitant—distrustful, even. He had little interest in talking, especially not to a stranger asking him about his inner world. But little by little, Marcelo Rufino had broken through.
Over time, Messi began to understand that Rufino wasn't there to pry—he was there to steady. And in moments like this, when the pressure threatened to mount too high, the psychologist's presence offered a rare kind of relief.
Before every match in this tournament, Messi had made it a habit to speak with him. It wasn't therapy. It was release.
"You don't have to hold it in," Rufino said softly. "Tell me."
Messi didn't respond right away. He stared ahead, eyes focused on nothing—and yet, seeing everything. It was as if he were looking through the walls of their own dressing room, peering into the Chinese team's space, imagining the one figure his thoughts couldn't let go of.
Yang Yang.
For months now, he had envisioned this moment—meeting his rival, facing him in a real match, not through highlights or headlines, but in flesh and blood. He had imagined how it would feel, how he would react. The surge of adrenaline, the fire of competition.
But now that it had finally happened—when their eyes met earlier that day—something felt different.
Neither of them reacted the way he had expected. Yang Yang had remained calm, composed. And Messi, for all his intensity, hadn't felt the explosion he thought he would.
"I finally saw him," Messi said quietly.
"How was he?" Marcelo Rufino asked, his voice gentle.
He had also seen Yang Yang from where he was seated near the coaching area, but he asked anyway—intentionally, wanting Messi to verbalize it himself.
Messi opened his eyes and looked ahead, his tone calm but introspective.
"He's taller than me," he said. "And probably stronger. He has this calm… kind look. He smiled at me."
He let out a bitter laugh.
"I used to imagine that he'd be arrogant—cold, maybe even dismissive. But when I finally saw him today… he smiled. Just smiled, like we were old friends. It threw me off. Out of reflex, I just waved back."
Rufino nodded, waiting.
"What did you feel at that moment?" he asked.
Messi paused. Then shook his head. "I don't know."
But after a moment of silence, the words began to come out.
"These past few months, I've been pushing myself like never before. All I could think about was catching up to him. Surpassing him. I stopped making excuses, started training harder—stopped avoiding the gym. I even put on weight. I went from 59 kilos to 64. That's finally in line with what they expect from an 18-year-old."
Rufino nodded with approval. "That's true. I remember when you reported to the national team training camp—everyone noticed the difference. Not just in your physical form, but in your mentality. You looked like a new person. Stronger. More resilient. More tactical. More precise."
He smiled faintly. "A lot of people said it was because you'd been promoted to Barcelona's first team."
Messi gave a short, dry laugh.
"That's only part of it," he admitted. "The real reason I pushed myself… was him."
He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Yang Yang felt like a sword hanging above me. Always just… there. A threat I couldn't shake. Every time I saw his name in the headlines, it felt like the blade dropped a little lower. I was scared—scared that if I didn't work harder, he'd overtake me completely."
He paused, then added in a low voice, "So I worked. I trained. Because I knew—he was training too. I didn't want to match him. I wanted to outwork him. I had to."
Rufino listened in silence. He understood well.
It was natural for young players to compare themselves to each other. Rivalry was a part of growth—especially among talents like Messi. He had always been quiet, but not naïve. Beneath the shyness, his mind was sharp, perceptive, and often more sensitive than anyone gave him credit for.
In an earlier private session, Messi had confessed something deeper: that he feared Barcelona might try to sign Yang Yang. And if that happened, he feared he'd be pushed aside—discarded like others before him, like Fàbregas and Piqué, who had left for more playing time elsewhere.
That possibility haunted him.
"I think you're already good enough," Rufino said softly, but with conviction.
Messi looked up, his eyes steady, but said nothing.
"Then show it," Rufino continued. "If you fear him—beat him. Beat him today. That's the only way to let go of that shadow hanging over you. After that, you won't have to be afraid of anyone."
Messi took a long, deep breath and nodded.
"Leo," Rufino said firmly, "I believe in you. You're the best player in this tournament. You can do anything. And no one can stop you—not even him."
Messi exhaled again, slower this time. His shoulders dropped slightly. The tension in his frame began to loosen.
For the first time all day, he looked relaxed.
...
...
The referee appointed for the FIFA World Youth Championship final was Terje Hauge from Norway. At 40 years old, Hauge was a highly respected and experienced international official. He had previously officiated at the 2002 FIFA World Cup in Korea and Japan and was well-known across Europe for his no-nonsense style.
During this tournament, he had already overseen Argentina's group stage match against the United States, where he issued three yellow cards—two to Argentina, one to the U.S. The Argentine bench had considered his handling of the game to be lenient in their favor. And in football, familiarity with a referee's tendencies can sometimes be a subtle advantage.
But it wasn't Argentina's squad that caught Hauge's attention when the two teams walked out of the tunnel.
It was Yang Yang.
As the players from China and Argentina entered the pitch side-by-side, Terje Hauge immediately stepped forward and offered a friendly nod to Yang Yang—a gesture that didn't go unnoticed.
A year ago, Hauge had officiated the 2004 UEFA Super Cup between Ajax and Valencia. Ajax lost that match, but Yang Yang's tenacity, despite the defeat, had left a lasting impression on him.
In that intense fixture, Hauge had issued six yellow cards, three to each side—his usual standard of strict enforcement. And according to Ajax's own scouting reports, Hauge had a reputation as a referee with zero tolerance for fouls, especially dissent or time-wasting.
Yang Yang had already warned his coach and teammates before the match: "He won't let anything slide. Be smart."
Still, how that would play out depended on how each team managed their discipline on the pitch.
As the players lined up and shook hands, Yang Yang greeted the Norwegian referee with a grin.
"We'll be in the Super Cup again this year," he said jokingly. "Opponents are kind of similar to last time. Would've been fun if you were the ref again—I could get my revenge."
Ajax had won the UEFA Cup, while Liverpool, in one of the most dramatic comebacks in football history, had claimed the Champions League title after overturning a 3–0 deficit to beat AC Milan on penalties in the Miracle of Istanbul.
Yang Yang hadn't watched it live, but he had seen the replay—and it gave him chills.
It wasn't just the comeback. It was the tactical intensity. And it reminded him of Benítez's Valencia side, which had defeated Ajax a year earlier—something that stuck with him.
Hauge chuckled. "Ah, I doubt it. After this tournament, I might take a break. Next season, I'll probably focus more on the Champions League—and I'm also thinking about returning to officiate in Denmark's domestic league. I need to slow things down."
"That's a shame," Yang Yang said, feigning disappointment. "Still, I hope we meet again."
The Norwegian smiled and extended a hand. "Either way, good luck out there."
"Thank you," Yang Yang replied, shaking his hand firmly.
After that, Hauge made his way down the line, offering encouragement to both teams. When he stopped to exchange a few words with Messi, the young Argentine nodded in quiet appreciation.
Yang Yang, standing nearby, took a moment to approach.
He stepped toward Messi, hand extended. "It's great to meet you, Lionel. I hope we have a good match today."
Messi was caught slightly off guard—but only for a moment. He reached out and shook hands.
"Same to you. Let's both give our best."
Yang Yang smiled. "We will."
As he returned to his place in the lineup, Yang Yang gave Messi one final glance.
He could see the hunger in Messi's eyes. But in his own chest, something had started to burn too.
I came here to win the World Youth Championship.
...
...
"Audience friends, this is the National Television Sports Channel."
"We are now broadcasting live from Galgenwaard Stadion in Utrecht, the Netherlands."
"It should be prime time in the evening back home. I believe that at this moment, hundreds of millions of fans across the country are seated in front of their televisions, watching this world-renowned matchup: the final of the FIFA World Youth Championship."
"China versus Argentina!"
"This is the first time in history that a Chinese national team has reached the final of the World Youth Championship, and only the second time an Asian team has ever made it this far. In the history of this tournament, South American teams—especially Brazil and Argentina—have traditionally dominated. Both nations have won four titles each, making them the most successful teams in the competition's history."
"It's worth mentioning that after Brazil won the title in 1993 in Australia, Argentina went on to win it three times—in 1995, 1997, and 2001. Only in 1999, during the tournament hosted by Nigeria, did we see an Asian in the final. It was between Japan and Spain. In that match, Spain defeated Japan 4–0 to claim the championship."
"Because of that, some have drawn comparisons between this Chinese squad and that Japanese team—worried that China may fall at the final hurdle, just as Japan did."
"But in my opinion, those concerns are unnecessary. Reaching the final is already a remarkable achievement and a strong validation of this team's strength. Regardless of the final result, this group deserves full recognition."
"Of course, we sincerely hope these young men can continue their incredible performance and etch their names into history as the dark horse of this World Youth Championship."
The live footage then shifts to the stadium as the two teams prepare to enter the pitch.
Under the supervision of the head referee, players from both sides walked out one after the other.
The national anthems were played: first, China's March of the Volunteers, followed by Argentina's national anthem.
"We can see the Chinese team lining up in their familiar formation. Coach Eckhard Krautzun is sticking with the 4-3-3."
"The front three are: Yang Yang on the left, Gao Lin in the center, and Chen Tao on the right. This trio has been the core attacking setup throughout this tournament."
"In midfield, we welcome back Hao Junmin and Zhou Haibin, both of whom missed the semifinal due to suspension. Cui Peng starts as the holding midfielder, anchoring the center of the pitch."
"The back line is once again led by captain Feng Xiaoting."
"On the other side, the Argentine lineup is as expected—a disciplined 3-5-2 formation. In goal is Ustari, with Paletta, Garay, and Barroso in defense."
"Their midfield includes Zabaleta, Gago, Archubi, Juan Torres, and Formica. Up front, they start with Lionel Messi and Oberman."
"And on the bench, Argentina have several top prospects, including striker Sergio Agüero, midfielder Lucas Biglia, and others. This is a strong and well-balanced Argentine squad."
"This will be an immense challenge for our Chinese youth team."
"And there he is—our very own top star, Yang Yang. He recently led the senior national team through the AFC World Cup qualifiers, helping China book their ticket to the 2006 World Cup. In this tournament, he's also the current top scorer and, without doubt, one of the standout players—if not the standout."
"Today's match is shaping up to be a duel between Yang Yang and Messi, the two brightest stars on the pitch."
"Captains Feng Xiaoting and Zabaleta are at midfield for the coin toss. Unfortunately, Feng lost the toss, so China will start on the side facing the sun. Argentina won the favorable side with their backs to the light."
"That's a slight disadvantage for us, but we believe in these young warriors—they've already overcome so many obstacles to get here."
"The match is about to begin."
"Yang Yang and Gao Lin are standing in the center circle, ready for kickoff."
...
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