Chapter Three: Seven Minutes, Seventy Million

In the eighty-eighth, Lin received wide. The defender planted his right foot. Lin checked back, turned, and accelerated. Over thirty meters, his dribbling transformed laughter into a roar. His cutback was converted. Two-one. Four minutes of stoppage time. In the ninety-second, Harbor cleared a corner. Lin began running outside his own box, an entire field of wet grass before him. He crossed halfway with two defenders closing. The future fragment aligned with reality in Lu's mind: 92:14, cut inside, far corner. “Don't shoot!” Lu shouted. In the vision, the left-back's tackle had been half a second late. In reality, he went early. If Lin followed the prediction, his left ankle would meet a row of studs.