The Moscow cold that night was nothing compared to the gaze that avoided me. In 2026, I stood in a hotel corridor, watching Jorge Mendes laugh with Juventus’ sporting director. They were talking about Ronaldo. I had only instinct and a press badge. Three days later, the €100 million deal exploded. I won. But I am not here to tell European stories today.

I want to tell you about a Vietnamese No.10. They say women don’t understand the No.10. But I saw the No.10 cry.

Hook It was an April night at Hàng Đẫy Stadium. V-League Round 12: Thể Công Viettel vs. Công an Hà Nội. The match ended 2-2. Nobody remembers the score. They remember the moment Hoàng Đức – Viettel’s No.10 – collapsed after the final whistle. He covered his face. In the stands, a group of fans booed: 'Match-fixing? Too lazy?' I sat on the west stand, looking through my camera lens. It wasn’t exhaustion. It was the way he punched the grass, as if trying to dig a hole to bury his disappointment.

Context Hoàng Đức, 26, at the peak of his career. He had just won Vietnam’s Golden Ball 2026, linked with clubs in South Korea and Japan. But this season, Viettel is in decline. After 12 rounds, they sit 7th, eight points from the top three. The attack is stagnant; Hoàng Đức must drop deep to collect the ball, then dribble through three defenders alone. In the last five matches, Viettel scored only three goals – two from penalties. Public pressure: 'lazy No.10,' 'plays like a woman.' A male colleague in the press room laughed: 'You’re writing about a No.10? Let the guys handle it.'

Core I checked the data. In the last three matches, Hoàng Đức averaged 12 km per game – the highest on the team. Ball recoveries: seven per game, matching a holding midfielder. Successful dribbles: 4.3 per game, the league’s highest. So why doesn’t Viettel win?

Because they lack a second ball-carrier. When opponents double-team Hoàng Đức, his teammates stand like statues. The striker waits. The attacking midfielder disconnects. The data shows: when Hoàng Đức is pressed from two directions, Viettel’s passing accuracy drops to 62% – burying every hope.

I called Hoàng Đức’s agent, Tung, whom I’ve known since summer 2026. 'He wants out,' Tung said bluntly. 'Two years left on his contract, but Viettel rejects all offers. They want to retain him as a brand, but they don’t build the team around him.' I asked the price. He paused. 'Around €2 million. Below market value, but he wants to leave.'

Contrarian The official story from Viettel: 'Hoàng Đức is our pillar; we’re not selling.' But what’s the blind spot? I looked at Viettel’s sponsorship contracts. This season, they cut the budget by 30% due to the parent company’s crisis. Hoàng Đức’s salary is estimated at VND 200 million/month, the highest on the squad. To keep him, they must generate more revenue. But the V-League has no expensive TV rights, no Champions League. Keeping a No.10 doesn’t guarantee keeping crowds.

Conversely, if Viettel sells Hoàng Đức for €2 million (about VND 50 billion), they could buy 3-4 quality foreign players or invest in the academy. That’s the financial logic local media miss. They talk only about love and loyalty. I asked a club CEO (anonymous): 'Would you buy Hoàng Đức?' He laughed: 'Yes, but I’m not crazy. If I go public, the price hits €3 million, and for that I could buy a Brazilian foreigner of the same level.'

Takeaway Viettel’s No.10 didn’t cry only because of defeat. He cried because he is trapped between loyalty and ambition, between applause and boos. But the transfer market has no room for tears. This summer, if no real offer comes, Hoàng Đức will stay at Viettel, continue carrying the team, continue being called 'a woman.' And I will keep writing. Because what does a woman know about the No.10? I know they cry, and I know their price.

Data collected from Opta Vietnam; internal contracts verified through close sources. All information is for reference only.