Mbappé's statesman like speech on his 100th appearance night and the long thunderstorm night

A thunderstorm in Philadelphia halted the match for two hours.

When the players finally set foot back on the pitch, France had secured a 3-0 victory over Iraq. Mbappé scored twice. In the mixed zone after the game, he wiped off his sweat and dropped a line: "A very long night."

At 27, with 100 caps for the national team and a brace to his name, five years ago this script would have called for champagne and celebration. But on a night drained of energy by the thunderstorm, his face showed only the fatigue of clocking out.

Two hours earlier, in the Philadelphia Eagles' locker room, he had already exhausted his energy on another meat grinder.

The pre-match press conference lasted a full 17 minutes.

In front of the microphone, Mbappé switched fluently between French, Spanish, and English. Every word was precise and watertight. The French media immediately slapped a label on him: "A polished politician."

This was no pre-game rally; it was pure diplomatic rhetoric.

Reporters shoved Messi's name in his face. "I don't focus on Messi," he replied swiftly.

Then he added, almost as an afterthought: "I know he'll score."

He said he wasn't watching, but his eyes were glued to the opponent's scoreboard. This self-contradictory official-speak translates to one thing: I refuse to leave media any ammunition, but I know damn well what that Argentine has done.

17 minutes, three languages, not a single stumble. The more precisely he chose his words, the tighter the string inside him was wound. He knows exactly what the media wants to hear—talk of a crown prince forcing a coup, an aging king abdicating, or sour grapes in the Golden Boot race.

Mbappé wasn't about to give them that. Every prickly question was deflected with the Tai Chi mantra: "Team goals outweigh personal milestones."

But the numbers on the scoring chart don't practice Tai Chi.

Messi now has five goals—a hat trick against Algeria, a brace against Austria. Every time the ball hit the net, it was another twist of the screw for Mbappé.

This brace against Iraq brought his World Cup total to 14 goals, tying Gerd Müller for third on the all-time scoring list. The Golden Boot battle wasn't just talk. One was tearing it up in the MLS; the other was grinding like a workhorse at Real Madrid, carrying the team.

He says the team comes before the individual. In the survival code of the locker room, that's the safest disclaimer. If he wins, it's team glory. If he loses, or Messi takes the Golden Boot, it's "I don't care about personal stats."

At 27, in the prime of his career, who doesn't have their eye on the Golden Boot? But after living through the backstage drama of PSG's later years, he learned one thing early: chasing the Golden Boot under the spotlight is a no-win game. Win, and it's expected; lose, and you're a selfish cancer.

Better to pull the fire yourself than get roasted over the coals.

What taught him to pull that fire was the injury layoff he suffered at Real Madrid.

The layoff disrupted his rhythm at the Bernabéu. Florentino's harsh words—"No one is irreplaceable"—came crashing down around that time.

From the injury to the gastroenteritis that landed him in the hospital during the Club World Cup, much of this past year has been a demolition and reconstruction of Mbappé's body and mind.

In an exclusive interview with CanalPlus, he opened up, admitting that the World Cup final brought him and Messi closer, while denying he had ever experienced depression.

No depression, because fear had long been transformed into calculation.

At 27, he doesn't need to prove himself with a rookie move like chasing the Golden Boot anymore. What he's eyeing now is the kind of hard currency that can shut Florentino up.

The thunderstorm passed, the match was won.

He put the "politician" mask back on and walked into the Philadelphia night. The Golden Boot? That depends on how many Messi scores tomorrow.