"Ronaldinho receives the ball wide on the left… and cuts inside!"
"Ajax players step forward to close him down..."
"The Brazilian maestro is gliding through… he shifts the ball centrally and spots an opening—passes right into the arc of the box!"
"Messi's unmarked—he takes the shot!"
"Curving…"
Gasps rippled through the Amsterdam Arena as the ball arced through the night sky. It had the right spin, the right shape — but not the right dip. The shot grazed over the crossbar by inches.
Messi, frustrated, let out a muted growl and buried his face in his hands, fingers tangled in his long hair. He lingered there for a moment, unable to accept it. It wasn't just a missed chance — it was a reminder.
It had been nearly six weeks since he last played a competitive match. His body was back, but the rhythm… the rhythm wasn't. The ball didn't obey him the way it used to.
Before the injury, that shot would have been buried in the top corner — he had no doubt about it.
Ronaldinho jogged over immediately, calm as ever. He reached out and tousled Messi's hair, giving him a reassuring pat on the back.
"Don't worry about it," the Brazilian said, smiling. "Keep making those runs. I'll get it to you again."
His voice carried warmth, but beneath it, there was firm belief. He didn't doubt Messi for a second. Not his technique, not his hunger — and certainly not his timing. The next one would go in.
To Ronaldinho, it was clear: Messi was pressing too hard.
Ever since Yang Yang had risen into global stardom — smashing records and dominating headlines — Messi had changed. He wanted to prove something, not just to the world, but to himself. The pressure was written all over him.
And Ronaldinho didn't like what he saw.
This kind of pressure could break a young player.
...
...
"That's f—ing too much."
As Barcelona jogged back into position following the missed chance, Vermaelen muttered under his breath, barely able to contain his frustration.
Yang Yang glanced over, still catching his breath after chasing the last sequence. "What happened?"
"You didn't hear what Ronaldinho just told Messi?" Vermaelen replied, his tone simmering.
Yang Yang shook his head. He had been too far away to catch the exchange.
"He told Messi to keep positioning himself well — that he'd keep feeding him the ball. He's trying to set him up to score, again and again."
Vermaelen's voice was low but intense. "So what are we now? Training cones? Spectators?"
Yang Yang's face tightened immediately.
There's a difference between being outclassed and being dismissed.
He respected Ronaldinho — everyone did. The Brazilian's brilliance was undeniable, his flair, his vision, his aura. But this?
This crossed a line.
It was one thing to pull the strings, but to turn a Champions League semi-final into a personal mission to help Messi score? That was insulting.
Vermaelen was right. It wasn't about tactics anymore — it was personal. In Ronaldinho's eyes, Ajax were just the backdrop to a Messi highlight reel.
And had it not been for Vermaelen, Maxwell, and Maicon, who all understood enough Portuguese to pick up the exchange, they might've never known what was being said.
But now that they did — now that it was out in the open — it changed everything.
Yang Yang's expression darkened.
"He wants to help Messi score? In our house?" He shook his head, biting down on his gum shield. "Let's ruin that dream."
This kind of thing wasn't uncommon in football. Just last season, Feyenoord bent over backwards trying to get Kuyt the Golden Boot. Even Ajax had done the same for Yang Yang throughout this year.
But whenever it became obvious — when the opponent realized they weren't just playing a team, but a campaign — the response was always the same.
They dug in harder. Fouled more. Fought for every blade of grass.
That's what happened when they faced Waalwijk just days ago. The underdogs had played with an edge, throwing themselves into every duel like their lives depended on it.
And now?
Now Ajax would do the same.
If Ronaldinho wanted to choreograph Messi's redemption arc, he'd have to do it against resistance.
"We can lose," Yang Yang said, jaw clenched. "But we're not letting them waltz in and get what they want."
"To hell with their plan," Vermaelen hissed.
"Let's make them earn every touch," Maicon added.
Yang Yang looked each of his teammates in the eye, saw the fire returning, saw tired legs straighten and shoulders rise.
"Let's go ruin their script."
"Damn right!" came the chorus.
...
...
After play resumed, something in the air shifted.
Barcelona continued to control possession and pin Ajax deep, but something had clearly changed in the Dutch side's demeanor. Every Ajax player now defended with clenched jaws and furrowed brows — as if personally offended by something invisible to the crowd. Their eyes burned with a collective intensity, as if someone had crossed a line.
And in truth, someone had.
Ronaldinho's repeated attempts to set up Messi had lit a fire inside the Ajax players — not just tactical awareness, but pride.
Barcelona still dominated the ball, that much hadn't changed. Ajax remained forced deep, often with all eleven men behind the ball. But now, every tackle had an edge. Every clearance had venom. Every challenge was personal.
The match became a trench war just outside Ajax's penalty area. Barcelona passed and probed, looking for angles, trying to break the lines. Ajax, exhausted but unbroken, denied them at every turn.
Several more times, Ronaldinho tried to feed Messi — but nothing came of it. The timing was off, the space was denied, the passes were cut.
Then came the 90th minute.
Ronaldinho picked up the ball centrally, near the halfway line. He took a brief glance, then slid a sharp diagonal ball through the inside-left channel. The pass split two Ajax midfielders and spun into the path of a sprinting Messi, who darted into the box from the blind side.
It was the perfect setup.
Messi chased the ball down, accelerating with urgency. He was just a touch away from bringing it under control.
But out of nowhere, Vermaelen exploded into the frame. The Belgian center-back sprinted across the turf and launched into a perfectly timed slide tackle, meeting the ball cleanly and blasting it out for a corner just before Messi could reach it.
The crowd erupted in applause.
It was a goal-saving challenge — the kind that defenders dream about.
As stoppage time approached, the fourth official raised the board. Three additional minutes.
Barcelona regrouped quickly. Ronaldinho trotted over to take the corner. But instead of sending it into the box, he spotted Messi unmarked just outside the penalty arc. Without hesitation, he played it short — a clever, disguised pass toward Messi, setting him up for a potential match-winning strike.
The idea was clear: chest control, shift inside, unleash a trademark left-footed curler. Messi was already visualizing it.
But what Ronaldinho hadn't accounted for was the man already watching from deep.
Yang Yang.
He had been tracking Messi since the set-piece began, staying near the edge of the area, anticipating something different.
As soon as Ronaldinho played the short pass, Yang Yang launched forward like a bullet.
Messi's eyes were on the ball, chest poised to bring it down. He planned to shift centrally and let fly.
But just as the ball left his chest, a blur of red and white appeared in front of him.
Yang Yang.
He had read the play perfectly. His acceleration was instant, his positioning flawless. He didn't hesitate — he got between Messi and the ball and swept it away cleanly.
Messi stumbled, briefly losing his balance. By the time he regained it, Yang Yang had already turned upfield, the ball at his feet, shifting into his stride.
"Ajax have won it back!"
"It's Yang Yang — he's stolen it off Messi and he's flying forward!"
Messi gave chase, but Yang Yang's dribbling was fluid and explosive. Every stride covered ground with effortless speed. The ball clung to his foot as he burst past the halfway line.
Puyol, the last line, began to backpedal cautiously, aware of the danger. He couldn't dive in too early — not against someone like Yang Yang.
Yang didn't slow down. He read Puyol's body shape, gave a feint with his right foot to suggest a cut inside. Puyol bit for a split second. That was all Yang Yang needed. He immediately shifted the ball to his left foot and exploded wide, bypassing the Barcelona captain completely.
It wasn't flashy. No tricks. Just raw, surgical movement.
Puyol couldn't recover.
Only Messi remained in pursuit — sprinting desperately, teeth clenched, arms pumping. But no matter how hard he pushed, Yang Yang was faster. Always a step ahead.
The Ajax captain entered the final third, now bearing down on goal. Víctor Valdés charged out to narrow the angle, but Yang Yang remained composed. With the calmness of a surgeon, he opened up his body and slotted the ball low to the right.
It slid cleanly past Valdés and into the far corner of the net.
The stadium erupted.
The Amsterdam Arena shook with deafening noise. Fans roared, scarves were thrown, flares flickered in the upper tiers. Yang Yang didn't stop. He sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched, pure adrenaline powering him.
His teammates mobbed him near the sideline. Not even fatigue could stop them now.
Back near midfield, Messi stood still, panting, watching the celebration unfold from a distance.
He had given everything in the chase.
And yet, he couldn't catch him.
He couldn't stop him.
And now, the crowd was chanting the name over and over — louder than ever before.
"Yang Yang! Yang Yang! Yang Yang!"
The boy who had been dismissed, doubted, overlooked — was now the man who had just outrun Barcelona and changed the course of the Champions League.
Again.
...
"1–1!"
"Yang Yang equalizes for Ajax in the 90th minute!"
The commentator's voice cracked with emotion as the Amsterdam Arena erupted into pandemonium. Red and white banners flew across the stands, and the fans who had held their breath for so long now screamed with uncontainable joy.
"What a priceless goal — and what a moment to deliver it!"
"Eighty meters. He ran over eighty meters with the ball at his feet, dribbling from one end of the pitch to the other, shaking off Messi, beating Puyol, and sliding it past Valdés like time had stopped!"
"He dragged Ajax back from the brink!"
"1–1! With this, both teams return to square one!"
There was disbelief in the voices of pundits and fans alike. After an exhausting match, with Ajax pressed back for long stretches, Yang Yang had found a way — again.
"He looks like a general on this pitch — a warrior who refuses to fall, who refuses to concede even when the odds are impossible!"
"He is just nineteen years old. Nineteen!" the co-commentator emphasized, as replays showed Yang Yang breaking past Barcelona's last line. "And with those seemingly slender shoulders, he has carried Ajax all the way to the Champions League semi-finals — and still dares to defy one of the greatest sides in modern football."
Inside the stadium, the chants were deafening.
"YANG YANG! YANG YANG! YANG YANG!"
It echoed from every stand, every seat, every heartbeat in the Arena.
The cameras panned across the touchline, where Ronald Koeman could be seen punching the air, his face a picture of controlled ecstasy. On the opposite bench, Frank Rijkaard stood frozen, arms folded, lips pressed together, perhaps knowing that the return leg at Camp Nou had just become far more dangerous than it should have been.
"The suspense now moves to the second leg in Barcelona," the commentator said, his voice steadying. "But there's a catch — and it's a painful one for Ajax."
"Yang Yang will miss that match due to yellow card accumulation."
The joy on the pitch clashed with the quiet devastation among Ajax's staff and bench. Yang Yang, despite the goal, looked up at the scoreboard with clenched fists. He had saved the match — but would now have to watch the return leg from the stands.
"This is a major blow for Ajax," the analyst added. "Without their captain, their talisman, their miracle-maker — the task at Camp Nou becomes monumental."
"But no matter what happens next, we must applaud this young man."
"With that goal, Yang Yang now sits on 13 goals in this season's UEFA Champions League — and that secures him the Golden Boot as the top scorer of the competition."
"He breaks the record for the most goals scored in a single Champions League campaign, surpassing the 12-goal mark previously set by Ruud van Nistelrooy."
The numbers told a story. But the emotion — the way he had scored, the timing, the meaning — would live on far longer than the statistics.
"This is a dream season — the kind only football can write."