The second half kicked off with a bite in the air, the September wind carrying the faint metallic tang of rain and the roar of the Yellow Wall. Thiago wiped his damp palms against his shorts, the fabric rough against his skin. His lungs burned with each breath, but beneath the fatigue, something else burned brighter—determination.
Hamburger SV were disciplined, their defensive line a wall of muscle and tactical precision. Westermann, their towering captain, barked orders like a battlefield commander, his voice cutting through the noise of the stadium. Every Dortmund attack was met with a well-timed tackle, a tactical foul, or a desperate clearance. The frustration was palpable, thickening the air like the gathering clouds overhead.
Klopp paced the technical area like a caged predator, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned the pitch, searching for the smallest crack in Hamburg's armor.
Then, in the 54th minute, the signal came.
"Mario, warm up!"
