"Oh! This penalty could be big trouble for Real Madrid."
"Figo and Zidane are already off. If Rivaldo scores, Real will have a hard time catching up."
Ten seconds later.
The Olympiacos players once again rushed to embrace Rivaldo.
The blade was unsheathed!
Penalty converted!
A brace!
Just like during his Barcelona days, the Bernabéu net was no stranger to him!
On the sidelines, Luxemburgo's face turned grim.
This was exactly why he disliked Zidane and Figo.
Were they strong?
Of course.
But Figo's stamina barely lasted sixty, seventy minutes at best.
Zidane's style allowed him to stay on longer, and even if he could shine through an entire match, once the second half of the season hit—with its packed schedule of two or even three matches a week—Zidane simply couldn't hold up.
Yet both of them were Real Madrid's creative core.
The attacks, tactics, and final passes mostly came from them.
Without them on the pitch, Real Madrid turned into a scattered mess, with none of the presence of a true powerhouse.
In those moments, goals relied solely on the individual brilliance of superstars like Ronaldo, Beckham, Roberto Carlos, and Raúl... well, maybe Su Hang too.
Honestly, players like Guti weren't decisive enough to decide games.
So between "sixty minutes at full power" and "ninety minutes at eighty-five percent," Luxemburgo chose the latter.
Most top managers would do the same.
Because that eighty-five percent, under their training, could slowly improve to ninety—or even ninety-five!
That's why Luxemburgo wanted to gradually marginalize Zidane and Figo.
After conceding, Luxemburgo could only try to salvage the match in his own way.
He brought off Raúl for Baptista.
He had noticed Olympiacos' defenders struggled against physical players.
They were already having a hard time containing Su Hang.
So what if he added another beast to the attack?
In the 85th minute, Guti's through pass was cut out. In his attempt to recover, he slid into the opponent, earning a yellow card.
In the 89th minute, Baptista's long-range effort forced a corner.
The match was nearing its end.
Beckham glanced into the box, then delivered the corner.
Targeting Baptista!
The Beast rose and made contact with the ball.
But without a direct scoring chance, he opted for a flicked header.
Several meters behind him, Su Hang—without seeing the ball—leapt high as well.
The ball glanced off Baptista's head and landed right onto Su Hang's.
That's the awareness of a true header.
A great aerial player doesn't wait to see the ball before jumping.
You jump when it's time.
Otherwise, if the man in front of you jumps and blocks your vision, you're lost.
You ignore the players ahead, imagine when the ball will arrive, and time your leap.
That's exactly what Su Hang did.
Otherwise, the ball would have flown past him before he even jumped.
Baptista's flick had sped it up.
Whoosh!
The ball crashed into Su Hang's forehead, redirecting toward the goal, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
"GOAL!"
"The winner! That's the winner!"
"A golden header!"
"Beckham! Baptista! Su Hang! Together, they've rescued Real Madrid!"
"Three-two! Real Madrid take the lead for the third time tonight!"
"Given the time left, this should be the final score!"
"Magnificent!"
"Right now, there are only four active players in world football who have won both the FIFA World Player of the Year and the Ballon d'Or. Aside from the injured Ronaldo, the other three all started tonight—and all scored!"
"But the one who decided the game... was Real Madrid's nineteen-year-old captain, Su Hang!"
"Could this be fate? A foreshadowing?"
"Is this telling us that one day, Real Madrid will have another superstar capable of winning both the FIFA World Player of the Year and the Ballon d'Or?"
"If so, tell me his name..."
Inside the stadium, 80,000 Madridistas roared in unison:
"Siu!"
"Siu!"
"Siu!"
The Bernabéu exploded with joy.
...
The 92nd minute.
Everyone thought the match was over.
But Sergio Ramos, who had been toyed with by Rivaldo all night, suddenly pulled off a brilliant sliding tackle.
Rivaldo had run out of gas, while Ramos was still young.
It wasn't so much Ramos tackling Rivaldo, as it was time itself tackling Rivaldo.
Helguera picked up the ball and passed to Guti.
Guti spotted Su Hang sprinting ahead and slid a through ball.
Though Baptista had played as a striker tonight, his positioning naturally drifted toward a shadow forward, even an attacking midfielder.
Old habits pulled him back into his usual zone.
So Su Hang was left alone up front.
With his back to goal, Su Hang received the ball, bumped off a defender, then turned and drove forward.
With no teammates nearby, he had to go solo!
"Su Hang! He's charging at Olympiacos' center back!"
"Is he going to try and take him on?"
"Su Hang's dribbling..."
"What?!"
The entire stadium froze.
Everyone was stunned.
Even Zidane, Figo, Raúl, and the others on the bench leapt to their feet and rushed to the sideline.
They couldn't believe their eyes.
On the pitch, Su Hang surged toward the center back, who braced himself.
As they closed in, Su Hang's legs began flashing over the ball—without touching it.
Stepovers!
Su Hang was pulling off stepovers!
He had never been known for ball control.
His shooting was solid.
His heading strong.
His physical duels excellent.
His passing... barely serviceable.
Ball control: average at best.
Dribbling? Practically nonexistent.
Aside from kicking the ball far ahead on counters and chasing it, Su Hang almost never dribbled.
Yet here he was, throwing out stepovers.
Was it because he envied Robinho?
"He won't trip, will he?"
"If he steps on the ball, it'll be a disaster!"
Real Madrid fans could barely watch.
If he botched this, Su Hang would become a global laughingstock.
Once... twice... three times!
Four, five, six!
As the gap closed, Su Hang's chain of stepovers didn't stop.
His legs blurred around the ball with surprising fluency.
Meanwhile, the Olympiacos defender's footwork was already breaking down.
Finally, Su Hang nudged the ball.
Left?
The defender stuck his leg out to intercept.
But—
No! Right!
Su Hang's seventh stepover still didn't touch the ball, but it completely shifted the defender's weight.
On the eighth, he finally flicked the ball, cutting past effortlessly.