Excitement!
Pure, unfiltered excitement!
That single shout sent the entire Stamford Bridge into a frenzy.
Chelsea's morale shot through the roof.
Their momentum bar instantly maxed out!
And this was where Capello deserved some criticism.
He barely reacted at all, as if Mourinho's outburst were completely acceptable.
If Simon had been there, no discussion needed—he would've charged straight at Mourinho.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
At that critical moment, the infamous undercover agent Modrić sprang up from the bench and stormed toward Mourinho.
"Try yelling one more time!"
"You say Robben and Duff are fast—then where are they now?"
"Don't lump every random nobody together with my Captain Su! Are you even worthy of the comparison?"
"Pah! Pah pah pah!"
Modrić barked furiously at Mourinho, yet carefully kept a distance of two to three meters, as if someone behind him were holding him back.
While shouting, Modrić also waved Higuaín over for backup.
The message was clear: sure, we're technically part of the anti–Su Hang alliance.
But right now, the Su faction is too strong—we have to pretend we're infiltrating the enemy.
Higuaín's wavering faith instantly solidified.
See? I told you—my Modrić is absolutely not two-faced!
That's Modrić for you—clever as hell. Otherwise, how would he be the one playing midfield?
Spurred on by Modrić, the Real Madrid bench surged toward Mourinho.
Chelsea's bench reacted just as quickly.
On the pitch, players from both sides converged in an instant.
Ramos even sprinted diagonally across the field from miles away, clearly hoping for a full-on brawl.
In the end, the referee showed red cards to both Modrić and Mourinho!
Mourinho was sent off for first influencing and provoking players on the pitch, interfering with the match, and then physically striking Modrić.
Modrić was sent off for spitting at Mourinho first, a clear violation of sporting conduct.
Yet the reactions on both sides couldn't have been more different.
Modrić swaggered down the tunnel, hailed as a hero by his teammates.
After all, he wasn't going to get on the pitch anyway—might as well head back early and play PES.
Chelsea, on the other hand, were in serious trouble.
Mourinho was banished to the stands and would also be unable to lead the team in the second leg.
All of his in-the-moment instructions were rendered useless.
And Chelsea's style of play depended heavily on the head coach constantly reinforcing signals, branding the team with that iron-blooded identity.
Without Mourinho roaring on the touchline, it just wouldn't feel right.
Modrić's extreme one-for-one trade was an all-time off-field masterstroke.
Trading a "useless" player for the opponent's leader—absolute victory!
Modrić: ???
Modrić: I know I'll become a leader one day, but I'm not one yet.
...
As the controversy subsided, the camera cut to Chelsea owner Abramovich.
The tycoon looked calm. He had a naturally friendly face—gentle, approachable, the kind that made him seem harmless.
But in reality, he wasn't just rich—his reach was wild.
In 2023, the kidnapping of Liverpool star Luis Díaz's father shocked the world.
That incident led Chelsea legend Mikel—who had endured something similar—to share his own story. Yes, the same Mikel known in this match as the "French Zidane."
During the 2018 World Cup, while representing his national team, Mikel's father was kidnapped yet again, leaving him devastated.
He insisted on finishing the match and revealed the situation afterward.
His former boss, Abramovich, immediately said he could step in—and that the problem would definitely be solved.
That implied Abramovich either controlled a private armed force or had close ties to one.
Play soon resumed.
Bravo prepared to take the throw-in.
Su Hang pinned Essien, actively calling for the ball, clearly looking to go head-to-head with Chelsea.
It seemed like payback for Essien's earlier defense.
Bravo threw it to Su Hang.
Essien suddenly pulled the chair.
But Su Hang had anticipated it—he stepped half a pace back and smoothly flicked the ball back to Zidane nearby.
As Essien moved to close down Zidane, Su Hang immediately surged forward.
Essien hesitated for just a split second—and that was enough. He lost the chance to grab Su Hang and could only trail behind, trying to block Zidane's passing lane.
Ballack also rushed in, pressing Zidane.
Zizou suddenly spun into a Marseille turn, gliding past them with elegance, then took two lateral touches before lofting a perfectly weighted through ball.
Su Hang had drifted into an offside position during his initial run and was ignored by Chelsea's back line.
But he immediately dropped back, timed his sprint along the offside line, and caught Chelsea completely off guard.
Zidane's earlier dribbling synced perfectly with Su Hang's rhythm.
That chipped pass was meant for him all along.
Su Hang leapt inside the box and hooked the ball down—another logo-style first touch.
Terry rushed over to cover, but Su Hang shifted right and sent him the wrong way.
Bang!
A tight-angle shot from the left side of the six-yard box!
On paper, it wasn't a difficult save.
But the shot was sudden, smooth, and from point-blank range.
Čech didn't have enough time to drop.
With his height and long legs, the gap between them was exposed.
Swish!
A nutmeg.
The ball rolled straight into Chelsea's net.
"GOAL!"
"That's Su Hang's response!"
"Two–one! Su Hang scores again to put Real Madrid back in front!"
"While Modrić used spit, Su Hang uses goals to punish Mourinho and Chelsea!"
"And it's a nutmeg finish—powerful yet delicate, pure class!"
"Zidane and Su Hang connect as Real Madrid conquer London!"
"They say Robben and Duff were fast—but where are they now?"
"London finally has its king of football—and it's Zidane and Su Hang!"
"How can Chelsea turn this around?"
"Let's wait and see!"
On screen, Su Hang leapt high, spun 180 degrees in midair—descending like a god.
His celebration echoed across Greater London:
"Siuuuuuu!"
On Chelsea's side, emotions varied.
Čech felt a stab of regret. He should've closed his legs, bent his knees, and turned sideways toward Su Hang.
That way, his body would've completely sealed the shooting angle—no gaps at all.
In the stands, Robben watched with keen interest, focused on Su Hang's movement.
Su Hang alone was doing the work of both Drogba and Shevchenko.
More instinctive than Drogba, with far superior vision.
If Su Hang were feeding him as support, Robben felt scoring every match wouldn't be a problem.
If Real Madrid fans heard that, they'd probably tell Robben:
"Our Su Hang's average goals per match broke one ages ago.
He might've even passed one-point-five already.
Why don't you consider playing support for Su Hang?"