The rain had returned. It was a fine, misty drizzle that turned the Wembley floodlights into glowing halos.
The clock on the giant screen read 82:00.
Manchester City 1 - 1 Manchester United.
The game had turned into a swamp fight. The beautiful passing lanes were gone. The tactical structures had dissolved into pure, desperate fatigue.
Rio Lance wiped the mixture of sweat and rain from his eyes. His £75 million legs felt heavy. Not the good kind of heavy, like after a gym session, but the bad kind—like he was running through wet concrete.
"Wake up!" Pep Guardiola screamed from the touchline, kicking a water bottle into the fourth official's zone. "Structure! Discipline!"
But on the pitch, discipline was dying.
Casemiro, the United midfielder, was running the show. He was a tank. Every time Rio tried to drift inside, the Brazilian was there, putting a shoulder into his chest or a stud on his boot.
THUD.
Rio hit the turf again. Hard.
