The second half began.

Real Madrid was on the back foot, so they needed to increase the intensity of their counterattacks.

Barcelona, on the other hand, started the second half cautiously.

The ball was still at Barcelona's feet.

"Is Barcelona trying to waste time?"

"Attack, you cowards!"

"Keep attacking if you dare, see if our counters don't tear you apart!"

Real Madrid fans were still shouting and taunting.

After winning the treble, their confidence had soared.

Even being behind, so what?

They believed these players could turn the situation around.

Ten minutes passed, and Barcelona remained inactive.

But after ten minutes, Barcelona suddenly began to press.

They continued with the strategy of focusing attacks down Messi's flank.

But Real Madrid's response was more structured than in the first half.

No longer panicky, each player held their position.

The moment Messi received the ball, Khedira charged at him.

"Srna!"

Khedira blocked Messi's turning angle while calling for Srna.

Srna immediately rushed over.

At that moment, Messi suddenly chipped the ball, trying to go through the gap between the two.

Messi lifted the ball over, but as he tried to accelerate, Khedira gave him a sharp tug.

Though brief, it was enough to disrupt Messi's momentum, preventing a clean break.

"Damn it!"

Messi cursed inwardly.

Seizing this chance, Ramos rushed to the ball's landing point and passed it to Alonso.

Alonso received the ball with his back to goal. Facing Barcelona's high press, he passed it straight back.

Barcelona began pressing Real Madrid's defense.

Ramos passed through a gap to Khedira.

Messi just turned his head, and Khedira passed back to Srna.

Srna received the ball and played a straight pass down the wing to Bale.

Bale laid it off first time, then turned and started sprinting.

Taking advantage, Kaka surged forward, slotting a pass between Puyol and Abidal.

Real Madrid's counter was on!

"Bale!! He's off!!!"

Swish, swish, swish, swish!

Bale charged forward fiercely.

All the frustration from the first half poured out. He pushed hard, constantly accelerating.

Abidal gritted his teeth and chased back.

But... he simply couldn't catch up!

Bale reached the ball and crossed immediately with his right foot.

Although left-footed, he could use his right foot decently, though the accuracy wasn't as high.

In the crowd, Benzema met it with a glancing header.

Boom!

The ball bounced off Benzema and Pique's shoulders and flew out for a goal kick.

The referee ran over and signaled a goal kick.

"The ball finally went out off Benzema. Barcelona survived that scare, but Real Madrid is starting to apply pressure!"

"Can Real Madrid turn the game around in the remaining time?"

Guardiola watched the pitch, his brow furrowed.

Something felt wrong.

They were indeed limiting Kaka.

But Real Madrid was still building up play smoothly.

Where was the problem?

Guardiola's eyes scanned the field until they landed on Srna, who was frequently involved in the passing.

At that moment, a term popped into his head.

Playmaking Full-back!

No!

More precisely, an attacking full-back with playmaking duties!

Guardiola grimaced; "This is not good!"

But with a two-goal lead, they still had a significant advantage.

Boom!

Barcelona lost possession again, this time Iniesta over-dribbling.

The ball rolled straight to Srna's feet.

Srna played a diagonal pass to Alonso.

Alonso switched play to the flank. Srna sprinted forward to overlap. A quick one-two between them bypassed Messi, and Srna again played a ball down the wing.

This time, Bale didn't control it. Instead, he checked his run, letting the ball roll past him.

Once both he and Abidal were stationary, Bale accelerated again.

Damn it!

Again?

Abidal turned and sprinted.

But he couldn't catch up.

Bale angled his run toward the penalty area.

Meanwhile, Benzema and Suker had pinned the defense near the penalty spot.

At that moment, Bale played a pass into the center.

"Kaka!!!—"

Gonzalez roared.

Kaka received the ball, took a touch, and drove into the box.

"Oh no!"

Puyol panicked and rushed towards Kaka.

Kaka passed directly to Benzema.

Benzema backed into Pique, held him off, and laid the ball into the space to the side.

Bale, arriving at full speed, reached the ball, adjusted slightly, and placed a neat shot.

Swish!

The ball nestled into the net near the post.

68 minutes, Real Madrid 1:2 Barcelona.

Real Madrid pulled one back!

"Goal!!! Gareth Bale!"

"In his first match for Real Madrid, he scores! But the team's overall performance was more impressive!"

"Real Madrid exploited the right flank, opened them up, and got the goal!"

Real Madrid players celebrated.

Barcelona players frowned, sensing trouble.

Guardiola pursed his lips.

His eyes kept darting to Suker.

He was conflicted. Should he continue marking Suker tightly, or shift defensive focus to the right wing?

As he pondered, the match restarted, and suddenly, something changed.

Suker made a normal run toward the center.

He was mostly doing this to draw attention.

But then, Pique suddenly, inexplicably, charged at Suker.

Pique's run left a gap behind him.

Faced with this sudden space, Kaka didn't hesitate and played the pass.

Suker immediately turned and started his run.

"Oh!! My God!! Suker!! One-on-one!!!"

Suker quickly reached the ball, poked it with his toe as he approached, and simultaneously jumped.

Goalkeeper Valdes dove at his feet, but Suker nimbly leaped over him.

The ball trickled slowly into the net.

70 minutes, Real Madrid scored again.

"God! Just two minutes after the first goal, Real Madrid scores again. Pique's sudden, rash run gifted Suker a perfect chance to run through!"

"Pique probably saw Suker moving into space and was confident he could intercept, but he didn't expect Kaka to pass it immediately. His run left him out of position!"

"Pique's positional error gifted Real Madrid a goal!"

Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!—

The Real Madrid fans in the stadium erupted.

Two quick goals; they hadn't even processed the first one.

Most importantly, they had equalized.

The first goal was one thing.

The second goal was just bizarre.

"Pique! Pique! Are you a Real Madrid player!!!—"

Real Madrid fans were ecstatic and started getting into Pique's head.

After all, this goal felt like a gift.

Even Suker felt it was strange.

Guardiola held his head, gritting his teeth:

"That idiot!"

Conceding two goals so quickly completely threw away their advantage.

Now, tied 2:2, Real Madrid showed no signs of relaxing.

Riding the wave of momentum, they kept pressing.

"Substitution!"

Guardiola couldn't hold back. He made a change.

Sanchez off, Villa on.

Further enhancing their attacking threat.

Real Madrid made a substitution at the same time.

Bale, Marcelo off.

Di María, Arbeloa on.

This was a like-for-like change, indicating the tactics would remain the same.

Guardiola watched Real Madrid's substitution.

"Strengthening the right wing again?"

Guardiola thought for a moment.

"Maxwell, warm up!"

Even with substitutions, he wouldn't relax the marking on the left wing!

Mourinho saw Maxwell warming up.

This indicated Guardiola wouldn't shift defensive focus to the right wing.

He'd rather make a defensive substitution than ease the marking on Suker.

"Ai~~~~"

Mourinho couldn't help but sigh, then lowered his head and chuckled.

Faria looked over, puzzled.

"What is it?"

Mourinho smiled; "Guardiola is losing his mind over Suker!"

"What do you mean?"

Mourinho smiled: "I thought he would shift his defensive focus to the right wing, since that's our main attacking channel now. But he chose to make a change on the right instead of relaxing the marking on Suker."

"Is that a problem?"

"A huge problem!" Mourinho's smile widened. "From now on, we attack down the left!"

Faria; "But their defensive focus is on the left?"

"Yes!" Mourinho nodded calmly; "But can they stop Suker?"

"With the combination of Srna, Alonso, and Kaka, our right-wing attacks are still effective. In fact, Di María is even better at assisting. I was planning to use the right wing to draw attention and open up the left channel, focusing on one flank, because I was sure Guardiola would lock down one side. But he's too wary of Suker—no, too afraid! So afraid he's lost his usual judgment!"

Mourinho's eyes gradually lit up: "We can attack down both wings now! They're finished!"

76 minutes into the match.

Suker charged down the left wing at high speed.

Simultaneously, Di María on the other flank dribbled forward rapidly.

Barcelona's defense was in complete disarray.

Facing the onslaught from Suker, Kaka, Benzema, and Di María, they didn't know who to mark.

At that moment, Di María whipped in a cross.

"Middle! No—"

Puyol watched the ball fly over him, his head turning to follow it.

"Damn it!"

Puyol couldn't help but mutter.

At the back post, Suker leaped into the air. His left leg pulled back, his right leg swung powerfully.

A mid-air scissor kick volley!

Boom!

The ball flew into the net nestling inside the left post.

"Goal!!! Suker!!! Real Madrid turns the game around!!"

"A magnificent volley, Suker!! This is Suker!!!—"

Gonzalez kept roaring.

The entire Santiago Bernabéu erupted.

Everyone was screaming wildly.

At this moment, the Bernabéu was boiling.

Even Mourinho on the sidelines clenched his fists tightly.

"It's over!—"

Beeep!

The whistle blew.

85 minutes played.

Scoreboard: Real Madrid 3:3 Barcelona!

Some players can lead a team to victory through their individual peak.

Maradona was one such example.

In that World Cup, a relatively weak Argentina team won the championship under Maradona's leadership.

And in the 85th minute of this match, a peak Messi scored a goal of similar brilliance.

85 minutes, dribbling past four players, single-handedly tearing apart Real Madrid's defense to score, helping Barcelona equalize again.

This goal silenced the entire stadium.

Mourinho's eyes widened, his fists trembling slightly.

Faced with such individual brilliance, even he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.

The Bernabéu fell quiet.

On camera, Messi made a 'shushing' gesture towards the stands.

Barcelona had equalized.

They celebrated wildly, sharing the joy, cheering for this 'incredible goal'.

Messi was surrounded by his teammates as they returned to their half.

Suker watched this scene, his chest rising and falling steadily.

From his start at NK Zrinjski Mostar, he had fought tooth and nail, desperately seizing opportunities, desperately scoring goals.

What was it all for?

To consistently outperform the two superstars, to win three Ballon d'Ors—what was it for?

If it was just to end up like this, what did all his effort amount to?

He would absolutely not let his efforts be in vain!

A draw?

Screw the draw!

Suker slowly walked back to his half.

He went over to Kaka and Alonso.

"From now on, concentrate on getting the ball to me."

Alonso frowned; "But now—"

He stopped short. He saw the fierce, beast-like glint in Suker's eyes.

Those eyes told him this guy was in an extremely intense state; don't provoke him.

"Understood!"

Kaka said immediately, then nudged Alonso with his elbow.

Alonso also sighed; "I get it!"

Suker returned to the center circle, stepped on the ball, and looked towards Barcelona's half.

Less than ten minutes remained!

Not much time left for him to score.

But. It's enough!

He would channel everything he had gained over the years!

He would use every tool at his disposal.

Neither peak Messi nor peak Ronaldo would stop him.

"I will use everything I have to suppress, to deny..."

Suker's gaze turned fierce.

"Your so-called peak!"

On the pitch, Real Madrid prepared to kick off.

The Bernabéu was somewhat quiet, the fans still stunned by Messi's last-minute dribbling display and goal.

Real Madrid's proud defense had been torn apart by one man.

Faced with that goal, their hearts were filled with dismay.

Less than ten minutes left, massive physical exertion, could they really score again?"

And could they still stop Messi?

Beeep!

The whistle blew.

Suker immediately took the kick.

After kicking off, Suker didn't charge forward directly. Instead, he moved laterally, staying near the center circle.

After a few passes, the ball arrived at Suker's feet.

As soon as Suker received it, Fàbregas immediately closed him down.

Suker feinted turning left, successfully drawing Fàbregas's weight, then immediately twisted his body and turned the other way.

"Oh no!"

Fàbregas tried to adjust, but Suker pushed the ball forward strongly.

The ball was knocked deep into Barcelona's territory.

Instantly, Xavi and Busquets rushed towards the ball from both sides.

"Suker knocks the ball forward, this ball oh~~ my God!! Suker is so fast!!"

From a bird's eye view, compared to Suker's speed, Xavi and Busquets seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Suker raced towards the ball.

Xavi and Busquets saw this and pushed harder.

But just as they neared the ball, Suker got a toe to it first, accelerated again, and swished past them.

"Suker!! He's through!! He's charging towards the penalty area!!"

Puyol moved closer to Benzema, cutting off the passing lane to Suker.

But Suker had no intention of passing.

Puyol's eyes widened, and he yelled in panic:

"Pique! Close him down!"

Pique was about to move, but Suker was already shaping to shoot.

Boom!

Suker hammered the ball towards goal.

Ding!

The crossbar shuddered.

The ball hit the bar, bounced up, and looped in a parabola towards the penalty spot.

"First ball!! Attack the first bounce!"

Puyol shouted, then held off Benzema fiercely.

Benzema struggled violently, but to no avail.

At that moment, a figure soared through the air.

Under the glaring stadium lights, the white jersey fluttered in the wind.

The large number 9 on the back identified the player.

"Suker!!!!!!!!!!—"

Suker soared through the air like an eagle.

His eyes were fierce, locked on the ball.

A draw?

You must be joking!

He didn't accept a draw!

All the effort over the years!

All the struggle!

He fought desperately to climb to the top!

It wasn't to share the view with others.

Suppress!

Suppress!

Suppress them from start to finish!

Whether you're at your peak or whatever.

Suppress you!

Deny you!

In the distance, Messi, watching Suker's back, his eyes filled with dread, his body trembling slightly.

This guy... how can he still score?

Suker's body arched like a bowstring. His powerful core engaged, pulled sharply!

His forehead met the ball with tremendous force!

The ball rocketed into the net like a cannonball.

'Stay down!'

'Don't you dare get back up!'

Thud!

Suker landed!

He ran towards the corner flag. Facing the cameras, Suker, for the first time, made the stroking-the-beard gesture.

The Goat!

G.O.A.T!

Greatest of all time!

Swish!!

Suker spread his arms!

Come on!

Worship!!—

Booooooooooooooooooooooooom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!—

The Santiago Bernabéu erupted like a volcano.

Commentator Gonzalez jumped from his seat, roaring激动ly:

"Gooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!!!!!"

"A true last-minute winner!!"

"Just three minutes after Messi's goal, Suker responded with a brilliant run and goal!!"

"Suker made the 'GOAT' celebration after scoring!"

"Yes! He is the G.O.A.T!"

"The indomitable Suker!"

"When everyone thought Messi's goal was the winner, Suker once again responded with a powerful goal!"

"Real Madrid 4:3 Barcelona!"

"What an insane match this has been!!"