The referee then showed yellow cards to Eto'o, Casillas, and Puyol.
Puyol had been the provocateur.
Casillas struck first.
Eto'o retaliated.
Su Hang also stepped in.
The referee's judgment was fair.
But the situation put Barcelona at a slight disadvantage.
Because of the four players booked, Puyol's yellow card was the most damaging.
For a center-back, a booking creates far more complications than it does for a goalkeeper or striker.
Barcelona made their next substitution.
Edmílson came off, replaced by Thiago Motta—recently back from injury and regarded as the team's heir to the midfield.
The Camp Nou erupted in cheers.
Though Motta was also a defensive midfielder, his passing, dribbling, and long-range shooting were far superior to most in that role.
His presence ensured Barça kept their defensive structure while adding another dimension in attack.
In other words, Barcelona weren't going to ease off.
They wanted to humiliate Real Madrid with a resounding scoreline!
And at 1.88 meters tall, Motta also boosted their aerial defense.
He was a midfield cornerstone that manager Rijkaard highly valued.
In Rijkaard's vision, Motta was to become a younger version of himself—an indispensable, all-around midfielder at Barcelona.
Real Madrid also made a change.
But theirs came as a surprise.
They withdrew García, who was already on a yellow card.
Given the importance of the defensive midfield role, the substitution itself made sense.
But instead of bringing on Gravesen, a natural defensive midfielder, they introduced "The Beast" Baptista—an attacking midfielder often deployed as a striker this season!
79th minute.
Cicinho combined with Robinho down the wing. The two, both from the Brazilian clique, had good chemistry and linked up naturally.
Robinho reached the byline and crossed.
But his delivery was poor, and Van Bronckhorst stepped in just in time to clear.
81st minute.
Barcelona began circulating the ball from the back, controlling the tempo.
This was clearly Rijkaard's plan, executed through Motta.
It was a mind game.
They gave the illusion of pressing forward, but without rushing.
This created a stark psychological contrast for Real Madrid.
It was the classic tactic: luring the snake out of its hole, then striking fatally.
The brilliance lay in the psychology.
If Motta had come on and Barça immediately launched an all-out assault, Real Madrid would have braced themselves and been ready to defend.
That would have handed the rhythm to Madrid, who thrived on counterattacks.
But now… with Madrid pushing forward, the tempo slipped into Barcelona's hands as they calmly built from the back.
By pushing forward, Madrid lost control.
By sitting back, Barça took charge.
This was the art of war!
"Press! Everyone press!"
Su Hang urged Ronaldo, Raúl, and Robinho to launch a high press.
Ronaldo and Raúl, both world-class forwards, were adept at pressing and cutting off passing lanes.
Robinho lacked anticipation, but his speed made him dangerous.
Under their pressure, Barcelona looked uncomfortable.
The ball came to Motta.
Su Hang was already charging at him.
Motta looked up—Real Madrid's shape was a mess.
The midfield had lost connection with the forwards.
Xavi was in a perfect position to receive.
Eto'o and Iniesta had both found dangerous gaps, ready to break through.
This pass from Motta could have been the dagger.
Thud!
Motta launched a long ball, already eyeing Madrid's goal.
But a second later, the ball bounced off Su Hang's stomach and flew back the other way. Motta hadn't even realized what happened.
"Su Hang pressing!"
"Motta hits a long ball!"
"Su Hang leaps!"
"The ball ricochets off his abdomen and back into play!"
"Motta hesitates—Ronaldo races in… Ronaldo controls it!"
"A massive mistake from Motta!"
"Su Hang surges forward, Motta chasing back… but Su Hang beats him to it, muscling past!"
"Ronaldo has no angle to shoot—he threads a diagonal pass into the box."
"Motta can't recover!"
"Valdés charges out! He and Motta close in on Su Hang!"
"A poke shot! Su Hang shrugs off Motta and stabs it through—between Valdés' legs!"
"3–2!"
"Real Madrid pull another one back! Or rather, Su Hang does it again!"
"What a massive blunder from Barça's midfield!"
"Su Hang again! It's unbelievable!"
"Su Hang at the double—keeping Madrid's hopes of an equalizer alive!"
"Barcelona's lead is anything but safe!"
"Wait… Su Hang is down on his knees!"
The camera zoomed in.
Su Hang was clutching his abdomen, kneeling in agony.
Finally, he collapsed forward, supporting himself with his head.
Real Madrid players rushed to him.
"How are you, Su?" Ronaldo asked with concern, signaling frantically for the doctors.
This kind of reaction was usually reserved for Ronaldo himself.
Because the team couldn't do without him.
But now…
Real Madrid's most indispensable player was Su Hang.
At least, that's how Ronaldo saw it.
"It must have been from Motta's challenge earlier—Su Hang took a heavy blow to the stomach. That kind of pain can completely paralyze someone in an instant."
"Even the toughest player would be doubled over after a hit like that. It's a natural reflex, beyond human will."
"But Su Hang still sprinted into the box, held off Motta, and finished before collapsing!"
"His willpower is terrifying!"
"I swear, I've never seen anyone so desperate to score, so desperate to win."
"Now I understand why he always rescues Real Madrid. It's not because of some system or cheat—it's because he never stops fighting until the very last moment!"
"Even if he's writhing in pain, he'll still take that shot first!"
Su Hang lay on the ground for a while but barely needed treatment—he was already recovering.
It was the kind of pain that takes your breath away—horrible at first, but it fades quickly.
Agonizing in the moment, but rarely leaving real damage.
So moments after being helped off by the medical team, Su Hang was already at the fourth official's side, signaling to return.
At 3–1, Barça had been thinking about baiting Madrid out.
At 3–2, with under ten minutes left, their focus turned to running down the clock.
...
(35 Chapters Ahead)
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