April 7, 5 p.m.
From Plaza de Madrid to the entrance of the Santiago Bernabéu, tens of thousands of fans packed the streets, roaring in support.
They had lost 4-1 in the first leg, but the fans refused to give up until the end.
After all, how many times had seemingly hopeless ties been overturned at home?
The famous saying, "Ninety minutes at the Santiago Bernabéu is a long time," was born from moments like these.
"Ha…"
"I feel even more nervous today."
When the Real Madrid squad arrived at the locker room, tension was written across every face.
It was no different for Ho-young.
"We can win. We can win."
The scoreline of 4-1 kept replaying in his mind, but he forced it away and steadied himself.
Then he chose to face it boldly.
AC Milan?
If one looked at them lightly, were they not a retirement home of once-famous stars?
Their era had long passed.
With the current Real Madrid squad, failing to win would be abnormal.
They had been completely outplayed by Leonardo in the first leg, but this time, Real Madrid came prepared with a near-flawless tactical setup.
Ho-young.
With him close to full condition, it was a different story.
"Hoo…"
A spell for victory.
Winning mentality.
He reinforced it, filling his mind with nothing but the thought of winning.
There was not a trace of playfulness.
Confidence without being intimidated, and a mindset that refused to underestimate the opponent.
That was true mental strength.
The match unfolded in a breathless yet strangely calm atmosphere.
Soon, the press conference room where Scolari and Raúl appeared felt suffocating.
The question was simple.
"You lost 4-1 in the last match. How do you see tonight's game?"
What more needed to be said?
The coach and captain were of one mind.
Instead of Scolari, Raúl leaned toward the microphone.
"We will show you why the Santiago Bernabéu is synonymous with comebacks."
8:45 p.m.
Both teams prepared to enter the pitch for the Champions League quarterfinal second leg.
The chorus of Hala Madrid that welcomed them was more majestic than ever.
As the Champions League anthem echoed through the stadium, players filled with determination walked out of the tunnel.
From appearances alone, it was impossible to tell which team was trailing.
Real Madrid's momentum was that strong.
And when it came time to shake hands, a fierce psychological battle unfolded between Ho-young and Gattuso.
"Well, look at you. You look cute."
Gattuso tightened his grip as if he wanted to crush Ho-young's hand.
It was a mind game worthy of a raging bull.
But.
Crack.
In that brief instant, before releasing the handshake, Ho-young squeezed back.
Gattuso's face twitched slightly.
"What the hell. Why is he so strong? Is he really sixteen?"
There were two ways to deal with a mad bull.
Stay completely focused, or go mad alongside it.
Ho-young chose the latter. A cold smile formed on his lips as he licked them lightly.
[Gennaro Gattuso]
[Possessed Talents: Raging Bull (T), Fighting Spirit of the Raging Bull (SU), Astonishing Physical Duel (S+3), Outstanding Defensive Positioning (S+2), Penetrating Anticipation (S), Sharp Ball Interception (A+3), (More...)]
(When conditions are met, one talent can be coveted.)
(When coveting a T-grade Title, a portion of the senses can be acquired. However, it can only be coveted after turning 18.)
(S-grade or higher talents require hidden conditions to be achieved.)
(Condition 1: Succeed in three solo dribbles.)
(Condition 2: Win three physical duels.)
(Condition 3: Break Gennaro Gattuso's mentality.)
(Condition 4: Score a goal.)
(Hidden condition: Unlocked after coveting at least one talent.)
That scene flashed briefly on the big screen, heating up the stadium atmosphere.
Though it lasted less than two seconds, it was enough to ignite the hearts of those watching, like a scene from a film.
However, the AC Milan fans who had traveled from Milan to Madrid did not appreciate it.
"Did you see that?"
"Did he just lick his lips while looking at Gattuso?"
"Is he crazy?"
"Hah, what an arrogant Asian brat."
They began scoffing one after another.
The Italian journalists were no different.
"Is it youthful bravado? I thought he was practically drooling."
"Hahaha. That just means he is confident."
"In front of Gattuso of all people?"
"Maybe he is still young and does not really know who Gattuso is."
"That is nonsense. He must have trained intensely to break down Milan's midfield. That level of confidence borders on arrogance."
"I disagree. Ho-young has already beaten Mascherano, Vieira, and Cambiasso. Do you think he would be afraid of Gattuso? Honestly, Gattuso is not on Vieira's level. I think Ho-young might just win."
"But Gattuso is still relatively young. He is only thirty-two."
Journalists from Sport Mediaset, Tuttosport, and Gazzetta dello Sport shared their views as they analyzed Ho-young's behavior.
"Still, this is not the time to relax. Does he not know how much Ronaldo suffered in the first leg?"
"He probably does not know what it means when Gattuso has one of his mad days."
"No matter how versatile Ho-young is, things will not always go his way."
"We might get a real thriller tonight."
With high expectations, the match began.
AC Milan kicked off.
Whistle.
"Yes, the match has started. Real Madrid have gone with their usual 4-2-3-1 formation. But instead of Raúl as the lone striker, they have opted for Gonzalo Higuaín."
Scolari's intention was clear. Higuaín's ability to break the offside trap and his clinical finishing would be used to dismantle Milan's suffocating defense.
"Higuaín is positioning himself right on the defensive line, looking to break through."
"Milan's back line is extremely solid, so Real are likely trying to challenge them with youthful energy and physicality."
Milan's famed "Mal-Nes-Sil-Zam" defensive line alone was enough to send chills down one's spine.
But they had one fatal weakness.
Maldini, 41. Nesta, 34. Thiago Silva, 25. Zambrotta, 32.
They were old.
With a combined age of 132, they were 36 years older than Real Madrid's defense.
Maldini in particular was only fit to play the first half.
Widely regarded as the greatest left-back of all time, but time spared no one.
Still, Leonardo had his reasons for starting him.
"They are counting on Maldini's defensive organization."
"Exactly. And to cover his physical limitations, they have placed Gattuso, Massimo Ambrosini, and Mathieu Flamini as defensive midfielders."
Three defensive midfielders shielding the back four.
Above them, Seedorf, Pirlo, and Mancini in midfield.
AC Milan had deployed an extreme defensive setup, a 4-6-0, or 4-3-3-0.
"It has been three minutes, and Milan still have possession. It looks like they are prepared to circulate the ball for all ninety minutes."
"The boos from the crowd are relentless. Yet Milan continue their passing. It feels like watching a training drill."
The frustration built.
Real Madrid finally regained possession around the fifth minute after a misplaced Milan pass went out for a throw-in.
"Yuri Zhirkov receives it. Immediate pressure from Ambrosini."
"He does not hesitate and plays it back. Fernando Gago takes over."
"They cannot afford to waste this hard-earned possession."
Gago passed to Xabi Alonso.
"Out wide!"
Boom.
Xabi Alonso launched a long pass to the right flank.
They skipped the midfield battle entirely with a single sharp move.
"Real Madrid finally in attack. Cristiano Ronaldo receives the pass."
Ronaldo, deployed on the right wing, immediately drove down the flank.
He tried to use his pace to get past Maldini.
But.
Screech.
Maldini committed a clever foul to slow him down.
Nesta quickly covered, and Ronaldo's run was halted instantly.
"His body may have aged, but his intelligence has not. Maldini truly lives up to his name."
Despite using every trick in the book, Maldini had only been sent off twice in twenty-seven years. He was that intelligent.
And that was not all.
"Maldini's organization is shining more and more. He even cuts out Xabi Alonso's killer pass, leaving Higuaín isolated. The first half will be crucial for Real Madrid."
Real's players lowered their heads.
Reality.
They needed at least three goals, and it was not easy.
The pressure mounted.
But in the seventh minute, the fans' voices reignited their spirit.
"Illa illa illa Juanito maravilla!"
The spirit of Real Madrid legend Juanito.
A chant that rose in the seventh minute whenever a great comeback was needed.
"We can win!"
"Madrid, let's go!"
"There are still 83 minutes left!"
There was still hope.
It was not impossible.
"We need the ball."
Ho-young looked ahead.
Gattuso, Ambrosini, Flamini, Maldini, Nesta, Thiago Silva, Zambrotta.
They were the wall he had to break.
It felt like standing before Mount Tai, but if he could get the ball, he was certain he could find a way through.
"Eight minutes in, and Ho-young has yet to touch the ball. This must be frustrating."
"And wherever he goes, Gattuso sticks to him relentlessly. Even if he receives it, he cannot play normally…"
"Ah, as we speak!"
The chance came.
Ho-young, Ronaldo, and Zhirkov pressed aggressively with their pace, forcing a long clearance.
"Dida launches it long toward midfield."
"Ambrosini and Higuaín go up for the aerial duel!"
Thud.
Ambrosini won it.
"Damn it!"
Higuaín groaned, but the header was already heading toward Gattuso.
Then.
"…?!"
Tap.
A long leg stretched out and snatched the ball like an octopus catching prey.
The moment Gattuso tried to control it, Ho-young stole it away.
"For fuck's sake! Close him down!"
At Gattuso's shout, Flamini rushed at Ho-young.
"Flamini charges at Ho-young!"
"Ho-young must react quickly. He has to escape the pressure!"
Contrary to the commentators' panic, Ho-young did not move away.
He stood firm, like a tree rooted deep in the ground.
With strong legs supporting his body, he waited for Flamini to arrive, then moved in an instant.
Thud.
"…!!"
The impact was massive.
Flamini, weighing 66 kilograms, was blown away like a dandelion in the wind.
And it was not over.
Ambrosini, thirty-two, stepped in with veteran grit to block his path.
But.
Thud.
"…Ugh!"
Ho-young drove forward and initiated contact. Ambrosini was sent bouncing aside.
At least he stayed on his feet. Flamini was already rolling on the ground.
Play continued.
The stands erupted.
The Juanito chant, thought to have faded, roared back to life.
"Illa illa illa Juanito maravilla!"
"Illa illa illa Juanito maravilla!"
That was when Ho-young truly began to move.
And.
"Hoo…"
"Either you go down, or I do."
The final boss.
Gattuso rushed in to cover, charging like a raging bull.
(To be continued.)