Chapter 186: Twin Stars Shine at the Bernabéu! Zidane: "Looks Like It'll End in a Draw!"
Halftime.
When Gareth Bale walked into the away dressing room at the Bernabéu, Yang Cheng and the coaching staff were already waiting—and welcomed him with thunderous applause.
As Bale entered, the other players parted, giving him the center of the room, clapping just as enthusiastically.
"Brilliant work, Gareth!"
Yang Cheng stepped forward and gave Bale a firm hug.
After Yang Cheng stepped back, the rest of the team came over to offer their congratulations.
It was only a brace, but Bale's first-half performance had been outstanding.
Di María had also done well—especially that left-footed strike after cutting inside from the right.
Just a bit unlucky.
Lewandowski had held his own too, though he had to deal with Albiol and Ramos.
And Ramos—no question about it—was criminally underrated as a center-back.
The halftime tribute wasn't just to honor Bale's goals; it was meant to lift the entire team's spirit.
Once the squad dispersed to prepare for the second half, Yang Cheng huddled with the coaches.
When the time was right, he clapped his hands again to gather everyone.
"2–3."
"We're trailing."
He looked his players in the eye, still radiating calm and confidence.
"In the last few years, every time we've come to the Bernabéu, we've scored at least four goals."
He held up four fingers. The players chuckled, exchanging glances.
"So that means we've still got two left in us. Let's go get them."
Laughter rippled through the room.
But beneath the smiles, Yang Cheng's confidence was contagious.
"Real Madrid's first-half attacks came primarily down Cristiano's side—that really put our right flank under pressure."
Here, Yang Cheng turned to Piszczek.
"Lukasz, both of their goals came from your side. But I know—you gave everything you had."
"No one's blaming you."
"On the contrary—we're with you. We've got your back."
Piszczek nodded heavily.
Unless you've marked Cristiano Ronaldo in real life, you don't know how hard it is.
He's not just fast. He's technical. He's powerful. He never stops running.
Back in the Premier League, Ronaldo mostly played on the right—they hardly matched up.
Today, after 45 minutes of direct duels, Piszczek was feeling it.
But he stood up, straightened his back, and said loudly, "Boss, you and the team can count on me. I'll give even more!"
Just as he finished, Modrić walked over, put a hand on his shoulder, and said simply:
"We've got you."
The tone was light, but the weight it carried was heavy.
Piszczek gritted his teeth and nodded.
"Ángel," Yang Cheng turned to Di María. "Second half, I want you to pin Drenthe back. Keep him from bombing forward."
"Got it," Di María answered without hesitation.
"Our plan is still to hit them down the flanks—especially the left. Gareth, you're still our primary weapon."
"But we can't push the line too high. Sit a little deeper. Leave space up front."
The players instantly understood.
With more space ahead, Bale and Di María's speed would become lethal again.
Trying to play a slow build-up battle against guys like Maicon and Albiol wasn't the way.
"Guys!"
Yang Cheng clapped and drew everyone in close.
"This is the most important match of our group stage. No matter what—we have to take something from Madrid. It's the foundation for winning the group."
Everyone roared in response.
…
The second half kicked off with Bayswater Chinese pressing hard.
Di María received a pass from Modrić on the right, threw in a few feints to shake off Drenthe, and raced toward the edge of the box.
Ramos slid over to help and blocked the route into the area.
The Argentine whipped out his trademark "spaghetti man" shimmy, tricked Ramos, and sent in a surprise rabona cross from the byline.
Di María's right foot had become much more reliable, but his rabona was still deadly.
The problem?
Hard to control the power and placement.
Lewandowski made a desperate leap at the near post but couldn't reach it.
Albiol headed it clear.
Madrid responded quickly.
Just three minutes later, Cristiano Ronaldo picked up the ball on the left and charged at Piszczek.
He cut inside suddenly, broke free from Piszczek, and got a shot off before Modrić could intervene.
Normally, Cristiano cuts in and fires for the far post.
This time, he went near post—with venom.
Thankfully, Neuer was razor-sharp.
He dived and punched the ball wide with one hand.
Cristiano's shooting was simply lethal.
Madrid's corner that followed caused chaos in the box, but they couldn't get a shot away.
In the 52nd minute, Bayswater Chinese countered again.
Same side.
Same man—Di María.
This time he cut inside from the right, left Drenthe behind, and drove diagonally toward the box.
Near the edge, he chipped a clever ball into space.
Lewandowski darted diagonally behind Ramos, chested the ball down and shot.
Casillas closed the angle fast and parried the shot out for a corner.
The resulting corner was cleared by Ramos.
Back and forth.
The game was flying.
And the quality was sky-high.
All 80,000 fans at the Bernabéu were on the edge of their seats, reacting to every turn in momentum.
Ten minutes later, Bayswater Chinese gradually began pulling their line back.
Pellegrini stuck to his guns, hoping for through-balls and tight link-ups from Džeko, Raúl, and Van der Vaart to crack open the defense.
In the 58th minute, Džeko dropped deep, received the ball, and backheeled a brilliant pass.
Raúl made a well-timed run into the box from the left edge of the D.
Thiago Silva lunged just in time and poked the ball away.
Clean, decisive—
even if he took Raúl out in the process.
Luckily, Madrid players didn't crowd the ref.
The official saw it clearly—no foul.
In the 62nd minute, Van der Vaart carried the ball through the right half-space, challenged by Rakitic.
He played a diagonal ball into the arc.
Džeko received it, but Pepe was all over him.
Surrounded by Pepe and Matic, and with no passing lanes open, the Bosnian couldn't make anything happen.
He tried to find Raúl—
but Modrić was already tracking back.
The Croatian nicked the ball away cleanly.
Thiago Silva cleared it upfield.
The battle raged on.
But it was clear—
This one wasn't over yet.
But the ball still fell to Madrid feet.
Xabi Alonso collected it and began building a second wave of attack.
After the clearance, Matic, Modrić, and Rakitic quickly pushed up from the edge of the box, lifting the entire defensive line forward.
Lewandowski immediately pressed Xabi Alonso, forcing him to pass back to the center-backs.
If you paused the match at this moment, one detail would be striking: Real Madrid only had two players left on the back line—Albiol and Ramos, positioned near the center circle.
Madrid's two holding midfielders, Xabi Alonso and Lass Diarra, were positioned just inside Bayswater Chinese's half, close to the center circle on either side.
Maicon and Drenthe had pushed up high to the flanks, level with the midfielders.
The rest of the Madrid players were already inside the final 30 meters, awaiting the pass to launch the next wave of attack.
This positioning was intentional from Bayswater Chinese.
It was clear: Bale and Di María had both dropped back to around the 30-meter mark, maintaining roughly 10 meters of space from Maicon and Drenthe.
Lewandowski had even withdrawn between Xabi Alonso and Lass Diarra, leaving Madrid's center-backs completely exposed.
But under Madrid's usual tactical style—and especially at home—they were never going to sit deep.
So it was just a matter of where they would send the ball.
Ramos received the ball in the center circle and passed to Albiol.
Lewandowski immediately began to sprint.
He angled from the bottom of the center circle toward Albiol, who was near the left edge of the center circle.
What no one noticed was that at that same moment, Gareth Bale—who had been tracking back—suddenly took off on a forward run.
He, Lewandowski, and Di María had played together for years. The chemistry was instinctive.
One moved—and the others knew.
Albiol, under pressure from Lewandowski, had three passing options:
A risky through ball to Van der Vaart—Rakitic was lurking there.A ridiculous back pass to Casillas—half a pitch away.The obvious option: Maicon on the right sideline.
So, under pressure, Albiol turned and passed to Maicon.
But the moment the ball left his foot, he knew he'd messed up.
Because he saw a red streak closing in on Maicon at breakneck speed.
Before the ball could even arrive, Bale had already shot past Maicon, intercepting with his left foot.
He didn't stop the ball—he hit it first-time, punching it forward into space.
Then he took off.
Bale accelerated like a supercar with the pedal slammed to the floor.
Albiol, Maicon, Ramos, and Xabi Alonso all panicked and turned to chase.
But Bale was gone.
When he first knocked the ball ahead, he was neck-and-neck.
But then—he outran the ball itself.
Every footballer knows the saying: "The ball moves faster than the player."
But at that moment, it looked like Bale was faster than the ball.
He caught up to it, tapped it ahead again with his left foot near the top of the box, and surged forward.
Ramos had great recovery pace and was charging to the left side of the box—
But Bale was still faster.
At the top of the box, Bale caught up to his own pass and nudged it into the box, using it as both a touch and a final adjustment.
Ramos reached out, trying to grab him.
But Bale shoved his arm away, stormed into the box, and launched a left-footed shot before Casillas could close him down.
Casillas had already charged halfway out, trying to anticipate where Bale would strike—
But he still underestimated Bale's speed.
The ball flew past him and into the bottom-right corner.
GOAL!
Only then did the Bernabéu explode in shock.
From the moment Bale intercepted the pass to the final strike, the entire stadium had been silent.
80,000 people held their breath, mesmerized by the sheer speed of Gareth Bale.
Was that even human?
It wasn't until the ball hit the net that the crowd gasped—a collective, horrified scream.
Bale was already racing toward the sideline, arms outstretched, celebrating his hat trick.
"Three goals: one long-range screamer, and two full-pitch sprints!"
"That's Gareth Bale!"
"Real Madrid's entire back line has no answer for the Welsh winger!"
"Absolutely unbelievable!"
"Bale, with his explosive speed, has torn through Real Madrid's defense again and again!"
"3–3!"
"We're back to level terms!"
"Before this match, everyone was talking about Ronaldo, about Džeko…"
"But no one expected the Bernabéu to belong to Gareth Bale tonight!"
"Just 20 years old!"
"Spanish fans might've heard the name Gareth Bale—might've seen clips of his pace and dribbling…"
"But tonight, they'll truly know who the Bayswater Chinese winger is!"
…
By the 65th minute, Pellegrini made the first substitution.
Arbeloa replaced Van der Vaart.
Drenthe moved up to midfield; Arbeloa slotted in at left-back.
A clear sign: Madrid were reinforcing their defense.
Madrid had always been a team of attack over defense.
Their back line had never been the club's transfer priority.
In La Liga, Xabi Alonso and Lass Diarra could boss most midfields.
But against elite opposition, that combo often got exposed.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Against Bayswater Chinese's relentless wide play, Madrid's defense had looked vulnerable.
But to Pellegrini's credit—he didn't sit back.
He doubled down on offense.
And so did Bayswater Chinese.
First, Madrid: Ronaldo, on the left, unleashed a barrage of stepovers against Piszczek, then fired a low cross into the box.
At the last second, Pepe beat Džeko to the ball and cleared it from danger.
Bayswater Chinese fired back instantly.
Bale received the ball on the left side of the box, squared up against Maicon.
He faked to the byline, chopped inside with his left foot, pushed with his right—
cutting inward, past Maicon, into the box.
He fired a low cross to the center.
Lewandowski rushed in for the tap-in.
But the angle was too tight.
Casillas saved it cleanly.
Then, in the 72nd minute, Madrid came again.
Raúl fed Džeko.
The Bosnian leaned into Thiago Silva, then turned and played a lateral pass…
Cristiano Ronaldo Followed Up, Without Taking a Touch, and Blasted a Shot with His Right Foot
It was a powerful, clean strike.
The angle wasn't particularly tricky, but the sheer force behind it made it a serious threat.
Neuer couldn't catch it cleanly—he could only tip it over the crossbar, conceding a corner to Real Madrid.
Raúl jogged over to take the corner.
But this time, instead of sending it into the box, he passed short to the right edge of the area where Drenthe was waiting.
Drenthe took a touch, turned sideways, and unleashed a left-footed missile from range.
Clearly, this was a pre-rehearsed play by Real Madrid.
Drenthe was known to be at his most dangerous when shooting from this exact zone.
It was a vicious strike, fired low and hard toward the right post.
But Neuer once again came up big, diving at full stretch and pushing it away with one hand.
Marcelo got to the rebound first and cleared it out of danger.
Only then did Bayswater Chinese breathe a sigh of relief.
Having weathered Madrid's wave of attacks, Bayswater Chinese struck back.
Di María took possession on the right and squared up against Arbeloa.
The Argentine threw in a quick feint, pushed the ball past him along the byline, and tried to run around the other side.
But Arbeloa, the seasoned pro, simply body-checked Di María to the ground, conceding a free kick near the right edge of the box.
Gianni Vio stepped off the bench again.
This time, Pepe met the cross and powered a header on goal.
Casillas had to tip it over the bar with one hand.
Corner kick.
Modrić took it, but instead of a traditional delivery, Bayswater Chinese opted for a short-play routine—passing it to Di María, who returned it to Modrić.
Modrić swung in a cross to the near post—
but Ramos beat everyone to it and cleared.
Matic intercepted the loose ball outside the box and immediately lofted it back in.
Lewandowski rose to meet it, but with Albiol's pressure, he couldn't generate any real power.
Casillas collected it easily.
The back-and-forth attacking from both sides had the crowd enthralled.
The tempo was frantic, the quality high, the entertainment unmatched.
All 80,000 fans in the Bernabéu were riding the emotional roller coaster with every attack and clearance.
But after the 75th minute, the drop in energy became evident.
The players' stamina was starting to wane—
the pace of the game slowed noticeably.
Even the commentators began to say,
"A draw seems like a result both sides could live with."
"Of course, drawing at home will sting more for Real Madrid."
Bayswater Chinese began to sit deeper.
In the 76th minute, Yang Cheng made his first substitution.
Matuidi came on for Rakitic.
A clear sign of defensive intent.
But ironically, the move gave Madrid a morale boost.
The Galácticos, playing at home, were desperate to win.
If they could take this game, their visit to Wembley in Matchday 4 would be much easier.
So they pushed forward harder.
But Pellegrini didn't make any subs.
The Chilean engineer was wary of breaking the delicate balance. He knew Bayswater Chinese's counterattack was deadly and didn't want to expose himself.
In the 80th minute, Yang Cheng made a second change in four minutes.
Walcott replaced Di María.
The Argentine had started on the left, switched to the right, and worked tirelessly.
But his energy had run low—especially since Arbeloa came on and nullified much of his threat.
The goal of the substitution?
Still: defensive counterattacking.
…
"They sold four of their key players, and Bayswater Chinese are still this strong."
From the luxury box in the Bernabéu, Real Madrid president Florentino Pérez was watching closely.
It was now the 80th minute, and Real Madrid still couldn't find a way through Bayswater Chinese's defense.
They tried again and again to penetrate—
but kept getting stuck outside the box.
And in that moment, a ridiculous idea popped into Florentino's head.
If Messi were on our right wing…
With both Cristiano and Messi, there's no way Bayswater Chinese would survive this.
It was a dream that seized him for a second.
A powerful urge to sign Messi right there.
But cold reality snapped him back.
That would never happen.
"Yang Cheng's tactical structure is very flexible—completely different from Barça's possession-based approach," said Valdano with admiration.
"Look at Bale—he can play left or right. Same with Di María and Walcott."
"That shows the level of development and long-term planning Yang Cheng has put into this team."
"In today's European football? That's extremely rare."
Zidane agreed.
Modern football was more pragmatic than ever.
The game was faster, more result-oriented.
Coaches were disposable—one bad month and you're out.
That made it nearly impossible to build a team in your own image.
Every coach worked under relentless pressure.
Just look at Pellegrini.
There's no question about his ability.
But at Real Madrid, he didn't have the freedom or power he once had at Villarreal.
That's just the way the game worked.
Yang Cheng, though?
He was both owner and manager.
No one had more control.
But was that really a good thing?
What if one day, Yang Cheng grew complacent?
Fell behind the times?
Who could fire him then?
Who would even dare?
Every coin has two sides.
"I've heard Yang Cheng hires independent firms at the end of every season to evaluate Bayswater Chinese," Zidane added casually.
"Oh?" Florentino raised an eyebrow.
He evaluated himself?
"Probably to keep himself in check," Zidane chuckled.
"A form of accountability," Valdano nodded in understanding.
"That's why when he sells players, it's never rash. He always knows exactly who he can sell and who he must keep. He builds in a margin for error."
Because football is never perfect.
Who could've predicted Lewandowski would go through a goal drought?
While the Polish striker was struggling, everyone started talking about Carroll.
But few noticed: Gareth Bale's scoring record was also impressive—six goals already in the league.
Di María and Walcott were also thriving.
It was clear Yang Cheng always had multiple contingencies.
"Our biggest weakness is still midfield and defense," Valdano reminded Florentino.
Madrid's frontline was already world-class.
Of course, improving the right wing would help take the attack to another level.
Florentino smiled faintly.
"All right, then. Let's just let it go tonight. A draw's not bad."
He glanced up at the scoreboard.
88 minutes played.
The match was nearly over.
"Looks like that's it," Valdano said with a hint of frustration.
They wanted more—
but there was nothing they could do.
Zidane nodded. "At this stage, both sides have basically drained their energy."
A draw seemed like a fair result.
But one thing was certain—Gareth Bale was going to be on every sports headline in the world tomorrow.
His performance tonight had been phenomenal.
The clash between Real Madrid and Bayswater Chinese had already drawn global attention from fans and media alike.
Now, with Bale completing a hat trick, he had overshadowed even Cristiano Ronaldo and Edin Džeko.
He was about to become the star the whole world would be watching.
But just as Florentino Pérez, Valdano, and Zidane all quietly accepted that the match would end in a draw, Real Madrid launched one last attack as the clock hit 89 minutes…
…
Drenthe received the ball on the right wing and cut inside diagonally, sliding a through ball into the right edge of the box for Raúl.
But before the Madrid captain could bring it under control, Matic was already on him.
The powerful Serbian midfielder pressed in, using his frame to pin Raúl from behind, making it impossible to turn.
Drenthe sprinted forward, looking for a one-two, but just as Raúl tried to lay it off, Matic stretched his long leg from behind and cleanly intercepted the pass.
Drenthe overshot his run, Raúl stumbled, and Matic surged forward to retrieve the ball.
With one sharp pass from his left foot, he played the ball down the left wing in front of Gareth Bale.
The moment Bale saw Matic win the ball, he was already coiled like a spring, waiting to launch.
As the pass came, he detonated like a Ferrari with nitrous, accelerating in a blink and storming down the pitch.
Maicon, who had held back from the attack earlier, was waiting near the halfway line.
Having spent years at Bayswater Chinese, he knew Bale's speed intimately.
He was already mentally prepared to be beaten.
Still, as Bale approached, he braced—only to see the Welshman knock the ball several meters ahead with a powerful touch.
Maicon froze.
What the hell?
Who was he passing to?
Then the chilling realization struck him: he had just passed to himself.
Bale's pace surged again—like a red hurricane. He flew past Maicon, blowing by him with terrifying ease, and tore into Real Madrid's half.
And he just kept accelerating.
He chased down his own pass, then blew past Albiol.
Then he blew past Ramos.
When he reached the left side of Madrid's box, just before Ramos could go to ground, Bale sent a low cross into the middle of the six-yard box.
Everyone exhaled the moment the ball was released.
There was no one there.
At least, not yet.
The camera panned—and then, another red blur appeared.
Theo Walcott. The Little Tiger.
The British twin stars.
Walcott had sprinted the length of the pitch in sync with Bale, charging into the box.
As the cross arrived, he arrived—perfect timing, perfect speed.
He struck it clean with the inside of his right foot.
A perfect straight-line shot.
The ball rocketed into the bottom right corner of Madrid's goal.
Casillas, positioned at the near post, didn't even move.
Goal.
That's when the Bernabéu erupted—not with celebration, but with a collective scream of anguish.
4–3.
Bayswater Chinese had turned the match around.
Madrid fans were left in stunned silence, voices breaking with disbelief.
While the visitors exploded in celebration.
Walcott sprinted toward Bale.
The two tore across the field, arms outstretched, celebrating wildly.
Walcott jumped on Bale's back, roaring.
Their teammates raced to join them, piling into a massive red-and-white huddle.
"My God—it's the 89th minute. Regular time is almost up!"
"Walcott came off the bench, but Bale—he's played a full 90. And somehow, in the dying minutes, he still has the speed and stamina to sprint like that."
"It's unbelievable!"
"Let's take another look at this goal."
"Bale, seeing Maicon in front of him, confidently knocked the ball forward—he literally passed it to himself three seconds into the future!"
"It defies logic. It defies belief."
"If Bale can keep playing like this, he will absolutely win the Ballon d'Or someday!"
"And what's even scarier is—Bayswater Chinese doesn't just have Gareth Bale."
"Walcott kept pace with him the entire way—and he looked effortless doing it."
"The English Premier League's twin stars shine at the Bernabéu!"
At the moment Walcott scored, Yang Cheng saw Pellegrini turn away, covering his face.
Broadcasts around the world caught Florentino standing up in disbelief in the VIP box.
It was beyond anything anyone had imagined.
Who could've predicted that Gareth Bale would still have this kind of sprint in the 89th minute?
That goal—it ended the match.
Real Madrid tried to respond immediately, pushing forward.
But Bayswater Chinese hit back with yet another counter.
Matic launched a long ball, and Walcott nearly scored again.
The Madrid defense panicked.
They'd forgotten—Gareth Bale wasn't the only blade in the counterattack.
Walcott was a Premier League lightning bolt in his own right.
In the end, at the Santiago Bernabéu, Bayswater Chinese defeated Real Madrid 4–3 in a jaw-dropping comeback.
…
When the final whistle blew, Yang Cheng sprinted onto the pitch, grabbing every player he could find in a hug.
He clenched both fists, overwhelmed with emotion, barely able to contain a triumphant roar.
Džeko and Maicon came over to shake hands with Yang Cheng and Bale.
But Maicon wore a sheepish smile.
"That last goal… my legs are still shaking," he said with a wry grin, shaking his head at Bale.
"You've come a long way, kid."
Everyone on Bayswater Chinese laughed.
Yang Cheng clapped Maicon on the back.
"It's not that he's improved this summer. It's just that it's been too long since you've faced him one-on-one."
Among the players, no one made too much of it.
They understood.
When a player like Bale gets going—
no defender in the world can stop him.
Even Maicon Couldn't Stop Them—Nobody Could When Bale and Walcott Were in Full Flight
Let's be honest—whether it was Maicon or any other defender, no one could stop Gareth Bale or Walcott once they started a full-speed sprint.
The reason was simple: pure speed can't be defended head-on.
Sure, there are ways to contain it—defensive structure, compactness, restricting space.
Just like how Madrid had done earlier in the first half: dropping deep, cutting down the gaps, and denying Bale room to sprint.
That worked—somewhat.
But if you sit that deep, how do you push forward to attack?
Come tomorrow, Maicon would probably be torn apart by the fans.
But it wasn't his fault.
If there was anyone to blame, it was Gareth Bale.
…
As Madrid's players began heading off the pitch, the Bayswater Chinese squad followed.
That's when something utterly unexpected happened, catching Yang Cheng completely off guard.
As Gareth Bale, Walcott, and the others made their way off the field, applause began to ripple from the stands.
From Real Madrid fans.
At the Bernabéu.
That's the highest form of respect Madrid fans can give to an opponent.
Very few players have ever received it.
And those who have?
Only the very best.
And now, they were applauding Gareth Bale.
The applause grew louder.
But then…
Yang Cheng began walking off the pitch.
The applause died.
Then came the boos.
At first, the claps and boos clashed.
Then the booing grew louder.
Until it completely drowned out the applause.
Yang Cheng froze for a moment.
Weren't they just cheering?
Now they were booing again?
"Madrid fans really are split personalities," he muttered with a cold snort.
Brian Kidd and Gianni Vio could barely contain their laughter.
They were dying to say it:
"Coach… have you no self-awareness?"
If it weren't for you walking out, the applause would've continued just fine.
…
After celebrating the stunning comeback win in the dressing room, Yang Cheng was led by staff to the post-match press conference.
In the tunnel, he ran into Pellegrini, who had just finished his own presser.
The Chilean engineer's silver hair looked more frost-covered than ever.
His face—pale, grim, utterly defeated.
Clearly, the Spanish media hadn't gone easy on him.
Especially not the Madrid press.
Catalan outlets? They'd be gloating.
But Madrid's own media had sky-high expectations.
A performance like this—at home—meant Pellegrini would be the one getting crucified.
They passed each other in the tunnel and exchanged polite nods.
Yang Cheng straightened his suit and stepped into the Bernabéu press room.
He'd been here before, but it never stopped feeling… different.
Big.
Packed.
Full of cameras and microphones.
He waved to the reporters—whether he knew them or not, he acted like they were old friends.
Then he sat down and opened with his thoughts on the match.
Just one sentence.
"At the Bernabéu, against Real Madrid, I couldn't possibly ask more from my players tonight."
Then he added a second.
"Tonight, they were the best players in the world."
The message was clear: Yang Cheng was proud of his team.
Then came the media questions.
The first came from a Times reporter, asking about Gareth Bale's performance.
Yang Cheng smiled.
"From now on, my staff, my players, and I will hold Gareth Bale to a much higher standard—because he's going to be one of the best players in the world."
He praised Bale's pace and finishing, yes.
But what impressed him more?
His team ethic.
Bale, after all, had come up through Southampton's academy as a left-back.
He knew how to defend.
And over the years, his right foot had become deadly.
He could now cut in from the left and shoot with his right.
All the result of hard work.
Yang Cheng also praised others: Lewandowski, Di María, and the entire midfield and backline.
"We're a team that plays as a team."
"No victory belongs to one man—it belongs to the group."
"And tonight at the Bernabéu, that was exactly the case."
Then a Spanish journalist asked how he viewed this current Real Madrid team, especially compared to the past versions he'd faced.
Yang Cheng smiled.
"From my perspective, not much has changed."
"Every time I come to the Bernabéu, the deafening boos are always the same!"
The whole room burst into laughter.
Everyone had seen the scene during his walk-off.
Madrid fans truly despised Yang Cheng.
And Barça fans?
Even worse.
Once, a Catalan media outlet even ran a survey:
"Who's the next person to get a pig's head thrown at him at the Camp Nou?"
Yang Cheng got a huge number of votes.
Only Yang Cheng could piss off fans of both Real Madrid and Barcelona at the same time.
"All jokes aside, you can see Madrid's progress from the scoreline alone."
"Especially this season—they've clearly improved a lot."
The press room erupted again.
Even the Madrid staff couldn't help but laugh.
Last time Yang Cheng came to the Bernabéu?
He said the same thing.
They scored four goals again.
Wasn't that a sign of progress?
After all, Madrid had only scored one that time.
Now they scored three.
They almost got a draw!
Still, after this 4–3 comeback, Bayswater Chinese had secured a spectacular win.
But Yang Cheng kept his cool.
When asked whether he believed this team could win the Champions League this season, he was cautious.
"We've just gone through a major rebuild this summer. It's had a big impact."
"Setting overly ambitious goals now wouldn't help us—it would just put unnecessary pressure on the players."
But he made one thing clear.
Bayswater Chinese's philosophy has always been to strive for the top.
The road might be hard.
But they would give everything to chase every possible trophy.
In two weeks, they would host Real Madrid at Wembley.
Pellegrini had already promised revenge in his press conference.
Yang Cheng didn't flinch.
"I don't usually predict results before a match," he said,
"but I can speak on behalf of everyone at Bayswater Chinese—we accept Real Madrid's challenge."
"In two weeks, at Wembley, the better team will win."
"And that win will belong to us—Bayswater Chinese!"
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