Chapter 119: Let the Whole World Remember Our Names—We Are the Greatest Mourinho-Era Madrid!
When the referee pointed to the center circle, confirming the goal stood, Mourinho didn't run down the touchline like he had in the past.
His knees buckled slightly, and he simply sat back down on the bench.
"José! We're gonna win it! We're going to be Champions of Europe!"
Karanka's ecstatic shout echoed in his ear, while the deafening noise of the Bernabéu faded in and out like a dream.
Only one thought remained clear in Mourinho's heart:
The match isn't over. Stay calm. Stay focused.
He took a deep breath. The fire in his eyes returned.
Gripping Karanka's shoulder, Mourinho stood up with steadiness and clarity.
"Álbiol, Kaká, Nacho—have them warm up.
We're closing this the right way. You too, Aitor—keep your head."
Mourinho marched toward the edge of the pitch.
If his players were going to see this through, he wanted to stand beside them.
On the sidelines, the sight of Álbiol and others warming up caused murmurs in the Chelsea end.
"Real Madrid's bunkering down! Mourinho's about to park the bus!"
"It's the right call. He'll sub off a forward—probably Benzema or Di María.
Cristiano will play until the end," predicted Coach Zhang.
And sure enough, Álbiol replaced Di María before Chelsea could restart.
Di María clapped to the Madrid fans on all sides but didn't waste time—he was already on a yellow.
One more card would've ruined it.
With the substitution complete, Madrid switched to a 5-3-2.
Chelsea wasted no time—kickoff, and then long ball after long ball.
But now with Álbiol on, Madrid's aerial defense reached fortress status.
In the 87th minute, Mata sent in a curling cross.
Álbiol was there first—cleared it.
Drogba shook his head in frustration.
Pepe and Ramos were clamping down on him harder than ever.
Leon, who collected the clearance, didn't waste time.
Under pressure from two Chelsea players, he hoofed the ball deep into their half.
It bounced out for a throw-in.
Di Matteo played his final cards.
He sent on Bertrand and Malouda for Mata and Mikel.
This was it—all or nothing.
The final minutes turned into a war of attrition.
Chelsea's fullbacks were sending in crosses nonstop.
Madrid dropped nearly everyone into their defensive third.
Even Cristiano Ronaldo and Benzema were defending inside the box.
The air was full of bodies and flying elbows.
Every Madrid player with a strong head was jostling in the box with Chelsea's poachers.
In the 89th minute, Mourinho made his final changes.
Kaká replaced Benzema, and Nacho came on for Marcelo, adding energy and muscle to the back line.
Stoppage time: four minutes.
Karanka was furious.
He stormed toward the fourth official.
Di Matteo's assistant argued the opposite—that Madrid's substitutions had wasted time and four wasn't enough.
The coaches barked at each other, but no one on the pitch cared.
Chelsea threw everything forward.
Even Terry and Ivanović were now in Madrid's box, hunting headers.
Madrid defended for their lives.
Then Kaká broke free.
With Chelsea's defense in chaos, he launched a solo counterattack.
But he wasn't the Kaká of 2007 anymore.
Bertrand caught him and forced him to the corner.
With no support, Kaká smartly shielded the ball for 30 seconds, then kicked it off Cahill for a goal kick.
Chelsea fans booed.
Madrid fans cheered.
Kaká jogged back. Half of stoppage time was already gone.
"Hold on, brothers!
Don't think about the time—
Stand your ground!
If they attack, we break it!
Keep shouting!
Call out any gaps in formation!"
Leon was barking orders inside the box.
This job should've belonged to Casillas or Ramos.
But one was too quiet.
The other had to shadow Drogba every second.
So Leon and Ronaldo became the generals, roaring instructions and rallying morale.
Leon didn't know how many seconds remained.
But he gave himself fully to every moment of defense.
Chelsea attacked again.
Bertrand beat a tired Arbeloa and whipped in a dangerous, curling cross.
Drogba went for it.
Pepe got muscled aside again.
But this time, Ronaldo soared in—cleared it!
Bertrand took the throw, quickly fed it to Ramires, who swung it to Lampard.
Lampard fired in a low, fast cross.
Leon was there.
Torres tried to slip by.
Leon wouldn't let him.
As the ball came in near the front post, Leon lunged, throwing his whole body into the clearance.
It went out for a corner.
Torres sprinted to grab the ball—he was going to take it quickly.
But then—the final whistle blew.
Two short blasts. One long.
The echo tore through the Allianz Arena.
"The match is over! It's OVER!!!
Chelsea didn't get their final corner!
Real Madrid have won the 2011–2012 UEFA Champions League!
Congratulations to Real Madrid!
Congratulations to Leon!"
"But let's not forget to honor Chelsea as well.
This was a fairy tale season.
Madrid may have triumphed,
but Chelsea reminded us of the beauty of perseverance."
The camera panned to the veterans.
Drogba was crying.
The Beast stood tall, but his tears flowed freely.
Torres lowered his head.
Lampard stood motionless at midfield,
staring at the Champions League trophy.
No tears—but sorrow in his eyes.
Terry's eyes were red, whispering comfort to Čech.
They all knew.
This was their closest chance since 2008.
And now?
This might be the end.
The era of the Iron-Blooded Blues was closing.
No second spring.
No eternal youth.
No fairytale ending.
Essien, red-eyed, walked over to embrace his old comrades.
He was happy—yet heartbroken.
Mourinho clenched his jaw and turned away from Drogba, heading for his team.
Now was not the time.
Not before celebrating with his own men.
The players dragged him into their celebrations.
"Boss! We did it!!"
Leon didn't hesitate.
He threw his arms around Mourinho and jumped like a child.
The fans roared, clapping through their tears.
Mourinho's face—usually stone—was relaxed and glowing.
Leon raised his fist high and shouted above the din:
"Come on! Let the world remember our names!
We are the greatest Mourinho-era Real Madrid!"
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