"Real Madrid's vice-captain is Guti. He's on the pitch, so Raúl should've handed him the armband. Why give it to Su Hang instead?"
"Oh! Raúl personally put the armband on Su Hang! As captain, Raúl has the right to decide who wears it, and he chose Su Hang!"
"Su Hang! Su Hang is wearing the captain's armband again!"
"This 19-year-old has once again become the leader of Real Madrid!"
"The last time he wore it, he led Madrid to a dramatic win over Roma. Can he recreate the miracle tonight?"
The Real Madrid fans in the stands went wild.
They screamed Su Hang's name with everything they had.
Nothing could drown them out.
"Su Hang!"
"Su Hang!"
"Su Hang!"
With the Madrid fans in full voice, extra time officially kicked off.
But Su Hang didn't bring much change to Real Madrid's play.
In the first half of extra time, both sides looked largely ineffective.
On the touchline, Luxemburgo raged, cursing Su Hang as a coward.
He kept signaling for him to push forward, but Su Hang stayed deep, helping defend and linking play in midfield.
Zidane, watching from the sidelines, finally allowed himself a smile.
Good. That was exactly what he had taught Su Hang.
"In the first half of extra time, everyone focuses on disrupting play. You have the stamina—use it to defend."
"The last 15 minutes are when the killers strike."
"Be patient. Wait for your chance."
"The deadliest strikers only need one shot."
"And remember—this is the Stadio delle Alpi."
Zidane's words echoed in Su Hang's mind.
He followed them faithfully.
He believed in Zidane—the greatest midfielder of his generation and the only coach who would one day win three straight Champions League titles.
Legends never happen by accident.
The first half of extra time ended with the score unchanged at 1-0.
On aggregate, it was still 1-1.
Then came the decisive final 15 minutes.
...
In the 107th minute, Emerson produced a brilliant piece of skill, beating Solari with a slick elastico.
For a defensive midfielder, it was dazzling—pure Brazilian flair.
Solari pulled him down and took a yellow card.
In the 109th minute, Su Hang received the ball at the edge of the box, shielding it from Thuram with his back to goal.
As Thuram poked from behind, he clipped Su Hang's ankle instead.
Su Hang went down, and the referee booked Thuram.
Madrid had a free kick in a dangerous position.
But Beckham—their best option from this range—was already off.
Zidane wasn't there either.
That left the third-choice taker: Roberto Carlos.
But Carlos' style was better suited to long range.
From this close, there wasn't enough room for his trademark curve.
Sure enough, he blasted it high into the stands.
Madrid wasted the chance Su Hang had created.
...
In the 113th minute, with only seven minutes left, every opportunity could now decide the match.
The tension was suffocating.
Su Hang took a pass from Figo, shielding it from Emerson.
Zambrotta closed in, but Su Hang twisted free and somehow kept the ball.
His solid ball control was paying off.
Bang!
He split Juventus' back line with a devastating through ball.
Guti possession, Demon Knife Pass!
Bang!
Thuram lunged desperately, wiping out Ronaldo as he chased the pass.
The ball went—Ronaldo didn't.
Thuram knew the consequences.
But letting Ronaldo through one-on-one? That would be certain death for Juventus.
No one knew Ronaldo's threat better than the Italians.
No one.
"You call this football? Trying to break my legs again?"
Ronaldo sprang up and crashed into Thuram, knocking him down.
Thuram, furious, got back to his feet: "No one's breaking your legs—you're just made of glass!"
That lit Ronaldo's fuse.
He swung at Thuram, and fists started flying.
Both teams rushed in, tempers flaring.
Tacchinardi was first to shove Ronaldo, knowing he was Madrid's most dangerous weapon. Take Ronaldo out, and Juventus would be safe.
But Su Hang saw it coming.
He slammed into Tacchinardi from the side, knocking him away.
Then he forced himself between Ronaldo and Thuram, prying them apart.
Somewhere in the chaos, he took two stray hits.
They didn't hurt—
But they set off his instincts.
Emerson and Zambrotta came charging too, but Su Hang powered through, shoving them both back at once.
"Hey, hey, hey! A fight? I've got a black belt in karate!"
Ibrahimovic, the 1.95m "new prince" of Juventus, stormed over.
He grabbed Su Hang, testing him with half his strength.
A moment later, Ibrahimovic was sent stumbling back, hands tingling numb.
The other man's power was overwhelming.
He froze in shock.
"Enough! Calm down! This is football!" Su Hang stood in front of Ronaldo. "If you want to play, fine. But if you want to fight, we're ready too!"
The Juventus players Su Hang had shoved aside didn't come again.
It hurt too much.
Su Hang's strength was unreal.
This kid didn't look it, but he was a tank.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The referee blew furiously, hurrying over as staff rushed in.
First came the reds: Ronaldo and Thuram were both sent off.
Ronaldo struck first.
Thuram's reckless foul started it.
Both deserved it.
Then came the yellows: Zambrotta, Tacchinardi, and Su Hang.
Tacchinardi was furious.
He hadn't done anything—just got flattened.
How was that a yellow?
But the referee pointed to his eyes—he'd seen Tacchinardi's intent.
Su Hang confronted him: "I was keeping order. I shouldn't get a card—I was helping you do your job. Could you have controlled things this quickly if it were just you?"
The referee nodded. "True. I appreciate it—I even owe you dinner. But you used your hands. You kept order with force, and that still breaks the rules."
"So, sorry. You get a yellow."
Su Hang nodded, pulling a regretful face.
Playing the poor victim.
In truth, he had expected this.
But arguing with the referee? That was just part of the mind game.
...
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