Robben bent over, vigorously rubbing his knee.
That familiar, sour ache was spreading through the joint, a warning signal from a body that had betrayed him too many times.
Since joining Real Madrid in 2007, his right thigh, hamstring, and ankle had suffered 14 significant injuries, sidelining him for a total of 562 days.
The explosive torque required for his signature cut-inside move placed enormous stress on his tendons, twisting them like old rope.
"Fuck," Robben muttered, grimacing. "Not now."
He was known as the "Glass Man" for a reason.
But glass, when broken, is sharp, he jogged back into position, ignoring the pain.
...
The match resumed, and Jose Mourinho was active on the touchline.
He whistled sharply, pointing at Paul Pogba and then at James Rodriguez.
The gesture was clear: Suffocate him.
Mourinho knew that James shared a weakness with Juan Mata. The Colombian was a genius with time and space, but under intense physical pressure, his influence waned.
That was why Zinedine Zidane had benched him at Madrid.
Pogba, towering over the Colombian, understood the assignment. He had played this role at Juventus when protecting Andrea Pirlo.
Now, he used his long legs and upper body strength to bully James off the ball.
"Too soft!" Pogba grunted, winning a duel near the center circle.
However, winning the ball was one thing; doing something with it was another.
Bayern's counter-pressing in the final third was ferocious. Every time United tried to transition, a swarm of red shirts descended.
Mourinho glanced at his bench, chewing his lip.
He hesitated.
United needed a conductor, someone like Michael Carrick to dictate the tempo.
But Carrick's legs were gone.
Against a winger like Robben, putting Carrick on the pitch was suicide.
Mourinho shook his head. Don't be greedy, he told himself. 1-0 down away from home is manageable.
Don't open the door.
...
As the clock ticked toward the 36th minute, the game reached a stalemate.
Bayern's aging attackers—Robben and Ribery—began to tire. They couldn't sustain the high press forever. The red wave receded slightly, giving United a moment to breathe.
That was all Paul Pogba needed.
James Rodriguez tried to press him again, but Pogba used his massive body to shield the ball.
With a flick of his right boot, he rolled the ball past the Colombian, spinning away into space.
"Pogba breaks the line!" Martin Tyler announced. "He's surging into the right half-space!"
Pogba drove forward, head up.
His movement was designed to drag Javi Martinez out of position, exposing the soft underbelly of Bayern's defense.
At the same time, Ling made his move.
He cut inside from the left, making a diagonal run behind Martinez's blind spot.
But Joshua Kimmich had learned his lesson. The German defender stuck to Ling like glue, refusing to be shaken.
Jesse Lingard charged into the box to join Lukaku, occupying the center-backs.
"What will Pogba do?" Gary Neville asked. "He's running out of options. Bayern are dropping deep. If he waits, the window closes!"
"Here it comes!"
Pogba saw Ling's hand raise slightly, it was a shared wavelength between two geniuses.
'How confident,' Pogba thought with a grin forming on his face.
Smack.
Pogba struck the ball with the inside of his foot.
It was a weighted pass, curving slightly to bypass Martinez and arriving perfectly at the edge.
Ling, who had slowed his jog to lull Kimmich into a false sense of security, suddenly exploded. He burst forward like an arrow released from a bow, creating a yard of separation.
But Kimmich recovered instantly, sprinting desperately to close the gap.
Ling received the ball and realize he had no support.
Mata and Lingard were covered. Ashley Young was too deep.
'I have to shoot.'
But shooting directly was impossible with Kimmich breathing down his neck.
He needed space.
Ling's body language screamed "SHOT." His right arm swung wide for balance.
His right leg folded back, ready to strike through the ball like an axe.
"He's going for the curler!" Tyler shouted.
The entire stadium knew it.
Sven Ulreich, the Bayern keeper, began shuffling to his left, anticipating the shot to the far corner.
The Bayern defenders tensed, ready to block.
Joshua Kimmich, seeing the wind-up, made a split-second decision.
Ling scored 31% of his long-range shots from this zone.
'I have to block it!'
Kimmich threw his body through the air, turning his back to protect his face, determined to take the cannonball on his ribs.
Thwack!
But the sound of impact never came.
Instead, there was a soft touch.
Kimmich flew past Ling, blocking nothing but air.
As he slid across the turf, his heart sank like a stone.
'He fucking faked it.'
Ling's right foot didn't strike the ball.
It caressed it instead.
He dissipated all the force the moment he made contact, dragging the ball behind his standing leg.
The ball rolled obediently like a docile lamb.
From behind his left heel to the left side of his body, Ling's center of gravity shifted instantly.
He completed a 90-degree turn in one fluid motion, the black hem of his jersey dancing in the wind.
The Cruyff Turn.
"Oh, stop it!" Neville gasped. "That is pure filth! Elegance never goes out of style! He has sent Kimmich back to the academy!"
Under the gaze of 75,000 stunned fans, Ling didn't admire his work.
Jerome Boateng, realizing Kimmich was dead, abandoned Lingard and charged out like a bull.
Ling had no time to shift the ball back to his stronger right foot.
He locked his eyes on the near post as he twisted his hips, generating torque from his core.
Smack.
He struck the ball with the instep of his left foot.
He added a follow-through, whipping his leg across his body to impart vicious topspin.
The ball spun fiercely toward the bottom left corner.
But Sven Ulreich had gambled.
The keeper had shifted his weight to the right, expecting the shot to the far post. When Ling cut back, Ulreich was wrong-footed.
By the time he reacted, pushing off his standing leg, it was too late.
Ulreich dove, his fingers stretching, desperate to claw it back and the ball kissed the net.
1-1!!!
"GOALLLLL! MANCHESTER UNITED!" Martin Tyler roared. "Absolute magic from Ling! He turned the Allianz Arena into his playground!"
The roar of the traveling United fans erupted, piercing the Bavarian night.
Ling turned and sprinted straight to Paul Pogba, leaping into the midfielder's arms.
"Paul! That pass!" Ling shouted, grabbing Pogba's face. "The weight was perfect! I didn't even need to adjust!"
"Haha, Ling!" Pogba laughed, flashing a bright white smile as he hugged his teammate.
"Your Cruyff turn was filthy, brother! I love that move! You killed him!"