The locker room was a sanctuary of steam, sweat, and the smell of deep-heat rub.
While the rest of the Milan squad was shouting, dancing on benches, and dousing each other in water, Cassian sat in the corner.
He had his jersey draped over his shoulders, staring at his phone.
Cassian stared at his Instagram account with a puzzled face. "Is this my account" he thought. He looked on at the increase in followers on his account.
He had just 5.9M followers the day before.
But now it had gone from 6.2M to 7.1M followers in just one hours and it would increase every time he refreshed the page.
He immediately opened his other social accounts
YouTube : 6.9M subscribers (+1.3M subscribers)
Twitter: #TheReaper was in top 10 trending globally.
WhatsApp : 18 messages and 3 missed calls from his friends and family members.
The digital world didn't just vibrate; it fractured.
Within minutes of the final whistle, the clip of Cassian's theatrical bow had surpassed 10 million views and it's still increasing.
–––
While the Media was fire, a private group chat was blowing up.
[Lamine Yamal]: YO CASSI!!! WTFFFF?!☠️
[Lamine Yamal]: That free-kick was filthy. I'm reporting you to UEFA for bullying.
[Jude Bellingham]: @Cassian behave yourself, mate. Some of us are trying to win a Ballon d'Or here and you're out here acting like a movie protagonist.
[Cassian]: Just a warm-up, Lamine. Save some energy for the El classico Final.
[Lamine Yamal]: Warm-up? Bro, you literally bowed to the Ultras. My goat is a menace. I'm wearing your jersey to sleep tonight. No cap.
[Jude Bellingham]: Honestly, the composure to give the ball back to the Captain and then demand it for the free-kick? Massive balls. Respect, Cass. See you at the top.
[Cassian]: No, seriously—he gave it himself.
[Jamal Musiala]: The way you manipulated the wall for that free-kick... it was magic. 🪄 Enjoy the night, Man. You earned it.
[Cassian]: @Jamal Musiala, Thanks man.
[Cassian]: @Jude Bellingham, See you at the top. Don't slip on the way up.
–––
Studio: CBS Sports / BT Sport
Panel: Thierry Henry, Jamie Carragher, and Micah Richards.
The giant touchscreen behind them was covered in tactical heat maps and player arrows. Jamie Carragher was already halfway through a frantic breakdown, his voice reaching a high pitch.
"Look at the data from the first leg in Madrid!" Carragher shouted, tapping a red zone. "Milan were suffocated.
Atlético's 5-3-2 was a cage. Coming into tonight, the advanced metrics gave Milan less than a 30% chance of overturning the aggregate. They were dead in the water, Henry!"
Thierry Henry nodded, his expression serious. "But look at what Pioli did in the second half. It wasn't just Cassian.
It was the veteran leadership. Hernández stopped playing as a traditional left-back and started underlapping into the midfield. He dragged De Paul out of position every single time."
"And Giroud!" Micah Richards chimed in, leaning forward. "The man is a timeless masterpiece. His hold-up play against Giménez was a wrestling match.
He didn't just provide the assist for Leão; he occupied both center-backs, which is exactly why Atlético's tactical formation fractured. They didn't know who to mark—the giant in the middle or the ghost on the wing."
Henry pointed to the screen as a replay of the 85th minute began. "This is where Simeone's 'Cholismo' failed. Atlético tried to play it safe, dropping into a low block to protect the 1-2 lead.
But Milan's midfield rotation—Bennacer and Reijnders—kept the ball moving so fast that Atlético's 'bus' started to leak. By the time Cassian started his solo run, the defenders' legs were gone."
"It was a tactical strangulation," Carragher added.
"Milan took the best defensive unit in Europe and turned them into spectators. From the 60th minute onwards, it wasn't a game; it was an exhibition."
–––
The host turned back to the camera, the screen shifting to a graphic of the tournament bracket.
"A historic night for the Rossoneri," the host announced. "But the question remains: who will they meet in the final? Tomorrow night, the second semi-final kicks off at the Bernabéu."
Real Madrid vs. Liverpool.
"The two kings of Europe," Henry said, a small smile appearing. "Madrid has the 'clutch' factor with Vinícius and Bellingham, but Liverpool's high-press is back to its heavy-metal best.
Whoever wins that match is going to have a massive headache trying to figure out how to stop this Milan side."
"If it's Madrid," Micah laughed, "we're going to see Bellingham against Cassian.
That's not a football match; that's a global event. The 'Young Stars' generation taking over the biggest stage in the world."
–––
[Lamine Yamal]: @Cassian The pundits are losing it. Henry just called your performance a 'hostile takeover.'
[Jude Bellingham]: Tomorrow it's our turn. If we beat Liverpool, the Final is going to be personal. 😤
[Jude Bellingham]: @Cassian, enjoy the 30% miracle. But remember, Real Madrid doesn't believe in percentages. We just win.
[Cassian]: @Jude, Talk is cheap. Win your game first. I've already got my ticket to the Final. I'm just waiting to see who I have to retire next.
––––
While the lights of the San Siro still hummed with the echoes of Milan's miracle, ten thousand miles away in Japan, another storm was about to break.
In just one hour, the Blue Lock Phase 2 Final would begin.
Bayern Munich—led by Isagi and Kaiser.
Paris Saint-Germain—driven by Rin, Shidou and Charles.
Two teams.
Five monsters.
And a stage built to decide who would devour the future of football
On the Bayern bench, Michael Kaiser stared at a tablet held by a staff member.
Michael Kaiser stared at the screen, his fingers twitching. "A 'Young Star' tier... they really put him above the New Gen 11?"
Don Lorenzo took a massive bite of an apple, his gold tooth glinting. "He's worth more than all of us combined right now, Kaiser. He didn't just score; he broke Atlético's spirit. That bow he did was worth 100-million-euro."
Kaiser's grip tightened on the tablet until the screen nearly cracked. "Don't group me with him. He's just playing in a flashy system. If he were here in the NEL, I'd crush his throat.
"Liar," Hugo said, walking past them to check his boots. "You know as well as I do. Cassian, Yamal, Jude, Loki... they aren't 'prodigies' anymore.
They're Young Stars. They're playing the game the rest of us are still trying to learn."
–––
The Master's Desk: Ego Jinpachi
In his dark control center, Ego Jinpachi crunched on a dry ramen noodle.
He looked at the three "Declined" emails on his screen.
Yamal: "Busy with El Clásico / National Duty.
Mbappé: "Ligue 1 Title Race / Personal Brand.
Cassian Marchessi: Champions League Conquest.
Anri Teiri hurried in, breathless
"Ego! The viewership for the Blue Lock match just dipped! Everyone is tabbed over to the Champions league semi final's post-match highlights!"
"Of course they are, idiot" Ego rasped, scratching his neck. "I invited him, didn't I? I invited Cassian, I invited Yamal, and I invited Mbappé.
I wanted to put the 'Natural Disasters' of this generation inside this facility to see if our wolves could survive their presence."
"They are already 'Young Stars," Ego whispered, a twisted grin appearing. "They are the wall the New Gen XI hasn't reached yet.
They're too busy devouring Europe right now. One's in the Champions League final, another is fighting for El Clásico, and the third is ruling Ligue 1.
But once the dust settles... I'll make sure they finds a reason to come to Japan. I want to see if our wolves can even breathe the same air as the villains of their story."
He turned back to the live feed of Isagi scoring a goal on the screen.
"Keep growing, Isagi. Because out there, in the real world...people are waiting to devour everything you think you've built."