The halftime whistle was a mercy for the Viola. Inside the dressing room, the air was thick with the scent of wintergreen and silent frustration. For the first time in months, Fiorentina was staring at a deficit.
"Wolfsburg is a wall," Montella admitted, his voice low but firm. "If we don't find a way to breathe in the second half, we're leaving Germany with nothing. Badelj, you are De Bruyne's shadow. If he goes to the bathroom, you're standing at the stall next to him. Suffocate him!"
The second half began, but the momentum stayed with the Wolves. De Bruyne was playing like a man possessed, protected by the dual shields of Gustavo and Guilavogui. Fiorentina was drowning in their own half.
That was when Renzo Uzumaki caught Montella's eye. He made a sharp, repetitive hand gesture—a tactical signal they had practiced in closed-door sessions but never used in a live match.
Switch to the 4-4-1-1. Let me take the "Enganche" hole.
Montella hesitated. Switching from a 4-3-3 to a 4-4-1-1 mid-game against the Bundesliga's best attack looked like a surrender. It meant pulling Salah and Cuadrado back into defensive roles. But seeing the desperation in his players' eyes, Montella gambled. He signaled the change.
The impact was immediate. De Bruyne, who had been carving through the midfield, suddenly found himself in a forest of purple shirts.
"What is this?" KDB muttered as he looked up. The passing lanes he had exploited in the first half were gone. The density of Fiorentina's midfield had turned the pitch into a swamp.
For the first time in the match, Badelj dispossessed the Belgian superstar.
"What's the matter, kid?" Badelj smirked. "Looking for a gap? There aren't any left."
De Bruyne's frustration boiled over. He tried a long ball to Perišić, but it was intercepted by a retreating Salah. The "Belgian Wall" was starting to crack under the pressure of Renzo's defensive architecture.
By the 72nd minute, the game had slowed to a crawl. Wolfsburg's Coach Dieter was laughing on the sidelines. "They've given up! They're just defending a 2-1 loss!"
But he didn't see Renzo.
Badelj intercepted another loose KDB pass and fired it to Renzo. Luiz Gustavo rushed in, but he was haunted by his yellow card. He hesitated. That split-second was all Renzo needed. With a delicate La Croqueta, Renzo glided past the Brazilian international.
Up front, Mario Gomez was surrounded. Three Wolfsburg defenders—Naldo, Klose, and Guilavogui—were sandbagging him. De Bruyne, tracking back, saw the wings. "Watch Salah! Watch Cuadrado!" he screamed, certain Renzo would look for the speed on the flanks.
Renzo didn't look at the wings. He didn't even look at Gomez.
Boom.
Renzo struck the ball with the outside of his right boot. It was a "Trivela"—a low, wicked curve that defied physics. The ball didn't travel in a straight line; it drew a massive arc around Guilavogui's sliding tackle and sliced between Naldo's legs.
It was a pass with GPS precision. It landed perfectly in the stride of Mario Gomez, who hadn't even finished his run.
Gomez didn't think. He didn't settle. He simply hammered it first-time into the roof of the net.
2-2. The silence in the Volkswagen Arena was deafening.
In the VIP box, Jürgen Klinsmann stood up. He wasn't cheering for a goal; he was applauding the sheer audacity of the pass.
"He made De Bruyne look dull," Klinsmann whispered, his hands coming together in a slow, rhythmic clap. "In a forest of defenders, he found the only atom of space that existed. That isn't just talent, Fred. That's a miracle."
De Bruyne stood in the center circle, staring at Renzo. He had seen the greatest playmakers in the world, but he had never seen a pass like that. The "Ghost of Florence" hadn't just equalized the score; he had conquered the "Strongest Midfield in Germany" with a single touch of his boot.
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