Chapter 114: Real Madrid's Championship Aura Can't Be Hidden Anymore—So They Won't Hide It!
Kroos felt exhausted.
Not just from the constant one-on-one marking and aggressive pressing from Essien and Leon.
It was the style of his play—he could still connect the team's movement with his passing even under tight marking. That wasn't the issue.
The issue was Leon.
Time and time again, Leon cut off Kroos's best passing lanes through intelligent positioning and anticipation, forcing him to choose suboptimal routes.
It drove him crazy.
Kroos even had the urge to grab Leon by the collar and ask if he was targeting him on purpose.
For a playmaker, being repeatedly forced to abandon the best options—that was torture. Worse than simply being dispossessed.
Leon, of course, acted as if nothing was wrong—if anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
Even if he didn't cut off every pass, each time he succeeded in forcing Kroos to pass sideways or wide, he'd flash a smug, satisfied smile.
That irritating expression didn't just get under Kroos's skin—it made Schweinsteiger's teeth itch too.
But no matter how annoyed or frustrated they were, it didn't change the state of the match.
Real Madrid's triple-pivot pressing system was simply suffocating.
And Leon and Essien weren't lumbering destroyers.
They were agile, mobile, with massive coverage areas and insane stamina.
You'd think after 20 minutes of pressing they'd slow down.
But no—they looked even more energized.
And if, by some miracle, you slipped past them and into the defensive third?
You'd find Alonso waiting for you like a patient hunter.
It was shameless. But fair.
Leon and Essien were sacrificing their stamina to secure Madrid's half.
If Bayern's players weren't in a rush, they could've tried to wear the two down and launch a final 20-minute blitz.
But that was the problem—they were in a rush.
Being down 0–2 at home by halftime?
For a Bayern squad that came in full of belief? That was unacceptable.
Still, Heynckes kept his cool.
He was furious with the scoreline, but he also knew this wasn't the time to panic.
He screamed "STAY CALM!" from the sidelines—twice.
Then, in the 39th minute, he sent Müller on.
Along with Müller came a fresh set of tactical instructions—he was the messenger, and the message was urgent.
Schweinsteiger left the field, clearly disappointed.
Heynckes gave his midfield general a long hug and whispered to him:
"We need unity right now, Bastian. I hope you understand."
The veteran coach's words had weight. Schweinsteiger nodded, showed no signs of protest, and waved to the fans, urging them to keep supporting.
Müller took over Kroos's role. Kroos dropped back to play alongside Gustavo as a deeper playmaker.
Bayern were going to push the pace.
Real Madrid's players could see it immediately.
Instinctively, they all looked to the sidelines—to Mourinho, now standing once more.
"Number Four! We're running Tactical Four!"
Mourinho raised four fingers in the air.
Everyone got the message.
"Leon—Müller's yours. Lock him down!"
Leon nodded hard in response.
Tactical Four—Mourinho's pre-prepared mid-game variant of Madrid's 4-2-3-1.
The shape shifted to a 4-4-2.
Di María dropped back into midfield.
Ronaldo and Benzema moved to the flanks, pressing high but dropping deep when needed.
Essien and Alonso stayed as the double pivot.
Leon became a roaming shadow—a free man assigned to shut down Bayern's most dangerous playmaker.
It was the same plan Mourinho used against Messi in prior matches.
The fact that he gave Müller this level of attention showed just how seriously he took the German's introduction.
Madrid weren't going to park the bus entirely.
But with halftime only a few minutes away, and holding a two-goal lead, you'd be foolish not to tighten up.
If Bayern pulled one back now, all the psychological advantage of the first half would be lost.
Pundits from Spain's Movistar praised the switch.
They agreed wholeheartedly with Mourinho's move.
Now it was about holding firm until halftime.
Bayern started launching more balls down the wings.
Müller's presence made an immediate impact.
His deep runs into the box linked the wide players with Gómez more fluidly.
It was working.
He was helping Bayern build a rhythm.
But just as it looked like the home side might start clawing back, Leon struck.
Now familiar with Müller's movement patterns, Leon stepped in—physically.
Müller wasn't a top-tier physical player by Bundesliga standards.
Leon, on the other hand, was just about elite in that department.
So the moment contact came, Müller's influence was neutralized.
Not that Müller cared too much. He was used to this.
Whenever defenders got physical, he'd just run more.
Wide. Diagonal. Deeper. It didn't matter.
But then he realized something alarming:
No matter where he ran, Leon followed.
A shadow. Tireless. Inescapable.
Heynckes watched it unfold and sighed.
Really?
Even Müller was getting this treatment?
He understood marking Robben.
He understood marking Ribéry.
But Müller?
Was he that big a threat?
What Heynckes didn't know was that Mourinho had been watching Müller since the 2009–10 Champions League final.
That season, he had taken special notice of the young German's movement, intelligence, and adaptability.
And after Müller's breakout at the 2010 World Cup, Mourinho—like every great coach—had filed him away in the "must be accounted for" category.
He knew exactly what Müller could do.
And he wasn't about to let him do it.
Not tonight.
Not in his stadium.
Not in his semifinal.
Not against his Real Madrid.
Over the past two seasons, Thomas Müller had scored 38 goals and provided 25 assists across all competitions.
With stats like that, it was impossible for Mourinho not to pay attention.
"This kid is just like Leon," Mourinho had said during a pre-match tactical meeting. "He makes everyone around him play better. He links the wings and the center. And the bigger the match, the better he performs."
So when Mourinho deployed the highest level of tactical restriction specifically to contain Müller, it was no accident.
It was based on very real data and very real fear.
Even if Müller hadn't been as explosive this season as he was in the last two, Mourinho wasn't about to give him space to rediscover that form.
Shut down Müller, and Robben and Ribéry would be left to grind away in endless duels against Madrid's wide defenders.
If they tried to cut inside, Essien and Alonso were waiting.
If that didn't work, Di María could always drop back to help.
Gómez? Sure, he was powerful in the air.
But stuck between Pepe and Ramos, even his headers were hard-won.
Without Müller, Bayern's width-to-center link weakened. Their threats remained, but they lacked fluidity.
If Heynckes wanted to truly crack Madrid open, he'd have to go all in and add another striker.
And when that happened, Madrid would have even more space to launch counterattacks into Bayern's stretched defense.
One thing connected to the next—Mourinho's tactical web had already accounted for all of Heynckes' likely moves.
And what if Leon couldn't contain Müller?
Mourinho hadn't even considered the possibility.
And on the pitch, Leon didn't disappoint.
For five straight minutes, after getting a feel for Müller's movement, Leon stuck to him like glue.
He wasn't aggressive.
He wasn't even disruptive.
He just didn't let him breathe.
He made it clear: "I won't stop you. But I won't let you start either."
Without Leon sweeping through midfield, yes, Madrid's defense had to work harder.
But just like Leon trusted his teammates, they trusted him too.
Pepe and Ramos held strong, clearing Bayern's crosses again and again.
Müller tried everything—off-ball runs, screens, even calling teammates over for pick-and-roll-style movements.
But Leon saw through it.
He even baited Bayern into committing a blocking foul on him.
Smart met smart.
Müller had ideas. Leon had counters.
Physically stronger, equally fast, and far more agile, Leon shut Müller down so hard the German attacker lost his signature smirk.
"Do you speak English?"
Leon asked, voice low, pressing close in defense.
Müller stayed silent.
"No? Come on, I thought you did. What about Italian? A little Spanish maybe?"
Leon turned up the pressure—not just on the ball, but in the mind.
Müller clenched his teeth and tried to jog away, but Leon kept pace.
"Hey, I know you speak English, Thomas. Look, it's nothing personal. Really. I'm actually a pretty nice guy, but the boss said I have to do this. I'm just following orders."
That was the final straw.
Müller felt like his head had doubled in size.
He had never met someone this... shameless.
Just as he was about to fire back in English, the referee's whistle mercifully blew for halftime.
"Thank you, referee!"
Müller exhaled and silently thanked the official, jogging quickly off with his teammates.
Only now did the Madrid fans in the Allianz stands let themselves celebrate again, drawing loud boos from the surrounding Bayern faithful.
But the jeers didn't bother them at all.
Mourinho, all smiles, led Karanka back down the tunnel with a spring in his step.
Leon, Ramos, and Alonso slapped hands and shared grins, walking casually toward the locker room.
In the broadcast booth, commentators analyzed the first-half chess match, speculating on what both coaches might adjust in the second half.
And unless you were German, there was only one team worth betting on now—Real Madrid.
Even Duan Xuan, a longtime Bayern supporter, gave in under the teasing of Coach Zhang.
"Well, if Leon's on the pitch, I guess I have no choice but to support Madrid. Willingly. Absolutely voluntarily.
If Leon helps Madrid reach the final, I'll celebrate with my friends—and try to be there in person to cheer him on."
His words weren't just personal sentiment—they echoed the feelings of millions of Chinese fans.
Manchester United, Arsenal, Bayern, Barcelona, the Milan clubs—it didn't matter who you supported before.
Tonight, they all supported Leon.
It used to be just forum fantasies.
"I'll back my club over any Chinese player," fans once wrote.
But now?
When it was real?
When Leon truly had a chance to lead Real Madrid into the Champions League final?
Even hardcore Bayern fans turned coat.
They didn't support Madrid.
But they supported Leon—100%.
They wanted to see a Chinese player on the grandest stage of European football.
In the locker room, Leon was fully aware of the expectations he carried.
It didn't matter if he liked it or not.
It didn't matter if he wanted to separate himself from the pressure.
He couldn't.
Once he signed those massive domestic endorsement deals, once he became the face of so many Chinese brands abroad, he had taken on this responsibility.
And he embraced it.
Why else would he have immediately accepted the call-up to the national youth team?
He couldn't represent his country in this moment—but he could show the world:
It's not just Koreans and Japanese players who can thrive in Europe.
A Chinese player can make it to the Champions League final too.
With more confidence than ever before, Leon stepped back onto the Allianz pitch for the second half.
There would be no holding back—not from him, not from anyone in a white shirt.
Even with a looming Clásico against Barcelona back in La Liga, no one hesitated.
Because at halftime, Mourinho had delivered his marching orders:
"Leave no regrets."
Only if they could endure this Champions League semifinal battle would Real Madrid be qualified to dream of the final.
If they let Bayern come back from a 2–0 lead—or worse, let them turn the game around—it wouldn't just be a blow to the scoreboard, it would be a humiliation to their pride and resolve.
This wasn't a match for playing it safe. This was a match to go all in.
With that conviction burning in their veins, Madrid kicked off the second half at full throttle.
Leon picked up right where he left off—shadowing Müller relentlessly.
But that didn't last long.
In the 56th minute, Heynckes made another bold substitution: Kroos off, Olic on!
The Bayern manager played his last attacking card. He wasn't waiting.
With forty minutes still on the clock, he was going all-out.
This was Heynckes: meticulous by nature, but never afraid to roll the dice when it mattered.
Mourinho raised an eyebrow at the change, surprised, but not unprepared.
He immediately made a tactical switch of his own.
Madrid changed formation again.
Leon no longer needed to man-mark Müller—because now, they were going on the attack.
"4-3-3! Real Madrid have switched to a 4-3-3! Mourinho is being bold—he's going to fight Bayern head-on at the Allianz Arena! Madrid are throwing caution to the wind, responding to Bayern's furious assault with offense of their own!"
Duan Xuan felt goosebumps.
This was what a Champions League semifinal was supposed to be.
Both coaches showing true courage and tactical steel.
Fans across the world rose in applause—not just for the players, but for the managers too.
The pace of the match ramped up.
Fierce challenges. Relentless transitions. Fast, aggressive counterattacks from both sides.
Bayern, now playing with nothing held back, unleashed their signature direct football.
If they couldn't pass through Madrid's midfield, they'd bombard them with crosses.
Olic and Müller were everywhere in the box, fighting for scraps.
Robben and Ribéry lurked on the flanks, always ready to cut in or fire from distance.
High. Low. Wide. Central.
Bayern's full-spectrum bombardment was brutal.
But all of that came at a cost.
With only one true holding midfielder now, Bayern's midfield turned into a highway for Madrid's counterattacks.
From minute 58 to 64, Ronaldo launched two devastating solo runs.
Benzema's movement and decoy runs were perfect—he dragged defenders and created space for CR7.
If not for Manuel Neuer, who was putting on a masterclass between the posts, the scoreline could've ballooned even further.
Boateng, who had been confident pre-match about locking down Ronaldo, had now all but abandoned the idea.
He shouted at Gustavo to double up on CR7 with him.
Both teams were playing with fire—each taking risks defensively to go full throttle in attack.
Essien was starting to fade physically. He could still go, but not at full speed.
Leon, on the other hand, was thriving.
After surviving a brutal season filled with matches that pushed him to the limit, his stamina rating had climbed to 92.
Maybe not Nedvěd-tier, but easily among the fittest in all of football.
He kept going, and in doing so, lightened the defensive load for Xabi Alonso.
Compared to everyone else slowing down from fatigue, Leon's tireless running made him a glaring presence on the pitch.
After the 70th minute, that stamina edge became decisive.
Once a player's physical threshold dips, mistakes creep in—passes go astray, touches get heavy.
But Leon? Still sharp. Still clean.
That gave Madrid the edge.
Bayern, frustrated from failing to score, grew impatient.
In the 75th minute, after Alonso made a perfectly timed slide tackle to dispossess Müller, Leon made a bold call.
"Fábio!"
He shouted for Coentrão to pass it to him, then took off.
Seeing Leon had the energy to make another run, Coentrão didn't hesitate—long ball.
Now Alaba was in trouble.
He'd been waiting to intercept on the ground—but the ball sailed over him.
Leon judged the trajectory perfectly, took the ball down while running, and charged forward from the center circle.
Tens of thousands of Bayern fans held their breath.
Benzema and Ronaldo immediately opened lanes, dragging defenders away.
Di María, exhausted, forced himself to keep up.
Leon's stamina outpaced Gustavo's, and with a sharp shift of direction, he blew past the Brazilian.
Mourinho squatted near the sideline, fists clenched.
Please. Finish this.
Heynckes screamed at his players to recover faster.
Leon didn't overthink it.
He slipped a grounded through ball between defenders—straight into Ronaldo's path.
Badstuber had drifted right with Benzema.
The lane was open.
Neuer charged again.
With Boateng beaten, and no one else near, Neuer gambled it all.
But Ronaldo was ready.
One touch, then a diagonal sprint—he jumped over Neuer's sliding tackle.
Landing on both feet, CR7 twisted his body and fired a shot toward the far post.
Lahm threw himself into the goal, sliding in desperately—
But he missed by half a meter.
The ball hit the back of the net.
Lahm crashed into the post.
He closed his eyes, devastated.
He knew—it was over.
Ronaldo ripped off his shirt and roared.
A furious, unstoppable slide near the Bayern goal line.
Leon followed, dropping to his knees and embracing him mid-slide, screaming in joy.
3–0.
This wasn't just a win.
This was a statement.
Madrid's championship aura could no longer be hidden.
So why hide it?
Let the world see.
This was Real Madrid.
This was their year.
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