Chapter 185: Can You Guess If I'm a Bluff or the Trump Card?
Summer in London is, without a doubt, far more likable than winter.
Gone are the foggy cold days and endless rain of autumn and winter. On a clear day like this, Wembley Stadium is the perfect venue for a major final.
And of course, the football culture in England is as rich as ever.
Over the past few days in London, Leon had encountered waves of passionate fans wherever he went.
On the morning of the Champions League final, after Real Madrid finished their final training session, they passed several local Madrid fan groups waving banners of support on the way back to their hotel.
By evening, as the Real Madrid and Bayern Munich team buses arrived at Wembley, the roar of a packed crowd split down the middle by allegiance sent a wave of familiarity through both squads.
But this wasn't like any ordinary match — not even your average Champions League game. Wembley, like Camp Nou, was a true football coliseum.
Leon wasn't European, so he didn't have the same emotional connection to playing at Wembley as some of his teammates.
Looking around at the sheer size of the stadium and the sea of seats, his only thought was:
"Huge."
Then, a random thought crept in.
"If I score here today, how should I celebrate to make sure the whole stadium notices?"
He immediately laughed at himself and shook his head. He was getting a little cocky.
Sure, he'd scored in the Champions League final last year, but Bayern this year wasn't the same as the one he faced then.
Forget scoring — even notching an assist tonight would be enough to satisfy him.
Putting that fantasy aside, Leon dialed back into the moment and got serious. He focused on pre-match warmups with his teammates.
The starting lineups for both teams were released right around that time — and the media, who never believed the coaches' previous comments, felt vindicated.
Benzema and Xabi Alonso, who were supposedly nursing muscle tightness, looked sharp in warmups. Robben didn't look injured in the slightest.
Sure enough, all three were in the starting XI.
But there were still a few surprises.
For Madrid, Modrić was unexpectedly replaced by Matuidi.
And on Bayern's side, Robben started ahead of Müller — despite being used only as a bench weapon in the semifinals.
The lineup choices caught media and fans off guard.
Clearly, both managers had done their tactical homework and made subtle adjustments.
Matuidi's inclusion meant Madrid would field a more defensively solid double pivot with Leon in midfield — strong for intercepting and disrupting Bayern's flow.
Robben's return to the starting eleven hinted that Heynckes wanted to unleash Bayern's trademark wing-based attack early.
It looked like he was aiming for an all-out offensive showdown.
Mourinho, on the other hand, seemed to have reserved his tactical punch for the second half.
Still, the media was hesitant to draw conclusions.
Matuidi wasn't just a destroyer — he could contribute to offense as well. What if Mourinho was bluffing again?
London's reporters, no strangers to being outwitted by "The Special One," weren't taking any chances this time.
In the commentary booth, He Wei and Coach Zhang were adjusting their equipment and quietly debating Mourinho's true plan.
He Wei was adamant at first — "Mourinho's bluffing. He's gonna drop a tactical bomb when the match starts."
But when the national anthems finished, the lineups were locked, and the game was moments from kickoff, He Wei had to face the truth.
Mourinho wasn't bluffing. He really did plan to defend and counter — giving Bayern the early initiative.
Coach Zhang, seeing the disappointment on He Wei's face, didn't tease him and instead jumped in with a rundown of the starting elevens.
"Here is Bayern Munich's starting lineup:
Goalkeeper: No. 1 Manuel Neuer.
Left back: No. 27 David Alaba.
Center backs: No. 4 Dante and No. 17 Boateng.
Right back: No. 21 Philipp Lahm.
Double pivots: No. 31 Schweinsteiger and No. 8 Javi Martínez.
Attacking midfield: No. 39 Toni Kroos.
Left wing: No. 7 Franck Ribéry.
Right wing: No. 10 Arjen Robben.
Striker: No. 9 Mario Mandzukic."
"And for Real Madrid," Coach Zhang continued,
"Goalkeeper: No. 1 Iker Casillas.
Left back: No. 12 Marcelo.
Center backs: No. 3 Pepe and No. 4 Ramos.
Right back: No. 17 Arbeloa.
Defensive mid: No. 14 Xabi Alonso.
Central mids: No. 10 Leon and No. 15 Matuidi.
Wingers: No. 7 Ronaldo on the left and No. 22 Di María on the right.
Striker: No. 9 Benzema."
As Coach Zhang wrapped up, He Wei jumped in:
"Thank you, Coach Zhang. As we can see, both managers have stacked their midfields with five players, though their tactical approaches may differ."
Before he could finish, the referee blew the opening whistle right on schedule.
Both commentators snapped to attention.
"Gear up, everyone! Welcome to the live broadcast of the 2012–2013 UEFA Champions League Final!"
While He Wei gave the opening lines, Bayern kicked off and immediately pressed forward, stretching Madrid's formation with both wings pushing high.
Looking back at last year's clash between these two sides, Mourinho had tried to go toe-to-toe — attacking hard, trusting the trident up front and midfield press.
And it worked. Madrid overwhelmed Bayern with firepower and directness.
But as the old Chinese saying goes: "No battle is ever the same; no form set in stone."
This Bayern had evolved.
With Martínez anchoring the midfield and improved chemistry across the board, the gaps Madrid had exploited last year were now sealed.
Attacking straight through the center wouldn't work this time.
Madrid, too, had improved. Their defensive shape had matured. And Leon had grown immensely as a box-to-box dynamo.
That's why Mourinho chose discipline over aggression.
Compared to Heynckes' more daring game plan, Mourinho was playing the long game — control first, strike later.
It wasn't about being conservative — it was about choosing the safest, most effective route to lift the cup.
The trio of Leon, Alonso, and Matuidi provided Mourinho with an iron-clad midfield shield.
And within the first five minutes, they delivered.
Madrid's defense wasn't just solid — it was suffocating.
The entire team had internalized Mourinho's philosophy. Press together, drop together, counter as a unit.
Last season, they'd claimed title after title with rugged defending and clinical counters.
It wasn't flashy, but it worked.
That belief — that structure — was now in their bones.
They absorbed Bayern's first wave, blocked passing lanes, and shut down wide overloads.
Heynckes stood on the touchline, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
But he wasn't surprised.
This was the new Real Madrid — the one that could choke out even the most powerful offense in Europe.
If you were asking: "Who attacks best in Europe right now?"
Bayern would argue with anyone.
But if you asked: "Who defends best?"
Even Bayern's players would admit —
They weren't better than Madrid. Not tonight. Not yet.
This was simply stating facts—Mourinho knew his team's strengths, and so did Heynckes.
When their initial aggressive push didn't yield results, Bayern quickly adjusted under Heynckes, switching to a wing-central combination, a more intricate mode of attacking.
Had Thomas Müller been deployed in Bayern's number 10 role, their attacking patterns might have remained straightforward and quick.
But with Toni Kroos pulling the strings in that position, Bayern's offense became filled with delicate layers and technical finesse.
Leon was evolving—but so were his opponents. Take Toni Kroos, for instance, who was now directly matched up against him.
Last year, when Kroos was shadowed by Leon, his passing was shaky, his organization disrupted.
This year, Kroos seemed unbothered—his calm, measured distribution made Leon feel a rare sense of pressure.
The problem with players like Kroos, who use intelligence and subtle passing to drive an offense, is that once they stop engaging you directly, there's no clear way to stop them.
Leon had tried everything—physical confrontations, tricky footwork, tight marking—but Kroos continued to circulate the ball with ease.
Leon's methods could slow Bayern's central penetration, but not stop it. Unless he fouled Kroos harshly, which he'd never do. Not his style.
Thankfully, even though Leon's direct efforts to contain Kroos hit a snag, Matuidi was constantly sweeping across and disrupting.
Bayern's secondary attackers still found it hard to push forward cleanly.
Leon, always a keen observer, began to spot patterns. After a quick exchange with Alonso, he changed his approach—no longer fixated on Kroos alone.
He shifted his movement across his half, just like Matuidi, targeting anyone on Bayern's right who might receive a pass.
Kroos, being less mobile, was reassigned to Alonso's watch.
The change paid immediate dividends. Leon and Matuidi formed a midfield clamp that ratcheted up Real Madrid's defensive intensity.
Kroos still had vision, but his passes now met resistance before they could do damage.
And asking Kroos to lead Bayern's tempo and break through on his own? That wasn't his game.
Mourinho, watching from the sidelines, nodded with satisfaction even before Karanka spoke up beside him.
"This kid's brain is as sharp as ever. He spotted it—found the gap."
Mourinho nodded again, though his words were more reserved.
"Don't let your guard down yet. We're defending well, yes, but Bayern's wingers are elite. If Ribéry or Robben gets into rhythm, we'll be in real danger.
And don't forget, their midfield's full of long-range shooters."
Mourinho's words had barely settled when Bayern unleashed a long shot—Alaba, charging in from the left, blasted one from thirty meters out.
Casillas, razor-focused, barely managed to push the shot out of the box.
And while Bayern were still lamenting their missed opportunity, Real Madrid counterattacked with lethal precision.
Modrić wasn't starting today, so the first midfielder to burst upfield? Leon.
Marcelo, who had carried the ball down the wing before being closed down by Lahm, cut the ball back to Leon in the center.
Bastian Schweinsteiger and Javi Martínez immediately tracked back—one dropping, one closing in.
It looked like a textbook containment.
But just as Leon approached Martínez, he exploded—a sudden, violent acceleration that blew past the Bayern midfielder.
It didn't matter that Martínez wasn't slow for his size. Against Leon's burst, his turn looked like a tanker ship trying to spin around.
Before Bayern's backline could collapse, Leon sent a pinpoint, diagonal lob pass over the top.
Not only did he avoid direct confrontation with Boateng, he also set up Cristiano Ronaldo perfectly in stride inside the box.
If Boateng had been the one to mark Ronaldo, maybe the attack would've ended there.
But it was Dante—a fine defender, but no match for Ronaldo's explosiveness.
Ronaldo brought the ball down with his chest, adjusted his stride, and struck a scorching volley toward the near post.
Technique? Perfect.
Power? Impeccable.
The Madrid fans—over 40,000 in the stands—were already on their feet, ready to explode.
And then—a hand flashed into the frame on the broadcast.
Neuer.
At this critical moment of the half, Manuel Neuer pulled off a superhuman save, diving full-stretch to push Ronaldo's shot just wide.
The shock and awe reversed—Madrid fans gasped in disbelief; Bayern fans roared with relief.
But the danger wasn't over.
Inside Bayern's box, chaos reigned.
Boateng, scrambling back, saw the ball flying straight at him—but he'd overrun it.
In desperation, he twisted his body and swung his heel in a wild attempt to clear.
The idea was right—tap it out of the box—but his touch missed the sweet spot.
The ball skittered, directionless, and floated toward the penalty spot.
Both teams froze, unsure of the bounce.
Benzema, who had slowed down thinking the play was dead, suddenly found the ball floating toward him like a gift from the heavens.
He blinked, raised his foot, and instinctively redirected the ball toward goal.
Neuer, still recovering from his dive, couldn't do anything this time.
The ball bounced across the line and hit the back of the net.
Goal.
Leon, who had followed the play into the box, jumped onto Benzema's back, laughing and shouting:
"My assist! My assist's gone!"
His teammates didn't hear the joke over the deafening roar.
Benzema, with Leon on his back, ran toward the corner flag, joined by a wave of celebrating Madrid players.
What a wild, chaotic, hilarious goal.
The tension in the stadium finally shattered—the Madrid fans could now breathe, leap, and cheer their hearts out.
On the Bayern bench, Heynckes smacked the roof in frustration.
Then he paused, eyes narrowing, watching Leon in the center of the celebration.
Leon, who had been disciplined and defensive all half, had made one forward run—and it created the breakthrough.
Technically, Leon didn't get the assist. Benzema's goal looked like a scrappy rebound.
But Heynckes saw everything clearly.
No Leon run, no through ball, no Ronaldo shot, no rebound.
He fell silent, thinking:
"Is that kid Mourinho's bluff… or his trump card?"
Get 30% off on my Patreon and enjoy early access to new chapters.
You can also purchase the next 100 chapters of the novel directly from my Patreon page.
Hurry up! The promotion ends on February 2, 2026.
Read 40 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10