"Ten-man Real Madrid clearly can't stop Barcelona with Ronaldinho on their side!"
"The Bernabeu has gone silent!"
"Barcelona has conquered this stadium!"
"Not even Ronaldo could save Real Madrid now!"
On the pitch, the Barcelona players celebrated wildly.
Especially Puyol.
He kept glancing at Su Hang—because the goal Su Hang scored, the one where he sent Puyol to the ground, had shattered his pride.
Now he wanted to get even.
Seeing Puyol, Su Hang suddenly had an idea—didn't he love flying tackles?
If he got mad enough... and Su Hang looked unlucky enough... he might just go for a dangerous tackle.
Of course, Su Hang wasn't planning to actually get hurt.
But with Real Madrid's head doctor already dismissed by Florentino and no new specialist yet in place, all Su Hang had to do was claim he felt unwell. The current batch of clueless doctors wouldn't dare say he was fine.
Everyone knew how Ronaldo rushed back to play and got injured again almost immediately.
The medical staff now feared being accused—by players or the public—of ignoring health risks and pushing players to play injured.
So if a player said he wasn't feeling well, they wouldn't dare contradict him.
That would give Su Hang the perfect excuse to lie low for a while.
"Who the hell are you staring at? Did you score that goal?" Su Hang walked over to Puyol, mimicking the way he had fallen. "Or was it Xavi who slipped past me and scored just now?"
Puyol was instantly enraged.
The timing of the jab was brutal.
"What did you say, you little ball boy? You think you're hot stuff? Your ball control is garbage!" Puyol stormed toward him.
They collided.
Su Hang was slightly taller.
But Puyol, as a center-back, had a solid, powerful frame.
Fortunately, Su Hang activated his physical dominance and held his ground.
"Thanks for the compliment on my technique. But next time you speak, can you jump up a bit? I'm getting tired of having to look down every time I talk to you—gonna give me neck problems!" Su Hang taunted.
"Damn it!" Puyol swung at him.
But Su Hang, ready for it, caught his arm mid-motion.
Teammates from both sides rushed over and separated them.
The tension on the field surged again.
Real Madrid fans began hurling abuse at the Barcelona players.
The Bernabeu, which had seemed conquered, suddenly came alive again—its spirit reignited.
The referee stepped in and handed both Su Hang and Puyol a yellow card.
He gave Su Hang a particularly stern warning.
But Su Hang remained calm and courteous in front of the ref, nodding earnestly and even flashing a friendly smile at Puyol.
He practically had "Come tackle me" written on his face.
"Well done!"
After the clash, Zidane praised Su Hang.
Su Hang looked puzzled. "Wait… you're not mad at me for stirring things up? You're actually praising me?"
Zidane glanced toward the sideline. "Barcelona had already taken control. Without that clash, the morale of the team—and the fans—would've collapsed."
"You brought back the will to fight."
"You've got a good sense for momentum. You have the potential to be a team leader."
Faced with Zidane's praise, Su Hang felt a little guilty. "No, I wasn't trying to boost morale. I just..."
Zidane interrupted, "Even better. That means it's instinct. You're a natural leader."
Su Hang...
He had intended to explain himself, but then he noticed Zidane's expression change.
Su Hang looked to the sideline.
Queiroz had made a substitution.
He had taken Zidane off and brought on Guti.
Zidane clearly wasn't happy.
A true leader doesn't accept being subbed off when the team is losing.
Even though Real Madrid lacked a clear leader at the moment, Zidane held himself to the highest standards.
And this was *El Clásico*.
"Oh! Queiroz might be worried about Zidane's yellow card."
"Zidane looks furious—he didn't even high-five Queiroz."
"If you're worried about cards, Queiroz should've subbed off Cambiasso, not Zidane. You can't be thinking about defense right now."
"Real Madrid is trailing! They need to score! And you take off the player most capable of creating chances?"
Queiroz had made a bad call.
In the next few minutes, Real Madrid's attack remained lifeless.
By the 84th minute, Queiroz told Portillo to start warming up. He was preparing to replace the exhausted Raúl in one last attempt.
Su Hang looked at Zidane, who sat on the sideline looking grim and dejected—and made a bold decision.
**Ding! You've activated the Moment Card: 'Zinedine Zidane 1993'!**
In a flash, Su Hang's mind was filled with insights from the young Zidane's understanding of football.
In 1993, Zidane was just 21 years old. He had already married his wife Veronika.
That year, he came to understand what it meant to be a man—his style became tougher and more aggressive. He began to combine his tall, strong physique with sharp technique.
During the 1993-94 season, he was named Ligue 1 Young Player of the Year.
Two years later, he dropped the "young" title, won Ligue 1 Player of the Year, and transferred to Juventus—officially beginning his superstar journey.
For Zidane, 1993 was a defining year.
And based on this youthful Zidane's perspective, he disagreed with Queiroz's substitution.
Su Hang rushed to the sideline and pointed at midfielder Borja. "No, no, no! Not Portillo—I want someone like him. We need more midfielders!"
"Guys who are quick and used to making forward runs."
"If you put in Portillo, Barcelona's defense will lock on him immediately."
"Send in a midfielder!"
"I'll drop back to help with build-up. That one's Borja, right? Borja, Guti, Beckham—they'll rotate in making runs."
"Only midfielders can break through with late runs. We're down a man. Every midfielder needs to do double the work!"
Su Hang laid out his strategy quickly.
Put simply: a forward is just a forward.
A midfielder can play both midfield and attack.
That was Real Madrid's best option with ten players.
Otherwise, Barcelona would score again.
"You don't get to tell me how to make substitutions!" Queiroz clenched his fists. This kid was pushing him on purpose.
"If you bring on Portillo, I'm not playing! We're gonna lose anyway!" Su Hang spread his arms wide—his stance was firm.
Watching Su Hang walk off, Zidane was momentarily lost in thought.
That used to be his own temper.
Still is, though now he hides it better.
Like how furious he was over Queiroz's decision to sub him off.
"I think Su is right," Zidane finally said.
It was his way of expressing anger over being taken off.
If Queiroz listened, that would be the end of it.
If not...
If Zidane clashed with Queiroz, there was no doubt—Queiroz would be the one to go.
--
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