62nd minute.
Su Hang remained stubbornly persistent.
He dropped back again!
Harry Kewell was thinking about how to get past Beckham.
But Su Hang came charging from behind and stole the ball cleanly.
Kewell was completely unprepared.
Bang.
Su Hang played it across to Baptista and immediately surged forward.
Gerrard pounced on Baptista to stop the counter.
Baptista laid it back to Su Hang.
With his back to goal, Su Hang half-turned and swept the ball forward with his left foot!
A captain's pass!
Left wing!
The Stepover Kid, Robinho, burst into a full sprint!
If Real Madrid were a car, their speed had just jumped from sixty to one hundred and twenty in an instant.
Su Hang's pass was like hitting the turbo!
Robinho controlled the ball beautifully on the wing and drove it forward.
After releasing the pass, Su Hang quickly spun and pressed on into the attack.
Figo moved into position at the edge of the penalty arc, ready to take a shot from distance.
Cassano lurked inside the box, waiting to pounce.
But Robinho didn't pass.
Not giving it to Cassano was the right choice—he wouldn't have reached the cross.
But ignoring Figo felt selfish.
And sure enough!
Robinho cut inside. He wanted to do it all himself.
Recently, stuck in a formation that didn't suit him, he'd been reduced to a benchwarmer's benchwarmer, with barely any minutes.
Now, finally getting a chance to play, he wanted to make a statement.
Bang!
Robinho unleashed a flurry of stepovers, but Jamie Carragher—ranked in the Ballon d'Or top twenty—stepped in firmly. Not only did he clear the ball, he also sent Robinho crashing to the ground.
Robinho rolled, then got to his knees, arms raised, demanding a foul.
But the referee ignored him.
Because Su Hang and Carragher were both charging after the loose ball outside the box.
Su Hang was farther away.
But the ball was rolling toward him...
...
They collided head-on, neither giving way.
Bang!
Both stuck out their legs at the same time.
The ball ricocheted off to the side.
But then—smack! Their shins clashed brutally.
"Ah!"
Both men screamed.
Carragher collapsed, clutching his left leg.
But Su Hang, teeth gritted, forced himself up and chased after the ball.
His first step staggered, the pain nearly dropping him.
Yet he pushed through.
The ball bounced into the box.
Hyypiä rushed in to clear.
But Su Hang, without hesitation, got there first.
He planted his foot and spun—a Marseille Turn!
Slipping past Hyypiä!
"Su Hang! Su Hang breaks into the penalty area!"
"Cassano's calling for it on the right side of the six-yard box!"
"Figo's waiting at the top of the arc!"
"Su Hang's near the penalty spot—he could shoot himself!"
"Su Hang looks at Cassano!"
It felt like forever, but it was only an instant.
As Su Hang glanced at Cassano, Reina turned his head toward Cassano too, ready to rush out and block the shot.
Bang!
Su Hang fired a no-look strike!
The ball flew past Reina's right hand, skimming the post before slamming into the net.
If Reina hadn't shifted his weight, he could've saved it without even moving.
But Su Hang had fooled him completely!
"GOAL! 2–1! Real Madrid finally score!"
"Su Hang! The captain delivers in the clutch!"
"A world-class strike! Su Hang initiated the attack, made the run, pulled off a Marseille Turn to beat Hyypiä!"
"And finally, that fake pass into a shot—completely fooling Reina!"
"Intelligence! Courage! Skill! Composure!"
"A goal straight out of Ronaldinho's playbook! But Su Hang did it even better!"
"The perfect fusion of steel and artistry!"
"You can always believe in Siu!"
The Bernabéu erupted, fans chanting in unison: "Siuuuuu!"
But Su Hang didn't celebrate.
The moment the ball hit the net, he sprinted into the goal, scooped it up, and ran out.
Time!
One goal wasn't enough!
By the time Reina realized what had happened, Su Hang had already bolted out of the six-yard box.
Frustrated, Reina lashed out and kicked the post.
"Fuck!"
On the sidelines, Liverpool manager Rafa Benítez, known as a tactical mastermind, signaled for a change.
He brought on French striker Djibril Cissé for the Australian Harry Kewell.
Cissé was an outstanding forward—explosive physicality, blistering pace.
But his technique and finishing were less refined.
Still, he was widely regarded as the next great French striker, capable of carrying the torch after Henry.
But after joining Liverpool in 2004, he'd suffered a horrific injury that hampered his career.
And worse was still to come.
Just before the World Cup, in a warm-up match between France and China, Cissé had his right leg broken in a collision with China's captain Zheng Zhi, ruling him out of the tournament.
That second injury ended his hopes of becoming a world-class striker.
But for now, Cissé was still a serious threat.
...
67th minute.
Figo charged through the middle.
This old machine was running with a Lamborghini engine—Liverpool couldn't stop him.
Drawing defenders, Figo slipped the ball to Su Hang.
Carragher braced himself.
Su Hang looked ready to receive, turn, and drive at goal.
Don't be fooled by his awkward movements—his dribbling was dangerous, and above all, he had the courage to take defenders on.
Just earlier, he'd ignored Cassano despite a better shooting angle.
Bang!
Before Carragher could even react, the ball slipped through his legs.
Su Hang had flicked it with a backheel nutmeg!
The metronome had turned into the accelerator.
Yes, there were risks to this style.
But it was deadly all the same.
Cassano collected the ball, nudged it forward, and lined up to shoot.
Hyypiä stuck out a leg but missed, so he simply hauled Cassano down instead.
Beep!
The referee's whistle cut through the air.
Hyypiä was shown a yellow card.
Real Madrid won a free kick just outside the box.
It was almost a penalty.
In a way, Hyypiä's foul was worth it.
The referee could easily have given him a red.
Beckham stepped up behind the ball.
But it was too close—an awkward distance for his signature Banana Free Kick.
Just then, Su Hang glanced at Beckham.
Their eyes met. Instantly, they understood.
No words were exchanged, no signal given.
Su Hang blended into the group jostling in the wall, then "accidentally" slipped out and drifted quietly into space on the right side of the box.
The whistle blew.
Beckham began his run-up.
Body leaning at a sharp angle, he wound up with the classic motion of his Banana Free Kick.
His frame tilted almost forty-five degrees to the ground.
Bang!
But the ball didn't sail high.
Instead...