The corner was cleared by Fernández, but San José won it back before Montevideo could transition. Cardoso collected the loose ball in midfield and immediately looked left. Ortega had already repositioned himself wide, demanding it, his body language showing he wanted the ball every time his team had possession.
The pass came—driven, accurate. Ortega's first touch was clean, and he was already turning, accelerating past Esteban's initial positioning. The right-back tried to stay compact, but Ortega's change of direction was instant—a sharp cut inside with his right foot that left Esteban reaching. By the time the defender recovered, Ortega was two meters ahead, driving into the space between Montevideo's right-back and center-back.
Robles was already moving to cover, recognizing the pattern from twenty seconds ago. But Ortega didn't need to beat him—he just needed the angle. Ten meters from the byline, he whipped in a cross with his right foot. The delivery was dangerous, curling away from Rodríguez but toward the penalty spot where Acosta was arriving.
The striker rose above Álvarez, getting his head to it. The contact was decent, redirecting it toward goal, but the angle was tight. The ball sailed just over the crossbar by half a meter.
San José's supporters groaned. So close.
Montevideo tried to build from the goal kick, but their shape was compressed, defensive. When Rodríguez rolled it to Fernández, the center-back was immediately pressed by Acosta. He played it sideways to Álvarez under pressure, who launched it long toward Benítez.
Costa won the aerial duel easily. The ball went back to San José's goalkeeper, and they built from the back with patience that suggested they were in complete control.
Morales to Miranda. The left-back took one touch and played it inside to Rivas. The defensive midfielder surveyed the field, then switched play with a long diagonal to Medina on the right wing. The winger controlled it and drove at Pereira, forcing Montevideo's left-back to backpedal.
But Medina wasn't Ortega. His pace was good but not elite, his decision-making predictable. When he tried to cut inside, Silva had already recovered into position, cutting off the angle. Medina played it backward to Ferreira, and San José reset.
They weren't a one-man team. Everyone knew their role, executed it simply. Rivas and Cardoso controlled the midfield with disciplined positioning, never overcommitting. Costa and Suárez defended their penalty area with organization that made Montevideo's few attempts at attacking easily contained. González linked play between midfield and attack without trying to do too much.
But Ortega was their weapon. Every dangerous attack flowed through him or was created by the space his movement opened up.
The ball went wide to him again—this time from Rivas, who'd won possession after Che's pass to Silva was intercepted. Ortega collected it thirty meters from goal, Esteban already positioned to defend. The winger took one touch forward, and Esteban stepped to challenge.
Ortega's skill wasn't just pace—it was how he used his body. A subtle shoulder drop left, then an explosive cut right. Esteban committed to the fake, his weight shifting, and by the time he tried to adjust, Ortega was past him. The winger drove toward the byline again, this time getting even closer before crossing.
The delivery was low and driven, skidding across the wet surface. Acosta arrived at the near post, sliding to meet it, but Fernández got his body in front just in time. The ball deflected off the center-back's shin and out for another corner.
Montevideo was defending desperately now. Every clearance was being won back within seconds. Every attempt to build possession was being cut off before it could develop. Che was trying to drop deep to help link play, but San José's press was coordinated—González marking him tightly whenever the ball came near, preventing him from turning.
The corner was delivered toward the penalty spot. Bodies collided. Álvarez won the header, directing it out toward the touchline where Cabrera was positioned. The right midfielder controlled it but was immediately closed down by Miranda. He played it backward to Esteban under pressure.
Esteban tried to clear it long, but his pass lacked distance. The ball went straight to González in midfield, who immediately played it left. Ortega again.
This time, he didn't try to beat Esteban one-on-one. He just took one touch to control, then played a diagonal ball into the box—aimed at the space between Fernández and Álvarez where Acosta was making his run.
The striker arrived perfectly, his positioning splitting the center-backs. He struck it first time with his right foot, aiming for the bottom corner. Rodríguez dove desperately, getting fingertips to it, deflecting it just wide of the post.
Another corner. San José's fourth in the opening ten minutes. The pressure was relentless.
Montevideo's players were communicating frantically—"Stay tight!" "Mark up!" "Clear it long!"—but their voices carried strain. They hadn't touched the ball in their attacking third for three minutes. Every possession started in their defensive half and ended with a clearance that went straight back to San José.