Including the first leg, the current aggregate score was 2-2.
If São Paulo conceded another goal, they'd be eliminated. If the match ended like this, it would go to a penalty shootout.
From the start of the second half, an intense battle of wits unfolded.
Since the slightest movement or ball control could determine the outcome, every player moved with precision and purpose.
In particular, São Paulo FC sharpened their focus.
They cleared unnecessary thoughts and executed the given tactics exactly as instructed.
Even though they were a man down, they weren't intimidated.
The disadvantage was undeniable, but it just meant they needed a game plan that suited playing with ten men.
The ten players on the pitch displayed lively, disciplined movement.
It was a noticeable difference from the first half.
Especially the team captain, Breno, who was now organizing the defensive line with sharp discipline.
What Ho-young had said to him before the second half had helped greatly.
(Breno. Don't take on too much. We'll hold the midfield together.)
That gave Breno confidence, which then translated into action on the field.
"Rafinha! Press a bit more smoothly! Santoro will cover you from up front!"
Left midfielder Santoro was man-marking Marcelo.
Behind him, left full-back Rafinha was waiting.
A classic double-marking setup.
They were willing to concede possession but were determined not to let Marcelo build any attacks.
They avoided reckless physical contact but held their ground, defending stubbornly with grit and teamwork.
Their intense but clean pressing was beginning to shine.
Watching it, Ho-young gritted his teeth as emotion surged through him.
Something heavy inside his chest began to burn.
Fighting spirit.
The sight of his teammates pushing themselves purely through mental strength was overwhelming.
Quietly, Ho-young observed the flow of the game.
He watched the players' movements and analyzed Fluminense's patterns in attack.
Then, he dropped deeper into the second line to press the opposition midfield.
It would've been meaningless to launch a counterattack without first securing defensive structure.
São Paulo couldn't afford to be flashy.
This wasn't about beautiful football, but football that delivered results.
It was unfamiliar football for Ho-young, who had rarely played this way in U13.
But this was modern football.
Of course, a team like Arsenal, who had gone unbeaten with beautiful "Wengerball," was a different story.
São Paulo was not Arsenal.
'For us, it's defend or die. That's it.'
There's a saying in football.
A team that attacks well may win, but a team that defends well becomes champions.
Defense was the key to survival.
Ho-young bit down hard on his lip.
'Marcelo is smart. Even with two markers, he's breaking down the left bit by bit.'
Despite being a technician, Marcelo moved with tactical precision.
But creating a triple layer of defense wasn't realistic.
'That would completely unbalance the right side.'
It would eventually cause the right flank to collapse.
Even now, the right side felt fragile.
There wasn't a single area on the pitch that felt truly secure.
And the bigger problem was stamina.
With ten players covering a pitch meant for eleven, physical exhaustion was inevitable.
That's why São Paulo's energy was draining faster than Fluminense's, leading to mounting pressure.
The crisis came in the 70th minute.
That stretch—from minutes 70 to 75—was often the toughest for youth players, and Fluminense had prepared specifically for it.
It wasn't an improvised tactic.
Everything was calculated and thoroughly planned.
A strategy fitting of Coach Carvalho, the mastermind behind Fluminense's U15 squad.
Like a predator hiding its claws, waiting for the moment its prey was exhausted, he struck at just the right time.
For São Paulo, this was their most critical moment of the match.
The well-rested Fluminense players began to press hard.
All São Paulo could do was hang on for dear life.
They endured. And endured again.
But it wasn't enough.
With numerical and physical superiority, Fluminense seized complete control of the midfield and started prying open the goal.
"Stretch it! Spread the pitch wide!"
Marcelo shouted.
He was now using up every bit of stamina, attacking the goal with fiery intensity.
Between minutes 70 and 75, Fluminense fired off two on-target shots.
Not to mention several successful dribbles and crosses.
Fortunately, São Paulo's goalkeeper Ederson produced a series of animal-like saves.
Without him, they'd have already conceded two goals by now.
Even a dangerous indirect free-kick from about 30 meters out didn't result in a goal.
But at this rate, conceding was only a matter of time.
Only 10 minutes remained.
São Paulo needed a solution.
'Think. Think.'
Ho-young's mind went into overdrive.
If their own half was the castle, then the opponent was the invading army.
And Marcelo was the enemy commander.
'He's the one we need to stop.'
Then, Carlos's voice rang out across the pitch.
"Hold out until extra time! Just 8 minutes left!"
All three substitution cards had already been used.
They had to hold out with the players currently on the field.
Carlos shouted again.
"Help each other! Always support!"
He was right.
Shared pain becomes bearable.
Ho-young swallowed hard as he fought to catch his breath.
'There has to be a way.'
If the body reacts passively, then the brain must take over.
That was the only answer.
Ho-young calmed his mind and took a broader view of the situation.
'As expected, the left flank is the issue. If we can contain the left wing, we can restore some defensive balance.'
His eyes locked on Marcelo.
Marcelo was relentlessly targeting the left-sided midfielder, Santoro.
It felt like a matter of time before they were breached.
But dropping all the way back to cover the third line would be too much for his stamina.
He needed something more drastic.
Something capable of enduring Marcelo's pressure.
"…Alright."
Ho-young's eyes narrowed.
'Let's do this. Even if it breaks me.'
Soon after, as the ball went out for a throw-in, Ho-young called over left midfielder Santoro.
It was the 78th minute.
Marcelo, still positioned on the right wing, was steadily raising the tempo.
The match had turned into a full-on slugfest, a brutal clash between attackers and defenders.
But Marcelo didn't feel rushed.
'Heh. Even if this goes to extra time, we've got the upper hand.'
Just as he thought, time was on Fluminense FC's side.
The roaring cheers from the home crowd pushed their momentum even further.
'And Ho-young's tied up covering Oscar's share too. He's running on fumes… All we need to do is keep possession. Our defenders are still fresh!'
As long as they didn't go to penalties, they'd have this in the bag.
Marcelo recalled the coach's instructions from halftime.
Once the opponent hits their physical limit, raise the tempo and break free from their pressing.
Then, launch an all-out assault.
And now, in the 80th minute, Marcelo was ready to strike.
Receiving the ball, he exchanged passes with the central midfielder, widening the space.
The tempo rose to its peak as Fluminense built up the play.
"Through!"
With that shout, Marcelo charged into the space behind the left flank.
A footrace with the opposition midfielder ensued.
But then—
Thwack!
"…?!"
Marcelo wasn't the one who cut off the ball a beat early.
Nor was it Santoro.
'Ho-young?'
It was Ho-young, who had suddenly appeared in the left midfield position.
Meanwhile, Santoro was now positioned up front.
'Tch. They switched positions?'
It was obvious.
Ho-young, with slightly more stamina left, had taken over defensive duties.
'They're abandoning the attack entirely and aiming for penalties.'
Marcelo let out a sly smirk.
'Perfect. Time to stomp him.'
Marcelo fully acknowledged Ho-young's skill.
If they were on the same team, he'd have been glad.
But right now, he was the enemy.
Only by crushing him could Marcelo shine and lead his team to victory.
After all, Real Madrid was already moving to sign him, so every match mattered.
'Antonio's probably watching this game too.'
Which was why he had to defeat Ho-young.
Now into the 82nd minute, Ho-young began pressing.
His movements weren't as sharp as before, but his pressing was clean and forceful.
"Tch…!"
Marcelo clenched his teeth tightly.
'Don't be scared, Marcelo. Just beat him.'
He threw a body feint to draw a tackle.
But Ho-young didn't take the bait.
Instead, he stepped back to maintain distance.
'Avoiding fouls, huh?'
Unfortunately for Marcelo, Ho-young wasn't falling for it.
Marcelo quickly adjusted.
'No need to force a breakthrough. There are plenty of weak spots to target.'
Only amateurs blinded by pride tried to force their way through.
Better to circulate the ball and wait for the right opening.
With that in mind, Marcelo glanced toward a teammate up front, who had his back to goal.
Thwack!
He passed low with an inside kick toward the left side.
At the same time, he sprinted down the flank for the return ball.
But it never came.
"…!!"
Swish!
Ho-young's perfectly timed sliding tackle cut off Marcelo's pass.
'What the hell?! He knew I'd pass that way?'
Spit!
Fuming, Marcelo spat on the ground and shouted.
"You've gotta open up the passing angle better!"
But deep down, he knew.
'Damn it. I should've been more patient.'
He had no one to blame but himself.
'Damn. Now we'll have to settle this in extra time…'
But that was just wishful thinking.
Marcelo had failed to notice something important.
"W-wait…"
São Paulo FC had finally regained possession.
And after 70 minutes of pure endurance, they were now launching a full counterattack.
Right then.
"Run!"
A counter.
Back in his original position, Ho-young sprinted forward, red-faced and gasping, like his life depended on it.
Just 1 minute remained in regular time.
Whether or not this match would go to extra time…
That was now Fluminense FC's problem.
(To be continued.)