So what if I'm just strolling around the field? My shots are guaranteed to go in.

In November, Madrid was shrouded in low-hanging, leaden clouds, and the wind from the Manzanares River carried the chill of early winter into every corner of the Calderón Stadium.

But inside this old stadium, which is slated for demolition next summer, the 54,000 seats are like 54,000 blazing furnaces, turning the entire stadium into a volcano about to erupt.

Two hours before the match was scheduled to start, the area around the stadium was already packed with people.

Atlético Madrid fans poured in from every block south of Madrid, wearing red and white striped jerseys and red and white scarves, singing the team's anthem that has been sung for half a century.

On the exterior wall of the Calderón stadium, the famous giant banner stands out prominently under the searchlights: "El orgullo de ser del Atleti no se puede explicar, se siente." (The pride of Atlético Madrid is inexplicable, it can only be felt.)

Inside the stadium's south stand, Atlético Madrid's die-hard fan organization "Frente Atlético" is already setting up a pre-match tifo.

It was a huge jigsaw puzzle covering the entire stand—a gladiator wearing an Atlético Madrid jersey, holding a shield and a short sword, facing a white dragon.

At the gladiator's feet was written the words: "En nuestro templo, los reyes se arrodillan." (Even the king must kneel in our temple.)

The turf at Calderon gleamed with a wet sheen after its last pre-match watering.

The pitch is shorter and firmer than the Bernabéu's, making the ball roll faster and bounce more unpredictably – this was Simeone's instruction.

Because Atletico Madrid's counter-attacking style requires the ball to move quickly on the ground, while the away team's passing and control will have slight deviations on this kind of grass.

In the away team's locker room, Ancelotti stood in front of the tactics board.

The Italian man's suit was buttoned up perfectly, and his tie was tied neatly, but there was an unusual sharpness in his eyes.

He had just returned from walking around the Calderon grass, and a few bits of grass were still stuck to the soles of his shoes.

"The grass is shorter than usual," Ancelotti tapped the tactical board with a marker. "The ball will be faster. This means long passes will land half a meter to a meter deeper than usual. All long passes need to be reduced in power accordingly. Especially you, Lin—your over-the-top long passes to Ronaldo and Benzema, reduce the power by 10%."

Lin Fan nodded and wrote a symbol on the tactical wristband on his wrist with a pen.

"Atletico Madrid's starting lineup today," Ancelotti flipped through his notebook, "Oblak; Juanfran, Godin, Savic, Filipe; Koke, Gabi, Saul, Carrasco; Griezmann, Torres. A 4-4-2, the standard Simeone system. Their defense will be built from the midfield – the first line of defense is Torres and Griezmann, the second is the four midfielders Koke, Gabi, Saul, and Carrasco, and the third is the four defenders. The distance between the three lines of defense will not exceed ten meters."

He picked up a red marker and drew a line in the center circle of Atlético Madrid's half.

"They'll start suffocating near the halfway line. Gabi and Saul will take turns marking Lin—not zonal marking, but man-to-man. Simeone must have watched the El Clásico tape; he knows zonal marking won't work on Lin."

Ramos stood up from his seat and walked to the tactics board.

The Real Madrid captain wore a calm expression—he had experienced the Madrid derby countless times and knew what this match meant.

"Brothers," his voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the locker room heard him clearly, "I know many of you think the league title is already in the bag. We're eleven points ahead, halfway through the season, and it seems like there's no suspense. But let me tell you something—in the Madrid derby, points don't matter. This is a war, not about points, not about rankings, but about only one thing—who truly owns Madrid."

He scanned the locker room, his gaze finally settling on Lin Fan. "Lin, this is your first Madrid derby. I know what you did at Camp Nou. But Calderón isn't Camp Nou. The fans here won't just boo you—they'll hurl the most vicious insults at you, throw things at you, and make every touch of the ball feel like dancing on a pint. Are you ready?"

Lin Fan's answer was only one word, as calm as if he were replying to "The weather is nice today."

"Ready."

Meanwhile, in the home team's locker room, Simeone was giving a pre-match pep talk in an almost shouting manner.

The Argentine was dressed in an all-black suit, black shirt, and black tie—his signature attire—like that of a general about to go into battle.

A huge photograph hangs on the wall of the locker room, showing Atlético Madrid celebrating their La Liga title at the Calderón in 2014.

Below the photo, written in red paint, is the phrase: "Nunca dejes de creer." (Never stop believing.)

"They think they're European champions!" Simeone's voice echoed in the locker room. "They think they're invincible just because they won one game at Camp Nou! They think that Chinese kid can keep playing his nutmeg here! But this is the Calderón! This isn't Camp Nou! Camp Nou is an opera house, this is an arena!"

He walked up to the tactics board and patted Gabi and Saul's names hard.

"Gabi, Saul—your job is to lock down Lin Fan. I don't need you to take the ball from him; I just need you to prevent him from receiving it. When he drops back to the halfway line to receive the ball, Gabi, you stick with him. When he moves to the right wing, Saul, you follow him. When he appears on the edge of the penalty area, you both go for it. For the entire ninety minutes, I don't want to see him unmarked for even a second."

Gabi nodded, the Atlético Madrid captain's expression like he was sharpening a blade.

"We have reviewed all his touch videos. His habit is to make a full-range observation before receiving the ball, and then decide the direction of the ball at the moment of contact. We will apply physical contact during his observation phase - to prevent him from comfortably raising his head, and to disable his 'map of the field'."

Simone nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Godin and Savage.

"Godin, Savic—when Lin Fan enters the 30-meter zone, one of you must move up, and the other must cover. Don't be afraid of him getting past you—if he gets past one, there's another. We are Atletico Madrid; our defense is never about one person, it's about everyone."

Finally, he looked at the whole team and remained silent for a few seconds.

Calderon fans had already started singing the team song, the sound penetrating the thick walls and entering the locker room like distant war drums.

"There are 54,000 people outside," Simeone said, his voice suddenly becoming soft, but every word piercing the players' ears like nails. "They're not here to watch you play. They're here to watch you fight. Don't let them down."

In the stands of Calderón, a sea of ​​red and white, composed of 54,000 people, was surging.

The Tifo in the South Stand was fully unfolded—the image of the gladiator gleamed in the afternoon sun.

In the away section of the North Stand, four thousand Real Madrid fans were surrounded by barbed wire and security personnel in a small corner, their white jerseys standing out like an island in a sea of ​​red and white.

But they kept singing, their voices hoarse as they sang Real Madrid's anthem, every note broken by the boos and whistles of the surrounding Atletico Madrid fans, but no one stopped.

In the center of the field, players from both sides are warming up.

Lin Fan, wearing Real Madrid's warm-up kit, was doing shuttle runs on the right wing.

Every time he touched the ball, he was met with a chorus of boos from the south stand.

Someone shouted something in Spanish that Lin Fan couldn't understand, but he could guess the general meaning.

He didn't look up, but continued to complete his warm-up exercises—high knees, shuttle runs, stretching, each movement as precise as if controlled by a program.

Cristiano Ronaldo ran over to him, stretching as he whispered, "Don't look towards the south stand. Those guys are after you today. At the Calderón, hatred is the highest form of respect."

Lin Fan said, "I wasn't looking at them. I was looking at the grass."

Cristiano Ronaldo paused for a moment, then smiled.

The Portuguese looked up and surveyed the Calderón stands.

He'd been here more than a dozen times, and each time he'd been booed mercilessly, but he'd learned to treat the noise as background noise. "How's the grass?"

"It was a little shorter than during warm-up. Ancelotti was right earlier, we need to reduce the effort in long passes by about 10%."

Cristiano Ronaldo shook his head, looking at Lin Fan with an expression that suggested he didn't know what to say. "Aren't you afraid of being booed?"

Lin Fan stopped stretching, straightened up, and glanced at Cristiano Ronaldo.

There was no tension or excitement in his eyes, only a calm, almost indifferent focus.

"When I was six years old, I was playing soccer on a dirt field. The kids from the neighboring neighborhood stood on the sidelines and yelled at me because I was the shortest and thinnest of all the kids. They called me 'monkey' and told me to go home and drink milk. It was amidst that jeer that I learned my first dribbling move."

He said this in a calm tone, as if he were telling a story that had nothing to do with him.

"Later, I went to a sports school and participated in a provincial competition for the first time. The opposing team's parents were shouting from the sidelines, 'Don't let that little guy get the ball.' I scored four goals in that game. From then on, I learned one thing—boos and insults won't slow down your ball or make your shot go astray. The only thing that can affect the game is yourself."

He stomped the ball under his foot and looked at Ronaldo. "So, let them boo. I'm used to it."

Cristiano Ronaldo was silent for a few seconds, then patted Lin Fan on the shoulder forcefully.

The Portuguese man said nothing more and turned back to continue warming up.

But after running a couple of steps, he turned back and said in a half-joking tone, "You know what? Sometimes you really make me feel old."

In the players' tunnel, the players from both sides had already lined up in two rows.

One column with red and white stripes, and one column with white stripes.

Gabi stood at the front of the Atletico Madrid line, his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Ramos stood at the front of Real Madrid's line, his expression equally serious.

The air seemed to freeze between the two men—they were teammates on the Spanish national team, but in the Calderón, they were rivals, enemies, and embodiments of the spirit of their two cities.

Lin Fan stood in the middle of Real Madrid's formation. To his left was Modric, and to his right was Ronaldo.

Casemiro was in front of him, and Varane was behind him. Neither of them wore a smile.

In Atletico Madrid's squad, Torres is doing his final stretches.

The Spanish striker's gaze swept across the Real Madrid ranks, lingering on Lin Fan for half a second.

There was no malice in his eyes, only scrutiny—like an old soldier looking at a new recruit who had suddenly appeared on the battlefield, wondering if he was really as invincible as the legends said.

The referee team then led the two teams onto the field.

The moment they stepped out of the passage, the roar of Calderon's 54,000 people struck them like a heavy hammer.

The noise density and intensity far exceed those of the Bernabéu – the Calderón stands are closer to the grass, making the sound field more oppressive.

In almost every corner of the stands, red and white were surging.

Only a small patch of white was visible in the northwest corner—that was the away team's fan area, enclosed by barbed wire.

A new banner was displayed in the south stand, reading in Spanish: "Bienvenido al infierno, fenómeno." (Welcome to hell, genius.)

The banner depicts a cartoon character with an East Asian face being trampled underfoot by a red and white gladiator.

This image had already been widely circulated on social media before the match, sparking huge controversy, but Calderon's fans clearly didn't care.

On both sides of the players' tunnel, cameras captured the moment Lin Fan looked at the banner.

His gaze lingered on the banner for less than half a second before shifting away. His face remained expressionless.

The players from both sides stood in their respective halves of the field as the Spanish national anthem was played.

After the national anthem, the team captain chose which coin to throw.

Ramos won the right to choose sides and opted for Real Madrid's familiar south-to-north attack – this would mean Real Madrid would face away from the south stand in the second half, reducing interference from Atletico Madrid's die-hard fans in their attacks.

The referee blew the whistle to start the game.

The noise from Calderon reached its peak the moment the whistle blew.

The shouts of 54,000 people were like magma surging up from the depths of the earth's crust—hot, heavy, and omnipresent.

Atletico Madrid launched their strangulation tactics from the very first second – Torres charged toward Kroos with the ball, Griezmann blocked the back pass to Navas, and Gabi and Saul formed a moving defensive line in midfield.

Simeone's tactical intentions were very clear within the first three minutes.

Atletico Madrid's 4-4-2 formation is actually a 6-2-2 in defense – all four midfielders and two forwards participate in pressing, forming an impenetrable wall near the midfield line.

Any Real Madrid player who receives the ball in midfield will immediately be double-teamed by at least two players.

Especially Lin Fan – whenever he receives the ball in the 30-meter zone from the center circle to the front, Gabi will come up to him from the front, Saul will come from the side, and Filipe will block his path to the byline from even further away.

The three formed a constantly moving triangular defensive network, with Lin Fan at the center of this triangle.

In the fifth minute, Lin Fan touched the ball for the first time at Calderon.