After Paris Saint-Germain was removed from the list, I led England to victory!

Halftime, away team locker room.

Yan Yuan lay back on the medical bed as the team doctor carefully removed the thick gauze on his forehead, which was already soaked with blood.

Every slight touch made him gasp, his clenched teeth making a clicking sound.

The wound on his forehead was exposed in the bright light. It was a laceration with the skin turned outwards, lying across his brow bone, and fresh blood was still seeping from the edges of the congealed scab.

The team doctor looked serious as he took out his instruments to prepare for suturing. The sensation of the needle piercing through his flesh made Yan Yuan's entire body involuntarily tense up.

Nagelsmann stood by the bed, his once youthful and sharp face now devoid of all composure.

He pursed his lips, his brows furrowed, and his eyes were slightly red, as he suppressed some intensely churning emotions.

He looked at the deep, bone-revealing wound, at his beloved student's face contorted in agony as the wound was being disinfected and stitched, yet he endured it without uttering a sound, and at his hands, veins bulging from the pain, gripping the edge of the bed tightly.

A complex mix of indescribable heartache, intense anger, and deep admiration for the stubborn child overwhelmed him.

Nash couldn't help but reach out, not as a coach, but like an older brother or father, and firmly grasped Yan Yuan's uninjured right shoulder.

It conveys support and strength.

"Yan..." Nash's voice choked slightly. He cleared his throat. "Listen to me, kid, this isn't the time to be stubborn. In the second half, you..."

"Coach," Yan Yuan's voice was weak from the pain, but unusually firm. He even managed to force a smile by pulling at his stitched muscles, his pale face carrying a strange sense of relief.

"I'm fine. This little cut looks scary, but it doesn't affect my ability to think about passing routes or kick the ball. Ouch..." The pain from the stitches interrupted him. He took a breath and pretended to be relaxed.

"It's just... some ketchup on your forehead at most."

Yan Yuan's forced humor left his teammates, who had gathered around, with heavy and complicated expressions.

Vogt's eyes were bloodshot, while Maguire slammed his fist against the wall.

Gnabry handed over a bottle of water, his voice strained: "Yan, don't push yourself..."

Yan Yuan took the water, but didn't drink it. He just held it in his hand, glancing at his teammates surrounding him with a sharp look in his eyes.

"Guys, I'm really fine. There are still 45 minutes left. Anything can happen. We haven't lost yet," he said with a smile.

"As long as the ball is spinning, I can play. In the second half, we need to work together to regain this damn rhythm! Let's fight for another 45 minutes!"

...

The second half begins.

Nagelsmann's adjustments were immediately apparent.

Grillitsch retreated to form a double shield with De Jong, and Amiri, like a beast unleashed, began to frequently flank to support Yan Yuan's right flank.

For the first time, Hoffenheim's attack found its direction and created sustained pressure.

Yan Yuan became the magic engine of the entire right wing.

In the 55th minute, a moment ignited the hopes of all Hoffenheim fans.

Amiri successfully intercepted the ball in midfield and immediately passed it forward to Yan Yuan on the right wing.

Yan Yuan received the ball near the sideline, and in front of him was Real Madrid's experienced full-back Carvajal.

Carvajal lowered his center of gravity, his eyes fixed on the enemy.

Yan Yuan didn't pause at all. He feinted to the left and simultaneously flicked the ball to the right with his right foot.

As soon as Carvajal's center of gravity was shifted, Yan Yuan instantly followed up with a second move, feinting to the right while deftly flicking the ball to the left with his left foot!

With just a few quick swings of the two ankles, a series of deep-fried meatballs were performed in a very small space!

Carvajal was completely fooled by the continuous changes in rhythm, his body twisted and he lost his balance, falling to the ground in a sorry state.

"Yan! Right wing!!! Facing Carvajal!!! My God!! Continuous changes of direction! The footwork is too fast!! Carvajal is down!! He's been faked out!!" The commentator's scream echoed throughout the live broadcast room.

After getting past Carvajal, Yan Yuan did not slow down and dribbled the ball forward at high speed along the sideline.

Real Madrid's defensive alarm was immediately triggered.

Ramos immediately rushed in from the middle to provide defensive support, and Modric and Casemiro also quickly retreated to this side!

Three white, copper-copper-iron walls instantly surrounded Yan Yuan near the corner of the restricted area!

Yan Yuan, now surrounded, had penetrated to the vicinity of the bottom line, leaving him with virtually no room to maneuver.

Three players completely blocked his routes to pass the ball to the middle and cut inside.

Just as the three-man encirclement was about to close in, Yan Yuan, dribbling at high speed, didn't even turn his head. He supported himself with his left foot while sprinting, and his right foot shot back like lightning.

The heel struck the rolling ball with precise force!

"It's the heel!!!" The commentator's scream almost ripped the microphone apart!

The ball seemed to be under a spell, passing through the gap left by Carvajal's fall, and even more incredibly, it sprang out between Casemiro's legs, which were not yet fully closed!

It crossed the last line of defense formed by Real Madrid's three players at an absolutely unpredictable reverse angle.

Drive straight into the uninhabited area on the left side of the penalty area!

"It went through!!! The ball went through!!!"

Gnabry, lurking on the left side of the penalty area, shot forward like an arrow, catching up with the ball before the versatile Vazquez could clear it.

Without hesitation!

With his left foot fully extended, he unleashed a powerful shot! The ball hurtled towards the top corner of the goal like a cannonball!

"Gnabry!!!! Shot!!!!"

In a life-or-death moment! Goalkeeper Navas performs another miracle!

He leaped into the air, his arms outstretched to the maximum!

With a flick of the fingertips upwards.

"Navas made a miraculous save! His fingertips touched the ball, which grazed the top of the crossbar and went out of bounds! God!!!! Just a hair's breadth away!!!"

Yan's nutmeg of the three players' heels was simply beyond imagination! Gnabry's powerful shot was also impressive! What a pity!!

The commentator's voice was filled with unbelievable regret and amazement at the skill.

A deathly silence fell over the Bernabéu, followed by a tremendous cheer of relief and triumph.

Wenger leaned back abruptly in his chair, his hands outstretched, his face a mixture of amazement and regret.

Zidane, his face tense, was loudly directing the positioning from the sidelines.

Yan Yuan stood there, hands on his hips, sweat and blood dripping onto the grass.

He watched the ball fly towards the stands, his gaze icy, devoid of regret, only displaying a stronger aggressiveness.

He knew that a breach had been created in the attack.

Once a gap is firmly carved out, it will not easily close.

In the 68th minute, Hoffenheim's backfield patiently passed the ball around, thwarting a Real Madrid counter-attack.

De Jong received the ball near the center circle and, without hesitation, quickly initiated a switch with his signature long pass with his left foot!

The ball arced across an incredibly long distance, precisely finding Nordtveit who was making a high-speed run down the left flank!

"Long pass! De Jong! Found the left flank! Perfect!"

Nordtveit did not stop the ball; facing the defense, he calmly passed it back to Gnabry, who was moving towards the center to receive it.

Under pressure from the opponent's close marking, Gnabry was unable to turn and break through, so he made a cross pass to Yan Yuan, who had moved from the right flank to the top of the central area.

At this moment, Yan Yuan is about 25 meters away from the goal.

Casemiro, this moving wall, has already pounced upon us like a shadow.

He shifted his weight entirely to Yan Yuan's left side, blocking the path for Yan Yuan to cut inside and shoot, while simultaneously spreading his legs out like hinges to expand his defensive area.

In the blink of an eye!

Yan Yuan didn't adjust his stance. He knew that if he hesitated even for a fraction of a second, Casemiro's legs would close like iron clamps!

He deftly pulled the ball to his left rear with his right foot, not as a breakthrough, but as a convincing feint.

Casemiro's body was instinctively drawn to the ball-pulling motion, and his center of gravity shifted instantly to the right.

Just as Casemiro shifted his weight, Yan Yuan's supporting foot (left foot) was firmly planted on the grass.

With his knees slightly bent, he stabilized his body, which was almost out of balance during the intense struggle, and his right foot flashed back from behind his supporting leg at an incredible speed!

Use the inside of your foot to scoop up the lower middle part of the ball!

He wasn't looking at the goal.

Relying solely on physical memory and the intuition of a top shooter.

With a burst of power from his right foot, he spun out a perfect external arc!

"Yan Yuan!! He gets the ball! Casemiro! Feint! Pull the ball back! He's gotta make it!! Shoot!!!!!!!!!" the commentator exclaimed.

The ball spun violently in the air.

It drew a deadly rainbow that surpassed the human wall and even exceeded the goalkeeper's judgment limits.

With a strong outward spin, it bypassed all the white figures in Real Madrid's penalty area and went straight into the top right corner of the goal.

Absolutely perfect blind spot! Absolutely perfect curve!

Navas leaped into the air, stretching his body to the limit of human physical ability!

His fingertips almost touched the ball.

But that arc was just too bizarre and tricky.

A perfect combination of power and rotation!

The ball bypassed his desperately outstretched fingertips and continued to spin stubbornly, hovering at the absolute dead angle between the inside of the goalpost and the crossbar.

It whistled into the net!

"GOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!! 2-2!!!!!!!!! Hoffenheim!!! Hoffenheim!!! Yan-Yuan-!!!!!!!!!" The commentary booth went completely wild, the roar almost lifting the roof off.

"Yan scored a world-class goal at the Bernabéu!! An unparalleled world-class goal!!! He did it at the Bernabéu!!!! On the battlefield of the Champions League semi-final! With his face covered in blood! He pierced the goal of Real Madrid with a priceless outside-of-the-foot curler!"

This is more than just a goal! It's a miracle! It's a work of art forged from an iron will! Casemiro was completely fooled by his feint!

Navas could only watch helplessly as Yan Yuan, 25 meters away, wrote an epic chapter for the dark horse! The commentator was completely engrossed in the performance.

An eerie silence fell over the entire Bernabéu.

Only the small blue squares in the away fans' stands erupted in hysterical jubilation, their voices piercing the sky!

Yan Yuan stood still, his chest heaving violently, his right fist clenched, pounding towards his heart.

The white bandage on his forehead became his most dazzling medal at that moment.

He pointed to the blue ocean in the stands, and to his teammates.

Nagelsmann was as excited as a child, jumping and waving his fists wildly on the sidelines, tears streaming down his face!

Zidane's face was as still as water, and he chewed gum at an astonishingly fast pace.

Professor Wenger suddenly stood up from his seat, clapped loudly, and his eyes gleamed.

Mr. Yan frantically waved his fists in the stands, tears finally streaming down his face as he roared his son's name. Mrs. Yan covered her face, tears streaming through her fingers, but this time, her face was no longer filled with fear, but with boundless pride.

2-2!

Hoffenheim have managed to equalize at the Bernabéu!

However, Real Madrid's formidable potential is often only fully unleashed in dire situations.

Just seven minutes later, in the 75th minute, Zidane's team retaliated in their most skillful and ruthless way.

Real Madrid are awarded a corner kick on the right.

Kroos stood at the corner flag, his eyes scanning the penalty area like a hawk.

The whistle blows, he takes a run-up, and his left foot traces a precise half-high arc as he flies straight to the front post.

"Corner kick! Real Madrid's chance! Kroos crosses to the near post!!"

In the crowd, a white figure suddenly sprang up as if it were powered by a spring.

Ramos.

He overtook Uth, who was trying to jump, and headed the ball first!

Instead of a direct shot, they fiercely headed the ball towards the center of the six-yard box! A tactical pass!

Bell was lying in ambush at point two.

At this moment, the Great Sage soared into the sky!

He was completely airborne, with his back to the goal, and his right leg swung backward like a battle axe.

He executed a perfect and breathtaking side-volley bicycle kick in mid-air!

"Ramos at the near post! Header pass!! Bale!! Bicycle kick!!!!" the commentator shouted.

The ball seemed to have been struck by a thunderbolt.

With incredible speed, it tore through the air and shot straight into the top left corner of the goal!

Goalkeeper Baumann's view was completely blocked by the crowd at the near post, and when he saw the ball's trajectory, he had no time to react.

The ball grazed half a meter above his fingertips, as if welded to the corner of the crossbeam and the pillar, before slamming into the net.

3-2!

"GOOOOOOALLLLLLL!!!!!!!!! Real Madrid!!!!!! Bale! An incredible bicycle kick! A godlike goal!!! 3-2!! In the 75th minute, Real Madrid took the lead again, Ramos's header!!

"Bale's ultimate art, this is the King of the Champions League! Responding in the most stunning way at the most critical moment!" the commentator exclaimed.

Bale performed a crazy knee slide in the corner flag area.

The Bernabéu volcano erupted.

The sound almost blew the roof off!

Zidane clenched his fists and roared to the sky!

Yan Yuan watched the white figure celebrating wildly, then pressed his stinging forehead hard again, his eyes showing no sign of backing down.

He bent over, supporting himself on his knees, panting heavily. Sweat and blood mixed together and flowed into the corners of his eyes, bringing a stinging pain.

He shook his head violently, straightened his spine again, and roared at his teammates, who were still somewhat dazed from the blow:

"Lift your heads! There's still time! 15 minutes! We can do it!!!"

Time became Hoffenheim's most deadly enemy, and their final battle cry.

Every second felt like it was grinding against my heart.

Yan Yuan, he was no longer confined to the right wing; he was like a ghost burning with life, covering the entire field.

In the 87th minute, Ronaldo received the ball on the left wing and, facing Nordtveit's defense, forced his way inside.

Yan Yuan frantically chased back from the flank area, sprinting tirelessly to the edge of his own penalty area to provide defensive support.

Just as he was trying to extend his foot to interfere with Ronaldo's cross.

From the side! A figure lunged forward like a runaway heavy truck!

Casemiro!

With tremendous force, he launched a vicious sliding tackle that nearly spanned the entire penalty area line.

The gleaming cleats struck Yan Yuan squarely on the outside of his right thigh, which was supporting his body!

"Snap!"

Time seemed to stand still.

Yan Yuan didn't even have time to let out a scream before he was sent flying into the air like a baseball that had been hit.

Then, it twisted at an unnatural angle and slammed heavily onto the slippery grass!

Yan Yuan clutched his right thigh, his body curled up in a ball, the sudden pain contorting his face in agony.

He clenched his teeth, veins bulged on his forehead, and all the muscles in his body spasmed and trembled uncontrollably from the intense pain in his right leg.

"Red card! That's absolutely a red card! My God! Casemiro's flying tackle on Yan Yuan!!! He kicked Yan Yuan to the ground! A move that's definitely a red card!!!!"

The referee ran over, wait... he... showed a yellow card?! Just a yellow card??

"The Bernabéu saved Casemiro, it's absurd! That was absolutely a red card play, utterly awful! Poor kid!" The commentator's voice was filled with anger and disbelief. (A tribute to the two red cards that turned into a yellow)

The camera focuses.

On the outside of Yan Yuan's right thigh, near the bend of his knee, the skin struck by the shoe spikes turned purplish-red at a visible speed, and the surface was already slightly broken and bleeding.

Hoffenheim's team doctor, Marcus, rushed onto the field again.

Vogt and Maguire ran toward Casemiro and the referee to demand an explanation, unable to understand why such an action wasn't a red card.

"Fxxk off, Casemiro, how can you tackle a player who just turned 18 like that? Do you even have the face to stand on the field?" Maguire, covered in sweat, shouted at Casemiro.

Maguire and Vogt cursed at Casemiro while constantly moving closer to him, and more and more Hoffenheim and Real Madrid players surrounded him.

The two sides are very close to fighting.

Even the Hoffenheim fans, who were playing away at the Bernabéu, were loudly cursing Real Madrid.

De Jong, Gnabry, and others rushed to see Yan Yuan, and Ramos, Ronaldo, Kroos, and others also came over.

Yan Yuan lay on the ground, his whole body trembling slightly from the pain. He gasped for breath, trying to calm the pain.

This pain originates from the skin and muscles, a sudden impact pain, and does not penetrate deep into the bones or ligaments.

The injury reduction card really worked.

Although Yan Yuan's injuries looked frightening, they were still considered "external injuries." However, the pain came suddenly, making it difficult for him to adapt in a short period of time.

Marcus conducted a preliminary check and then made a very firm gesture to the anxious Nagelsmann on the sidelines:

[Replacement]

The fourth referee raised the electronic board: Number 19, Oakes, is on! He replaces Number 17, Yan Yuan!

A complex mix of boos and applause erupted at the Bernabéu.

Nagelsmann covered his mouth in pain, unable to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes.

He raised the substitution sign.

however!

Just as the fourth official raised his sign, Oakes was about to run onto the field.

The blue figure lying on the ground was Yan Yuan.

He used all the strength he had left to hold onto the slippery grass with both hands.

Amidst the astonished gazes of everyone, including the referee, teammates, opponents, and even the team doctor.

He stood up!

"I...I won't leave the field, absolutely not!!!"

Yan Yuan, facing Nagelsmann on the sidelines and the fourth official, roared out with all the remaining strength in his chest.

The voice was a mixture of pain and will:

"Coach! Don't make a substitution! Look at the time! We're running out of time!! Less than two minutes left!!!" He yelled, pointing to the glaring time on the scoreboard.

【87: 36】

"My legs can move! I can run!! Don't stop the game!! Keep playing!! Let them keep going!!"

Yan Yuan's gaze was like a red-hot iron, fixed on Nagelsmann's face.

His eyes seemed to say: If you replaced me, this effort would be completely over! Let me finish these last few minutes!

Nagelsmann's substitution board, held high, froze in mid-air, his fingers trembling slightly.

He looked at his disciple's face, contorted with pain yet still stubborn, and at his bruised, but still supporting leg...

The last trace of struggle in his eyes was completely extinguished by that resolute gaze!

"Put it down! Put it down!" Nagelsmann shouted at the fourth official, almost in tears, and waved his hand sharply to signal Oakes to return to the bench.

He roared at the top of his lungs towards the field: "Yan!!! You listen to me!!! Stop pushing yourself!!! We're going to waste time with Real Madrid, stop attacking!"

I can allow you to stay on the field, but I will absolutely not allow you to attack again!

After the team doctor applied a simple pain-relieving spray, he vigorously kneaded his thigh muscles with both hands a few times in an attempt to activate them.

Then, dragging his injured right leg, he limped toward his defensive position.

With each touch of the ground, a barely concealed twitch flashed across his face—it was from the pain.

Sweat, blood, and muddy grass mingled together and slid down his face.

The Bernabéu fell into an almost suffocating silence.

The audience.

No, it's global.

At this moment, tens of millions of fans around the world watching this game had their eyes all focused on Yan Yuan's figure.

Even Zidane stopped directing, pursed his lips, and his eyes revealed the deepest respect for Yan Yuan.

Wenger clenched his fists, leaned forward slightly, and even stopped breathing.

Yan's parents supported each other in the stands, already sobbing uncontrollably, but their eyes could not leave their son's struggling figure for even a moment.

The time has reached the 89th minute.

Hoffenheim goalkeeper Baumann used his last bit of strength to launch a long ball forward.

This is their last chance!

Near the center circle, Ute used his last bit of strength to leap up and head the ball while locked in a fierce battle with Ramos!

A blurry backward ferry.

The ball landed precisely on Yan Yuan, who was staggering along the center line.

The ball fell.

Yan Yuan looked up.

He didn't even need to see clearly; his brain, like a high-speed computer, made a judgment based solely on the sound and the blurry thermal image of the stadium, relying on his last remaining consciousness and his unforgettable memory of the field.

Casemiro and Ramos.

These two ever-present white grim reapers, one on the left and one on the right, pressed towards him like two storms.

This blocked all of Yan Yuan's paths to advance and handle the ball.

Anyone, even a healthy player, would have no choice but to pass back or be forced into a mistake at this moment.

But Yan Yuan, at this moment, was a warrior whose will was burning to boiling point, squeezing out all his potential to the extreme.

His right leg was injured and swollen, and every muscle movement caused him severe pain.

Just as the ball was falling, Casemiro lunged fiercely to block the passing lane.

In that extreme state where it is difficult to perform the standard movements.

Yan Yuan slammed his left foot down, enduring the pain in his thigh muscles to maintain his balance.

His injured right leg, in extreme pain, forced itself to break free.

It wasn't a twitch; it was more like an unconscious spasm driven by excruciating pain.

Yan Yuan's ankle, calf, and thigh muscles were spasming violently in immense pain.

"Look, Yan's legs!!!" The slow-motion replay faithfully captured this moment.

Yan Yuan's right leg muscles twitched and spasmed violently when he exerted force.

This is a sign that you're about to get a cramp.

In the midst of this convulsion, Yan Yuan's right foot, on the outside, seemed to come alive.

Relying on his instinctive muscle spasms and his ingrained passing touch, he completed a graceful lob pass while almost losing his balance!

The ball rose lightly off the ground.

It has an absolutely precise arc.

It flew past Casemiro's toes as he lunged to block it.

It bypassed the top of Varane's shiny head, which was half a beat too late to defend.

That was no longer a pass.

That was the flame of will.

The ball sliced ​​through the air precisely and landed on the vast open ground behind Varane.

Behind the center circle!

Like a silent assassin, Grillitsch unleashed all his speed the instant before Yan Yuan touched the ball!

Offside trap broken! Success!!!

"Grilic! One-on-one!! An opportunity!! Hoffenheim's last hope!!!!"

Grillitsch dribbled the ball into the penalty area! Facing Navas who had rushed out of his goal, he opted for the safest option: a low shot!

Navas's diving block was a beat too slow! The ball skimmed along the grass and rolled into the bottom right corner of the goal.

"Goal! 3-3!! Grillitsch! Oh my god!!! It's tied!! 89th minute!! Yan Yuan! It's Yan Yuan!"

He used an injured leg! He delivered a near 45-meter precision shot! A miracle occurred again at the Bernabéu!!

The corner where the Hoffenheim fans were gathered went wild!

However, the immense joy lasted for less than three seconds.

The linesman's flag was raised.

VAR intervention.

The Bernabéu was deathly silent.

Everyone held their breath and stared at the big screen.

Slow motion replay: A freeze-frame of Greta's starting moment, zoomed in, with precise lines drawn.

A cold red line.

The moment Yan Yuan passed the ball.

Grillitsch's shoe tip peeked out of Varane's heel by just 5cm.

The difference is minuscule.

So far away.

VAR confirmed: Offside, goal disallowed!

"Offside!!"

The referee signaled to disallow the goal.

The Bernabéu has descended into madness once again!

The white wave of relief after the disaster overwhelmed the disappointed Hoffenheim.

Despair instantly crushed Hoffenheim's last bit of strength!

Grealich knelt down and wept bitterly, burying his face in his hands.

Yan Yuan stood near the center circle.

When he saw the VAR's final gesture confirming the goal was disallowed, his body jerked violently.

That taut, burning, and forcefully sustained will that lasted for almost the entire second half.

At that very moment, it snapped completely.

The excruciating pain in his forehead, the piercing pain in his right leg, the exhaustion from pushing his body to its limit, and the resentment and regret of losing the match engulfed him like an avalanche.

The final whistle blew on time, with no added time.

Even the referee couldn't bear to watch anymore.

The scoreboard, 3-2, was like a red-hot branding iron, deeply imprinted on the hearts of every Hoffenheim player.

After a draw in the first leg, Hoffenheim were eliminated by Real Madrid in this leg, ending their Champions League dream.

The moment the whistle blew, the indomitable flame that had burned for ninety minutes in Yan Yuan's eyes finally went out completely.

He took one last look at the glaring scoreboard, the light in his eyes fading, leaving only boundless exhaustion and emptiness.

A powerful feeling of exhaustion instantly drained all his strength, and his overdrawn body could no longer hold on.

Yan Yuan fell backward silently, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, crashing heavily onto the cold, damp grass of the Bernabéu.

In the final moment when consciousness was plunged into boundless darkness.

Before Yan Yuan were the blinding lights of the Bernabéu Stadium, in his ears the deafening roar of "Hala Madrid," the excruciating pain from the turf rubbing against his forehead wound again, and the pain in his right thigh...

and also,

Anxious cries came from all directions...

"strict!!!!"

"son!!!"

Yan Yuan finally closed his eyes; he could rest now.

(I'll cover the most exciting match in two chapters. I originally wanted to add an extra chapter, but I've already written 1.6 words today, and my hands are so busy typing that the keyboard is smoking. So I'll update again tomorrow. Just a spoiler: Yan Yuan is fine, basically no problems. Don't worry, the injury card at the beginning wasn't used for nothing.)

These two chapters used a rather "artistic" approach, mainly to highlight the protagonist's character. Regarding the lack of fight scenes, one reason is that I've been a bit tired lately; my daily updates have been around 8000 to 10000 words. If I add these scenes, it's possible I could reach 2 words a day. I've added the relevant plot details, which are now included.