Over the past two or three years, Yang Yang had grown completely accustomed to life on the road.
Some weeks, he would play one away match. Other times, it was two or even more. Airports, buses, foreign cities — it all became routine. The surroundings changed, the beds changed, the languages and climates changed. But the structure of his life did not.
Sleeping in unfamiliar hotels. Waking to unfamiliar ceilings. Training in unfamiliar gyms. Still, his routine remained ironclad.
If a match was scheduled for noon, Yang Yang would wake up early and go through a light warm-up and stretching session to prepare his body. If the kickoff was set for late afternoon, he'd increase the intensity, getting a full round of conditioning in. And if the match was at night, like this one — 20:45 kickoff at the Santiago Bernabéu — then everything followed his well-established rhythm: rest at noon, peak at night.
It was a discipline built over seasons, sharpened by experience. As long as he got good sleep during the day, he'd wake up in the afternoon with clarity in his mind, power in his limbs, and a readiness that ignited by nightfall.
That afternoon, as per his ritual, Yang Yang went down to the hotel gym for an individualized training session. And as always, Winston Bogarde was there.
If Yang Yang spent the most time with anyone in Ajax, it wasn't a teammate — it was Bogarde. His personal fitness coach. His critic. His silent motivator. His daily opponent.
They met almost every morning and afternoon, regardless of the match schedule.
"You keep this up, you'll never get a girlfriend, Winston," Yang Yang would joke.
Bogarde never rose to the bait. He simply responded the only way he knew how — by increasing the weight on the barbell when Yang wasn't looking.
Criticism came freely. Praise was rare. But the bond was undeniable. And the results spoke volumes.
In the past eighteen months, Yang Yang's physical development had transformed. At 1.83 meters, his weight was consistently maintained at 75 kilograms, a perfect balance of lean muscle, explosive power, and durability. His posture was clean, his silhouette athletic and symmetrical — but most importantly, his physical presence on the pitch was no longer fragile.
Now, even defenders like Vermaelen or Heitinga, once dominant in physical duels, found it difficult to muscle him off the ball. He didn't just survive contact anymore — he absorbed it and used it.
A major contributor to this transformation was swimming. Yang Yang swam every single day — no exceptions. Even in the depths of Amsterdam's icy winters, he would slide into the water after his afternoon nap, committing to every stroke as if sculpting his body by hand.
His daily life had become monotonous — even mechanical. Matches aside, every hour was planned, every activity scheduled. It was repetitive, yes, but also deeply fulfilling. This wasn't boredom. This was purpose.
Of all the people in Ajax's orbit, Winston Bogarde probably understood Yang Yang best.
Their solitary training sessions often wandered into conversation. Tactics. Football. Even Real Madrid.
"You're looking sharp today," Bogarde commented with a half-smile, observing Yang Yang from across the gym.
The quality of his movement, the power in his steps — Bogarde could read Yang Yang's form like a book. When Yang Yang trained well in the morning, it usually meant the entire day would follow that momentum.
Today, he was electric.
"Two years ago, we got battered in the first leg," Yang Yang said, wiping sweat from his brow between sets. "Now, two years later, we've lost half our starting eleven… and yet here we are again. Coming back to the Bernabéu."
He exhaled sharply. His tone didn't carry the weight of pressure. It carried fire.
"There's only one reason to come back here — revenge."
He didn't flinch as he said it. No nerves. No hesitations.
Winston Bogarde narrowed his eyes. "Is it revenge? Or are you just itching to prove yourself?"
Yang Yang raised his eyebrows with a smirk but didn't deny it.
"This is one of those games," he said. "A global audience. A legendary stadium. Superstars everywhere. Who doesn't want to shine here?"
Bogarde nodded. He understood.
Despite all their recent struggles, despite the departures of Figo and others, Real Madrid was still Real Madrid. The badge. The aura. The Bernabéu.
And when Ajax came to town, when the lights turned on and the anthem played, the world would be watching.
For some, it was just another fixture.
For Yang Yang, it was an opportunity to declare who he was — on the grandest stage.
"And anyway," he added, adjusting the weights on the machine, "they're trying to sign me, right?"
Bogarde raised an eyebrow.
"Then I want them to see it. See exactly what they're bidding for."
Bogarde let out a short laugh. That logic... it made perfect sense.
...
...
As evening fell, the lights of Madrid came to life.
For the first time that day, the lanterns along Castellana Avenue glowed against the gathering dusk, illuminating the path that led directly to the iconic Santiago Bernabéu Stadium.
The wide boulevard was awash in white — Real Madrid supporters flooded the streets, jerseys clinging to their backs, scarves waving high, voices rising in unified song. Laughter, chants, anticipation — it all blended into the pre-match pulse of the Spanish capital.
Despite the turmoil of recent months — the managerial upheavals, disappointing performances, and humiliating defeats — Madridistas still marched with pride. They still believed. That was the essence of Real Madrid's iron faith.
Yes, they had been outclassed by Barcelona at home. Yes, their Galáctico era was dimming. And yes, the squad looked fragile compared to its former glory. But belief? Belief never wavered.
Because what if tonight was different?
What if, against all odds, something magical happened?
And if it did… how could any real fan forgive themselves for not being there?
That unshakable hope was what filled the air. Even battered pride could be masked with dreams of redemption — especially at the Bernabéu.
Besides, there was history on their side. Real Madrid had not lost a single Champions League match at home in 40 months.
The last time they had tasted defeat in Europe at the Bernabéu was all the way back on October 30, 2002, during a group-stage clash against AS Roma. It was Francesco Totti who broke their resistance that night, scoring in the 27th minute to seal a famous win for the Italians.
Since then, fortress Bernabéu had stood firm in Europe — game after game, opponent after opponent. The stadium had seen chaos, drama, and last-minute escapes, but never another loss.
And tonight, in the minds of the home supporters, Ajax wouldn't be the one to break that streak.
The Ajax team bus moved slowly through the sea of white as it rolled southward along Castellana Avenue. The police escort tried to carve a path, but it was like parting waves with a stick — Madrid fans crowded the sidewalks and spilled into the streets.
Chants grew louder. Some fans simply raised their scarves and shouted encouragement to their team. Others, more charged by rivalry, targeted the bus directly.
Most were harmless — whistling, singing Real Madrid's anthem, or simply booing — but a few voices pierced the din with hostility:
"¡Fuera de Madrid!"
"Don't come back alive!"
"You're not leaving this city with anything tonight!"
The bus windows were tinted, but that didn't stop fans from pressing close, shouting into the glass or holding up rude signs.
Yang Yang sat near the front, eyes calm, posture relaxed. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
The tension was nothing new. He'd played in hostile grounds before. But this was different — this was Real Madrid, and the sheer magnitude of emotion pouring from their fans was overwhelming, even from behind the police barrier.
As they approached the stadium, the roads grew narrower, and the crowd grew denser. At one point, the bus had to slow to a crawl as fans spilled too far forward, waving flags and banging on the side panels. The Madrid police quickly intervened, forcing a gap wide enough for the convoy to pass through.
When they finally arrived at the Bernabéu's secure entrance, the reception was still no warmer.
More fans lined the outer ring of the stadium. Some were civil, humming chants or hissing quietly. But a small group hurled insults with venom.
"You don't belong here!"
"Back to Amsterdam!"
"We'll tear you apart tonight!"
Thankfully, security stepped in swiftly. The more aggressive fans were restrained and warned. No one was harmed. But the message was loud and clear: Ajax were intruders here.
As Yang Yang stepped off the bus, he couldn't help but recall a conversation he had with Florentino Pérez in Zurich just a few months earlier.
Back in December, over at the FIFA ceremony, the Real Madrid president had leaned in and said with quiet pride:
"We've worked hard over the years to elevate the Bernabéu experience. From the pitch to the stands, from the stadium walls to the streets outside, we want Real Madrid to represent something more. Something noble. Sophisticated. A gentleman's club in every sense."
Florentino had smiled, then added:
"Today, I can say with certainty: the Santiago Bernabéu is the most dignified stadium in the world. We have no extreme ultras. None of that poison. The experience here is refined. Elevated."
Now, standing in the stadium tunnel, Yang Yang glanced back at the fans still gathering outside the barriers, some still shouting, others still sneering.
And yet… he had to admit, for the most part, Florentino had delivered on his promise.
The chaos was controlled. The hostility had limits.
...
...
"To be honest… I'm a little nervous."
Yaya Touré leaned over as he adjusted the tape on his shin pads, his hands lightly rubbing together — a subtle gesture that betrayed the tension he was trying to suppress.
They were in the visitors' dressing room at the Santiago Bernabéu, Ajax players changing into their warm-up kits, boots clinking against the tiled floor. The atmosphere was serious but calm — until now.
Yang Yang glanced over and offered a light smile. "That's normal. First time in this stadium, nerves are expected."
Yaya raised an eyebrow. "And you? You nervous?"
Yang Yang let out a quiet laugh, finishing the final knot on his right boot. "A little, sure. But mostly… I just can't wait for the whistle."
Yaya paused, then nodded slowly — understanding.
Nerves were natural. But Yang Yang wasn't shaken — he was focused. Poised like a boxer before a title fight. The kind of tension he felt wasn't fear; it was fuel.
Because once you stepped onto the pitch — onto that battlefield — you either fought or you died.
And against Real Madrid? Even the smallest hesitation could cost everything.
Give them space, even for a second, and they would tear you open.
Yaya had watched those highlights. Ronaldinho, Milito, Totti — all found ways to slice through Real's gaps, but it always came down to mental sharpness. The moment you froze, Madrid struck.
And Yang Yang knew that better than anyone.
"The boss's tactics are right," Yang Yang said quietly, tapping the crest on his chest. "Stick to the plan. Control the midfield. Stay tight in the back. And when the ball comes forward…"
He looked up at Yaya with eyes full of fire.
"Leave the rest to me."
There was no arrogance in his tone. Just certainty.
This was his match. His role. The entire Ajax attacking scheme had been constructed around him — his speed, his positioning, his ability to carry the ball under pressure and punish any lapse.
Even Charisteas, the experienced Greek striker, had agreed: Yang Yang was the focal point.
Yaya nodded, then looked around the room. A few teammates had overheard the exchange — Wesley Sneijder, Steven Pienaar, De Jong, Maxwell — and they all responded the same way.
They believed him.
Two years ago, Yang Yang was still seen as a breakout star. Now, he was the undisputed leader. The one who pulled Ajax forward when the pitch tilted. The one who made defenders panic just by receiving the ball on the half-turn.
And in those two years, he had never given them a reason to doubt.
Not once.
Tonight wouldn't be the first.
...
...
Amid overwhelming boos from the stands, Yang Yang led his Ajax teammates onto the pitch at the Santiago Bernabéu.
The grandstands were packed in every direction. The scale and atmosphere of the stadium were impossible to describe. Sound rolled across the field in waves, loud enough to shake the ground. For anyone with even a little fear in their heart, their legs might have given out right then and there.
Yang Yang figured that some of the Real Madrid fans who had welcomed him at the airport must also be among those booing now, but he didn't hold it against them. Tonight was not about transfer rumors or future signings. It was about the match. Nothing else mattered.
"Welcome to the Bernabéu," Real Madrid's captain, Guti, said as he came out from the players' tunnel and spotted Yang Yang nearby.
"Thank you, Guti."
"Let's hope it's a good match tonight," Guti added.
"I hope so too."
After the brief handshake, Guti led his teammates to the other side of the field to begin warming up.
When Ronaldo, Zidane, Beckham, and a few other players passed by, they gave Yang Yang a nod or a quick greeting, but no one said much. Their faces didn't show much interest, but that was understandable. Real Madrid were in poor form, and the pressure on them was heavy. Everyone was focused on themselves.
Yang Yang didn't have time to think about anyone else's emotions. His attention was on his own role, and on keeping his teammates steady. This match was extremely important for Ajax. He hoped everyone could stay calm and execute Ronald Koeman's tactics with discipline and focus.
No matter what, they could not make the same mistakes as two years ago. They couldn't give Real Madrid any space to breathe, not even for a second. That required everyone to stay alert and composed at all times.
For himself, and for Ajax, Yang Yang had only one goal in mind: to do everything he could to win this match.