Chapter 187: We Are the Legend — Long Live Mourinho's Real Madrid!
"Tell Luka and Michael to start warming up. I want them in the dressing room at halftime."
As soon as Real Madrid conceded, Mourinho didn't waste time wallowing in frustration.
Instead, he calmly turned to Karanka and issued his next move.
Modrić and Essien were soon stripping off their warm-up bibs. Under Pintus's guidance, they began stretching on the sideline — quickly catching the attention of commentators and fans alike.
The broadcast cameras zoomed in. The momentum shift was immediate.
Viewers everywhere could feel the intensity of elite coaching chess on full display — every move, every substitution, a test of will between two tactical masters.
Heynckes, of course, noticed the commotion on the opposite bench. After the initial celebration, his mind was already racing, predicting what Mourinho would do next.
Modrić would likely slot into midfield. That much was obvious.
But Essien?
He was a wildcard — capable of playing both midfield and fullback.
If Mourinho sent him on for Arbeloa, it would make sense. Arbeloa hadn't done much to trouble Ribéry on the flank.
Essien's defensive grit and stamina could pose more of a problem.
Heynckes felt confident in his read. And he also didn't believe Mourinho would make any changes before halftime.
And he was right.
For the final ten minutes of the first half, Mourinho didn't make any substitutions.
Meanwhile, as Madrid began attacking with more urgency, Bayern shrunk back.
Heynckes wasn't chasing a second goal — he wanted to take the 1-1 score into halftime.
Let Madrid grow impatient. Let them leave gaps.
But it didn't go as planned.
Madrid didn't lose their heads.
Because Leon and Alonso were controlling the rhythm.
As long as they stayed cool, the team's structure wouldn't fall apart.
Mourinho glanced at the clock. Forty-three minutes played. He gestured for his players to slow down and reset.
Conceding an equalizer after scoring first was always a psychological blow.
But every player on the pitch — on both sides — knew this final wouldn't be settled by just one or two goals.
So after releasing some pent-up emotion through a wave of attacks, Madrid fell back into formation, calming the tempo.
Both sides seemed to call a brief truce, tactically speaking.
And when the referee finally blew the whistle for halftime, players from both teams jogged off without further drama.
There weren't many goals in the first half, but it was everything the media had promised — intense, dramatic, high-quality football.
Big names. Big moments. Tactical adjustments galore.
For neutrals, it was a treat.
And if the second half delivered more goals? It could be an instant classic.
Inside the Real Madrid locker room, Mourinho paced slowly for two to three minutes.
The players stayed quiet, focused on resting and resetting.
Leon took off his boots, socks, and jersey — trying to fully relax his body.
He'd played well in the first half. Any fan or journalist would probably give him an 8/10.
But he wasn't satisfied.
Not because of his offense — but because of his defense, which he prided himself on.
Madrid's back line had been too reactive.
Leon had spent most of the half putting out fires, without many chances to convert defense into counterattack.
There were plenty of reasons for that.
Maybe Mourinho's tactical plan didn't perfectly fit the flow of this final.
Maybe the defenders just weren't as sharp tonight.
But Leon wasn't trying to blame others.
He was just… not content with himself.
Then, Mourinho spoke.
"Alright, boys. First, I owe you an apology. I miscalculated our first-half tactics.
We could spend all day dissecting why — but we don't have time.
What matters now is what comes next…"
The entire locker room paused, surprised.
Mourinho's first-half plan hadn't been bad.
It wasn't a failure — just that the game hadn't unfolded the way Madrid had hoped.
So this "apology" was really more of an act of leadership.
He was taking the pressure off his players.
And Leon, Essien — they instantly understood.
This wasn't about tactics anymore.
It was about freeing the team from mental baggage.
Mourinho wasn't perfect. But he never shied away from responsibility.
His words gave the players permission to reset, to approach the second half with clear minds.
None of them were fools.
Even the slowest to process what was happening now saw it clearly.
"We're going to push earlier than planned in the second half. Be ready.
Because the team we're facing isn't just talented — they can run, and they'll fight to the final whistle.
We don't have a fitness edge. And we can't afford to rely on luck.
We'll be in this war until the last whistle.
Do you understand?"
"YES!!"
"Good! Stay sharp. Now listen up. We start with Luka…"
Mourinho dragged the tactics board to the center of the room.
What followed was a clear, rapid breakdown of Madrid's second-half strategy.
First, back to five in midfield. Then three. Then five again.
The middle third of this final had gone through three tactical evolutions.
And now, both teams were switching to 4-2-3-1.
Modrić and Essien would replace Matuidi and Arbeloa.
Leon would drop deeper to form a double pivot with Alonso.
But this wasn't about parking the bus.
Mourinho wanted aggression.
Leon's drop wasn't to lock down the box. It was to dominate possession and launch attacks.
Cristiano and Di María were also pulling back — not to defend, but to draw Bayern in and unleash a more concentrated counterpunch.
Modrić?
He was the bridge — the hinge between defense and offense.
And he was ready.
In truth, he'd been waiting for this moment since the day he signed for Real Madrid.
The adaptation early in the season.
The chemistry he built in the second half.
Now, the stage was his.
The final act of the season was about to begin.
The Mourinho-era Real Madrid stood on the edge of history.
They were a win away from immortality.
And everyone in that room knew it.
They were no longer chasing legacy.
They were creating it.
Long live Mourinho's Madrid.
We are the legend.
Modrić, after over forty appearances this season, had fully adapted to both his new team and the tempo of La Liga.
Tonight, the Champions League final, was his best opportunity to repay the patience of his coaches and teammates.
His and Essien's appearance at the start of the second half immediately drew attention.
Real Madrid had swapped a central midfielder and a right back. They'd also shifted formation to a 4-2-3-1.
It wasn't just Heynckes and Bayern Munich who were watching closely — fans in front of TVs around the world were also eagerly waiting to see what kind of second-half rhythm Madrid would bring.
Bayern, meanwhile, maintained their 4-2-3-1 shape. No changes.
And just like the first half, they resumed control of the tempo in midfield immediately.
Madrid had sat back in the first half, so conceding some control then was understandable. But now?
Now they wouldn't give it up so easily.
Both teams jumped straight into a fierce midfield battle.
Modrić, despite his lean build, brought surprising intensity to his duels.
And after a year of training in Madrid's defensive system, his tackling had noticeably improved.
Schweinsteiger nearly lost the ball to him while holding possession — if not for Lahm dropping into midfield to rescue the situation and carry the ball wide, Modrić might've launched a direct counter.
Schweinsteiger, caught off guard, immediately adjusted his attitude toward Modrić: no more underestimation.
With Bayern once again controlling the early rhythm, their flanks surged forward with pace.
Just like the first half, Ribéry took the ball, attempting to cut inside and combine with either Müller or a wide-positioned Mandzukic.
But this time, his path was blocked by a different defender.
Leon.
Alonso had swapped places with him, and Ribéry quickly realized that cutting inside against Leon was an entirely different challenge.
Alonso, while great at reading the game, rarely committed forward — he held back, controlling space.
Leon?
Leon stepped forward.
And on Ribéry's first cut-in attempt of the half, Leon took both ball and man, dropping the French winger to the ground with a firm, clean challenge.
It wasn't dirty, though the tackle was a bit heavy.
The referee awarded a free kick, but Ribéry said nothing.
He didn't yet know — this was just the beginning.
The free kick was cleared by Ramos, and within five minutes, Ribéry tried to cut inside twice more.
Both times, Leon stopped him cold, intercepting him outside Madrid's defensive third.
On the third occasion, Leon not only dispossessed him but launched a blistering counterattack.
Madrid's new defensive approach was now fully revealed.
They were pressing aggressively, pushing up high and fast, not to bunker but to win the ball and immediately punish mistakes.
And beneath this active defense was something brewing: a Madrid offense ready to explode.
Cristiano had spent the entire first half in patient silence.
He watched Robben and Ribéry dazzle under the Wembley lights.
But now?
Now he had Mourinho's promise echoing in his ears:
"In the second half, you have unlimited firing rights."
Mourinho wasn't bluffing.
Cristiano, who had just two shots in the first half, now fired three times in less than ten minutes.
Neuer's stress skyrocketed. And so did the anxiety of Dante and Boateng.
Because these days, Cristiano's effective shooting range was ridiculous.
Most world-class forwards had clear zones they favored for scoring.
Cristiano?
He'd already scored six goals this season from 30 to 40 meters out — five of them from open play.
So whenever he had the ball in Bayern's half, defenders had no idea where or when the next shot would come.
If he missed, people could mock him for wastefulness.
But defenders couldn't afford to think that way.
Because if he scored? It would be their name on the list of shame.
Heynckes could only sigh.
What could he do — expand his entire defensive radius by 10 meters just to limit one man?
Then who would stop Benzema? Di María?
He had to hope Cristiano's solo flurry would remain just that — isolated.
But was that really all?
In the 59th minute, Cristiano received the ball wide on the left from Modrić.
Lahm and Martínez closed in, aiming to force another long-range attempt.
Cristiano didn't oblige.
Instead, he delivered a light, curling diagonal lob into the center of Bayern's half — a vacant pocket they hadn't protected.
Cristiano had a strange gift — his power and goalscoring prowess were so dominant that people often forgot about his passing.
This was a prime example.
Lahm and Martínez were so focused on stopping his shot that they left his passing lane wide open.
The ball floated beautifully into the open lane — and sprinting onto it from deep?
Leon.
Heynckes nearly swore aloud.
Mourinho had used Cristiano as bait.
And the most shocking part?
Cristiano played along.
How?!
The shock unsettled Bayern's backline — once again, they began to crumble.
Dante still remembered the first half, when Leon broke past Martínez and lobbed a deadly pass for Cristiano.
So this time, he stayed close to Cristiano, unwilling to step out.
But Madrid's attack wasn't about just one pattern.
Leon, seeing Bayern retreating in confusion, smiled.
He laid the ball out wide — Modrić was already waiting.
And then — the final punch.
Cristiano. Benzema. Leon. Di María.
All four stormed into the box.
Modrić whipped in a wicked cross that just cleared Alaba and Boateng at the near post.
At the far post?
Only Dante.
Sweat dripped from his forehead. He looked at the incoming ball, then at Cristiano, at Benzema, at Di María.
Could he count on Lahm to out-jump someone in the box?
No. He had to choose.
In less than a second, he made his call.
Forget Cristiano — he lunged toward Leon.
He read the cross well. The flight was perfect. He even managed to reach Leon at the right time.
But Leon's position was too tight — Dante couldn't fully challenge.
Still, he was confident.
Leon wouldn't get the header off clean.
At least… that's what he thought.
Leon had the physical edge—his height and weight were in his favor. Even if Dante jumped lower than him, he could still disrupt Leon's header attempt.
But in the very next second, Dante's eyes widened in fresh panic.
Leon wasn't going for goal.
He simply flicked the ball on with a light touch—a clever header pass instead of a shot.
And just like that, Bayern's defensive line had crumbled.
At the far post, completely unmarked, Cristiano Ronaldo had already adjusted his steps and was set to fire off his second close-range volley of the match.
He struck with pure, explosive force. Determination blazed in his eyes.
He refused to believe that, after denying him once, Neuer could do it again.
Neuer guessed correctly—last time it was the far post, this time he dove for the near.
But guessing right wasn't enough.
Cristiano was closer this time.
Unguarded.
Letting a striker of Ronaldo's caliber set up a perfect finish from six yards out?
That was practically giving away a goal.
And as the ball zipped past Neuer's fingertips and smashed into the netting, Wembley erupted.
The white wave surged again—screaming, chanting, pounding the stands with uncontainable joy.
Lahm stood, hands on hips, utterly helpless.
Cristiano, shirt ripped off in a blaze of emotion, dropped to his knees at the corner flag and unleashed a triumphant roar.
But his teammates wouldn't let him bask alone.
Within two seconds, Ronaldo was swarmed and tackled by his ecstatic teammates, and Leon was already pumping his fist, urging the Madrid fans to roar louder.
In the broadcast booth, He Wei and Coach Zhang were shouting over each other.
"Leon—!!! Leon delivers another assist in the Champions League final!!! Two consecutive seasons with assists in the UCL final! Another historic moment for Asian football!"
Back in China, the fans—regardless of the late hour—were wide awake, ecstatic, and shouting in celebration.
On the sidelines, Mourinho dropped to his knees, fists clenched, eyes to the sky.
The pressure had been immense.
He had played it cool throughout—even when trailing—but inside, he had been anxious and unsure.
That was only human.
But Mourinho knew that, no matter what, he had to be the anchor. His team drew strength from his reactions.
Now, leading again, he couldn't hold back the emotion.
Karanka ran over and embraced him—then had to haul him up from the grass.
"Don't stop," Mourinho said urgently, gripping Karanka's arm. "Keep pressing. We need another goal—keep pushing until we're up by two!"
Still in the throes of celebration, Mourinho had already begun planning the next wave.
Karanka nodded and sprinted down the sideline, shouting tactical instructions to the players.
Essien, still near the back with Casillas, was the first to catch on.
He signaled forward.
Then Alonso, Ramos, Modrić, Leon, Benzema, Ronaldo…
Once the message was clear, the Madrid players' morale soared to a whole new level.
Attack! Keep attacking! Don't settle!
If Bayern prided themselves on firepower, Madrid would beat them at their own game.
Eye for eye. Blow for blow.
This was Real Madrid.
This was their warrior spirit.
But that goal shook Bayern.
Top-tier clashes often hinged on who seized the lead after a tie.
Once that momentum swung, the leading team usually pressed their advantage.
Bayern still had time—about thirty minutes—and they still had talent.
But with Real Madrid's suffocating pressure, time became their enemy.
Even the most resilient players couldn't stay calm while the clock kept ticking and the scoreboard stayed tilted.
Lahm remained composed, even increasing his forward runs to link up with his teammates.
Bayern still had gas in the tank, but with tension mounting, their legs felt heavier than usual.
Madrid, in contrast, were energized by adrenaline.
The lead wasn't enough—they wanted more.
Fueled by their coach's fire, they chased every ball, made every run, pressed like madmen.
Mourinho, meanwhile, sat back with a worried expression.
His fear? That Bayern would now do what Dortmund had once done—explode in the face of adversity.
When Real Madrid had faced Dortmund in the group stage, their early lead had made them complacent.
Dortmund didn't sit back—they fought tooth and nail, turned the tide, and won.
Mourinho knew that could happen again.
He watched the game closely, eyes flicking between passes, transitions, and reactions.
But this Bayern?
They were stable. Composed. Well-drilled.
The younger players had been rattled, but the veterans calmed them quickly.
They attacked with order and structure, still hungry to win.
But what they lacked now was madness.
That sheer, desperate edge that turned chaos into glory.
Without it, Mourinho felt confident again.
Perhaps—just perhaps—Real Madrid still had one more surprise in them.
Back on the pitch, Madrid dug in.
Everyone pulled their weight, battling fiercely at the halfway line.
It was a grueling war of attrition.
Every minute was a drain on both teams' energy.
But Madrid felt it was worth it.
They had managed to hold the line for over ten minutes, denying Bayern a single meaningful chance.
Bayern began to panic.
With just over 15 minutes left, they knew they couldn't wait any longer.
Now it was really all or nothing.
Heynckes didn't hesitate.
In the 76th minute, he subbed in Mario Gómez for Mandzukic.
On the sidelines, Shaqiri and Pizarro were also warming up, ready at a moment's notice.
Gómez's entrance was a signal.
Bayern were done holding back.
The full assault had begun.
On the Madrid bench, Mourinho's hands clenched into fists.
Karanka, sitting beside him, had his hands together, muttering silently.
Now it was dangerous.
Bayern's surge forced Madrid to split their focus—defend hard, but don't lose counterattack opportunities.
But if they played it safe?
They'd be inviting a siege.
It was a gamble.
Win big or lose everything.
By the 80th minute, Mourinho almost cracked.
Müller had just sprung into the box again, using Gómez as a screen to power a header off the post.
One inch from equalizing.
Bayern roared in frustration, screams echoing across Wembley.
And that close call only fueled their belief.
Their final push was just beginning.
After coming on in the second half and diligently holding the line, Essien suddenly stepped up.
Facing yet another one-on-one from Ribéry, Essien didn't wait for a double-team like he had before. He didn't fall back to contain and wait.
Instead, he stepped in with the fearlessness and decisiveness of his younger days — and won the ball with a bold challenge!
Ribéry lost possession before he could even react, and nearby Bayern players immediately swarmed toward Essien.
But Essien didn't panic. He sent a daring horizontal pass straight to Leon, who once again found an opening for a forward run through the chaos.
At this point, it was all about taking chances — and Leon had never lacked the courage to gamble in key moments.
He burst forward, full throttle, from his own half, powered by stamina that outclassed everyone else on the pitch.
Alaba, caught off guard, instinctively reached out to grab him for a tactical foul.
Too late.
Leon had already shot past him — Alaba caught nothing but air.
Running against the summer night breeze, with his heart pounding in his chest, Leon's mind was clear.
He broke away from Schweinsteiger, then from Müller, and now only Martínez and the two Bayern center-backs stood in his way.
To neutral spectators, it looked like a moment of destiny.
Martínez remembered all too well the last time he faced Leon while still at Athletic Bilbao.
Back then, he had been confident in his physicality, but in stoppage time of that match, Leon had outmuscled him and delivered a lethal through ball to snatch a dramatic draw.
Martínez had never forgotten.
And now, facing Leon again at such a critical moment, he swore he'd make up for that failure.
He charged forward to intercept, determined to stop Leon cold.
But this time, Leon didn't wait for contact.
He delivered a powerful through ball early — clean and precise — before Martínez could get close.
He had learned from that past mistake too.
Even if it meant his teammate would have to deal with two center-backs, Leon chose to trust.
And that faith was rewarded.
Three seconds later, Di María, ignoring the pressure, cut inside — his trademark move.
Everyone knew Robben's signature cut-in shot was the best in the world.
But in that moment, Di María believed his was just as unstoppable.
From just over 20 meters out, he feinted, shook off Boateng, and curled a shot toward the far post.
Neuer went all out — diving with everything he had.
But the placement was too perfect, the arc too sharp.
It reminded him of Robben's own warm-up shots earlier that day — he'd saved two of them, but one, just like this one, had slipped by.
A loud crack echoed across the pitch.
The ball bounced once, rattling inside the net.
GOAL.
GOAL!!!
Just as Bayern were preparing their final desperate push, Madrid struck the killer blow.
Wembley exploded.
All across the world, Real Madrid fans leapt to their feet — crying, shouting, hugging loved ones.
"We're going to defend it, José! We're going to defend it!!! Real Madrid are about to become the first team to defend the Champions League title since the format change!!!"
Karanka's screams were thunder in Mourinho's ears.
But Mourinho?
He simply touched his flushed face, then pulled his assistant into a crushing hug.
This was the perfect night.
Each of Madrid's front three had scored.
Leon — his protégé — had delivered two assists, lighting up the biggest stage once again.
Leon didn't sprint toward the corner flag.
He dropped to the turf, smiling, hands on his head, watching the world erupt around him.
Until Modrić and Ramos picked him up.
"We're really doing it, Little Lion! You were amazing—just amazing…"
Ramos was beaming with pride.
He had watched Leon grow these past three years, watched him rise to this moment.
And he couldn't be prouder.
Modrić?
His eyes were red.
Maybe he was thinking of the hard road back home in Croatia.
Or maybe of the trophyless years at Tottenham, the wasted prime.
Maybe of the betrayal accusations when he chose to join Madrid.
But tonight, it was all behind him.
Supercopa, UEFA Super Cup, Club World Cup, La Liga — and now the Champions League.
The only thing missing was the Copa del Rey — and all this in less than a year.
Five titles in one year.
How could he not weep?
Leon and Alonso quickly moved to console him.
But Bayern weren't done.
With their players urging the ref to restart the match, Madrid's celebrations didn't last long.
The referee blew his whistle — game on.
Madrid still refused to park the bus.
They stayed compact in midfield, challenging every ball, fighting for every inch.
Mourinho made his final move, subbing Nacho in for Benzema.
Nacho, thrilled to appear in a Champions League final, took up a defensive midfield role.
Madrid deployed a four-defensive-midfield formation.
Cristiano and Di María, still with gas in the tank, carried the ball into Bayern's corners when they could, bleeding the clock.
No diving. No fake injuries.
But every time-wasting trick in the book, they used it.
The Madrid fans held their breath, counting seconds.
The referee delayed his final whistle, waiting until Bayern's last attack played out.
Mourinho raged, pointing at his watch, demanding closure.
The 40,000 Madrid fans inside Wembley booed, whistled, roared for time.
And then—
The final whistle blew.
All complaints vanished.
Leon dropped to his knees inside Madrid's penalty area.
Cristiano fell too, both men howling in triumph toward the heavens.
They had done it.
They were back-to-back Champions League winners.
The first team in the Champions League era to defend their crown.
Every hardship, every heartbreak of the last three years—paid in full.
Mourinho, overcome with emotion, embraced Karanka—and wept.
His players circled around him.
Then, chanting and cheering, they threw him into the air again and again beneath the lights of Wembley.
"Long live Mourinho!"
"Long live Real Madrid!!!"
Get 30% off on my Patreon and enjoy early access to new chapters.
You can also purchase the next 100 chapters of the novel directly from my Patreon page.
Hurry up! The promotion ends on February 2, 2026.
Read 40 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10