The chance was almost identical to the goal Podolski had scored earlier.
Yet the result was completely different.
"A god! Kahn is the god of the Allianz Arena today!"
"Kahn saves Cassano's one-on-one!"
"Incredible!"
"This is the real world's number one goalkeeper!"
"Casillas? Buffon? They're nothing compared to this!"
"Kahn shows everyone what true Bayern really looks like!"
"I'll say it again—if Su Hang had faced Kahn at last year's World Cup, Spain would've been knocked out long ago! The team lifting the trophy would've been Germany, not Spain!"
The Bayern fans inside the stadium were utterly won over by Kahn's perfect save and began chanting his name in unison.
Cassano knelt inside the penalty area, covering his face, unable to accept such a cruel reality.
Some Real Madrid fans angrily criticized Cassano for being useless.
But Van Nistelrooy, watching from the bench, knew very clearly that even if it had been him—or even Su Hang—taking that shot, Kahn would have saved it just the same.
Kahn was in a completely explosive state in this match.
If people say that "the hoop looks like the ocean" when a shooter is on fire,
then today, the goal felt like Kahn's bedroom door—so small that he could easily cover every corner.
One moment of carelessness, and it wouldn't be Kahn—it'd be Carmen!
In the 59th minute, Lahm carried the ball forward from the back.
Guti stepped up to press, but Lahm exchanged a quick one-two with Hargreaves and continued advancing.
He then played another give-and-go with Schweinsteiger.
With a sudden crisscross, Lahm unexpectedly drove inside with the ball. Diarra and Ramos both froze for a split second, missing their best chance to stop him.
From just outside the left edge of the penalty area, Lahm unleashed a thunderous right-footed strike.
The ball flew straight into the top corner.
Another god-tier long-range wonder goal.
The entire stadium erupted instantly.
"GOAL! Another one!"
"Lahm!"
"Don't be fooled by his position—Lahm may be a left back, but his dominant foot is actually his right! What a strike!"
"If Kahn represents Bayern's past, then Lahm shows us Bayern's future!"
"He's been orchestrating attacks all game and now scores himself—I'll call him man of the match!"
"Three–nil! Bayern are tearing Real Madrid apart at home!"
"Six–two on aggregate! Real Madrid are losing so badly they don't even recognize themselves!"
"So what if he's the Ballon d'Or winner? The World Footballer of the Year? Even a World Cup champion is nothing special! The so-called world's number one striker was just a flash in the pan!"
"Compared to the absent Roberto Carlos, Lahm looked like the real world's number one left back today. Everyone else—including Maldini—is just background noise!"
"The future belongs to Lahm! The future belongs to Bayern!"
Boom!
The Bayern home crowd celebrated like it was a festival.
A four-goal lead on aggregate!
Who else is there?
In the stands, the original thousand-plus Real Madrid supporters began leaving one after another.
Even the most devout believers would see their faith collapse at this point.
Fewer than five hundred Real Madrid fans remained in the stadium.
They stayed not because they believed in a miracle, but because the tickets had cost them dearly—having paid for them, they would watch until the end no matter what.
But from this day on, they swore they wouldn't spend another cent on Real Madrid.
It was brutal.
They were losing so badly they barely looked human.
On the surface, Real Madrid seemed proactive, but in reality, every Bayern attack turned into a dangerous threat.
The true initiative had always been in Bayern's hands.
Real Madrid had completely lost control of the match.
They were like a bleeding beast.
Standing still meant waiting for death.
But the more violently they moved, the faster they bled out—and the quicker they died.
Four goals down, this was already the stage where nothing could be done.
Family members could start leaving messages.
...
On the pitch, as Bayern celebrated wildly, Su Hang walked toward the bench.
Pointing at Beckham, he said to Capello,
"I want David. Sub him on for Diarra. From now on, we have no choice but to attack."
Without waiting for Capello's response, he pulled Beckham up from the bench and signaled for him to warm up immediately.
"After you come on, start at defensive midfield. Keep the ball moving, get a feel for it. In three to five minutes, you have to find your best rhythm," Su Hang said to Beckham as he stretched.
"I know that's asking a lot."
"But if it weren't hard, I wouldn't be asking you."
"I believe you can do it—because your name is Beckham."
"Once you're in form, switch with Guti to right midfield depending on the situation. That's your territory. You know how to help the team there—that's what you're best at."
Beckham nodded repeatedly, his expression growing serious.
"Robinho, come here!" Su Hang then called him over.
"For the next two or three minutes, the team will circulate the ball at the back so Beckham can find his rhythm."
"That's your rest time."
"Once those three minutes are up, no matter what happens, when the ball comes to you, just knock it forward and race Sagnol."
"Understand? Don't treat this like a football match—treat it like a sprint."
"Beat that old body Sagnol, then cross it to me."
"Don't think about your stamina. Sprint with everything you've got every single time. OK?"
Robinho nodded again and again.
This setup essentially stripped Robinho of his freedom to attack and shoot, turning him into a one-function workhorse. Normally, he should have been unhappy.
But looking into Su Hang's eyes, Robinho understood—this was an unprecedented, daunting responsibility.
This was Su Hang's trust.
Position on the pitch, authority, tactical importance, fan support—did these things matter?
They did.
But compared to the true entrustment of the "sole leader," they suddenly meant nothing.
A warrior dies for the one who truly understands him.
Within Su Hang's plan, Robinho found his true value.
"Guti! Guti, come here—there's no time, I'll keep it short…"
Watching Su Hang command the sideline with such authority,
Capello—whose role had effectively been overridden—felt little resentment.
When crisis strikes, when a team faces collapse, the one who steps forward isn't seeking the spotlight—they're carrying responsibility.
That is a true leader.
At this moment, Su Hang's instructions weren't about control—they were about trust.
At this moment, everyone set aside status, position, and age, and followed Su Hang's orders without hesitation.
And that was Su Hang's charisma.
The true embodiment of his command.
The broadcast director quickly noticed it as well.
"Oh! We see Su Hang heading toward the sideline. After speaking with Capello, he points at Beckham."
"Beckham has started warming up! It looks like he's coming on—and this must be Su Hang's call!"