He hated himself for not being just a bit faster!
Still, Lahm wasn't completely out of options. Watching Su Hang carry the ball toward his own box, he noticed something—was that a back pass to Casillas?
Lahm made a split-second decision. Almost perfectly copying Su Hang's earlier anticipatory tackle, he launched into a sliding challenge from Su Hang's left.
Bang!
Su Hang lifted his right foot, clearly selling the idea of a return pass to Casillas near the left post. But instead, his foot came down on the left side of the ball and nudged it sharply to the right.
A clumsy Cruyff turn.
But Lahm was blinded by fury—or rather, he had no choice but to gamble that Su Hang would pass. It was his only chance.
So…
Su Hang burst out from the right side of his own penalty area with the ball at his feet.
Lahm, meanwhile, slid straight into the Real Madrid goalmouth.
White netting splashed everywhere, but Bayern came away with nothing.
Bang!
Once outside the box, Su Hang laid the ball off to Emerson, who had come over to support, neatly evading the press.
Emerson launched a long clearance down the right flank.
Beckham began carrying the ball forward, eyes fixed on Cassano's movement.
As Lucio closed in on Cassano and gradually forced him behind his body, Beckham knew—the moment had come.
Bang!
The crescent-moon blade flashed into existence, carving out an exaggerated arc. The ball bent cleanly around Lucio and flew straight toward Cassano's head.
The ultimate challenge—lose to win!
Cassano didn't even need to generate power himself. The ball glanced off him and bounced toward Bayern's goal.
Kahn threw himself into a desperate dive, but he was no longer the godlike keeper from the first half.
"GOAL!"
"It's in!"
"Cassano! The Roman bad boy has killed the game!"
"Six–four on the night! Eight–six on aggregate! Real Madrid have completely crushed Bayern!"
"At this point, unless Su Hang joins Bayern and turns into God again…"
"Because there are only four minutes of stoppage time left!"
"On this planet, only Su Hang can score three goals in four minutes—only Su Hang!"
On the pitch, Cassano celebrated wildly in the corner. From leaving Roma to warming the bench at Real Madrid, he'd never truly proven himself.
That was why every goal in a major match mattered so much to him.
At the very least, he needed to slowly squeeze Raúl out of his spot.
As for that little Argentine smoker, Cassano had never taken him seriously.
After all, how good could someone be if he hung around with trash like Modrić?
But the camera quickly cut to Beckham.
And on the scoreboard, Beckham's name appeared… three times.
"Oh! Unbelievable!"
"A hat-trick of assists!"
"Beckham comes off the bench and completes an assist hat-trick in just thirty minutes!"
"How could a player like this spend two months in Real Madrid's reserves?!"
"Real Madrid's struggles this season are closely tied to freezing Beckham out!"
"Capello and Calderón must be held responsible!"
"If Su Hang hadn't spoken up, Beckham wouldn't have even made the flight to Germany—and Su Hang might never have produced that divine nine-minutes-five-goals moment!"
"With Su Hang turning into a god at the Allianz Arena tonight, Beckham has practically ascended as the Lucifer at his side!"
"The reason it's Lucifer, the fallen angel, and not the archangel Gabriel, is that Beckham will very likely join Major League Soccer on a free transfer after the season! Both sides are already willing—only minor details remain!"
"And after this match, I doubt those details will matter anymore."
"With Beckham playing like this, forget MLS or even the Turkish league—I'd bet Manchester United are already getting restless!"
At that very moment, far away in Poland's third division, a young striker from Preskov FC—Robert Lewandowski—was watching the match with his teammates.
Eighteen-year-old Lewandowski had joined the club this year for a hefty €4.5 million fee and had produced performances worthy of his price tag.
If nothing unexpected happened, he would lead the team to promotion to the Polish second division and continue collecting Golden Boot honors there.
After that, the Bundesliga would be his stage.
Germany's league environment and policies were far more friendly to Eastern European players.
And Bayern Munich was Lewandowski's ultimate goal.
That was why he and his teammates were watching this match.
They witnessed Bayern's commanding lead—and Su Hang's overwhelming dominance.
More than once during Su Hang's scoring spree, Lewandowski felt as though he saw his own shadow in him.
The runs, the scanning habits, the shot selection.
But he quickly slapped himself.
What did he mean, Su Hang had his shadow?
Bullshit!
It meant he played like Su Hang!
That was damn well Lewandowski's pride!
From that moment on, Lewandowski became a member of the Su Family Army.
From then on, every goal he scored would be in Su Hang's name!
Of course, Lewandowski wasn't stupid—there was some clever calculation in this as well.
The Polish third division? Forget ordinary people—even hardcore fans barely knew it existed.
But tell them this was "Poland's Su Hang," and suddenly he was a rising star.
In fact, Lewandowski wouldn't be the only one. In the future, countless knockoff, budget, and youth editions of Su Hang would appear.
...
Four minutes later, the truth was undeniable—Bayern didn't have a Su Hang.
When the referee blew the final whistle, everyone on Real Madrid's bench stormed onto the pitch.
Bayern's players collapsed onto the turf, just like they had eight years earlier in the Champions League final.
With five goals to his name, Su Hang was the unquestioned Man of the Match.
His post-match rating: a perfect ten.
The rating agency even added a special note:
"Unfortunately, our highest score is ten—because in this match, Su Hang deserved a hundred, a thousand, even ten thousand points."
Bayern coach Hitzfeld, utterly shaken, spread his hands helplessly before reporters.
"What could I do? No one could do anything—no one!"
"We can defeat any mortal opponent, but we cannot defeat a god."
"Tonight, God wore Real Madrid's number nine shirt."
"We watched it all happen, completely powerless."
Even Bayern legend Franz Beckenbauer forced a bitter smile when speaking to reporters:
"It's not that Bayern weren't strong enough—it's simply that the opponent was Su Hang."
Deep down, though, Beckenbauer felt a simmering anger.
Not toward Su Hang.
Not toward Real Madrid.
But toward the referee—and UEFA.
In this match, the referee hadn't favored Bayern in the slightest.
It made no sense.
Forget a biased whistle—there wasn't even a home whistle.
What exactly was Platini doing?
Had he not yet fully consolidated control over UEFA?
Had he forgotten their tacit understanding?
What Beckenbauer didn't know was that the very reason Bayern received such a fair match was precisely because Platini had already secured his grip on UEFA.
And when Bayern eventually faced Barcelona in the future, Platini would have even more "surprises" waiting for them.
...
(35 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser