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"OHHHHH!!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, the warmest cheers for the man who just scored!"
"Atlético Madrid! Goal scorer, number 10!!"
"Laaaaance Shaaaaaw!!!"
The DJ at the Wanda Metropolitano was a gruff, wildly enthusiastic Latin American, and he had 60,000 people shouting that name in unison. On the field, Lance's celebration, slow and imperious, collar raised, looking out over the stadium like he owned every square metre of it, sent the crowd into another wave of noise.
The whole place was an erupting volcano.
Kevin De Bruyne exhaled slowly, his fists clenching without him realising it.
On the scoreboard, the numbers were clear: 1-0.
But the smaller numbers in brackets, 4-2 on aggregate, were the ones that mattered. If Manchester City didn't find something quickly, they were going home.
David Silva looked briefly lost, searching for a way back into the game.
Only Agüero's eyes still burned.
"Sergio."
"Kevin?"
"Later on, try to make more runs into the channel between numbers 24 and 20."
"Got it."
Agüero didn't question it. He knew exactly what kind of mind De Bruyne had working behind those eyes.
Atlético's number 24, centre-back Giménez, was talented but still young and occasionally impetuous. Number 20, right-back Juanfran, loved to push forward and join the attack. In the space that opened between them when Juanfran went forward, there was an opportunity. Against most teams, that window would be too brief and too tight to exploit. De Bruyne could do it.
"Atlético Madrid have taken control of possession and aren't simply sitting in a defensive block. They're actually trying to play, hold the ball, and run the clock down."
Commentator Duan Xuan's partner, Director Xu Yang, was genuinely impressed.
This Atlético Madrid, after a full season of growth, had become a complete team. The defensive organisation was still the foundation, but now they could pass through pressure and control games in positional play when they needed to. This was not a one-trick side anymore.
"Lance's arrival this season has opened up far more options for Atlético when they carry the ball forward. That opening goal was a pure product of individual creativity."
On aggregate, Atlético led 4-2 and had three away goals. Manchester City needed to score at least three times to go through. Even a 4-4 draw on aggregate, if Atlético scored twice, would still see Atlético through on away goals. Scoring three against this defence was an enormous ask.
"So far this season, no team has scored more than two goals against Atlético Madrid in a single match. They have the best defensive record in the league."
Manchester City were doing plenty of work in the final third but couldn't find a clean look at goal. Time ticked away steadily, minute by minute. The away section was eerily quiet. Far off in Manchester, every pub was packed, beers in hand, barely a word being spoken. The faces said everything.
On the pitch, Saúl was buzzing.
"We're holding them! This is comfortable!"
He was bouncing around, waving at the fans, waving for the ball, wanting to do something with it.
"Lance, play it to me! I want to take him on!!"
Lance glanced at him, said nothing, turned past Fernandinho's challenge, and calmly rolled the ball to Griezmann instead.
Yaya Touré was right on top of Saúl. Passing into that would be turning the ball straight over.
Even with a 4-2 aggregate lead, Lance was not letting himself relax. History was full of teams who had thrown away three-goal leads. Some had done it in Champions League finals.
"Hang on."
Something was nagging at him.
Manchester City's composure was off. They weren't playing like a side that was losing. De Bruyne in particular, every pass unhurried, every movement measured, no trace of panic anywhere on his face.
"What are you planning, Kevin?"
When the ball went out, Lance drifted across.
"Nothing. Stop talking to me."
De Bruyne looked thoroughly fed up.
He knew exactly what Lance was doing. The psychological games were one thing within the same league, but Lance could do it in English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Japanese. He had virtually the entire European game covered. As a teammate it was harmless. As an opponent it made you want to strangle him.
No wonder so many players tried to foul him. Pure desperation.
"Something big is coming, isn't it? Don't bother. It won't work."
"Oh for... you little..."
De Bruyne was about to fire back when Lance abruptly turned and went for the ball with full intensity.
It was exactly like a classmate whispering to you all through a lesson, and the moment you finally turned to reply, the teacher looked over.
De Bruyne stood there for half a second, caught out.
Damn it.
He took a few deep breaths and pressed it all back down.
This was not the moment for petty arguments. The further behind they were, the calmer he needed to be. Wait for the gap. Watch for the moment.
Patience. Patience.
Not yet.
Patience.
Now.
Ten minutes later, with the first half winding down, De Bruyne found his moment.
Juanfran pushed forward to join an attack. Yaya Touré won the ball back and played it quickly to David Silva.
Silva drove forward, drawing Godín toward him. On the left, Navas made an overlapping run that pulled Giménez across to cover. The gap between the centre-back and the right-back opened for just a fraction of a second.
Silva, operating at the highest level, felt it immediately. He held off Godín's challenge, shrugged his body, and played the ball back to De Bruyne on the right.
De Bruyne had already made up his mind before the pass arrived. He didn't take a touch.
A curved, lofted ball to the edge of the penalty area.
De Bruyne held his breath.
It landed perfectly.
Agüero arrived exactly on time. Clean control into the box, one touch to shake off the defender without losing pace, then a strike that went clean through Joe Hart.
"Agüero!! It's a goal!!"
"Manchester City equalise before half-time!! The aggregate score is 4-3!!"
"The tie is very much alive!!"
Commentator Duan Xuan could not hold back his admiration. Silva's composure and execution, Navas's movement and positioning, De Bruyne's pass, placed into a gap that had existed for less than a second. And Agüero, clinical as ever, finishing with the authority of a world-class striker. This was Manchester City at their absolute best.
This was exactly the kind of opponent Atlético Madrid deserved.
"Brilliant."
Lance said it quietly, watching them celebrate.
De Bruyne really was that good. He had spotted and exploited a half-second window with a pass that would have been beyond almost anyone else. The future world's best midfielder, already showing why.
"Hey, system! If you don't come through soon, we might actually be in trouble here!"
Lance felt something he hadn't in a long time. A genuine edge of uncertainty.
If Manchester City kept operating at this level, the second half was going to be brutal. Giménez and Godín had both played a league match three days ago. Their legs would feel it in the final twenty minutes. Against a Manchester City pressing at this intensity, any weakness would be exposed and punished.
Come on. Stop upgrading. Let me use a cheat for a minute and we can sort the rest out later.
Wait.
That feeling.
A sudden, strong surge rising somewhere deep.
Lance went very still.
Was it finally happening?