(A/n: This bonus chapter for completing the review goal. Enjoy)
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Today, at the Bernabéu Stadium, the Champions League semi-final second leg was about to kick off. Before the match, Oliver, who was always "stingy" with himself, spent 2000 points and finally bought a [Injury Probability Reduction Card] for himself, adding an extra layer of insurance to his body.
Although a bit expensive, the Injury Probability Reduction Card could reduce his probability of suffering a major injury by a full half.
Although not as good as injury immunity, it was absolutely sufficient! The effect was absolutely powerful! Oliver valued this match greatly, more than any previous one.
Before the match, the camera swept across the VIP box, and a familiar figure caused a murmur throughout the stadium: Professor Arsène Wenger was seated there, his gaze sharp. Professor Wenger was here today specifically to scout Oliver. Arsenal's recent League form was good; they were already fifth in the Premier League, and the gap with Tottenham had narrowed to one point.
Just then, Oliver, wearing Hoffenheim's away jersey, jogged over and waved vigorously towards the Professor, a pure, sunny smile on his face. Wenger clearly noticed him too, returning a smile, a wave, and a nod of acknowledgment.
Immediately after, Oliver turned to another section of the stands, waving vigorously towards two middle-aged people excitedly waving their arms in the front row of the audience, his smile even brighter. Those were his parents. Jules and Shuwen had also bought tickets in advance and had flown in specially from Birmingham today. Jules responded with a strong fist pump, and Shuwen smiled and waved at her son.
They had already told Oliver their seating location before the match.
"Son, play well!!!" Jules shouted at the top of his lungs.
Oliver responded by raising his right thumb to his parents. With a long whistle from the referee, this highly anticipated Champions League semi-final kicked off amidst the thunderous roars of the Bernabéu.
Before this match began, Zidane had already instructed everyone.
"Contain Number 17. As long as he is defended, Hoffenheim's offense will significantly decline."
This match was destined to be a brutal battlefield. Kroos, Modric, Casemiro – this midfield iron triangle, long renowned, firmly controlled the tempo of the midfield. Their passes were like a weaving machine, methodically tearing apart Hoffenheim's defensive formation.
"Real Madrid started with a fierce momentum! A typical Bernabéu-style high-pressure opening! Modric is like a commander in the midfield, elegantly and calmly orchestrating the direction of attack!" The Commentator's voice drowned out the stadium's clamor.
Just 7 minutes into the game, Real Madrid created a huge threat. Kroos adjusted slightly in the central attacking area, ignoring the approaching defender. He suddenly sent a precise diagonal long pass with his left foot, guided accurately to Cristiano Ronaldo, who was making a high-speed run into the left channel.
Cristiano Ronaldo didn't wait for the ball to land; he took a touch forward with his left foot, like an arrow from a bow, cutting diagonally into the penalty area. Vogt chased desperately but was still a half-step slow. Cristiano Ronaldo played a low, cut-back pass to the center of the box. Benzema, like a pouncing leopard, arrived at the near post a step ahead, meeting the ball with a powerful shot! The angle was tricky!
"Cristiano Ronaldo's run, a beautiful diagonal pass! Kroos's vision is too wide! Benzema!!! Oh no! A miracle save! Baumann!!! Hoffenheim's goalkeeper Baumann reacted incredibly fast, diving sideways to tip this certain goal wide! Unbelievable!"
Hoffenheim broke out in a cold sweat. The match tempo was extremely fast, and Hoffenheim's attacking midfielder Grillitsch was still trying to adapt. Oliver tried to touch the ball on the right wing to find an opportunity, but as soon as he received it, he saw Casemiro's massive body directly bearing down on him.
A fierce shoulder charge!
Oliver was knocked off balance, his feet clearly stumbling. He staggered a few steps, swaying, but his core strength allowed him to firmly stabilize himself without falling. Oliver quickly passed the ball back to his teammate, his gaze stern.
"Casemiro's physical challenge! Oliver is feeling the hardness of Real Madrid's midfield right from the start! This challenge was tough, but the young man didn't fall, his body balance is good!" The Commentator said.
In the 18th minute, Hoffenheim attempted to organize an attack from the back. De Jong appeared somewhat nervous under the pressure from Real Madrid's midfield and the Bernabéu atmosphere. His pass to Amiri was too light, and its trajectory was completely anticipated by the shrewd Modric! Modric darted out, ghost-like, to intercept the ball! Without any adjustment, Modric spotted the huge gap on the right wing and delivered a surgical through-ball with his classic "outside of the foot" push. The ball almost skimmed the grass, traveling across the entire half of the field!
"De Jong!!! A misplaced pass! Danger! Modric intercepts! Oh my goodness! This through-ball is exquisite! Bale's off! Bale's speed, like a white lightning bolt!"
Bale! Gareth Bale had already started his run! He stretched his legs, striding rapidly to chase the ball, displaying absolute speed that utterly desperate Hoffenheim's left-back Vogt! In a few large strides, he left his opponent three body lengths behind!
Near the byline, Bale calmly swept the ball into the center of the penalty area with his right foot. Near the penalty spot, Cristiano Ronaldo leaped high, completely dominating Hoffenheim's left-back Nordtveit, who tried to jump and challenge for the header.
A powerful header!
The ball slammed into the net like a cannonball! 1-0!
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!! Cristiano Ronaldo!!! The King of the Bernabéu steps up when he's needed most! A ruthless header! A perfect cross! Modric's through-ball, traveling half the field, precisely found Bale's high-speed runway! After De Jong's mistake, Amiri had no time to track back and cover, and this channel in front of Real Madrid was like a highway!" The Commentator's voice almost broke through the ceiling.
The camera quickly swept over the coaching bench.
Nagelsmann was angrily waving his arms on the sideline, clearly extremely dissatisfied with the lack of depth in the parallel positioning of the two defensive midfielders, which allowed Modric to so easily find space behind them. He immediately rushed to the sideline, roaring instructions for adjustments. Zidane, meanwhile, wore his characteristic, somewhat profound smile, clapped a few times gently, chewing gum, appearing calm and confident.
Hoffenheim was somewhat awakened by the goal and began to attempt to organize effective counterattacks. From the 25th to the 35th minute, Hoffenheim's few threatening attacks almost all came from Oliver on the right wing.
In the 31st minute, Hoffenheim successfully won the ball in their own half. The ball reached Oliver's feet on the right wing after a few passes. He received the ball near the midfield line and turned, facing the pressing Casemiro. He didn't choose to directly confront him but instead used a change of rhythm, feigning to go wide to the byline, then suddenly a light touch to cut inside! This move attracted the attention of two of Real Madrid's key midfielders.
Oliver's dribbling speed wasn't astonishing, but his footwork was extremely quick, and the distance of each touch was perfectly controlled, making the ball seem glued to his feet. He drove the ball resolutely towards the central area, near the edge of the penalty box. Casemiro and the tracking back Ramos immediately formed a pincer movement. They were blocking him from front and back, seemingly about to close him down!
Just then, Oliver's keen insight was displayed. He didn't try to break through these two world-class defender. One-tenth of a second before they closed in, in an extremely small space, he subtly and deftly flicked the ball outwards with the outside of his right foot! The ball threaded through the gap between them, accurately delivered to the completely unmarked right-back Kaderabek, who was surging forward from deep. Kaderabek, unpressured, immediately sent a low cross.
In the center, Uth made a clever run towards the near post, a feint that drew Varane's defensive Center of Gravity. This feint created space for his teammate at the far post! Grillitsch, like a torpedo from the second wave, followed up at high speed and slid to shoot. The ball flew straight towards the near post!
"Oliver! Beautiful dribbling! Casemiro and Ramos are coming! Oh! Outside of the foot! A beautiful pass! Kaderabek crosses, Uth feints! Grillitsch shoots!!! Navas!!! A world-class save!!! Navas!!! His reaction speed is astonishing! He dived sideways to block Grillitsch's point-blank poke, denying a certain goal!!! Hoffenheim missed a golden opportunity! But where did that ball come from? The source was Oliver! That outside-of-the-foot pass was so clever! It completely deceived Real Madrid's defensive focus!" The Commentator exclaimed in disbelief.
However, just two minutes later, in the 33rd minute, a shocking and bloody scene rocked the entire stadium and completely changed the course of the first half. Kroos was slightly sluggish in trying to shake off Amiri's harassment in midfield, and Amiri decisively extended his leg to steal the ball. After winning the ball, Amiri immediately sent a through-pass forward.
Oliver received the ball with his back to goal in the opponent's half, slightly to the right of the halfway line. This was a dangerous area, requiring immediate action. He had just leaned into the tracking Casemiro, preparing to control the ball and adjust.
Danger!
Just as Oliver was about to control the ball, Real Madrid captain Ramos had already sprinted back from behind to cover! He leaped high, attempting to head Amiri's through-ball clear. But this aerial challenge was too aggressive! His right elbow, swung in the air, struck like a heavy hammer, squarely and fiercely hitting Oliver's forehead, just above his eyebrow, as he was lowering his head to deal with the ball at his feet!
"Beep--" The sharp whistle seemed to be a step late!
Oliver didn't even have time to make a sound, only feeling his vision suddenly go black, and an intense pain accompanied by severe dizziness instantly assailing him, like being struck by an iron bar!
He fell forward stiffly onto the grass like a broken log.
"Ah! Oh my god!!! Ramos! This... his elbow was raised during the header! It hit Oliver's face!! Oliver is down! He's directly down! The referee didn't blow?! This ball..." The Commentator's exclamation was filled with anger and shock.
(A/n: This section is not made up; there are matches that can be verified. In the 2018-19 Champions League group stage, Ramos elbowed a Viktoria Plzeň player, causing his nose to bleed, and was not penalized. Also, in 2017, during El Clásico in La Liga, Marcelo and Messi challenged for the ball, Messi was elbowed in the mouth and bled, and Marcelo was not penalized. So, I put some of Vardrid action here.)
Hoffenheim's team doctors rushed onto the field like they had heard a charge, carrying their medical kits. The clamor of the Bernabéu instantly quieted significantly; everyone watched the fallen young figure with bated breath.
On the sidelines, Shuwen only took one look at the close-up on the screen, let out a scream, and buried her face deep in her husband's embrace, her shoulders violently shaking, tears streaming down her face, no longer daring to look at the field.
Jules's eyes were bloodshot, he bit his teeth tightly, his jaw muscles taut, one arm around his wife, the other clenching his fist, knuckles white, holding back his tears. Professor Wenger's heart instantly clenched when he saw it, his eyes filled with worry. Hoffenheim's team doctor quickly pressed thick gauze onto the wound to stop the bleeding, while an assistant held an ice pack and a rinse bottle.
Blood seeped through the gauze, making it look even more gruesome.
"The team doctor is on the field! The wound is on the left side of his forehead, above the eyebrow arch! It's not that deep but the bleeding looks significant! He definitely shouldn't continue..." The Commentator's voice was filled with sorrow.
But after a quick examination and initial pressure bandaging by the team doctor, gauze was wrapped around his forehead, and the bleeding had stopped. While performing emergency treatment, the team doctor anxiously gestured to Nagelsmann on the sideline, clearly indicating that a substitution should be made. Oliver sat up with the help of his teammate Amiri, took three deep breaths, and then shakily stood up.
The blood blurring his left eye's vision had been wiped away, but his left shoulder and the front of his jersey were already stained with a striking dark red patch. Oliver didn't waste words; he changed into a new, blood-free jersey. His eyes were somewhat dazed, but his resolve was absolute!
He suddenly waved his hand, very forcefully pushing away the team doctor's assistant who was trying to help him off the field.
He ignored the pain of his wound and directly shouted at Nagelsmann and the fourth official on the sideline, his voice hoarse from pain and emotion: "I'm fine! Coach! I'm fine! You can't take me off! This is just a superficial wound! Just a little blood! It won't affect my playing!! Just let them bandage me up quickly!! Hurry! The match is important!"
"Absolutely not, Oliver! You can't for this one..." Nagelsmann hadn't finished speaking when his words were cut off by Oliver.
"Coach, this is the Champions League semi-finals! This is the Bernabéu! We are just one step away from the Cup. Please forgive my first collision and disobedience, please forgive me, Coach, I beg you."
Oliver said this almost at a shout, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Oliver... I... I can't..."
"Coach... no... I don't want to leave the field! Please, please..."
It was the first time Nagelsmann had been so directly interrupted by his beloved disciple. Oliver had never spoken to him like this before. Oliver pointed to his bandaged forehead and said to the team doctor Marcus next to him:
"Mr. Marcus, please, help me wrap the gauze tightly! It must not loosen!!! This match cannot be without me."
Oliver's tone was resolute and unyielding. At his strong insistence, after a simple disinfection, the team doctor could only use waterproof bandages and thick elastic tape to tightly wrap and secure the thick gauze, layer upon layer, around his forehead, ensuring that it would temporarily stop bleeding.
Throughout the process, Oliver gritted his teeth, trembling slightly from the pain, but he didn't utter a single sound. After the bandaging was complete, there was no longer any visible blood on him, meeting UEFA regulations. Then, Oliver shook his head, tried blinking his eyes, signaled to the referee and team doctor that he was OK, and immediately re-entered the field!
The entire Bernabéu was moved. Wenger leaned slightly forward in the stands, his eyes sharp, staring intently at the figure of Number 17, whose forehead was wrapped in thick gauze. Zidane frowned on the sidelines, his expression becoming serious.
"My thoughts were indeed correct. This child is Hoffenheim's absolute core; he is even performing at a captain's level."
Oliver's performance confirmed Zidane's conjecture. Nagelsmann had already had substitute players warming up on the sideline, but now his gesture hung in mid-air, finally dropping in resignation. He clapped his hands forcefully and shouted towards the field, encouraging his disciple.
Jules watched his son stubbornly stand on the field, refusing to leave. The tears he had been holding back finally slid from the corners of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand.
Shuwen buried her head even deeper, her shoulders trembling more violently.
"Wuwu...honey...Oliver...My son...I can't bear to look...Wuwu..."
"Don't worry, dear, our son will be fine...Don't worry," Jules patted Shuwen's back, his face equally worried.
"Oliver refused to leave the field!!!" The Commentator's voice was filled with admiration.
"Oliver refused the team doctor and coach's substitution decision! My goodness! He chose to persevere with his injury! You all saw it just now, his jersey! His face! Stained red with blood! This man...It can be a reckless play but Hoffenheim needs such a fighter! But such persistence carries too much risk! Real Madrid will not be polite!"
At this moment, possession belonged to Hoffenheim.
Everyone, including the Real Madrid players, seemed to be awed by Oliver's blood-soaked perseverance. As soon as the whistle blew, the dead ball ended. Hoffenheim's center-back gently passed the ball back to Oliver. Ramos and Casemiro, at this moment, hesitated slightly and did not press immediately. They might still be adjusting to this opponent who was covered in blood but still persisting.
In the subsequent game, Hoffenheim's players also retaliated against Real Madrid players. Especially Ramos, who received close attention from Maguire and Vogt. Maguire was particularly effective, using his excellent "camera awareness" accumulated in the Premier League to land a few hard blows on Ramos, while Vogt helped Maguire block the referee's view.
A moment later, Oliver received the back pass in the central-right position of the backfield. He didn't hesitate, not even looking up to observe! Blood and sweat seeped from the gauze, blurring Oliver's left eye, obstructing part of his vision. The immense pain in his forehead was like a heavy hammer constantly striking his nerves. But his long-honed pitch awareness and ability to read the game in an instant almost transcended his pain perception at that moment!
He clearly remembered, in the last moment before he was injured and fell to the ground. Oliver caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye that the opposing center-back Varane, in order to mark Uth, he had his body's center of gravity briefly tilted one step towards his own left, which was the left side of Hoffenheim's attacking direction, in that instant! And it was precisely this step that made it possible for that narrow passage between Varane's knees and legs to be exposed at that moment!
The other opposing center-back, Ramos, was still behind him. Oliver had no time to think about the risks, relying on his superb spatial memory and ball control, under immense pain and limited vision. He made an incredible, extremely bold decision. Oliver did not attempt to dribble past anyone, nor did he pass to a teammate in a slightly mediocre position. He met the incoming ball, and with the inside of his left foot, decisively pushed forward an extremely subtle, ground-hugging through ball!
The power was not great, but the angle was extremely tricky. The ball, like the most cunning snake, brushed the turf and went directly towards the space between Varane's legs, which were slightly open due to his shift in center of gravity. It slipped through that brief, almost non-existent gap between his legs!
"Oliver gets the ball! Straight forward?! This is...a pass! A through ball?! My goodness! How did he see that line?!!!" The Commentator's voice instantly rose to its peak!
Varane was just about to start chasing a potential pass from Oliver to a winger when he suddenly felt a rush of air between his legs! As he frantically looked down and instinctively clamped his legs, that damned ball had already passed through between hos legs.
It rolled straight into the vast area behind him, a deadly vacuum zone!
"Nutmeg!!! Varane!!! A nutmeg pass!!! A brilliant through ball!!" The Commentator shouted.
The moment the ball passed through Varane's legs, Amiri, like a cheetah smelling blood, had already started a high-speed run from diagonally behind! A split second before Oliver's pass, he had already instinctively started his forward run. Now, he perfectly succeeded in beating the offside trap! Instantly shaking off all Real Madrid defenders! One-on-one with the goalkeeper!
"Amiri! Offside trap beaten!!!! One-on-one!!!! A chance!!! Hoffenheim!!!" The Commentator yelled.
Amiri, like a flash of lightning, caught up to the ball and dashed into the left side of the penalty area. Navas decisively chose to rush out of his goal to narrow the angle. The entire Bernabéu was suffocated!
To shoot? To pass?
Amiri looked up at the advancing Navas, then with a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the far post! He made the most reasonable and team-oriented choice!
Amiri did not force a shot from a tight angle! With a gentle touch of his right foot, he calmly swept the ball horizontally towards the center, near the penalty spot! The speed and timing were just right!
"Amiri lays it off!! Beautiful! A selfless choice! Looking for the far post!!!!"
At this moment! Right near the penalty spot in the center!
A figure wrapped in white gauze was sliding in with a desperate speed, risking a huge collision with the charging Casemiro, recklessly attempting a sliding shot!
It was none other than Oliver!
After delivering that deadly through ball, he didn't even have time to confirm the outcome, only relying on his goal-scoring intuition and absolute trust in his teammate Amiri's run, he pushed forward with all his might. He arrived almost simultaneously with the cross! His left leg fully extended, his entire body gliding on the turf!
Before Casemiro's fierce sliding tackle could block the shot, Oliver barely touched the cross with the inside of his foot. A shot with not much power but an extremely tricky, tight angle. The ball changed direction and rolled lightly towards the far corner of the goal. Navas, having rushed out to block Amiri, no longer had time to retreat! The ball crossed the goal line!!!
"Goal!!!" The Commentator's voice went completely wild, almost cracking.
"GOOOOOOOOOOALLLL Hoffenheim!!!!!!!! 1-1!! Oliver—!!! Oh my God, I can't believe my eyes!! This goal! Someone tell me what this is!! Oliver delivered a deadly nutmeg through ball as if he had a third eye, and then he himself bravely charged into the penalty area, and on the verge of exhaustion from a sliding tackle, he sent his teammate's selfless cross into Real Madrid's goal. 18-year-old Oliver silenced the Bernabéu! This is what football is all about! This is an unyielding fighting spirit! Oliver is simply like a God of War!!!" The Commentator used every descriptive word he could think of.
The camera frantically focused on the goal-scoring hero! After completing the sliding shot, Oliver, due to the immense inertia, slid to the goalpost, his face, the gauze on his forehead, his black hair, his light blue jersey...
At this moment, they were all wet with sweat. But something even more unbelievable happened. In the deafening silence, Oliver surprisingly did not celebrate, nor did he even try to stand up! He lay beside the goalpost, panting heavily.
"Hoo...hoo..."
He just painstakingly raised his right arm, forcefully and continuously gesturing to his teammates who were running towards him, ready to celebrate. The meaning of this gesture was: Everyone get back to your positions, don't come over.
Oliver propped himself up, his voice cutting through the stadium's clamor, clearly heard by his surrounding teammates:
"Go back! All of you, go back! Get back to your positions! Don't celebrate! Don't give Real Madrid time!!! Hurry up!!! There's not much time left in the first half!!! There can't be any stoppage time in this match! Absolutely no too much stoppage time!!"
Oliver waved for his other teammates to hurry back, and he quickly stood up with the support of Grillitsch and Gnabry. One hand covered the gauze on his forehead, while the other hand still forcefully waved towards midfield, his eyes showing no hint of the euphoria of scoring, only an extreme sensitivity to time and an infinite desire for victory! The Hoffenheim players were awed by his powerful aura and instantly all ran back to their own half, reforming their lines.
"Did you see that?! Oliver refused all his teammates' hugs! He's urging his teammates to hurry back to kick off!!! Zoom in the camera! He's shouting—'Don't celebrate! Save time! Don't create stoppage time!' My God! What a terrifying player he is! After creating a miracle with that goal, the only thing he thought of was to seize every second, not giving the powerful opponent any chance to breathe or even waste time! Oliver clearly knows that any extra stoppage time in this match could become a weapon for Real Madrid! This calmness! This decisiveness! This big-picture awareness! Far surpasses most veterans! How old is he?! 18 years old! Unbelievable!!!" The Commentator's voice was filled with deep shock and respect.
Professor Wenger kept nodding in the stands, and despite his worried expression, he held a notebook in his hand, still taking detailed notes. Nagelsmann was already completely in tears, covering his mouth, not daring to make a sound. For a fleeting moment, Nagelsmann felt that he was holding back his beloved disciple, or rather, that the entire team was holding back his beloved disciple.
This shocking goal and Oliver's subsequent refusal to celebrate and urging of his teammates, like a heavy punch to Real Madrid's chest, further ignited the predatory instinct of this giant club. The engine of the White Legion's war chariot roared to full power again, and this time, it carried the flames of revenge. Suffocation! The true suffocating attack began!
Modric was like a sword; his feet seemed glued to the ball amidst the entanglement of Hoffenheim's midfielders De Jong and Amiri. The Croatian master, with a seemingly ordinary 'roulette' move, precisely found that single gap, shaking off the encirclement of the two players. He didn't hesitate for a moment, quickly distributing the ball to Marcelo, who was making a high-speed run down the left flank!
Marcelo, like a high-speed train, used the width of the field to rapidly advance along the touchline. He didn't choose to immediately cross from the byline, but instead suddenly stopped sharply near the halfway line, laying the ball back to Modric, who continued to press forward in the center! A simple one-two combination, as simple as could be.
But the tempo was so fast that the Hoffenheim players couldn't keep up at all! The moment Modric received Marcelo's lay-off, he had already seen the danger in the penalty area.
He didn't adjust! No need to adjust! Facing the scrambling Hoffenheim center-back Maguire who was trying to cover, Modric, from the most comfortable position, used his favored golden right foot to deliver an extremely tricky, slightly out-swinging 45-degree cross. The ball traced a beautiful arc, bypassing the first defender, and accurately dropped near the edge of the six-yard box in the center of the penalty area.
Benzema, sandwiched between two center-backs, showcased his top-tier positioning and center-forward skills. He cleverly moved one step towards the far post, held his position, and then leaped backward with all his might, his body almost parallel to the ground! An extremely difficult overhead header! His head connected solidly with the ball! The angle was extremely tricky! Straight for the top right corner of the goal!
"Modric!!! Escape! Exquisite! Marcelo! One-two! Modric crosses!!! Benzema!!! Header!!! OMG!! Post!!" The Commentator's exclamation.
A crisp, loud sound that made all Hoffenheim fans' hearts stop. The ball violently struck the inside of the right post, bouncing back into the six-yard box. The Bernabéu erupted in a huge gasp of regret, as if after a narrow escape. Just as Nordtveit instinctively reached to clear the rebound at close range.
The white phantom reappeared! Cristiano Ronaldo, like a ghost, burst out from between the players like lightning!
From the most lethal position, he met the ball with a right-footed push shot. The shot wasn't fast, but the angle was perfectly straight! Hoffenheim's goalkeeper Baumann was still immersed in his preparation to save Benzema's shot, his body completely off balance, and it was too late to make another move! He could only watch in despair as the ball slowly rolled into the empty net from two meters in front of him!
2-1!
"Goal! Cristiano Ronaldo scores on the rebound!!! A deadly rebound goal!!!! In the 40th minute! Just less than seven minutes after Hoffenheim had just equalized!
Real Madrid immediately, in their most familiar style, with wave after wave of terrifying pressure, relying on a post and a ghostly poach, took the lead again!!!! 2-1!!! The Bernabéu has awoken! They are telling the young dark horse what it truly takes to reach the end of the Champions League semi-final stage!" The Commentator's voice was filled with Real Madrid-esque passion and pride.
Zidane clenched his fist and fiercely punched the air, but there wasn't much smile on his face; his eyes sharply fixed on the field, clearly somewhat dissatisfied with the momentary defensive lapse. Nagelsmann frustratingly covered his face, then immediately turned and loudly instructed something to the bench.
Oliver stood near the center circle, his left hand continuously pressing the wound on his forehead; a tiny bit of blood had seeped out from the white gauze, though it wasn't visible on the outside because the gauze was quite thick. Oliver panted heavily, his chest rising and falling powerfully; he saw his teammates defending him, even retaliating for him, and saw his mentor's anguish on the sidelines, as well as the support of the traveling fans.
He also saw Wenger in the stands, and his parents. All of this gave him the strength to keep running; he couldn't stop, at least not here. In the depths of Oliver's eyes, there was no wavering, only an even colder focus.
He licked his chapped lips and clapped his hands forcefully at his nearby midfield partners, Grillitsch and Amiri:
"Steady! Calm down! We're not finished yet! There's still time!"
The referee finally blew the whistle for the end of the first half. After 45 minutes of match, Real Madrid, thanks to Cristiano Ronaldo's brace, temporarily led 2-1. But the most shocking scene of the entire first half, left to the world of football, was undoubtedly that young man named Oliver.
That blue figure, fighting to the death, defying fear, delivering a deadly assist and scoring himself when he was injured and his vision blurred, yet after scoring, he roared at his teammates to save time and not celebrate. His forehead wound and blood-stained jersey were like a totem of his burning, unyielding fighting spirit, deeply imprinted in the hearts of every spectator following this match.
No one knew what would happen in the second half. But everyone knew that as long as Oliver was on the field, fighting with that wound, Hoffenheim would never bow their heads. Nagelsmann anxiously patted his disciples as they walked off the field, his gaze lingering longest on Oliver. The team doctor carried the medical kit, and Oliver walked towards the players' tunnel, his steps somewhat unsteady but his eyes still firm as steel.
At this moment. The entire Bernabéu erupted in thunderous applause. This applause was for Real Madrid, but even more so for Oliver, who was like a God of War.
...
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