When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 134 Desire is the best stimulant

3 month 22 day.

As soon as the Monaco players stepped out of the VIP passage at Madrid-Barajas Airport, they were surrounded by hundreds of enthusiastic Real Madrid fans.

The crowd erupted in deafening shouts, and airport security personnel scrambled to maintain order.

"Roy! Let's go home!"

A middle-aged man wearing a Real Madrid scarf shouted at the top of his lungs, holding up a homemade sign that read "Madrid needs you".

Several young fans squeezed to the front row, waving brand-new Real Madrid number 11 jerseys with the word "ROI" printed on the back.

"Give me an autograph! You'll be our new number 11 next season!"

Several female fans burst into tears of excitement, shouting in trembling voices, "You and Raul will be the greatest duo in history!"

A boy wearing glasses almost shoved his jersey into Roy's face.

Roy walked briskly with his head down, a gentle and polite smile on his face.

When fans frantically handed him Real Madrid jerseys with his name on them, he gently shook his head: "I can't sign these."

But when a child holding a soccer ball squeezed in front of him, he stopped, took the pen, and signed his name on the ball.

The surrounding fans immediately erupted in cheers, and more people began rummaging through their bags looking for things to sign.

Someone handed over sneakers, someone tugged at the hem of their T-shirt, and even an old man shakily handed over an unrelated postcard.

Sign my hat!

A young fan took off his baseball cap, and Roy smiled and made a few marks on it.

Someone nearby, unwilling to give up, held up the Real Madrid jersey again: "Can you just sign the back?"

Roy shook his head and continued walking.

Morientes walked behind, watching the fans scrambling to stuff all sorts of things at Roy, while he only received a few polite greetings.

He overheard someone whispering, "How is Fernando doing at Monaco these days?"

Another person replied absentmindedly, "It's alright, but Roy is the future."

A little girl wearing a Raul jersey suddenly ran up to Morientes and timidly handed him her notebook: "Could you sign this for me? My dad said you used to be a hero at Real Madrid."

Morientes paused for a moment, then squatted down to carefully sign his name and added an extra line of blessings.

The little girl happily ran back to her parents, while her father held up a camera, the lens pointed at Roy the whole time.

Several Monaco fans were pushed into a corner, their team flags trampled on the ground.

An elderly Frenchman with white hair tried to pick up the flag but was knocked off his feet by an excited Real Madrid fan.

Roy suddenly stopped, turned around and helped the old man, an action that triggered even more frantic screams.

"Look how gentlemanly he is! He's a born Real Madrid man!"

A female fan wearing a Beckham jersey shouted to her companion.

She held up an elaborately crafted canvas with a composite image of Roy wearing a Real Madrid jersey.

He was so excited he stomped his feet: "My God! He's ten times more handsome in person than on TV!"

On the canvas she was holding, Roy's portrait was roughly pasted onto a Real Madrid jersey, surrounded by pink sequins and heart stickers.

"Look at his eyelashes!"

Her voice trembled, her fingers gripping her companion's arm tightly. "And the way his hair curls when he walks is perfect!"

When Roy glanced in their direction, she gasped, "He looked at me! He was definitely looking at me, wasn't he?"

Her companion tried to snatch the easel back: "You said yesterday that Beckham was your lifelong idol."

"That was before I met Roy!"

She suddenly pulled a small mirror from her bag to check her lipstick, then hurriedly smoothed her hair. "What if he comes over for an autograph? I have to look my best."

Morientes quickened his pace and walked to the front of the group, his smile somewhat stiff.

Looking at the frenzied scene before him, he vaguely recalled the time he left last summer.

When he walked into the airport with his suitcase, only a few fans recognized him and asked for his autograph.

He remembers thinking at the time: I will come back someday and become a hero of this city again.

At that moment, hundreds of Real Madrid fans held up handmade cardboard signs, the most eye-catching of which read "ROI-El futuro del Madrid?" (Roy – the future of Real Madrid?) in red marker, with the Real Madrid crest drawn crookedly next to it.

Amid the noise of the airport, Roy leaned close to Morientes' ear and whispered, "Fernando, we're here to win."

His voice was soft, but loud enough for Giuly and Rothen beside him to hear.

"Damn it, our striker has already betrayed us, hasn't he?"

Giuly deliberately raised his voice and nudged Rothen with his elbow.

Rothen immediately put on a pained expression: "I think he even told Real Madrid the combination to the locker room safe."

Deschamps walked at the front of the group, and when he heard these jokes, he just smiled slightly and continued walking forward without turning his head.

Roy ignored his teammates' teasing and turned to walk towards the Monaco fans who had been squeezed into a corner.

These French people, who had traveled a long way, held up red and white scarves, their faces showing trepidation.

"Could you sign your name?"

A boy wearing a Monaco team cap timidly handed over a notebook, his voice drowned out by the cheers of Real Madrid fans.

Roy crouched down and carefully signed his name, then heard the other person whisper, "Can we...win?"

"It will win."

Roy patted the boy on the shoulder and then signed an autograph for the next fan.

The same conversation was repeated seven or eight times.

Every Monaco fan who gets an autograph can't help but ask this question, and Roy always answers with the same three words, his eyes never changing.

Morientes stood not far away watching this scene and suddenly found the signs that read "Madrid's Future" somewhat jarring.

He went over to help Roy block the Real Madrid fans from pushing in, and casually took an old ticket from an elderly Frenchman.

That's a ticket stub from last year's Monaco vs. Paris match.

The sun was glaring on the training field. Casillas was practicing saves with substitute goalkeeper Cesar, but his eyes kept glancing toward the sidelines.

Florentino and Valdano were talking in hushed tones there.

Who do you think they're planning to buy this time?

Salgado asked Helguera while tying his shoelaces, and the latter just shrugged: "It's definitely not a defender."

On the other side, Zidane gently juggled the ball with his toes and gestured with his chin to Ronaldo, who had just finished stretching: "How's your leg?"

“10% short,” Ronaldo rubbed his left knee, “but enough to beat Monaco.”

He spoke casually, but deliberately avoided Zidane's gaze.

Although he appeared confident on the surface, his knee injury made him feel uncertain.

"Royna came in 100% condition."

Zidane's expression was complicated.

Roy has become the new flag bearer of French football in the media's eyes. In the 2003 Confederations Cup, he not only led the French team to victory in Zidane's absence, but also won both the top scorer and best player awards in the tournament.

This 19-year-old has long since shed the titles of "new Henry" and "new Zidane." His strong performance over the past year has proven that he is Roy, the one and only Roy.

The entire French football world is now discussing whether he will become France's first true football king, like Pelé for Brazil and Maradona for Argentina.

Cruyff came incredibly close to that height, but he was always one World Cup short of the throne, making it impossible for him to rightfully claim the title; Beckenbauer, despite being hailed as the "Football Emperor," ultimately lacked sufficient statistical support as a defensive player.

All of Europe is hoping someone can fill this void.

"L'Équipe says he is the ruler of the next decade."

Zidane said calmly, but his heart was not at peace.

As a legend who has won all the major honors such as the World Cup, the European Championship, and the Champions League, he had to admit that Roy's rise to prominence exceeded everyone's expectations.

Zidane is 12 years older than Roy, and having already achieved a Grand Slam, he was already a highly accomplished player.

In the French national team, the two play different positions and do not have a direct competitive relationship. Regarding the media's heated discussion about "succession," both maintain a tacit understanding.

Zidane tacitly approved of this "passing the baton" approach, and Roy consistently maintained his respect for his predecessor.

In fact, Roy's sudden emergence ignited Zidane's final fighting spirit.

After all, he had previously announced to the media that he would retire from the national team after the 2004 European Championship, and Roy's competitive form gave him the possibility of winning honors for the national team again at the end of his career.

But at this moment, as 19-year-old Roy is about to face him in the Champions League, Zidane's deep-seated pride makes it impossible for him to accept being trampled underfoot and crowned champion by a newcomer.

He can accept being passed down, but he cannot accept being surpassed.

At least not now, and not in this way.

Even more frightening is that if he were to join Real Madrid now, with his astonishing professional maturity and commercial value, he would become a superstar who combines Ronaldo's athletic prowess with Beckham's commercial potential.

Ronaldo smiled and said, "Then you'll have to ask my knees if they agree."

He understood the significance of this match for both of them.

For Zidane, it's about defending his legendary status; for himself, it's about proving that injuries haven't destroyed his ability to be the world's best striker.

He glanced at Beckham, who was practicing free kicks, and remarked, "The Englishman is in hot form."

Raul suddenly kicked the ball between the two men: "Stop chatting, the tactical drill is about to begin."

His tone was more hurried than usual.

As captain, he was aware that the media was hyping up the news of a "locker room split".

After losing the Copa del Rey and suffering a crushing defeat in the league, Real Madrid found themselves in a media storm.

Head coach Queiroz publicly complained that the team "doesn't know how to take advantage of numbers" and has "limited available players," which was interpreted as a veiled criticism of the club's "Zidane + Pavón" policy.

When facing the media, Salgado's comment that "Queiroz's remarks were inappropriate" was like a stone thrown into the water.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, the Spanish players were gossiping amongst themselves.

Beckham has only been here for a year, yet his commercial endorsements and media coverage have already surpassed everyone else's.

When the players' wives met at the coffee shop, they couldn't help but complain that Victoria was too high-profile.

But no one can deny that the Englishman on the training field is always the first to arrive and the last to leave, and during matches, his total running distance ranks among the top three in the team.

This contradiction made the atmosphere in the locker room delicate: you couldn't criticize his professionalism, but the spotlight and privileges off the court were really irritating to some people.

Figo ran back and forth alone on the sideline, his training shirt soaked with sweat.

This Portuguese superstar has recently been arriving earliest and leaving latest, as his name is always linked with Chelsea and Inter Milan in transfer rumors.

Laughter suddenly erupted from the sidelines.

It turned out that Guti was imitating head coach Queiroz's Portuguese accent, which even made the serious Helguera grin.

Pavon scratched his head and asked Juan Fran, "Was Roy really this good during your youth training? I don't remember him being that good."

Juanfran scoffed: "He was fast, but his technique was definitely not as freakish as it is now. He left after the Copa del Rey last year, and when I heard about it, he was like a completely different person."

He added, "Actually, the speed wasn't this fast back then."

Portillo stood to the side with a gloomy face.

Fans are now clamoring for Roy to wear number 11, even though that number is still printed on his back.

A year ago, when he made his first start for Real Madrid, Roy was just a benchwarmer who was about to be released.

Queiroz stood at the edge of the training field, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the players training on the field.

After losing to Zaragoza in the Copa del Rey, President Florentino Pérez kept a cold face and didn't even glance at him.

The Portuguese knew in their hearts that they had become sinners.

This isn't the first time.

After a humiliating 1-4 defeat to Sevilla at the start of the season, Florentino Pérez publicly questioned his abilities.

He even privately accused Valdano of "poor recommendation," believing that the manager had made a serious misjudgment in recommending Queiroz.

In the chairman's eyes, this Portuguese coach lacked both the authority to command respect in the locker room and the personal charisma to win over superstars like Ronaldo and Zidane.

He was never able to establish true authority in a star-studded locker room like Bosque did.

It was only because the results of fighting on three fronts were quite good at the time that the Chairman did not react.

This defeat in the Copa del Rey has completely ignited his anger.

Florentino even confidently accepted Rummenigge's congratulations before the match, only to lose face in the end.

Queiroz knew where the problem lay: starting substitute goalkeeper Cesar was a mistake, sticking to the possession-based tactics exhausted the players, and there was insufficient communication with the players before the match.

But it's too late to say anything now.

Reports indicate that Florentino Pérez has already contacted Camacho and is also considering bringing back Vicente del Bosque.

The British tabloid The Sun exclusively revealed that Real Madrid is in contact with England manager Sven-Göran Eriksson, also hinting at the instability of Carlos Queiroz's position.

Raul admitted that the team's fluctuating performance was related to the locker room unrest caused by Florentino's transfer list.

The players on the field seemed to sense something as well, and were unusually quiet during training.

Queiroz straightened his tie, maintaining his usual composure.

He knew he might be sacked soon, but at least for now, he was still Real Madrid's head coach.

In the conference room of the Westin Palace Hotel, Deschamps was analyzing Real Madrid's problems to the whole team in front of the tactics board.

He tapped a diagram of Real Madrid's 4-4-2 formation with a marker: "Listen, their formation has three fatal flaws."

"First, the midfield defense is practically non-existent."

He pointed to the names Guti and Beckham, saying, "Neither of them are cut out for the dirty work. Guti averages 1.2 tackles per game, and Beckham 1.5, which is not enough to stop the central penetration. Zidane and Figo hardly participate in the defensive work, leaving Carlos and Salgado to defend the flanks one-on-one. In actual play, their formation will become a deformed 4-2-4, with gaps in the flanks."

Rothen interjected: "So, attack their border region?"

Deschamps nodded: "Giuly, you'll be responsible for frequently making diagonal runs between the two center-backs, Mejia and Helguera. Mejia was hastily placed in place of Raul Bravo, and his passing accuracy is only 78%. He tends to kick long balls when pressed."

Juli chuckled and stroked his chin: "78% success rate? It seems Mejia is much more reliable than my ex-girlfriend. She couldn't even keep a 50% promise."

The locker room erupted in laughter, and even the usually serious Deschamps couldn't help but shake his head.

"If Real Madrid has possession for more than five minutes, immediately apply pressure. I bet he'll hastily launch a long ball at least once out of three presses."

Roy nodded knowingly: "It's like playing a rondo game during training, except this time Messi is the 'trickster'."

Deschamps concluded by emphasizing: "Remember, the pressure must be as precise as a metronome. Do it every five minutes until he breaks down psychologically."

The marker slammed down on Carlos's portrait: "Secondly, when Carlos makes a forward run, the left flank becomes a highway. Maicon, when Giuly cuts inside, you need to desperately overlap on the wing, just act like you're the second winger."

Bernardi immediately raised his hand: "Then I have to cover Maicon's position?"

“That’s right,” Deschamps nodded. “Squillaci is slow, so if Real Madrid launches a counter-attack, you have to move to the flanks to cover immediately.”

“The specific tactics are as follows,” Deschamps drew arrows on the tactics board, “Giuly cuts inside to draw Mejia away, and Maicon immediately overlaps on the wing. If Carlos comes back, Real Madrid’s attacking firepower in the front will not be enough; if he doesn’t come back, their left center-back will have to defend two players.”

Roy whistled: "Playing a Brazilian as a winger? I like that idea."

Maicon grinned: "I'll make sure Carlos runs back to defend until he's sick of it."

Everyone burst into laughter.

Ever since I started hanging out with Roy, this guy who had no taboos and was used to defying his superiors, and also after overcoming my inner demon, Ze Roberto.

Maicon has long lost any respect for his Brazilian predecessors.

Roy often nagged him, "Cavour is getting old. You have to work harder. The old man should give way to the younger generation."

Deschamps pointed to the positions of Real Madrid's forwards on the tactics board and said, "Look here, Raul is forced to drift wide and give up the penalty area, which directly led to his league goal tally plummeting this season. His runs and Ronaldo's often overlap, and the two interfere with each other in the penalty area. What's even more problematic is that Ronaldo hardly participates in pressing, averaging only 6.3 pressing attempts per game, which completely collapses Real Madrid's attacking counter-pressing system. Opponents can easily organize attacks from their own half."

Bernardi frowned: "But Carlos covered the most distance on the team."

“正因如此，”德尚打断道，“他和32岁的菲戈撑不满90分钟。皇马欧冠下半场失球率（63%）比联赛（45%）高18个百分点，我们要把体能留到60分钟后决战。”

He turned to Morientes: "You need to act as a pivot in the first 60 minutes and wear down their center-backs."

Then he said to Roy, "Reduce unnecessary breakthroughs in the first half and conserve your energy."

Regarding the substitutes, Deschamps outlined his plans in detail: "Purso is ready to come on at any time and can replace Morientes. Adebayor has speed and can also move to the right wing. Roy can move to the center as a false nine, or switch to the right wing, depending on the situation. If we use Plan B, we'll have either Purso or Adebayor move in to act as a pivot."

He particularly emphasized the flexibility of substitutes: "Ribery can come on as a surprise weapon in the last 20 minutes and can partner with Giuly. If Roy is too tired, Ribery can replace him directly. If all else fails, Caniggia can still play 15 minutes of high-intensity play."

When Kanigia heard her name called from the corner, she straightened up abruptly and took a deep breath.

The 37-year-old veteran never expected that he would get the chance to play at the Bernabéu in the twilight of his career.

Looking at the densely packed alternatives on the tactics board, Deschamps thought to himself: This level of squad depth is the first time he has ever achieved this in his coaching career.

The veteran assistant coach, Jean-Pettit, frowned: "Didier, what if Queiroz suddenly changes his formation?"

Deschamps slammed the data on the table: "According to the scouting report, he has only tried the 4-2-3-1 formation in the last 14 games, and has never solved the problem of defending in the middle."

He surveyed the entire team, his tone firm: "Remember, Real Madrid is a team of superstars, but not a perfect team. They have the best attacking line, but their defensive organization and team cohesion are not as good as Bayern Munich's."

He patted the tactics board: "I've prepared six tactical variations, but to be honest—I don't want to use them. Trying to counter Real Madrid's every move will only weaken our advantage. It's okay if they score; we'll just go all out and see who scores more!"

"The tactics are simple," Deschamps raised his voice, "Do what you do best—bombard them! Morientes will cause chaos in the box, Giuly and Roy will fly down the wings, and Evra and Maicon will push forward aggressively. We're going to overwhelm them with our attack and show the Bernabéu fans what true full-on firepower looks like!"

The atmosphere in the locker room was instantly ignited, and the players' eyes gleamed with fighting spirit.

Deschamps concluded by saying, "Go, and let the whole world remember the name Monaco!"

In the early morning of March 23, 2004, Vieri sat up from the messy sheets and reached for his cell phone on the bedside table. The model beside him was still fast asleep, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow.

He squinted as he typed: "You guys better play well, the French teams are fucking tough this year."

He glanced at the schedule on the bedside table and added, "If it weren't for the Benfica game the day after tomorrow, I would definitely go to the Bernabéu to watch you guys beat Real Madrid."

After sending the text message, he scratched his head in frustration.

Inter Milan were eliminated from the Champions League and moved to the UEFA Cup, where they were put to a tough time by Ligue 1 side Sochaux.

The two legs ended in a 2-2 and 0-0 draw, with the team only managing to advance thanks to away goals.

When Vieri went to the Estádio da Luz to play Benfica again, he couldn't help but swear when he thought of the 0-0 draw in Portugal last round.

In the morning, Trezeguet and Thuram walked out of Madrid Airport.

Trezeguet pushed up his sunglasses, took out his phone and sent Roy a text message: "We sent Real Madrid home last year, don't embarrass yourself at the Bernabéu today."

After sending the text message, he recalled his header goal against Hierro in the second leg of last year's semi-final at the Stadio delle Alpi.

He had an awkward smile on his lips.

Before last year's Champions League final, Roy reminded him to be careful of penalties, to which he retorted dismissively, "I don't need a striker like you who can't even play in the Champions League to teach me."

In the final, he personally kicked the penalty kick wide.

Before the Champions League knockout stage this year, he once again declared, "How could Juventus possibly lose to Deportivo?" In the end, they were defeated twice, 0-1 and 0-1 on aggregate.

Now he stared at his phone screen, thinking to himself: at least I need to see Monaco stumble before I can save face.

Thuram glanced at the text message and shook his head, saying, "Save your breath. You just got kicked out of Deportivo La Coruña yourself."

“That’s different,” he retorted stubbornly, “those lunatics in Laco.”

Before I could finish speaking, my phone vibrated.

Roy's reply was only one line: "Wait and see how the French team teaches the Spaniards how to play football."

Trezeguet was so angry that he pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose.

Doutzen Kroos walked into the marble lobby of the Ritz Madrid Hotel in high heels, followed by five or six chattering models.

She had originally planned to come alone, but her "best friends" insisted on coming along.

After all, the seats on the sidelines during the Champions League knockout stage are the most eye-catching exposure stage outside of Fashion Week.

She was wearing tight jeans and casually pushed her sunglasses up to her head, attracting a lot of attention.

"Is your boyfriend playing Real Madrid tonight?"

A Brazilian model who was traveling with me leaned over and asked, "Everyone in Europe is talking about him right now."

The elevator mirror reflected the group of glamorous girls, and Du Chen suddenly felt that they looked just like Icarus from Greek mythology, who threw himself at the sun.

However, these "wings" were made of designer bags and false eyelashes, and Roy was the scorching sun.

Among this pack of hungry, wolf-like women, Du Chen felt like a guard protecting a vault, ready to pry open the lock if he wasn't careful.

After all, in the modeling industry, the unspoken rule that getting into a sports star's bed can save you ten years of hard work is no secret.

Late at night, the conference rooms of major European brands were brightly lit.

At Dior Homme's Paris headquarters, the creative director stared at Monaco's pre-match training video, pointing to a shot of Roy loosening his collar and saying, "If he scores, immediately launch the 'Midnight Penalty Area' project, turn his celebration footage into black and white, and pair it with a new season's slim-fit suit."

Cartier's marketing team is explaining the advertising copy: "The headline is 'Precise as a Machine'."

Nike's proposal is even more outrageous.

"Tomorrow the whole world will be watching the showdown between Roy and Ronaldo," the marketing director said, banging on the table. "Both of them are our people. No matter who wins, Nike must win!"

He opened the slides:
If Roy wins: The main theme is "The New King's Coronation," featuring a shot of him dribbling past Salgado paired with a close-up of Mercurial's new shoes.

If Ronaldo wins: Emphasize "legendary forever", using the classic image of him pointing to the Nike logo after scoring a goal.

A draw: Cut out the image of the two players shaking hands before the match and write "Great rivals, let's progress together".

For Roy alone, they had prepared three plans:
Winning Version: A close-up of Roy's roar, accompanied by the slogan "Dynasty Overthrower";

Though defeated, he was still honorable: the shot of him bending over and panting was captioned "Lone Hero";
The plan for a crushing defeat: cut out the footage of him kissing the team logo after the game and force a "never give up" persona.

“Remember,” the director emphasized finally, “regardless of who wins, Nike’s swoosh must be the most eye-catching!”

Meanwhile, Coca-Cola's European vice president and his team landed in Madrid.

He stared at the Pepsi billboard featuring Zidane in the airport terminal, his face grim.

The two beverage giants have drastically different football marketing strategies: Coca-Cola plays it safe by relying on its official sponsorship of the World Cup and the European Championship, and focuses on the brand spirit of "passion and unity".

Pepsi took a different approach, spending heavily to sign top stars such as Beckham, Ronaldo, Zidane, Carlos, and Van Nistelrooy, using creative "superstar showdown" advertisements to generate buzz and grab attention.

Although Coca-Cola monopolized the sideline advertising during the competition, Pepsi, with its gimmicky ads featuring "Western cowboys" and "gladiators," actually gained more popularity among young people during normal times.

The vice president loosened his tie and stared in the direction of the Bernabéu Stadium: "Pepsi has 'Galácticos,' so we'll make 'The New Napoleon.' It doesn't matter what the name is."

"Tell Roy's agent that we must meet him in the VIP box at the Bernabéu tomorrow and sign him no matter what. The price will depend on his performance on the field."

2003/04赛季欧冠1/4决赛首回合，波尔图主场2-0战胜里昂。

In the 44th minute, Alberto crossed from the right, and McCarthy's shot was blocked by Deco in front of the goal.

In the 71st minute, Deco's free kick assisted Carvalho's header to score.

Porto dominated the match, McCarthy missed several good chances, Lyon struggled to attack, and shots from Govou and Elber were saved by goalkeeper Baía.

Porto extended their unbeaten home record in the Champions League, with Deco contributing a goal and an assist to secure the victory.

In the first leg of the 2003/04 UEFA Champions League quarter-finals, AC Milan staged a stunning comeback at the San Siro.

In the 11th minute, Deportivo striker Pandiani scored with a header, giving the away team a 1-0 lead.

Milan struggled to break through Milan's defense throughout the first half until Cafu crossed from the right wing in stoppage time, and Kaká volleyed home to equalize the score.

In the locker room, Ancelotti simply said, "Keep playing like this."

Just 22 seconds into the second half, Shevchenko scored with a nutmeg followed by a shot into the far corner, putting Shevchenko ahead.

This goal completely ignited the San Siro.

In the 50th minute, Seedorf intercepted the ball and passed it across to Kaká, who scored again with a low shot from the edge of the penalty area.

Four minutes later, Pirlo's free kick swept over the wall and into the top corner, making the final score 4-1.

When the final whistle blew, all the substitutes rushed onto the field.

Champagne splashed in the locker room as Maldini handed the match ball to Kaká: "Kid, you have to keep this ball."

Gattuso, shirtless, sang the team song, while Seedorf and Dida danced a celebratory dance.

Kaka's phone vibrated; it was a text from Roy: "3 goals in 9 minutes? You guys are playing the Champions League like a video game? To be honest, you should have scored one or two more."

Kaka replied with a smile, "Winning the game is enough."

Inzaghi leaned over and glanced at the screen: "Who plays like them, beating Deportivo 9-3? We old powerhouses have to save face."

In the locker room, Gattuso was pouring champagne over Pirlo's head.

Kaka sent Roy another text message: "I hope you guys can win against Real Madrid too."

At the press conference, Deportivo La Coruña coach Irureta admitted: "Shevchenko's goal disrupted everything. Conceding three goals in eight minutes completely broke us down."

Ancelotti calmly stated that he would consider rotating the lineup in the second leg.

As the lights went out at San Siro, staff were still cleaning up the residue and spilled wine in the locker room, while the Milan team bus had already driven back to Milanello.

They knew that their ticket to the semifinals was practically secured.

AS noted that "only Real Madrid can rival Milan like this," praising Kaká for "showcasing pure Brazilian art."

Marca believes that "Riazor's comeback is impossible."

In a league match against the weak Murcia, Irureta rested several key players to prepare for the Champions League, but in the end, Deportivo La Coruña, known for its inconsistent form in La Liga, ruined its own future.

The San Siro's "eight-minute collapse" completely shattered Galicians' Champions League dreams for this season.

Veteran Mauro Silva admitted: "Milan maintains the same dominance on any pitch, and we have lost our focus."

Pandiani lamented, "I really wanted to score another goal, but unfortunately, I wasn't lucky."

Irureta attributed the defeat to "five minutes of lapse in concentration," but firmly stated: "Back at home, we must play more precisely and score as quickly as possible to have a chance. Even if we ultimately fail to advance, we must defend our dignity with a victory. Deportivo La Coruña must not suffer two humiliations in the same Champions League season."

2004年3月24日傍晚6点15分，伯纳乌的灯光将草皮照得发亮。

Roy followed his Monaco teammates onto the pitch for a training session, his cleats making a soft rustling sound as he stepped on the soft turf.

Zidane was stretching his legs in the center circle when he saw Roy approaching, and slowly straightened up.

He extended his hand, a smile playing on his lips: "Don't go too far tonight."

My first instinct was to say "petit" (boy) in French.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the word "kid" back and said instead, "buddy."

The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out, and his handshake was neither too firm nor too loose.

Roy held his hand and could feel the calluses on the other's palm.

Ronaldo swaggered over, grinning, "Let's see who's faster!"

He patted Roy on the back.

Raul and Morientes embraced near the sideline and whispered a few words to each other.

"Just bear with it a little longer, Chairman Xia will definitely bring you back in the summer."

Morientes didn't say anything, but patted Raul on the back and gave a bitter smile.

He knew about Florentino's "Galacticos" project.

A constellation of stars gathered, while I was merely a pawn temporarily set aside.

But tonight, wearing Monaco's red and white jersey and standing on the Bernabéu pitch, he finally had the chance to prove his worth.

Fans have already begun to flood into the stands, and the first group of Real Madrid die-hards have unfurled huge white flags and slowly spread them out.

Behind the glass window of the VIP box high above, Florentino stood with his hands in his pockets, quietly observing everything below.

His gaze swept over Zidane, Ronaldo, and Raul.

These members of the "Galactic Battleship" he had personally built looked at the young man on the opposite half of the court, a man who was both strange and familiar.

The number 10, wearing a Monaco jersey, was warming up, his black hair swaying gently as he ran.

Roy, a French striker who just turned 19, has already shaken the entire European football world.

His speed is astonishing, his shots are decisive and ruthless, and on top of that, he has a face that can double the sales of a magazine cover.

Florentino could even hear the screams of female fans in the stands.

The chairman narrowed his eyes slightly.

There was something about this young man that reminded him of himself twenty years ago—ambition and an undisguised desire for success.

The stadium loudspeaker started playing warm-up music, but Florentino didn't move.

He took a deep breath; the glass separated him from the smells of grass, paint, and faint popcorn from the stadium.

This is his kingdom, and tonight, someone will come to challenge it.

Roy tilted his head back.

The Bernabéu’s eight-tiered stands rise like a canyon.

The steps rise one after another, each level fitted with rows of blue plastic seats.

The entire stadium stood silently in the twilight, like a hollowed-out mountain.

He suddenly had a feeling: standing here, he was like a fully armed warrior who had stormed into a giant dragon's lair. The surroundings were empty, but the deep roar of a dragon seemed to echo overhead. The silence at this moment felt more like the final stillness before a life-or-death struggle began.

“Hala Madrid!!!”

In the final moments before the match began, the roar of over 80,000 Real Madrid fans swept across the entire Bernabéu Stadium. The undulating white crowd in the stands resembled surging waves, and the restless shouts reflected and amplified between the concrete structures, ultimately creating a deafening roar.

The fans' synchronized stomping sent shivers down the spines of the entire stands, their waving white scarves forming a rolling ocean. The sound waves struck the steel beams of the roof, then bounced back to the center of the pitch, completely enveloping the players on the grass in the roar of this football sanctuary.

Spanish TVE commentator Joaquín Maria Pérez opened with a grand and majestic tone:
"Good evening, this is the Santiago Bernabéu Stadium in Madrid. The first leg of the Champions League quarter-final is about to kick off here, with Real Madrid hosting French powerhouse Monaco."

In France.

On TF1, Thierry Rolland's voice slowly rose in the studio: "Let's turn back the clock to June 13, 1956, at the Parc des Princes in Paris. It was the first European Cup final, a team from the Champagne region of France—Reims—facing a fledgling Real Madrid."

"Back then, Real Madrid didn't have the aura of nine Champions League trophies, nor the grandeur of the Bernabéu Stadium. They were just like Monaco today, stepping onto this battlefield for the first time with dreams in their hearts. Di Stefano, Rial, Marquetos, these names now revered as legends, were just a group of young people chasing their dreams back then."

"Reims took the lead twice, only to be pegged back by Real Madrid twice! Behind the 4-3 scoreline lies the regret of French football missing out on the European throne for the first time. But remember, it was that 'empty-handed' Real Madrid that started the greatest dynasty in Champions League history."

"Today, as the young men of Monaco step onto the Bernabéu pitch, they face not only the glory of nine titles, but also the history of starting from scratch. The French teams' repeated assaults on the Champions League, from Reims in 1956 to Marseille in 1993, and now to Monaco—each one is a dialogue between dreams and legends."

Roland concluded softly, "The most moving stories on the football field are always about those brave souls who dare to challenge giants. Regardless of the outcome, tonight's Bernabéu Stadium has already written its own legendary chapter."

In the locker room, the Monaco players took their last deep breaths.

Light from the passageway streamed in through the half-open door, and the sounds of the Bernabéu's clamor could be faintly heard.

Just as they were about to step out of the locker room, some people unconsciously slowed down.

Facing this stadium, facing Real Madrid, the most successful team in Champions League history, the momentum they had built up throughout the season suddenly became less resolute at this moment.

Roy leaned against the locker, his voice not loud but clear to everyone:

"In the last match against Bayern, we saw what a powerhouse is like. Now Real Madrid is standing outside, waiting to intimidate us with their nine Champions League trophies."

"Brothers, Real Madrid's nine Champions League trophies!"

He paused, and amidst the puzzled looks of the crowd, continued, "...their eleven players on the field aren't enough to go around."

They burst into laughter in the locker room.

"Even if they get enough points, they can't possibly go on the field carrying a trophy. The Real Madrid players standing on the field right now, like us, none of them have the Champions League tonight."

"and"

Roy sneered, "Today's match is in the Champions League! Ronaldo? He doesn't even have one Champions League title! Moro, on the other hand, has two!"

He pointed sharply towards the locker room door: "They want to scare us with the Champions League? Fine, let Ronaldo come in first and bow to the Champions League winner, Moro!"

The locker room fell silent instantly, and everyone turned to look at Morientes.

Morientes' eyes widened. Although he had known for a long time that Roy was a madman, these words still made him gasp for breath.

To make the world's best striker bow to a loaned player? That's just unbelievable.
Roy caught his expression and laughed even more unrestrainedly: "What, Moro? You're a real Champions League winner, what's he compared to you?"

"If that's not enough! Then let Stefano come up here on crutches and kick! Let's see if those old trophies can help them win tonight!"

The players' expressions gradually relaxed.

Roy clapped his hands and looked around at his teammates, saying, "We have nothing, so what are we afraid of? They're dressed in gold and silver, while we're barefoot, so we'll actually run faster!"

He paused, a smile playing on his lips. "The whole world thinks that Monaco's loss is only natural, and Real Madrid's victory is a matter of course."

"Screw your sense of entitlement!"

His eyes were surprisingly bright.

"Brothers, close your eyes and think about it—"

Roy paused, gesturing for everyone to look up, "If we can beat them tonight at the Bernabéu, in front of 80,000 Real Madrid fans..."

The locker room was so quiet you could hear someone breathing.

Roy's lips slowly curled into a smile: "That scene would absolutely blow the entire European football world away!"

He saw the eyes of several teammates begin to light up, and continued, "Just imagine, tomorrow all the newspaper headlines will be about us, the TV will replay our goals over and over again, and the experts will look on in astonishment."

He suddenly raised his voice, "Tell me, do you fucking want this kind of scene?!"

"miss you!"

A roar erupted from the locker room.

Roy scanned the locker room, his gaze sweeping across each face:

“Frank,” he stared at Ribery, “tomorrow the Strasbourg newspapers will be chasing after you asking: ‘Who is this scarred kid?’ Yesterday, only Monaco and Boulogne in all of France knew you.”

Turning to Rothen, he grinned: "Jerome, believe it or not, tomorrow the hottest chick in the Marseille nightclub will have your blond hair tattooed on her thigh, not some damn Beckham!"

Evra's hand, which was tying his shoelaces, suddenly stopped as he heard Roy say, "Patrice, if you lock down Ronaldo tonight, tomorrow 'that French Black Panther' might appear in the lyrics of 50 Cent."

Evra's eyes widened: "Really?"

Roy nodded:
Evra's breathing became rapid.

Finally, he walked up to Maicon, and the Brazilian could no longer sit still.

“Maicon,” Roy lowered his voice, “tell me the truth, has any Brazilian girl ever refused to sleep with you?”

Maicon mumbled a name with his head down.

".Carolina."

"Fuck!" Roy grinned. "Screw Carolina! Let her regret it! By tomorrow, when the whole world knows Maicon Douglas Cicenando, she'll only be fit to hang out with drug dealers in the slums!"

A beast-like howl erupted from the locker room. As Maicon froze, the others shouted back, "Let her regret it!"

Roy nodded in satisfaction, then flung open the locker room door, immediately letting in the clamor of the Bernabéu crowd.

He knew that desire would be the best stimulant.

He glanced back one last time: "Then stop talking nonsense and go on the field to kill them!"

(End of this chapter)