When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 165 The Gates of Hell: The Demon King's Declaration in 43 Minutes
The lights suddenly went out, plunging the entire stadium into darkness.

The clamor of 60,000 people instantly fell silent, leaving only the faint sound of breathing.

Suddenly, a laser beam shone down from the ceiling, drawing a bright star-shaped logo of the Champions League in the darkness.

Then more lasers lit up, intertwining to form a giant football pattern in the center of the field.

The projector projected the blue and white theme of that year's Champions League onto the stands, rolling like waves from one side of the stands to the other.

At that moment, the familiar prelude to the Champions League theme song began.

The musicians of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra were scattered around the stadium, and the melodies of the violins came from all directions.

Choir members dressed in black formal attire stood at the entrance to the players' tunnel, solemnly singing the lyrics of "Champions" in Latin.

The big screen began flashing classic moments from past champions: Manchester United's last-minute winner in 1999, Real Madrid's trophy lift in 2000, and Bayern Munich's celebration in 2001.
Each scene drew cheers from fans in different regions.

When the camera focused on the reigning champions, AC Milan, the stadium erupted in thunderous applause.

Maldini, gazing at the screen from the stands, whispered to his teammates beside him, "Look, that's the picture of us lifting the trophy last year."

Pirlo: "Shevchenko's goal still feels like a dream."

Inzaghi muttered, "He should have defended his title this year."

Shh—focus on the game.

The lasers, music, and images lasted for about three minutes, and finally all the beams suddenly focused on the Champions League trophy placed in the center circle, making the gleaming silver trophy particularly dazzling in the darkness.

As the music reached its climax, all the lights suddenly came on, and the 60,000 audience members erupted in deafening cheers.

The stadium lights turned a solemn blue.

Eight flag bearers in silver uniforms marched in unison through the four player tunnels.

Each of them held aloft a dark blue flag embroidered with the emblems of the eight quarter-finalist teams: Real Madrid's white crown, AC Milan's red and black cross, Chelsea's blue lions, and Deportivo La Coruña's blue and white stripes.
The flags of these eliminated powerhouses fluttered gently in the breeze.

The flag bearers stood in the center circle arc, tilting the flag at a 45-degree angle to form a glorious ring.

The names of the teams were read out one by one over the loudspeaker, and applause could be heard from some neutral fans in the stands as each team was called out.

Suddenly, the drumbeat rhythm changed.

Two flag bearers dressed in traditional national costumes entered through the main entrance—the Portuguese flag bearer wore a blue and white sash from Porto, and the French flag bearer wore a red and white cape from Monaco.

Because of its political affiliation with France, participation in the French league system, and lack of independent UEFA membership, Monaco used the French flag to represent its national identity in the 2004 Champions League final, as is customary. This was in accordance with UEFA rules and echoed the honor of French football.

The flags of the Principality of Monaco and France are raised only when a domestic cup competition (such as the French Cup) is won.

They walked to the center of the circle and, under the watchful eyes of the entire audience, crossed the two national flags.

Portugal's deep green and bright red, and France's blue, white and red, appear particularly vibrant under the lights.

The two national flags rubbed together gently, making a soft rustling sound, symbolizing the national glory of tonight's duel.

The flag bearers raised the flag high and spun it three times before finally placing it securely on the special flag stand.

The entire process lasted about 90 seconds, with no musical accompaniment, only the sound of flags fluttering in the air.

The players' tunnel was packed with people, yet so quiet you could hear the sound of sneakers rubbing against the floor.

The blue and white jerseys and the red and white jerseys were arranged in two rows, separated by only a narrow aisle.

Each player was holding the hand of a child, who was wearing a plain white T-shirt with the large black letters "RESPECT" printed on the front.

Their hands were clasped tightly together; some of the children's hands were so small that they could only grasp two of the players' fingers.

The air in the passageway was stuffy and hot, mixed with the smell of grass, the rubber smell of sneakers, and the faint scent of shampoo on the children.

The overhead lights were so bright they made it hard to open your eyes, and sweat slowly trickled down the backs of the players' necks.

Cheers from the audience came from afar, rolling into the tunnel like muffled thunder.

The children began to shift their feet restlessly, with a few of the younger ones clinging tightly to the player's legs.

The players stood ramrod straight, their eyes fixed on the light at the exit ahead, and no one spoke.

The referee at the end of the tunnel is checking his watch.

The blonde little girl Roy was holding couldn't help but look up at him.

Every time she looked up, she met Roy's smiling eyes, which made her unconsciously clench her little hands even tighter.

Porto's defenders kept glancing this way.

They knew how terrifying Monaco's left winger's speed was; the gentle demeanor he displayed while holding his child's hand was completely different from the ferocity he would display when sprinting down the wing later.

Carvalho nudged Costa with his elbow, and the two exchanged a knowing glance.

The little girl tugged at Roy's finger: "Sir, will you win today?"

Roy looked down into those blue eyes and said in a voice so soft that only she could hear, "See my sneakers? The laces have three knots, and each knot hides a goal."

The little girl carefully counted the knots in his shoelaces, then suddenly smiled, revealing two dimples.

The referee's whistle shattered the silence of the tunnel.

Julius stepped forward first, and Costa stepped forward with his right foot almost simultaneously.

Like a floodgate being opened, the players from both teams led the children onto the dazzling green field.

The roar of 60,000 people crashed down, shaking the grass.

Before the little girl could finish counting the third shoelace knot, she was startled by the sudden cheers.

Roy's hand suddenly tightened, leading her into this ocean of light.

She squinted and saw countless flashes of light from the stands flashing wildly like stars.

Thierry Rolland, the commentator for French TF1 television, spoke with a calm yet passionate voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2004 Champions League final – the Veltins-Arena! Now, the players from both sides are walking out of the tunnel. Leading the way are the two captains: Jorge Costa of Porto and Ludovic Giuly of Monaco."

The camera cuts to the Monaco players.

"Look at this Monaco team—what a young team! Deschamps' team eliminated Bayern Munich, Real Madrid, and Arsenal all the way, making them the biggest dark horse of the season."

"Monaco's captain Giuly, this diminutive winger's speed has caused countless top defenses a lot of trouble. And behind him, Morientes, the killer on loan from Real Madrid, can he break through Baía's defenses tonight?"

Behind him is Monaco's core player, Roy, a young man once sold off by Real Madrid's youth academy, who has now become the most dazzling new star in French football. In this season's Champions League, his 16 goals have shocked the entire Europe. At the Stadio Olimpico, he single-handedly tore apart Bayern Munich's ironclad defense; back at the Bernabéu, he inflicted a crushing defeat on his former club; and in the semi-final against Arsenal, he used his ghostly changes of direction to leave the Premier League's best defense in disarray. Behind him are the football dreams pursued by countless French children.

"Tonight, he will face Paulo Ferreira, Porto's right-wing stalwart."

The camera then shifts to Porto.

"On the other hand, Mourinho's Porto should not be underestimated either. Deco's midfield orchestration, Maniche's long-range shots, and the ironclad defense of Carvalho and Costa - the discipline of this Portuguese team is amazing."

"Two teams, two styles – Porto's disciplined defense versus Monaco's rapid counter-attacks. This final is destined to become a classic match in Champions League history!"

The Champions League theme song played again.

"The music starts, the battle is about to begin! Let's wait and see!"

The players automatically lined up in three rows in front of the Champions League logo backdrop.

Goalkeeper Baía and Roma crouched at the front, their knees pressed against the grass.

Deco and Rothen, among other midfielders, stood in the second row, while the defenders stood at the very back.

Two UEFA officials strode over; one checked the shin guards, and the other tugged at the player's socks to confirm their length.

As the flash went off, the gold lettering of "2004 UEFA Champions League Final" on the backdrop shone slightly under the light.

Danish referee Kim Milton Nilsson pulled out a silver coin, and Porto captain Costa and Monaco captain Giuly surrounded him.

The coin tumbled twice in the air and landed on the back of the referee's hand.

"Words or flowers?"

Nelson asked, and Juli quickly chose "flower".

The coin landed on the back of Nelson's hand, and all three of them looked down at the same time, tails up.

Giuly's lips curled into a slight smile, and he immediately made a decision: "We want possession." (He chose to let Monaco kick off first.)
Costa shrugged and accepted the result, then turned and pointed to the right half of the field: "Then we'll choose this direction."

The team that controls the ball has the tactical initiative in the opening stages. They can wear down the opponent's stamina, establish an attacking rhythm, and break through the defense with precise passing.

Data shows that the team that scores first in the Champions League final has a 78% win rate, and the team that kicks off has an average of 12% more possession in the first 15 minutes of the match than their opponent. This often forces the opponent's defense to retreat, creating space for fast wingers to break through.

However, modern football research also shows that an excessive pursuit of possession may be exploited by teams that excel at counter-attacks.

The pre-match handshake.

Mourinho and Deschamps met and shook hands at the sideline.

After the whistle blew, the players dispersed.

Roy was the last to leave the center circle, slowly walking towards the left flank.

Porto's Ferreira was watching him from afar, and Deco also glanced in that direction.

He kept his head down, his black hair hanging over his forehead, and the tips of his shoes gently brushed against a few trampled blades of grass.

When he finally raised his head, his dark eyes slowly swept across the court.

From Evra on the left behind, to Giuly on the right, they finally landed on the opposite Porto defensive line.

His gaze was as calm as if he were watching a practice match, showing neither excitement nor tension.

Ferreira and Roy's eyes met briefly in mid-air.

The Portuguese man instinctively tensed his shoulders, but Roy simply blinked and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

At the center circle, Morientes shuffled the turf with the sole of his shoe, while Giuly had already placed the ball.

The referee held his whistle to his lips and his right hand hovered above the watch face.

Danish referee Kim Milton Nilsson put his whistle to his lips and took a deep breath.

As the short, powerful whistle pierced the stadium's clamor, he held his right hand out to Monaco's half, while simultaneously pressing the stopwatch with his left.

The referee, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, immediately jogged laterally after blowing the whistle.

He maintained a slanted angle that allowed him to observe both Porto's defensive midfielder Costinha's positioning and Monaco's attacking midfielder Rothen's runs.

The fourth official on the sidelines pressed the timer simultaneously, and "00:00" began to tick on the electronic scoreboard. Nelson's gaze swept over the players from both sides, noticing that Porto striker Albu had crossed the halfway line by half a meter, and he quietly took two steps closer to the Portuguese player.

Morientes gently passed the ball to Giuly, and Porto's 4-4-2 diamond midfield immediately contracted.

Costinha stood like a wall in the center circle, while Deco and Maniche quickly pressed to the flanks, cutting off Monaco's midfield passing lanes.

Giuly didn't dare to dribble for long and immediately passed the ball back to Bernardi.

Monaco's 4-3-3 formation has begun to function.

Bernardi and Pedretti passed the ball around in midfield, with Rothen dropping back to receive it. The three of them used quick short passes to break up Porto's pressing.

Roy on the left flank didn't blindly push forward, but instead moved laterally, ready to provide support at any time.

Porto has an extremely strong defensive discipline.

Ferreira kept a close eye on Roy, but maintained his distance to prevent Roy from suddenly accelerating past him; Carvalho and Costa, on the other hand, tightly marked Morientes' running route, preventing him from receiving the ball easily.

Monaco's patient efforts have finally found an opportunity.

Rothen suddenly made a diagonal pass, and Roy instantly started his run!

Ferreira quickly closed in, but Roy didn't force his way through; instead, he deftly passed the ball back to the onrushing Evra.

Roy's pass back was perfectly timed, and Evra took a long stride forward.

Monaco's attacking gears began to mesh precisely, with Rothen making a quick lateral movement to draw Deco away and create space for Pedretti to make a run forward.

Bernardi suddenly cut diagonally into the middle from his right back midfield position, a surprise move that forced Costinha to keep half a step in his defense.

In that split second, Roy suddenly changed direction and cut inside. Ferreira quickly tightened his pace, but the French winger only made a feint before suddenly turning back to the wing.

Evra understood perfectly and played a through ball, which Roy flicked off with his heel to the overlapping Pedretti near the byline.

Monaco's midfielder made no adjustments and swept the ball across the face of goal, where Morientes ghost-like circled around to Carvalho.

"boom!"

Costa dove to block the ball out of bounds.

Porto also displayed a textbook-level three-dimensional defense when Monaco attacked.

When Roy cut inside, left-back Valente immediately closed the distance between himself and Carvalho; as Deco dropped back to block Pedretti's passing lane, Maniche simultaneously blocked Rothen's forward run.

Costinha always stood at the key position at the top of the penalty area, directing the movement of the defensive line like a king on a chessboard.

The moment Morientes started his run, Carvalho used his body to block him, while Costa accurately predicted the landing point of the cross.

Baja roared "My!" on the goal line, and the entire penalty area seemed to shrink as if pulled by an invisible thread.

Porto players' runs blocked all possible shooting angles, and Costa's diving block was simply the perfect ending to this ironclad defense.

Porto players quickly regrouped their defense, with Deco even patting Ferreira on the back. Despite being outmaneuvered by Roy, Portugal's defensive chain was never truly broken.

As the corner kick was taken, Baía's roar drowned out the noise from the stadium: "Mark your man!"

Maniche chested down the ball that Baía had punched away, then turned and delivered a low through ball.

Deco, understanding the situation perfectly, made a diagonal run into the middle and, before Bernardi could block him, passed the ball to Albu, who was making a run down the right flank.

Porto's counter-attack quickly broke through the halfway line with just a few passes.

Albu dribbled forward at high speed, while Maicon fought back and retreated.

Just as the Portuguese winger was about to change direction, Abidal suddenly rushed in and made a precise sliding tackle to clear the ball.

The ball rolled toward the sideline, and Derek quickly chased after it, but Squillaci blocked his position.

Monaco's left-back Evra made a timely recovery and poked the ball to Pedretti before Dere could reach it.

The French defensive midfielder made no adjustments and made a long pass directly to Rothen, who had dropped back.

Porto's quick counter-attacks were cut short as soon as they reached the attacking third by Monaco's defensive chain.

Mourinho on the sidelines shook his head in disappointment, while Deschamps gave Abidal a thumbs up.

The entire counterattack, from initiation to termination, lasted only twelve seconds.

Porto's attack was like a sword drawn from its sheath, but it ultimately failed to penetrate Monaco's impenetrable defenses.

Porto retreated like a tide, their three defensive lines remaining tightly sealed.

Costinha anchored the edge of the penalty area, with Deco and Maniche forming a barrier in front of him; the four defenders maintained a tight, parallel formation, like a moving city wall.

Roy raised his hand to call for the ball on the left wing, but Ferreira maintained an arm's length distance from him, neither rushing in to intercept nor giving him any space to break through.

Rothen attempted a through ball to Morientes, but Carvalho anticipated it and used his body to push the Spanish striker aside and clear the ball.

Carvalho's clearance hit Rothen's leg hard, and the ball bounced irregularly toward the midfield.

Costinha and Pedretti both rushed toward the landing point.

Bernardi suddenly burst out from the side, and in the ensuing scramble between the two, with Pedretti providing cover, he managed to poke the ball forward with his toe.

Roy accelerated like a cheetah, taking the ball before Maniche could react.

Ferreira immediately closed in, while Costinha also flanked from the side and rear.

Roy flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it through Ferreira's legs.

He then abruptly stopped and changed direction, squeezing through the gap between the two guards closing the door.

"Roy! It's Roy again! Monaco's magician! Watch him outmaneuver Ferreira—nutmeg! Change of direction! Costa can't stop him! Evra's overlapping run, a chance to cross!"

Costa immediately rushed to intercept, but Roy beat him to the ball and poked it to the onrushing Evra.

Monaco's left-back dribbled straight to the byline, while Valente retreated as he fought.

After shaking off his defender, Roy quickly moved inside and raised his hand to ask for the ball on the edge of the penalty area.

Ferreira, panting heavily, kept up the chase.

Evra straightened his left foot and swept the ball low into the six-yard box with a powerful shot.

The ball flew at incredible speed past Valente's outstretched toes, tracing a straight path across the grass.

Chaos erupted instantly inside the penalty area:
Morientes feinted at the near post, deliberately letting the ball slip through his legs, while simultaneously using his body to block Carvalho's path back.

Roy made a diagonal run into the door from the side.

Giuly suddenly cut in from the back, and Beyer quickly lowered his center of gravity to block the near angle.

Bernardi was lurking near the penalty spot, and Maniche immediately moved to cover him.

The ball changed direction slightly after passing between Morientes' legs, and Costa managed to extend his leg to block it.

The ball changed direction and bounced towards the edge of the penalty area. Rothen and Deco rushed towards the landing point at the same time, their boots colliding violently and kicking up a cloud of grass.

In the instant he lost his balance, Rothen suddenly twisted his waist and abdomen, deftly flicking the ball to the right open space with the outside of his right foot.

Giuly surged forward like lightning, swinging his leg as the ball rolled its third revolution.

A collective gasp of terror erupted from the Porto fans' stands as tens of thousands sprang to their feet.
His shot was blocked by Valente's thigh, and the ball bounced high.

Just then, a figure in red and white appeared!
Roy predicted the ball's landing point the instant it bounced.

He first feigned a direct volley, prompting Costinha to dive and block, but before touching the ball, he suddenly stopped and gently flicked the ball with his right foot.

This movement caused Costinha to slip and fall onto the grass.

Roy then adjusted his steps, his black hair flying with the movement, his left arm naturally outstretched to maintain balance.

He slammed his right foot in with a powerful shot, the ball spinning slightly outwards as it flew straight into the top right corner of the goal.

Baia had already taken half a step to the left, his body fully extended.

In that split second, Carvalho suddenly appeared from the side!
He leaped into the air, desperately pushing his right shoulder forward.

The ball grazed the edge of his shoulder blade, causing a slight deviation in its trajectory.

"clang!"

The entire Porto bench jumped up, while a collective sigh came from the Monaco coaching bench.

The beam was still trembling slightly, as if telling the story of that life-or-death moment that was so close yet so far.

In the stands, Chen Lan suddenly slammed her clenched fist into her knee.

Before she could even utter a sound, her open mouth uttered a long "Sigh—".

Rowan beside him clenched his fists, while his little sister Romi's hand remained in a celebratory pose, suspended in mid-air.

On the sidelines, Mourinho stared at Roy with the eyes of someone examining a drawn sword.

We must both appreciate its sharpness and find a way to break it.

When Roy took that shot, Mourinho unconsciously took a half-step forward with his left foot, as if he wanted to personally intercept it.

Carvalho's clearance ball fell to Deco's feet.

Mourinho roared "Counter-attack!" from the sidelines, his voice hoarse and cracking.

The moment Deco received the ball, he twisted his waist and turned, sending a 20-meter low through ball with the outside of his left foot.

The ball, as if guided by precision, passed through the gap between Bernardi and Pedretti, tracing a straight path across the grass.

Albu launched himself like an arrow, the hem of his jersey fluttering as he sped off.

He passed the ball across to Derek just before Squillaci could close in.

When Derek received the ball, Maicon had already tracked back from the right flank, and Abidal also came over to cover from the left.

Squillaci quickly made a diagonal run to block.

Derek managed to hold onto the ball amidst a three-man swarm, and stumbled as he poked it to Deco.

Deco met the ball and took a shot directly, but Roma quickly fell to the ground and used his right hand to push the ball out of bounds.

Porto are awarded a corner kick.

The entire process, from Albu's pass to his shot, took only 6 seconds.

Although Monaco's defense was disrupted, they managed to avert danger by quickly tracking back.

Deco took the corner kick, and the ball spun towards the center of the six-yard box.

Carvalho and Costa jumped at the same time to contest the header, but Squillaci got there half a step ahead and headed the ball out of the penalty area with his forehead.

The ball was cleared to Evra's feet, and the Monaco left-back immediately launched a long diagonal pass forward.

Giuly had just touched the ball when Maniche charged at him fiercely.

The Portuguese midfielder's shoulder slammed heavily into Giuly's chest with a dull thud.

Giuly was knocked back two steps, but immediately lowered his center of gravity and firmly planted his left foot on the ball.

Maniche pressed forward again, sweeping the ball with his right leg.

Giuly poked the ball with his toe, and it went past Maniche's feet.

But Maniche reacted very quickly, deliberately using his hips to block Giuly as he turned around.

The two players, their arms entangled, rushed out of bounds, tearing Giuly's jersey out of shape.

The referee stopped the game. Giuly sat on the ground, panting heavily, while Maniche had already jogged back to his defensive position.

Deschamps abruptly unbuttoned his suit jacket and gestured to the fourth official as if Maniche had committed a foul.

His voice was filled with suppressed anger: "Their fouls were too extreme!"

At the same time, Mourinho gave a thumbs-up to the field: "Well done! Play like this!"

His shouts were exceptionally clear in the noisy stadium.

In the 15th minute, Monaco center-back Squillaci made a short pass from the backfield to Roy, who had dropped back.

Maniche immediately pounced, his right leg sweeping viciously towards Roy's foot.

Roy sensed the pressure the moment he received the ball, and he gently pulled the ball back with the sole of his right foot while quickly turning 180 degrees.

This move completely thwarted Maniche's attempt to steal the ball, as his cleats slammed into the turf, tearing up a patch of grass.

However, Costinha had already stepped in to cover, forming a double-team with Deco.

Roy remained calm. He first pretended to pass the ball to the left, causing Costinha to shift his weight to the left, and then used the inside of his right foot to cut the ball back to the right.

Maniche reached out from behind and grabbed Roy's jersey, but Roy suddenly stopped, causing Maniche to stumble forward two steps due to inertia.

At this moment, Roy had gained space to pass the ball. After looking up and observing, he sent a through ball with the outside of his right foot.

The ball slipped through the gap between Ferreira and Carvalho and found Giuly making a diagonal run.

Unfortunately, Giuly's shot was blocked by Baía's leg as he rushed out to attack.

22 minutes.

Monaco goalkeeper Roma made a short pass to right-back Maicon, and Porto striker Derek immediately stepped up to apply pressure.

Maicon passed the ball back to center-back Squillaci, at which point Monaco began to patiently organize their attack.

Squillaci passed the ball across to his partner Abidal, who then laid it back to defensive midfielder Pedretti.

In these 16 passes, Roy constantly moved laterally to receive the ball: he first called for the ball on the left flank, and when he saw Deco marking him closely, he immediately turned back and ran towards the right flank.

When Pedretti touched the ball for the seventh time, Roy suddenly dropped back to the center circle to receive the pass, and Deco rushed to intercept him.

Just as Deco stretched out his foot, Roy gently flicked the ball to the right with his right foot and quickly followed up with his left foot to complete the "frittata" dribble.

After the breakthrough, he immediately looked up to observe, waving his left hand to signal Evra to move forward along the sideline, while simultaneously making a pressing gesture with his right index finger towards Morientes.

Six minutes later, as Porto retreated to defend, Roy demonstrated his key role in the middle: he first received a pass from Bernardi with his back to goal, then gently passed it to Pedretti before immediately making a forward run.

Pedretti understood perfectly and played a through ball. Roy, on his run, used the outside of his right foot to deflect the ball, just avoiding Carvalho's sliding tackle.

At this moment, Giuly had quietly moved up on the right wing, and Roy, despite losing his balance, still managed to pass the ball to the right wing with his left foot.

Although Costa eventually cleared the ball with his cross, this combination successfully stretched Porto's entire defense from the left corner of the penalty area to the right touchline.

Sky Sports commentator Clive Tyrdalsley exclaimed: "Look at this 19-year-old left winger! Roy is like a maniac on the left flank, his changes of direction and rhythm have Ferreira completely bewildered. That outside-of-the-foot pass is just like Giggs in his prime!"

French TF1 commentator Thierry Rolland exclaimed excitedly, "This is the power of our new generation of French football! Although playmaking isn't his primary task, this calm pass after cutting inside demonstrates a maturity beyond his years!"

A commentator on Spanish television station Telecinco remarked, "Monaco's attacks down the left flank accounted for 57% of their total offense! Every time Roy got the ball, Porto had to double-team him, which gave Giuly too much space on the right."

German ZDF commentator Marcel Lef analyzed: "Look at Roy's defensive involvement! As a left winger, he has already made 3 key interceptions. This all-around performance is reminiscent of Litmanen back in the day."

Commentator Matthäus remarked: "This is the epitome of a modern winger – when defenders retreat to stop his breakthrough, he punishes them with precise passes; when you mark him closely, he can outpace you with his terrifying acceleration. Porto's right flank is in grave danger!"

In the 35th minute, when Roy received the ball on the left flank, Maniche, Ferreira and Costinha immediately formed a triangular encirclement around him.

Maniche blocked the shot head-on, Ferreira controlled the inside, and Costinha cut off the back pass route.

Roy feigned a cut inside with his right foot, causing Ferreira to shift his weight to the right. But at the moment of contact, he flicked the ball with his right heel, sending it through Maniche's legs and finding the onrushing Evra precisely.

The French full-back swept the ball across the face of goal without stopping it, and Valente made a desperate attempt to intercept it, but the ball hit his thigh and bounced out of bounds.

The world erupted in cheers the moment Roy tore apart Porto's defense with a brilliant backheel pass.

On a fan radio hotline in Paris, France, an elderly fan excitedly shouted, "Roy's backheel! He should have done that earlier! Evra's pass was too hasty; he should have waited half a second longer!"

Meanwhile, in a sports bar in Porto, Portugal, fans in blue and white jerseys were arguing heatedly: "Ferreira got tricked again! Maniche should have stuck closer!"

"No, it's Costinia who didn't seal the line!"

On a football forum in Madrid, Spain, a comment quickly went viral: "Monaco's left-wing combination play is even smoother than our national team's. Even Zidane would applaud Roy's backheel shot."

In a café in Milan, Italy, two AC Milan fans shook their heads and sighed, "Varente made a good save, but if that ball had gone in, it would have been one of the best combinations in Champions League history."

At a fan gathering in Berlin, Germany, someone calmly analyzed: "Roy made the decision too quickly. He didn't even look at Evra; he just went by gut feeling."

In a football pub in London, England, a few Arsenal fans stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds. One of them took a big gulp of beer, shook his head with a wry smile, and said, "Damn it. It was this kid who just knocked us out of the competition."

His teammate patted him on the shoulder: "Just admit it, Henry wasn't bad when he played well. But if Roy really came to the Premier League..."

Before he could finish speaking, several gun enthusiasts around him shouted in unison, "Shut up! This damn monster isn't allowed to come here!"

A sigh came from the corner: "At least losing to the champion isn't shameful."

The entire bar suddenly erupted in a mix of helpless and relieved laughter.

In front of a large screen on the streets of São Paulo, Brazil, several children were arguing: "If Ronaldo had that ball, he would have shot it himself!"

"That's right, but if it were Rivaldo, he would pass it!"

On a fan forum in Amsterdam, Netherlands, someone posted a comment: "Monaco's attack is like Ajax in the 70s, and Roy is their Cruyff."

In a sports program in Moscow, Russia, the commentator exclaimed, "That's genius; you can't completely contain him with tactics."

In a street bar in Nigeria, fans were excitedly discussing: "Roybe Okocha is even more cunning!"

"No, Okocha's heels are much more elaborate!"

In a Vancouver, Canada football community, someone posted a comment: "Players like Roy are why we stay up all night to watch the Champions League."

On a Mexico City radio station, the commentator poetically described the game: "Monaco's attack is like a poem, and Roy is the most beautiful line."

At that moment, regardless of where they were or which team they supported, all fans held their breath, stunned by Roy's moment of brilliance. That's the magic of football.

In the 38th minute, Porto's defense was breached again by Monaco. Mourinho abruptly stood up from the bench, forcefully swung his right hand, and roared onto the field:

"Push forward! Push forward! Don't let them turn around!"

His voice cut through the noisy stadium, and Deco and Costinha immediately looked up at the sidelines.

Mourinho gestured with his hands, indicating that the defensive line should move forward five meters, while simultaneously clapping his hands loudly at Maniche.
"Don't back down! Get the first hit!"

The Porto players immediately complied.

Costinha began to mark Roy closely, while Maniche and Deco formed a double-team in midfield, pushing the defensive line forward to compress Monaco's passing space.

Mourinho's roar still echoed in the stadium, and Porto's defense was already meshing and turning like gears.

Costinia stuck to Roy like a plaster, her rough elbows discreetly pressing against Roy's lower back.

Maniche and Deco formed a moving roadblock in midfield, maintaining a distance of eight meters between them—just enough to cover lateral passing lanes.

Abramovich: "Their defensive organization is very special."

Chief Analyst: "Yes, boss. After Mourinho moved his defensive line forward by 5 meters, Monaco's attacking space was significantly reduced."

Kenyon: "But the players' individual abilities are limited."

Analyst: "Indeed. Mendes's duel success rate is only 58%, and Albou and Derek's attacking efficiency is also insufficient. But the system makes up for a lot of that."

Abramovich: "If it were our players..."

Analyst: "Imagine Terry and Carvalho partnering at center-back, with Makelele anchoring the midfield. This system would be very competitive in the Premier League."

Kenyon: "What about on-site command?"

Analyst: "Very decisive. You see, after his adjustment, the spacing between Deco and Maniche remained very precise."

Abramovich stared intently at Roy on the field, his eyes gleaming with longing: "Roy. If he were in our team, how would Mourinho use him? He's a player born for the big stage."

The chief analyst immediately understood: "Boss, this is the most exciting part. Look, even with Costinha marking him the whole time, Roy still managed 5 successful breakthroughs and created 3 excellent chances. In Mourinho's system, he can absolutely become our tactical core."

Kenyon leaned closer to examine the data: "Tell me more about his tactical value."

"First, as a free-roaming forward, he can tear apart the defense with unparalleled running intelligence. Look at this time when he dropped back to receive the pass, directly drawing away two defenders. Second, as the hub of the counter-attack, his passing accuracy today was as high as 80%, only 3 percentage points lower than Deco's. Third..."

Abramovich suddenly interrupted, his voice rising slightly with excitement: "How high can he elevate our attack? Imagine if he partnered with Crespo, Lampard, and Duff."

The analyst immediately chimed in: "This would absolutely be the most lethal combination in the Premier League! Data shows that if you pair him with a target man like Morientes, he could create 3-4 clear-cut chances per game. More importantly..."

Kenyon pressed further: "What's more important?"

"More importantly, Mourinho's greatest strength lies in activating this type of modern winger. Although Roy is nominally a left winger, his range of movement completely breaks the traditional limitations of the wing. Mourinho's system allows him to freely break through on the wing, organize in the flanks, and even temporarily act as a pivot. In his previous attack, he first broke through on the wing, then suddenly cut inside to the false nine position to lay the ball, and then pulled back to the wing to cross—three roles perfectly switched within 10 seconds."

Abramovich gently stroked his chin, his gaze never leaving the agile figure on the field: "Keep observing, especially the details of his coordination with the Monaco midfield. This is exactly the kind of player we need."

His tone was filled with an undeniable longing, as if he could already see Roy in his blue battle robes.

Facing Porto's defense.

Monaco's midfield triangle began to function.

Pedretti used his body to shield Deco, and with a gentle push of his right foot, the ball rolled along the grass towards Bernardi.

The Argentine midfielder didn't stop the ball, but instead flicked it with the outside of his foot to Rothen, who had dropped back.

Roy suddenly started.

He first feinted to the left, causing Costinia to shift her center of gravity, and then changed direction to the right to receive the pass.

Rothen understood immediately and delivered a low through ball.

The ball slid past Maniche's outstretched toes, precisely finding Roy's running path.

The moment Roy received the ball, Porto's defensive trap was already in motion.

Ferreira pressed forward, Maniche chased back, and Deco blocked the passing lane.

Roy gently flicked the ball with his right foot, leaned his body to the left, and just as Ferreira rushed in, he flicked the ball back to the onrushing Pedretti with the heel of his left foot.

"Pretty!"

Deschamps couldn't help but pump his fist on the sidelines.

This one-two pass completely broke through Porto's midfield barrier.

Pedretti looked up immediately after receiving the ball.

Giuly has already made a high-speed run down the right flank, but Portugal's defense is tilting towards the strong side.

The French defensive midfielder did not rush to pass the ball, but instead passed it across to Bernardi.

After Bernardi received the ball, Porto's defensive focus shifted entirely to the right flank.

Both Maniche and Deco are moving towards Giuly.

Just then, Bernardi suddenly flicked a long pass over the top with the inside of his right foot.

The ball drew a beautiful arc, bypassing Porto's entire defense and precisely finding Evra on the left flank, who was completely left unmarked!

"A switch! A perfect weak-side attack!" the commentator exclaimed.

Evra easily controlled the ball, with a wide open corridor on the wing in front of him.

Valente chased after him desperately, but it was too late.

The French full-back dribbled forward and delivered a low cross near the byline.

Inside the penalty area, Morientes and Roy formed a double attacking formation.

Carvalho desperately chased back, while Costa kept a close eye on Roy.

The ball swept across the six-yard box, and Morientes pounced on the loose ball at the near post to shoot.

Baía made a miraculous save! But the crisis wasn't over yet, as Roy cleverly seized the second ball and unleashed a powerful right-footed volley!

"boom!"

Costa blocked the ball out of bounds with his body.

In the stands of the Stadio delle Schalke, the sighs of Monaco fans mingled with the gasps of Porto fans.

This attack, from Roy dropping back to receive the ball to the final shot, involved 17 consecutive passes from Monaco, completely dismantling Porto's defensive system. They first drew the defense away with intricate passing in the middle, then suddenly shifted the ball to the weak side, giving Evra complete freedom.

Mourinho looked ashen-faced on the sidelines.

He turned to the bench and yelled at the assistant coach, "Tell Ferreira, if you give Evra that much space again, I'll kick him off the bench!"

Deschamps, meanwhile, applauded from the sidelines.

He knew that if this kind of coordination worked smoothly, even Porto's ironclad defense would show cracks.

Roy wiped the sweat from his forehead and gave his teammates a thumbs up.

Mourinho stood on the sidelines, his sharp eyes scanning the situation on the field, a series of tactical analyses flashing through his mind:

“Our 4-4-2 diamond midfield was indeed tight, but Deco and Maniche covered too much ground. Every time Roy dropped back, he drew Costinha away, and if this continued, gaps would inevitably appear in the defense after the 70th minute.”

"Pushing the defense forward is too risky. Monaco's Bernardi's long passes are very precise; if they succeed just once, they can break through the defense. Ferreira should be made to hold back more."

Observing Monaco's formation changes, he thought to himself: "Deschamps' 4-3-3 formation transitions are very clever. When Roy cuts inside, Evra's overlapping runs completely distract our defensive focus. We need to adjust the positioning of our full-backs immediately."

"Monaco has completed so many successful passes in our half. This pace of possession will slowly wear us down."

"While our defense is tight, our efficiency in transitioning to offense after each interception is too low. Deco needs more support, otherwise our counter-attacks won't be threatening enough."

Finally, he stared at Roy's movement and made a decision: "Monaco's attack is too layered. Roy drops back to organize, Giuly cuts inside, Morientes acts as a pivot, and this kind of three-dimensional attack is difficult to completely block. We must assign someone to specifically mark Roy's passing lanes."

All these analyses point to the same key point: "If Monaco scores first, our carefully constructed defensive system will face collapse. This war of attrition will be a severe test of our physical reserves, while the French are clearly patiently waiting for their opportunity."

At the Stadio delle Schalke, the Porto fans' cheers, which had been rising and falling, gradually turned into agitation.

In the 42nd minute, Porto controlled the ball in their own half, but Monaco's pressure came like a tidal wave.

The fans began to feel uneasy.

"Pass the ball! Pass it quickly!"

Someone shouted at the top of their lungs, their voice filled with obvious anxiety.

Baía hesitated for a second in front of the goal, but Monaco's striker had already blocked the short passing lanes, so he could only launch a long ball forward.

The ball was headed back by a Monaco defender just past halfway, forcing Porto's players to pass it back again.

"Why was it pushed back again?"

In the stands, someone clenched their scarf so tightly that their knuckles turned white.

Deco received the ball near the center circle, turned around, and looked up to see that Monaco's Rothen and Bernardi had blocked both passing lanes on the left and right.

He instinctively tried to find Maniche, but found that Pedretti was already blocking the passing lane.

"Damn it!"

Deco cursed inwardly, but had no choice but to pass the ball back.

As soon as Maniche received the pass back, Giuly pounced on him like a cheetah.

He hastily tried to pass the ball to Mendes on the right wing, but found that Maicon had already pressed forward and blocked the passing angle.

"left!"

Maniche shouted as he swept the ball toward Valente.

As soon as Valente stopped the ball, Evra and Roy closed in from the left and right.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and he could only extricate himself with a powerful kick.

"here we go again"

Mendes, panting heavily, watched as the Monaco players, like tireless machines, once again launched a high-pressure press.

Their positioning was so precise that whenever a Porto player got the ball, two Monaco players would immediately surround him.

Deco wiped his sweat, feeling his legs getting heavier and heavier.

Every time he tried to organize an attack, Monaco's midfield was like a giant net, completely blocking all passing lanes.

What's even more frightening is that their looting wasn't blind, but rather layered and premeditated.

"If this continues..."

Maniche gritted his teeth, watching as Monaco players nearly won possession once again, a sense of foreboding rising within him.

Roy saw Deco receive the ball in midfield and immediately lowered his center of gravity to prepare for defense.

He noticed that Deco first faked out Rothen, then flicked the ball past Bernardi with his heel.

"Don't let him turn around!" Roy shouted.

He quickly calculated Deco's dribbling route and deliberately slowed down to give him half a body length.

Deco fell for the trap and prepared to break through from his right side.

Just as Deco touched the ball, Roy suddenly accelerated, blocked the position with his body, and stretched out his left foot to interfere.

Deco was forced to slow down and adjust, and Roy immediately seized the opportunity, rushing forward to close the distance.

He sensed that Deco was about to change direction, so he deliberately created an opening. Just as Deco was about to spike the ball, Roy suddenly stuck out his foot and poked it!
The ball was poked to Pedretti's feet.

Roy didn't stop; he immediately turned around and launched a counterattack.

The moment the ball was poked to Pedretti's feet, the Monaco stands at the Stade de la Ville de Schalke suddenly erupted in chaos.

"Demon King! Demon King!"

Tens of thousands of fans shouted in unison in hoarse French, the sound waves sweeping across the entire stadium like a tsunami.

Roy's ears caught the familiar call, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned up.

His legs seemed to be infused with new energy, making each step he took more powerful.

The red and white flags in the stands were waving wildly, and some people even climbed over the railings, only to be pulled back by security personnel.

He even heard Deco's frustrated curses coming from behind him.
"Quickly! Counterattack!"

Roy ran while raising his hand to ask for the ball.

Pedretti understood perfectly and delivered a precise through ball into his running path.

"Charge! Roy!"

An old man from Monaco, his face flushed red, roared at the top of his lungs, spitting everywhere.

Pedretti's through ball seemed to be under a spell, rolling precisely along Roy's running path.

The chants of the Monaco fans grew louder and louder, and some people started stomping their feet, causing the entire stand to shake.

"The Demon King is here!"

A little boy rides on his father's shoulders, waving his scarf excitedly.

"It's over."

Some fans covered their faces, unable to watch any longer.

The moment Roy received the ball, his legs suddenly pushed off the ground as if they were springs.

Costinha had just rushed forward when he had already dribbled the ball two meters away.

"too fast!"

Costinia cursed under her breath, and by the time she turned around, Roy had already changed direction.

With a gentle flick of his right foot, the ball obediently rolled diagonally forward, finding Rothen who had made a run into the box.

Rothen understood immediately and passed the ball across without stopping it.

Morientes controlled the ball firmly with his back, and before Carvalho could pounce, he flicked the ball back to Roy's feet.

At this moment, Roy had already rushed to the top of the penalty area.

Carvalho gritted his teeth and rushed back, only to see Roy suddenly slow down, his right foot poised to shoot.

"Stop him! Don't let him into the restricted area!"

The Porto fans' screams were filled with despair.

"boom!"

Carvalho instinctively stretched out his leg to block, only to find that Roy was just faking a shot and actually dribbling.

In that split second, Roy had already moved half a body length away.

His acceleration was frighteningly fast; by the time Carvalho tried to catch up, the red and white jersey had already drifted more than two meters away.

Juli, on the right flank, arrived on horseback.

Roy didn't even look at Giuly's position; he completed the pass entirely from muscle memory.

With a gentle flick of the outside of his right foot, the ball traced a beautiful arc, precisely bypassing the defender and landing in Giuly's most comfortable receiving position.

The entire movement was performed in one smooth motion, as natural as drawing an arc at random.

Giuly feigned a shot, but actually flicked the ball back into Roy's control with a deft touch.

The feint and the real shot fooled everyone.

As the ball rolled lightly back to Roy's feet, Baja had already lunged in the wrong direction. He completely lost his balance, his legs spread comically apart, and his gloves stretched futilely in the wrong direction.

Mourinho looked ashen-faced on the sidelines.

He roared at the crowd, but his voice was completely drowned out by the sudden burst of sound.

On the other side, Deschamps unconsciously leaned forward, his fingers clenched into fists.

The entire Veltins-Arena fell silent instantly, and even the broadcast cameras seemed to freeze.

Hundreds of millions of viewers worldwide held their breath, watching Roy raise his right foot.

Roy's lips curled into a slight smile as he slammed his right instep into the ball.

"Shh!"

The ball whistled through Baía's legs and slammed into the net.

The entire movement was fluid and seamless, taking only five seconds from start to finish, yet it perfectly showcased speed, technique, and composure.

The moment the ball hit the net, a deafening roar erupted from the Monaco stands at the Stade de la Ville de Schalke.

The sea of ​​red and white people instantly boiled over, countless arms were raised like a forest, and scarves and flags fluttered in ecstasy.

The cheers spread outwards from the center of the stadium like a shockwave, engulfing the entire stadium.

Luo Yi's mother, Chen Lan, covered her mouth with both hands, tears welling up in her eyes.

Rowan waved his brother's jersey wildly, and his sister Romy stood up and screamed, "Brother scored!"

On the other side of the stadium, Leticia Costa and several French actresses excitedly embraced each other.

The actress, wearing Roy's Monaco number 10 jersey, was biting the edge of her scarf tightly with her teeth, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"It's incredible!"

She shouted to her friend beside her, but her voice was drowned out by the cheers.

In France, screams erupted simultaneously in countless bars and living rooms.

On the streets of Paris, Marseille, and Lyon, strangers high-fived each other in celebration of the goal.

Fans in front of the TV jumped up and hugged each other, and no one paid any attention to the spilled beer.

The slow-motion replay of this goal was repeatedly shown in broadcasts around the world.

From late night in Asia to afternoon in the Americas, fans in different time zones were amazed by this spectacular goal.

Tens of thousands of discussions instantly emerged on social forums, with praise in various languages ​​weaving together in the virtual space.

The melody of the Champions League theme song seemed to resonate simultaneously across countless screens, freezing this moment into a classic moment in football history.

Inside the Monaco royal box.

The old prince, trembling, gripped the glass of the private box and suddenly cried out in a hoarse voice, "Alléz Monaco!!!"

The shout seemed to have used up all his strength, prompting the attendants beside him to quickly help him up.

Upon seeing this, Crown Prince Albert laughed heartily and put his arm around his father's shoulder. The cheers of the father and son blended into a deafening roar.

The medals on the prince's chest swayed violently under the lights, reflecting a dazzling light.

The distinguished guests on the other side.

Portuguese Prime Minister Barroso turned to the German official beside him and exclaimed in Portuguese in a low voice, "A brilliant goal, isn't it?"

The accompanying translator immediately relayed the information in German.

The Prime Minister wore a bitter smile.

The members of the Portuguese delegation behind him looked at each other, and some took off their glasses and rubbed their temples.

After listening to the translation, the German officials nodded cautiously in response, one of them politely saying, "That was indeed a beautiful goal."

But he quickly added, "There's still time in the game."

As the hosts, they deliberately maintained a neutral stance, neither wanting to spoil the guests' fun nor appearing too enthusiastic about Portugal's defeat.

Mourinho stood on the sidelines, his pupils reflecting the red and white carnival.

Roy broke free from his teammates' embrace, rushed to the sideline, and suddenly stopped.

He slowly raised his arms, his fingers forming a metallic salute, crossing them in front of his chest to form an "X" shape—the "Gates of Hell" celebration that terrified his opponents.

The entire stadium fell silent for a second.

Immediately, 30,000 Monaco fans, like a well-trained choir, chanted three times in unison with deafening volume: "The Demon King! The Demon King! The Demon King!"

Every shout was like a heavy hammer blow to the hearts of Porto fans.

Roy held that gesture, his eyes sweeping across the stands, as if he had truly opened the gates of hell and poured down the flames of victory.

Before he could maintain his celebratory pose for even three seconds, he was knocked to the ground by Giuly, who pounced on him.

"We did it!!!"

Juli rode on his back, roaring wildly until his voice cracked.

Morientes squeezed into the crowd and excitedly ruffled Roy's hair.

Evra and Maicon rushed in from both sides, one cursing the Porto defender in Portuguese, the other praising Roy's nutmeg shot.

The entire Monaco team was piled up like a human pyramid, and the referee had to come over to stop the celebration from going on for too long.

Radios around the world crackled with the commentator's urgent voice: "43rd minute, Monaco leads 1-0! Roy's decisive strike!"

Countless radio stations simultaneously broadcast the same message in different languages: "Porto is in danger," "Portuguese Champions League dreams hang by a thread," and "The breath of death is spreading."

In Lisbon cafes, fans silently put down their coffee cups in front of their radios; in Marseille's fishing port, sailors listening to the match roared with victory; in Munich's beer hall, German fans whispered among themselves: "It seems Mourinho's miracle is coming to an end."

The aftermath of that goal spread like a plague around the world; everyone listening to the game smelled the scent of death.

Porto's Champions League journey is teetering on the brink of collapse.

In the VIP lounge after an event in the United States, Jay-Z took a big gulp of champagne, slammed his fist on the table, and yelled, "That Roy is fucking awesome!"

Puff Daddy loosened his tie and yelled, "That son of a bitch scored! I'm signing this kid!"

LeBron James leaned back on the leather sofa, smiling, but a complex look flashed in his eyes:
“As you know, Roy is my brother.”

As the referee blew the whistle to end the first half, the Monaco players walked to the sidelines with a 1-0 lead.

Roy and Deschamps gave each other a light high five, and the two quickly exchanged tactical details as they walked.

“They played very well in the first half,” Deschamps patted Roy on the back, “but they will be more aggressive in the second half, and you have to watch out for Costinha’s dirty tricks.”

Roy nodded and wiped his sweat with a towel: "They're starting to get a little scared of me on the right flank; Ferreira isn't going to get too close."

Former assistant coach Jean Petit immediately came over and handed over a sports drink: "Don't be careless, Mourinho will definitely make adjustments."

Strength and conditioning coach Pintus urged from the side, "Hurry up and go to the locker room to recover. Don't let your body get cold."

A junior teaching assistant ran over and handed Roy a dry towel and a warm jacket.

Roy quickly wiped his face, put on his jacket, and prepared to walk towards the players' tunnel.

However, the reporters on the sidelines could no longer contain themselves, pointing their cameras and microphones at him, almost poking his face with them.

"Roy! Can you talk about that goal?"

What adjustments do you think Porto will make in the second half?

How many of your spots do you think you can make?

Roy smiled politely and nodded slightly, but did not stop walking: "We'll talk about the second half. We need to go back to the locker room now."

He strode into the passageway, leaving the noise behind.

Compared to Roy's restraint, Evra and Maicon had no intention of keeping a low profile.

The two were surrounded by reporters, excitedly gesturing about their performance in the first half.

"Roy's goal? That was insane!"

Evra grinned, "I knew he could handle it when Benoît (Pedretti) passed the ball; that guy's positioning is like a ghost!"

Maicon was even more direct: "Porto's right flank has been completely destroyed by us. Ferreira simply couldn't stop Roy!"

Goalkeeper Roma remained relatively calm, but a smile played on his face: "1-0 is just the beginning, we will continue to apply pressure in the second half."

The reporter pressed further: "How will Mourinho make adjustments?"

Roma shrugged: "Let him worry about it, we're just focused on our game."

A reporter squeezed in front of Maicon, the microphone almost touching his chin: "Maicon! You and Ferreira are both right-backs, who do you think is better?"

Maicon was taken aback by the question at first, then replied with a mischievous grin, "Brother, is that even a question?"

He pointed to the Monaco crest on his chest. "Just look at the scoreboard. Ferreira is a good player, but today..."

He made an explosion gesture, "BOOM! We've completely destroyed it."

Evra couldn't help but laugh out loud, nudging Maicon in the ribs: "Keep it down, kid!"

But the 22-year-old Brazilian youngster simply couldn't stop: "I guard Roy every day in training, I know what that feels like - it's like racing against lightning!"

He suddenly lowered his voice and said mysteriously into the microphone, "Let me tell you a secret, Ferreira is definitely going to change his pants at halftime."

This remark ignited laughter among the reporters, and even the usually serious Roma couldn't help but shake his head.

Roy, who was at the far end of the passage, turned around when he heard the noise and saw Maicon exaggeratedly imitating Ferreira's staggering movements when he was beaten. He could only laugh helplessly and continue walking towards the locker room.

After the three finished speaking, they quickly walked towards the players' tunnel, preparing to return to the locker room.

Behind them, reporters were still frantically recording their every word, while Monaco fans in the stands were singing their team song, looking forward to the decisive battle in the second half.

Mourinho, with his hands in his trench coat pockets and a cold expression, strode quickly toward the players' tunnel.

He waved his hand like he was herding sheep, shooing away the dejected Porto players: "Quick! Get back to the locker room! Stop dawdling here!"

Reporters swarmed him like sharks smelling blood, their flashes illuminating Mourinho's grim face.

"Mr. Mourinho! Ferreira has been completely overwhelmed. What are your plans for adjustments?"

"Monaco's attack rendered your defensive system ineffective. Do you admit that your tactics failed?"

"Roy has already completed five successful drives to the basket. Do you regret underestimating him before the game?"

Mourinho suddenly stopped, his black leather shoes scraping loudly on the concrete.

He slowly turned around, a mocking smile playing on his lips: "You bunch of guys who only care about the score."

He held up one finger. "First, we're only one goal behind."

He then raised a second finger, "Secondly, there are still forty-five minutes left in the game."

Finally, he raised his third finger, almost poking the reporter's nose, and said, "Third, how many times has my team come back from behind this season? Do you need me to count them for you?"

The air in the passageway instantly froze.

Mourinho slowly adjusted his cuffs: "Now, if you don't mind."

He suddenly glanced at his watch. "I'm going to teach some people how to play in the second half."

After saying that, he turned and left, the hem of his trench coat fluttering behind him.

A fearless reporter chased after them, shouting, "But Monaco completely controlled the game!"

Without turning his head, Mourinho raised his right hand, made a gun gesture, and "fired" behind him: "Bang! Remember this sound, you'll hear it coming from Baía's goal later."

(End of this chapter)