When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 166 The Coronation on the Banks of the Rhine
The locker room door slammed shut with a thud.

Mourinho stood in front of the tactics board, hands on his hips, his gaze sweeping over each player like a razor's edge.

Sweat trickled down his temples, but his voice was as cold and hard as steel.

"Keep your head up!"

He suddenly shouted, his voice booming through the locker room.

Several players who had been looking down suddenly straightened up.

"1-0, just one damn goal!"

He held up one finger. "What are you afraid of? Afraid of that 19-year-old brat? Afraid of Monaco? Or afraid of losing?"

The locker room was deathly silent, except for the sound of rapid breathing.

Mourinho slammed his hand on the tactical board with a loud bang.

“Listen, they only have one Roy, while we—”

He pointed sharply at Deco, "He has the best midfielder in Europe!"

Deco took a deep breath, his chest heaving violently.

He looked down at his trembling hands.

This isn't like him, never has been.

That 19-year-old Monaco boy haunted him like a nightmare, every touch of the ball seemed to mock his age.

“Again,” he said to himself through gritted teeth, “forty-five more minutes.”

We have—

He pointed to Carvalho and Costa, "The toughest defense in Europe!"

The two center-backs unconsciously clenched their fists.

We have—

He pointed at Baía, "The most fucking calm goalkeeper in Europe!"

Baia's lips tightened, and his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's.

"And now, you tell me—"

Mourinho's voice suddenly lowered, "Are you going to give up just because of one goal?"

"Do not!!!"

A roar erupted from the locker room.

Mourinho sneered and turned to draw several red lines heavily on the tactics board.

"Tactical adjustment!"

His voice regained its composure, but every word was as precise as a bullet.

"First, Ferreira—"

He stared at the right-back, "Stop letting Roy lead you by the nose! If he cuts inside, let him cut inside, but never allow him to go down the wing! Force him to the center, where Carvalho and Costinha are waiting for him!"

Ferreira nodded vigorously.

"Second, Deco—"

He turned to the midfield maestro, "Stop messing with Pedretti, go straight for Albou and Dre! Monaco's two full-backs are pushing too high, leaving gaps behind them!"

Deco squinted and quickly understood.

"Third, Maniche—"

He stared at the defensive midfielder, "I want you to stick to Roy like a mad dog! When he retreats, you follow him! Even if it means fouling, don't let him turn around!"

Maniche grinned maliciously: "Don't worry, coach, I'll make him remember me."

Mourinho nodded in satisfaction and then looked around at the whole team.

"Remember, they're just ahead, they haven't won!"

His voice rose again, "For the first 15 minutes of the second half, I want you to tear them apart like wild beasts! Make them gasp for breath! Make them make mistakes!"

He clenched his fist and slammed it into his palm.

"Then--"

His eyes were like knives, "One strike, one kill!"

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

"Fifteen minutes later—"

Mourinho pointed to the door, "Go out and show them what Porto is all about!"

"Roar--!!!"

The players roared in unison, like a pack of enraged wolves.

Mourinho stood there, a cold smile playing on his lips.

"Roy? A genius?"

He muttered to himself, "Even geniuses can be overwhelmed by relentless pressing. You have to bite him like a pack of wolves, every touch of the ball, every turn, make sure he feels your breath."

The halftime break is about to end.

Mourinho slowly raised his hand, signaling the players to quiet down.

The only sound in the locker room was heavy breathing.

He walked to the center of the crowd, and the players unconsciously gathered around him, shoulder to shoulder, sweat mingling with sweat.

"Put your hand on mine."

His voice was as deep as rolling thunder.

Pairs of hands covered in blue veins were stacked together.

Mourinho's voice suddenly became hoarse: "Do you remember that night in Seville?"

"Celtic, 3-2, Dre scored in extra time"

His eyes swept over every sweaty face. "Our bodies felt like they were filled with lead, and the trophy was so heavy we almost couldn't lift it. It was Porto's first UEFA Cup in history!"

"Do you remember the whistle at Riazor Stadium?"

"When all of Spain was laughing at us, you kicked their teeth down their throats!"

"That Monaco kid out there, does he think he's the chosen one?"

He abruptly loosened his tie. "But do you know what a true chosen one is?"

"It's Costinha, who was hauling cargo at the docks on an empty stomach! It's Carvalho, who was kicked out of Benfica's youth academy! It's Deco, who used broken bottles as footballs in the Brazilian favela!"

Mourinho's voice suddenly softened: "And today, there is a child abandoned by Real Madrid who is now fighting for Monaco."

"In forty-five minutes, I want to see that French genius kneeling on the grass and vomiting."

He turned and opened the locker room door, and the corridor lights poured in like the holy light of Judgment Day.

“Go,” his voice suddenly became as soft as a sigh, “go and tell the whole world what the power of a dragon is.”

The players filed out in silence, their steps heavy like those of heavy cavalry heading to battle.

The locker room was noisy when Roy suddenly clapped his hands: "Hey, guys. Quiet down."

He raised his wrist, looking at it with feigned interest: "You know what?"

Giuly immediately chimed in, "Got it, got it, it's time, right? Brothers, time to get on the field and take down the Portuguese!"

Roy shook his head: "No, I meant to say..."

He grinned. "I just changed my watch sponsor."

The teammates were stunned, and the locker room fell silent.

“Listen, if we win today, if we really win the 2003-2004 Champions League title, I’ll give each of you a commemorative Daytona.”

Evra was the first to react: "Really?"

"When have I ever lied to you, Patrice?"

Roy shrugged. "The date of the victory will be engraved on the dial, and everyone's name will be engraved on the back."

Morientes whistled: "Roy, you're always so generous."

"So, shouldn't we go and win the competition for this watch?"

"Hey guys, do you know what I want to do most right now?"

The locker room suddenly fell silent, and everyone stared at the 19-year-old rascal.

Roy tapped his temple lightly with his index finger: "There's a voice in my head shouting."

He suddenly imitated the commentator's tone, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Roy and his happy friends' goal-scoring performance!"

Evra chuckled, while Morientes shook his head helplessly.

Roy suddenly jumped onto the bench, looking down at everyone from his elevated position: "Now, who wants to come out and play a fun game of football with me? Three goals? Four? Or..."

He blinked. "Why don't we just kick their net through?"

Roy jumped down laughing and pushed open the locker room door.

A roar erupted in the locker room: "For Daytona!"

"Kill them!"

"Let's go, let's win the championship!"

The moment he stepped into the tunnel, he turned back and winked: "Remember, gentlemen, this is how football is played—like a fucking apocalypse!"

The second half of the match is about to begin, and a tense atmosphere fills the air at the Veltins-Arena.

The Porto fans' stands have turned into a sea of ​​blue and white.

The Portuguese waved their scarves and sang their team song in unison.

Several burly men with bare chests painted their faces blue and white and stood at the front, leading everyone in shouting slogans.

Every time the camera panned across them, they would frantically pound their chests.

The Monaco fan section was a sea of ​​red and white.

The Frenchmen kept jumping around, and the stands trembled slightly with their movements.

Several elderly fans clutched their scarves tightly, muttering something under their breath.

The young people held up a huge banner that read, "Roy is our king."

In the neutral fan section, the local German spectators seemed very excited.

They held up beer glasses and applauded from time to time for the cheers of the fans of both teams.

Several children rode on their father's shoulders, curiously gazing at the spectacular scene.

Suddenly, a chorus of boos erupted from the Porto fans' stands.

It turned out that a close-up shot of Roy was appearing on the big screen.

Monaco fans immediately drowned out the boos with even louder cheers, and the two sets of fans began to compete against each other from a distance.

The referee team was the first to walk out of the tunnel, and both sets of fans greeted them with polite applause.

But as the players from both teams walked out one after another, the atmosphere in the stadium instantly reached a boiling point.

Porto fans chanted "Come on, Porto!" while Monaco fans responded with "Forward, Monaco!"

The players were doing their final warm-up on the field.

Monaco fans started doing the wave, with red and white waves rolling across the stands.

Porto fans responded with a synchronized stomping of their feet.

The entire stadium was shaking, as if another storm was brewing.

With the referee's whistle, both sets of fans fell silent, holding their breath as they awaited the start of the second half.

But the silence lasted only a second. When the ball was kicked for the first time, deafening cheers erupted once again.

As soon as the whistle blew, Roy saw Deco kick the ball out as if he had been electrocuted.

The long pass drew a high arc, sailing directly over his head.

Roy turned around abruptly and saw Albu dashing off like an arrow.

"Return to defense!"

Roy heard his own hoarse shout.

He started running back as fast as he could, his heart pounding in his chest.

To his left front, Pedretti was also running wildly, his face contorted in a frightening expression.

Squillaci staggered backward, his eyes fixed on the ball in the air.

Albu was too fast; he caught up with the ball in the blink of an eye.

Squillaci stretched out a foot just outside the penalty area, the ball grazed his toes, changed direction, and rolled out of bounds just past the post.

Roy heard Roma's roar echo throughout the stadium: "Wake up! Don't give them space!"

The goalkeeper was waving his fist, his face flushed red.

Abidal and Maicon lowered their heads, not daring to look Rome in the eye.

Morientes ran back from the attacking third and patted Roy on the shoulder: "Are these Portuguese guys crazy?"

The Spaniard gestured towards the sidelines with his lip, "Look at their coach."

Following his gaze, Roy saw Mourinho standing at the edge of the technical zone, his hands in his trouser pockets, his cold gaze sweeping across the field like a knife.

The Porto players seemed to have been injected with some kind of crazy energy, and every one of them had a fierce glint in their eyes.

“They’re not crazy,” Roy spat. “That Portuguese madman has bewitched them.”

He suddenly grinned: "Who cares what they poured in, we..."

Just as Morientes was about to reply, Porto's corner kick whistled into the penalty area.

The ball arced through the air and crashed directly into the penalty area.

Roy saw Abidal charge into the crowd like an angry bull, forcefully shoving aside Dre's attempt to get to the point with his shoulder.

The ball bounced to the back post, and Maicon and Costinha rushed towards the landing point at the same time.

"mine!"

Maicon roared and, with Costinha pulling him back, barely managed to head the ball out of the penalty area.

But the clearance wasn't far enough, and the ball fell back to Valente's feet.

Morientes immediately lunged forward, and the two collided violently near the sideline.

Valente elbowed Morientes in the ribs, and the Spanish striker retaliated with a shoulder strike.

The referee blew his whistle and awarded Monaco a free kick in their own half.

"You fucking keep your hands to yourself!"

Morientes rubbed his aching ribs and roared at Valente.

The Portuguese left-back sneered: "If you can't stand it, go back to Spain."

Roy quickly ran over and pulled Morren Tesla away: "Don't fall for it, they're just trying to provoke us."

But then he suddenly turned around and grinned at Valente: "Hey, Mr. Left, are you having a good time hiding here?"

Valente's face darkened: "What did you say?"

"I said--"

Roy deliberately dragged out his words, pointing to the scoreboard, "You guys are still behind, but you've been cowering on the left wing all night, not daring to move."

He slapped his forehead as if suddenly realizing something. "Ah, I get it! You're afraid of running into me on the right flank and having nightmares tonight, right?"

Valente's face instantly turned bright red: "You fucking..."

The referee rushed over to stop the conflict, but Roy had already run off humming a tune, leaving Valente standing there, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

Squillaci placed the ball and looked up to survey the attacking third.

Roy and Giuly have started, speeding forward along both flanks.

Morientes then retreated to the midline area to prepare for a support pass.

"Go directly to Roy!"

Deschamps waved from the sidelines.

Squillaci launched a long ball, which flew through the air and headed straight for the left flank.

As Roy ran, he looked back to judge his landing point, and Ferreira was right next to him, their shoulders colliding hard.

Roy staggered slightly, but still managed to control the ball firmly.

"Come on, Portuguese!"

Roy smirked and suddenly stopped and changed direction, causing Ferreira to lose his balance and almost slip.

He seized the opportunity, dribbled inside, and Carvalho immediately came to cover.

"Roten!"

Instead of forcing his way through, Roy flicked his ankle and passed the ball across to Rothen, who had made a run into the box.

Monaco's attacking midfielder received the ball and immediately played a through ball that went through the gap between Costa and Valente, precisely finding Giuly making a diagonal run!
"Chance!"

The commentator suddenly raised his voice.

Giuly received the ball on the right side of the penalty area, while Baía had already left his goal.

The French winger calmly slotted the ball into the far corner.

"boom!"

Carvalho made a diving sliding tackle and used his toes to deflect the ball out of bounds!
Monaco's corner kick!

"Hold!"

Giuly scratched his head in frustration, but immediately turned to Rothen and gave him a thumbs up. "Great pass!"

Mourinho, his face ashen, roared at the defense from the sidelines: "Mark them closely! Don't let them pass and move so easily!"

A sigh of regret erupted from the Monaco fans' stands, but it was quickly followed by enthusiastic applause.

Their team is still attacking, and Porto's defense is beginning to crumble.

The corner kick was taken, and Morientes outjumped Costa to head the ball towards the goal, but the angle was too straight and Baía caught it securely.

After catching the ball, Baja quickly scanned the front field with his eyes.

He took a deep breath and swung his right arm out sharply.

Deco controlled the ball steadily and, as he turned, had already assessed the situation in the attacking third.

Just as he was about to send out a through ball, Roy suddenly appeared from the side and cut in front of the passing lane.

Roy lowered his center of gravity, effectively blocking Deco's passing angle to Albu.

Deco was forced to turn to the left, but Maicon had already caught up.

Just as the Portuguese player flicked the ball to the wing, Maicon made a flying tackle to clear the ball out of bounds.

The Brazilian rolled twice on the ground, then grinned at Deco as he got up: "This road is blocked, sir."

Giuly ran over and helped Maicon up. As they high-fived, he whispered, "Well done. Keep marking his passing lanes."

Maicon nodded and patted his chest to indicate that he understood.

But the chance to catch their breath was fleeting. Porto quickly took the throw-in, and Maniche received the ball just outside the penalty area.

The Portuguese defensive midfielder unleashed a powerful shot before the defenders could close in!

The ball, spinning strangely, hurtled towards the top left corner of the goal, and Roma's all-out dive was futile.

"boom!"

The trembling sound of the crossbar sent a collective gasp through the entire stadium.

Porto fans collectively buried their heads in their hands and groaned, while several elderly fans wearing traditional blue and white striped shirts knelt down in the stands.

In the Monaco fan section, a woman wearing a red and white scarf was clutching the fabric of her dress tightly to her chest, her face ashen.

Roy wiped the sweat from his face, clapped his hands at his teammates, and shouted, "Stabilize! Control the pace!"

He began to actively drop back into midfield to receive the ball, attracting Porto's defense like a magnet.

In the 52nd minute, he received a pass from Pedretti near the center circle, and Deco immediately pressed him closely.

"Come here, Master."

Roy smirked, and with a quick pull and hook of his right foot, he deliberately bumped Deco with his shoulder during the Marseille turn.

After shaking off the defender, he looked up to observe, and before Maniche could come to cover, he flicked a 40-meter long pass over the top with the outside of his right foot!
The ball found Giuly precisely on the right wing.

Giuly controlled the ball and cut inside in one fluid motion, just as he was about to shoot.

Giuly's wife suddenly stood up in the stands, holding her five-year-old son Diego in her arms.

The little boy, wearing a miniature Monaco jersey, is excitedly waving his little fist.

"It's going in! Dad's going in!"

Diego called out in a childish voice, his eyes wide open.

Giuly's wife had already opened her arms to celebrate, but then Carvalho suddenly appeared and used his body to block the shot out of bounds.

She let out a disappointed "Ah," and instinctively covered her mouth.

Diego's little face fell down for a moment, but his eyes lit up again immediately.

He broke free from his mother's embrace, clung to the railing, and shouted towards the field, "Uncle Roy! Uncle Roy!"

The cameras on the sidelines captured this moment.

Roy, who was walking back, heard the shout and looked up to see the little guy bouncing around in the stands.

He grinned, winked at Diego, and made a "next time, for sure" gesture.

Giuly's wife quickly pulled her son back to his seat, shaking her head helplessly: "You're busier than the players on the field."

She held her son tightly, her eyes never leaving the stadium.

Porto's attacks came one after another, and her fingers unconsciously tightened around her scarf.

"Mom, will Dad win?"

The son looked up, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Before she could answer, Ferreira had already dribbled the ball to the byline.

A cross swept across the front of the goal, and Derek's header flew straight into the top corner.

Roma made a diving save, punching the ball over the crossbar.

Juli's wife gasped and hugged her son even tighter.

As the corner kick was taken, she instinctively covered her eyes, and through her fingers she saw Carvalho's header heading straight for the empty net.

Evra blocked the ball with his knee on the goal line, and the entire Monaco stand erupted in deafening cheers.

"Look, it's Uncle Roy!"

Diego suddenly pointed at the field and shouted. Roy chased back to the halfway line like a red lightning bolt, intercepting the ball just as Deco was about to receive it.

He lightly stepped on the ground, turned around, and Deco missed his target.

Maniche immediately came to cover, but Roy remained calm and unhurried, deftly slipping out from between the two defenders with a flick of his right foot.

"Play it safe!"

He looked up to observe the frontcourt, shielding the ball while waving to signal his teammates to push forward.

Giuly's wife looked at the scoreboard and said, "1-0," and gently stroked her son's soft hair with her fingers.

Images from the entire season flashed through her mind.

Roy's agility in outmaneuvering Real Madrid's defenders at the Bernabéu, Giuly's sprint after scoring a goal at Highbury, and the champagne-filled celebrations in the locker room when the team swept across Europe.

"Mom, will Dad score another goal?"

Diego tugged at her sleeve and asked.

On the field, Roy was dribbling down the left flank, using two consecutive stepovers to make Ferreira lose his balance.

“Look at Uncle Roy.”

Roy's through ball tore through the defense like a scalpel, and Giuly started his run in an instant.

He skillfully controlled the ball and changed direction repeatedly under pressure from Valente and Costa.

Seeing his path to break through blocked, he poked the ball to Morientes with his toe at the last moment before falling to the ground.

The Spanish striker unleashed a powerful shot, and Baía instinctively extended his right leg.

With a muffled thud, the ball slammed against the goalkeeper's shin and bounced out of bounds.

"what--"

The sighs of Monaco fans in the stands blended together.

But in the blink of an eye, applause erupted like a tidal wave.

Giuly got up and patted Morientes on the back; the two smiled at each other.

"Remember this season, baby."

She kissed her son's forehead. "Your dad and Uncle Roy are making history."

On the distant green field, the Rossoneri once again pushed into the opponent's half, just as they have done countless times this season.

The match was like two trapped beasts fighting in a cage, with both sides engaging in a fierce tug-of-war in the midfield.

Porto's diamond midfield constantly launched attacks through Deco's orchestration, but Monaco's defensive stalwarts Bernardi and Pedretti acted like two moving walls, repeatedly blocking the opponent's penetrations outside the penalty area.

In the 53rd minute, Deco had just received the ball in the center circle and turned around when Bernardi pressed him fiercely, forcing the Portuguese player to pass the ball hastily.

Pedroti made a precise prediction, intercepted the ball in one swift motion, and then passed it to Roy on the left wing.

Roy controlled the ball firmly with his left foot, slightly raised his neck, and quickly scanned the front field with his eyes.

In that instant, the entire situation on the field was laid out before us.

He leaned forward slightly, his right shoulder suddenly dropped as if to break through, and just as the defender's center of gravity was shaken off, he deftly flicked the ball in the opposite direction with the outside of his right foot.

The ball seemed glued to his feet, tracing a smooth arc as he lowered his center of gravity and changed direction.

When the defender lunged at him for the second time, Roy suddenly pulled the ball back with the sole of his right foot and pushed it forward with his left foot, slipping through the gap between the two defenders like a fish.

His dribbling rhythm is unique; it's not simply fast, but rather a change in speed, sometimes fast and sometimes slow.

Sometimes it seems like you're about to accelerate and break through, but then suddenly you stop and change direction abruptly.

Sometimes, even when cornered, a slight flick of the ankle can snatch the ball out from between the defenders.

At this moment, he was lightly tapping the ball with the inside of his left and right feet alternately, like dancing an elegant waltz, but the defenders couldn't figure out his next move at all.

With a simple change of direction, he evaded the diving Mendes, and then delivered a surgical through ball with the outside of his foot.

Porto's right-back Ferreira realized the danger and desperately made a diagonal run to chase back, but Giuly got there first and touched the ball.

His first touch brought the ball to a perfect stop two meters in front of him, just avoiding Ferre's outstretched legs.

Carvalho immediately came to cover, but Giuly suddenly stopped and flicked the ball towards the inside with his right foot.

Costa also came from the other side to flank them, and the three of them formed a pincer movement.

In that split second, Giuly's right ankle suddenly jerked, and the ball went through Costa's legs.

He darted between the two men in one stride, while Baia had already abandoned the door and left.

All the Porto fans in the stadium stood up, some covering their eyes and unable to watch.

Giuly calmly adjusted his footwork and, just before Baia lunged at him, launched a low, flat shot with the inside of his right foot.

The ball arced slightly, bypassing Baja's outstretched fingers, and rolled into the net just past the far post.

The moment the ball grazed the turf and rolled into the net, French commentator Thierry Rolland's voice almost shattered the microphone: "BUUUUUUT!!! Monaco 2-0! Giuly scores the second goal! Roy contributes a goal and an assist!"

The moment the ball rolled into the net, the Monaco stands at the Stade de la Ville de Schalke erupted in chaos.

Tens of thousands of fans wearing red and white jerseys jumped up in unison, their roar sweeping across the entire stadium like a tsunami.

"Ludovic!!! Ludovic!!!"

Giuly ran towards the corner flag, put his right hand to his ear, and enjoyed the cheers of the fans.

Roy jumped onto his back from behind and shouted in his ear, "Can you hear that? They're all calling your name!"

This goal completely changed the course of the game – in the history of the Champions League final, no team has ever come back from 0-2 down to win the title.

In the stands, some Porto fans began to secretly wipe away tears.

Vitor Baía knelt in front of the goal, staring blankly at the ball in the net.

This veteran goalkeeper, who has experienced many ups and downs, was once the guardian of Portugal's golden generation.

His stunning performance at the 1996 European Championship led him to join Barcelona, ​​but a knee injury caused him to fall out of favor with Van Gaal and his career declined.

After returning to Porto, he rebuilt his career with six league titles, and his outstanding performance in the 2000 European Championship qualifiers, where he conceded only four goals, proved that he was still a top European goalkeeper.

But at this moment, those knees that had saved the team countless times were deeply embedded in the grass of the Veltins-Arena.

The French television commentator was still excitedly repeating: "19-year-old Roy, one goal and one assist! This is the rhythm of making history! Monaco is only thirty minutes away from their first Champions League trophy!"

On the field, Giuly kissed the team crest on his jersey, while Roy had already run back to his half, clapping his hands and shouting to his teammates, "Focus! The game isn't over yet!"

As the broadcast camera panned across the VIP boxes in the stands, Monaco's new owner, Rybonovev, suddenly jumped up from his seat, dressed in a suit and tie, gesturing wildly like a child.

He turned around and hugged the consultant next to him, patting the other person's back hard, his wrinkles turning into deep furrows with laughter.

"We did it! Oh my god, we really did it!"

The Russian tycoon's excitement was palpable.

Just a few months ago, he bought this club, which was mired in financial crisis, for 100 million euros. Now, this "expensive acquisition" is bringing him the most fantastic advertising effect.

The Champions League title will double the value of his newly acquired club and bring him immeasurable prestige in Russian political and business circles.

The champagne in the private room had already been opened, and the golden liquid splashed onto his custom-made Armani suit, but he didn't care at all.

The scoreboard on the field flashed 2-0, which was not just a score, but also the rise of the most dazzling new star in his business empire.

Rybonov suddenly stopped smiling, shoved the champagne glass into his assistant's hand, and quickly dialed a number in Moscow on his phone.

"Get me in touch with those investment bankers in London!"

He growled into the microphone in Russian, "Ural potash's listing plan is ahead of schedule—I want to hear the bells of the London Stock Exchange this time next year!"

His financial advisor rushed over, only to be grabbed by the boss's tie: "Listen, the whole world is watching this final. Tomorrow, Monaco's name will be on the front page of the Financial Times, and my face will be right next to it!"

He loosened his tie, pulled out his checkbook, and quickly wrote down a string of numbers. "Call Goldman Sachs and tell them I'm willing to pay an extra 20% commission, but the listing process must be compressed to 12 months."

The game on the field continued, but Rybonov had already turned his back to the field and was setting up his roadshow plan on his phone.

While Monaco's players were still fighting for the Champions League trophy, their new owners were already planning how to cash in on the victory.

The title of chairman of the Champions League-winning company is enough to make London fund managers look at his fertilizer company in a new light.

At the other end of the stadium, a young Porto fan buried his face in his father's arms.

This priceless goal is gradually pushing the Champions League trophy toward Monaco.

The little boy rubbed his red eyes and tugged at the hem of his father's faded Porto jersey: "Dad, I'm a little tired."

The father knelt down and wiped away the tears on his son's face with his rough hands: "Hang in there a little longer, Pedro. We have to catch the red-eye flight at dawn, or we won't be able to get home."

Mourinho made a key adjustment.

He substituted Russian speedster Alenichev for striker Carlos.

This substitution immediately changed the game: Deco was pushed up to the front line to partner with Derek, and Porto's formation became a more aggressive 4-3-1-2.

Mourinho's tactical changes had an immediate effect.

Costinha built an impenetrable wall in the defensive midfield position, while Maniche and Mendes swept through like two perpetual motion machines.

Alenichev kept sprinting, creating opportunities for Deco with precise pressing and positioning.

In the 71st minute, it was Maniche who intercepted Rothen's pass in midfield and delivered a long pass to Deco, who had dropped back.

The magician with black curly hair suddenly turned around, weaving through the encirclement of Abidal and Squillaci, and finally pierced Roma's defenses with a nutmeg shot.

Deco received a cross from Alenichev just outside the penalty area. Facing Monaco's chaotic defense, the Brazilian deftly dribbled past two defenders like a samba dancer.

Just as Squillaci stretched out his leg to block, Deco flicked his ankle, and the ball flew in a tricky arc, passing Roma's fingertips and into the net!

"1-2! Porto is still alive!"

The Portuguese commentator roared.

Mourinho erupted on the sidelines, his trench coat billowing like a cape, and frantically gestured towards the field: "Push forward! Score another one!"

A commotion broke out on the Monaco bench.

Deschamps looked at Bernardi, who had collapsed with cramps, and decisively waved his hand.

Czech tough guy Plasil hurriedly took off his substitute vest.

The broadcast cameras panned across the technical area, revealing a tactical battle between the two young managers: Mourinho was pulling Maniche aside to give him instructions, while Deschamps pushed Plasil onto the field and yelled in his ear, "Mark Deco tightly!"

The situation on the field suddenly changed.

Porto players seemed to have been injected with a shot of adrenaline, with Carvalho even rushing from the defensive line into the attacking third to participate in the attack.

Monaco's goal was under siege, while Roma made a series of saves before roaring at their defense.

Waves of red and white people rose and fell in the stands, and the shouts of the two sets of fans clashed fiercely in the night sky along the Rhine River.

72 minutes.

Monaco goalkeeper Roma launched a long ball, Squillaci headed it on, and Plasil, after a fierce contest with Costinha near the center circle, passed the ball to Maicon on the right wing.

The Brazilian dribbled forward, but Nuno Valente positioned himself in advance and cleared the ball out of bounds.

Monaco quickly launched a second attack. Rothen dropped back to receive the ball from the throw-in, used a feint to get past Alenichev, and then passed the ball diagonally to Giuly who had made a run forward.

The French winger cut inside and unleashed a low shot before Paulo Ferreira could block it, but Baía made a clean save.

74 minutes.

Baía launched a quick counter-attack with a throw-in, and Carvalho sent a long pass to Dre on the left wing.

Derek, back to Maicon, cleverly backheeled the ball to Maniche, who unleashed a powerful shot, but Roma made a diving save to tip it over the crossbar!
Porto took a corner kick, Deco feinted at the near post, and Costa at the far post overpowered Abidal to head the ball towards goal, but unfortunately it went slightly wide.

In the 76th minute, Monaco's counterattack came like a tidal wave.

Rothen received the ball in the middle and, facing Costinha's marking, suddenly passed it with the outside of his foot to Evra, who was making a run down the left flank.

The French left-back crossed from the byline, Morientes attempted a shot at the near post, Carvalho blocked it with his body, the ball bounced to the edge of the penalty area, and Roy volleyed it down!

Baja reacted quickly, blocking the ball out of bounds with one hand.

During the ensuing scramble for a corner kick, Squillaci's header was cleared off the line by Mendes. Porto players retreated to defend, and Deco loudly instructed the defense to keep compact.

In the 78th minute, Monaco pressed high up the pitch, and Roy dispossessed Alenichev. He immediately waved to Giuly and Morientes to make cross-cutting runs.

He dribbled forward, faced Costinha's interception, made a sudden stop and change of direction, and then poked the ball to Rothen who had made a run into the box.

The latter played a through ball into the penalty area, Morientes turned and shot but Costa blocked it, Roy followed up with a shot, the ball grazed the post and went out!

He clapped his hands vigorously to encourage his teammates: "Keep going! They can't hold on any longer!"

In the 80th minute, Porto brought on the energetic striker McCarthy in an attempt to pressure Monaco's flanks.

However, Roy dropped back to the left defensive midfield position to provide cover, making a precise sliding tackle to intercept Mendes' pass, and then launched a long counter-attack.

Giuly made a high-speed run down the right flank, but Nuno Valente chased back desperately and cleared the ball out of bounds.

Monaco took a quick throw-in, Roy received the ball and attracted three defenders, then calmly passed it to Plasil, whose long-range shot went over the crossbar.

In the 82nd minute, Porto launched another counterattack.

Deco broke free of Pedretti in the middle and passed to McCarthy, who skillfully cut past Abidal and unleashed a powerful shot from a tight angle, which was blocked by Roma's leg!

Monaco's defender cleared the ball poorly, and Maniche took another shot from outside the box. Squillaci dove to block the shot, and the ball rebounded to Roy's feet.

Monaco's number 10, before the ball even bounced, launched a long pass to Evra on the left wing. Evra crossed the ball, Morientes headed it on, and Rothen's volley went wide.

In the 83rd minute, Roy dropped back to the backfield again, directing Abidal and Squillaci to maintain defensive distance.

He shouted for Maicon to press forward, while signaling Plasil to protect the top of the arc.

Porto's attack was once again thwarted by Monaco's midfield dominance. Roy was brought down by Costinha in a tactical foul while dribbling forward. The referee blew his whistle, and players from both sides surrounded each other, the atmosphere growing increasingly tense...

During those 11 minutes, Roy controlled the tempo with his running, command, and key passes, making Monaco's attack more threatening; while Porto relied on Costinha's interceptions and Deco's orchestration to tenaciously maneuver.

The two sides' attacks were like blades clashing; whoever relaxed even slightly could be fatally struck.

84 minutes.

During dead ball time, Monaco manager Didier Deschamps made a crucial adjustment.

Pulso replaced Morientes, and Rodriguez replaced Squillaci.

Porto took a throw-in and quickly launched a counter-attack.

Exhausted, Pedretti gritted his teeth and fought hard, forming a barrier with the advancing center-back Rodriguez. The two engaged in fierce battles with Porto's Maniche and Alenichev near the center circle.

Possession changed hands several times before Pedretti stumbled and poked the ball to Evra. The French full-back dribbled forward, but Paulo Ferreira quickly closed him down, forcing him to pass it back to Rodriguez.

Monaco patiently organized their attack, and Rothen received the ball on the right flank, but suddenly slipped and almost fell!
He barely managed to regain his balance and, scrambling and rolling, managed to pass the ball to Giuly.

Without making any adjustments, Kuli made a diagonal pass directly to Roy in the middle!

Roy gets the ball and instantly accelerates!
He changed direction to shake off Costinha's entanglement and dribbled straight into the penalty area!
Carvalho hurriedly covered, but Roy suddenly stopped and cut inside, shifting the Portuguese center-back's weight, and then aimed for the far corner to shoot.

"boom!"

Baja made a diving save, barely managing to deflect the ball with his fingertips!
But the ball didn't go out of bounds; instead, it bounced towards the six-yard box...

Pulso!
The Croatian center forward charged in like a tiger, leaping high and overpowering Costa to smash the ball into the empty net with a fierce header!

3-1! Monaco secures the victory!

Pulso charged wildly toward the corner flag, and the Croatian opened his arms and roared to the sky.

Roy caught up from behind, slapped him hard on the back, and shouted in his ear, "Dado, you're a legend of Monaco!!!"

This season has not been easy for Pulso.

Morientes' arrival kept him on the bench for most of the season, and he only started 9 league games throughout the entire season.

Just three days ago during training, Deschamps spoke to him privately, telling him that he would continue to be a substitute in the final.

But now, it was all worth it.

He came on as a substitute in the 84th minute and scored the winning goal in the 85th minute.

This striker, who was once unknown in the Croatian league, has now become a hero in the Champions League final.

Pulso knelt on the grass, covering his face with his hands.

This wasn't part of his planned celebration; it was just that a sudden surge of emotion overwhelmed him and he couldn't control himself.

Roy pulled him up and put his arm around his shoulder tightly.

Monaco fans in the stands had already begun chanting Pulso's name.

This goal not only secured the championship, but also allowed a player who had been on the fringes of the team this season to redeem himself.

Pulso looked at the scoreboard, where the score was 3-1 and the time was displayed for 85 minutes.

He knew that his life had been completely changed from this moment on.

Deschamps clenched his fist and roared on the sidelines, while the Porto players hung their heads in dejection.

Their defense was completely torn apart at the last moment; Monaco's counter-attacking efficiency was suffocating!
This goal was a classic counter-attack, a result of Roy's breakthrough, Rothen's tenacity, and Pulso's decisive strike!

Monaco is just minutes away from winning the Champions League!
The UEFA Champions League special is currently airing on French TF1 television.
The studio backdrop featured the Monaco team logo and the words "2004 Champions League Winners," with three commentators seated around a curved commentary table.

Head commentator Thierry Girard: "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now broadcasting live the Champions League final between Monaco and Porto. In the 85th minute, Monaco leads 3-1. Let's review the decisive goal."

Tactical analyst Laurent Parzes: "This goal perfectly showcased Deschamps' tactical philosophy. First, there was the tenacious pressing in midfield, with Pedretti making an interception despite being exhausted. Then came the quick transition, with Rothen still managing to pass the ball even while off-balance, and Giuly's diagonal pass finding Roy was crucial."

Former French international Jean-Marc Ferrerry: "The historical significance of this title must be noted. This is the second time a French team has won the Champions League since Marseille in 1993. What's even more remarkable is that Monaco's total squad value at the beginning of the season was less than a quarter of that of giants like Real Madrid and AC Milan. Although Roy's outstanding performance tripled his value in the winter transfer window, even so, the team's total valuation is still only about half that of top clubs."

"However, after tonight, this number will change dramatically. A goal scorer like Giuly in the final will be worth at least 2000 million euros; outstanding players like Rothen and Pedretti will also see their value skyrocket; even defenders like Abidal and Evra will see their value double, which is a conservative estimate."

Thierry Girard: "From an economic perspective, Monaco's title has set multiple records. Their Champions League prize money will exceed 40 million euros, which is an astronomical figure for a Ligue 1 club. More importantly, it proves that smaller clubs can also create miracles in European competitions."

Laurent Parzes: "Tactically, Monaco's success has several key points: Deschamps' 4-3-3 system is very flexible, Roy and Giuly are attacking down the wings, and Morientes is an efficient center forward. On the defensive end, the wing combination of Abidal and Maicon has also stood the test."

Jean-Marc Ferrerri: "This title will change the landscape of French football. First, it will increase Ligue 1's coefficient in Europe, potentially leading to more Champions League spots in the future. Second, it will attract more investment to Ligue 1, especially to clubs like Monaco."

Thierry Girard: "In the long run, Monaco's success proves the importance of youth development. They have many homegrown players, and this model is more sustainable than simply spending money to bring in new players. This may influence the future team-building strategies of French clubs."

Laurent Parzes: "The data speaks volumes: Monaco covered the most distance of any team in this Champions League, averaging 8 kilometers more than their opponents. This team spirit and high-intensity style of play are the key to their ability to eliminate strong teams such as Real Madrid and Arsenal."

Jean-Marc Ferrerri: "This championship is significant for French football as a whole. It proves that Ligue 1 teams are capable of competing at the top level in Europe, which will greatly boost the confidence of French players. In the future, more French players may choose to stay and develop in France."

As the match entered its final stages, both teams' players were exhausted and their movement became sluggish.

Porto are still trying to organize their attacks, but Monaco's defense maintains a tight formation.

In the 86th minute, Deco received a pass in midfield. After looking up, he tried to pass the ball through McCarthy, but Rodriguez anticipated the passing route and successfully intercepted the ball.

Monaco immediately launched a counter-attack. Roy dribbled forward quickly and was about to pose a threat when Costinha made a precise tackle from behind to clear the ball out of bounds.

In the 87th minute, Porto made a substitution, replacing the exhausted Deco with Pedro Emanuele in an attempt to bolster their attack.

Baía launched a long ball, Carvalho won the header in the attacking third and headed the ball to Pedro.

Pedro received the ball on the edge of the penalty area, but Pedretti marked him closely, and Pedro's weak shot was eventually blocked by Abidal's body.

In the 89th minute, Monaco retreated entirely, and Porto began to employ long ball and cross tactics.

McCarthy fought hard for the header inside the penalty area, but Roma caught the ball securely.

Monaco began passing the ball around in their own half to run down the clock. Rothen was brought down by Alenichev in midfield, but the referee waved play on.

In the 90th minute, the fourth official raised the stoppage time board, indicating that four minutes of stoppage time would be added.

Porto players pressed forward with all their might, with goalkeeper Baía even rushing to the center circle to join the attack.

Costinha launched a long pass from the backfield into the penalty area, McCarthy headed the ball down, and Pedro followed up with a volley, but Roma made another brilliant save!

In the 92nd minute, Monaco launched their final counter-attack. Giuly dribbled forward quickly, and Paulo Ferreira had no choice but to commit a tactical foul to bring him down.

The referee stopped the game and awarded Monaco a free kick in the attacking third.

With the game entering its final moments, Monaco earned a free kick in the attacking third.

Roy bent over, panting heavily, and waved to the coaching bench, indicating that he was too exhausted to take the free throws.

Rothen strode towards the ball, took a short run-up, and kicked the ball directly towards the opponent's corner flag.

The ball slowly rolled out of bounds, and the Monaco players stood still, waiting for the Porto players to retrieve it.

This simple approach cost them another ten seconds of precious match time.

In the 93rd minute, Porto had one last attacking opportunity. Pedro attempted a long-range shot from outside the penalty area, but the ball flew high over the crossbar.

Roma leisurely walked towards the goal to retrieve the ball, and then delayed for a few seconds before taking the goal kick.

In the 94th minute, the referee checked his watch and finally blew the final whistle!

The match ended with Monaco defeating Porto 3-1 to win the 2004 Champions League title!
The Monaco players collapsed on the grass, exhausted. Some covered their faces and wept with emotion, while others raised their arms and cheered excitedly.

The Porto players stood frozen in place, Pereira with his hands on his hips and Carvalho kneeling on the ground, unable to hide their disappointment.

The moment the final whistle blew, the entire Aofu Stadium erupted in cheers.

Monaco President Rybonov jumped up from the VIP section, raising his arms in celebration.

In the box next to him, Monaco's President Rainier III and Crown Prince Albert also stood up excitedly and applauded.

On the sidelines, coach Deschamps hugged his former assistant coach Jean Petit tightly, both of them with tears in their eyes.

The substitutes rushed onto the field and hugged the players on the field.

Tens of thousands of Monaco fans in the stands sang the team song in unison, and red and white flags fluttered in the stands.

Some people waved scarves, some hugged each other and wept; the entire stadium turned into a sea of ​​joy.

At this moment, the hearts of all Monaco residents are united.

From royalty to players, from coaches to fans, everyone is celebrating this hard-won Champions League title.

Monaco fans in the stands erupted in wild celebration, while Porto fans remained silent.

In this final, Monaco emerged victorious with their tenacious defense and efficient counter-attacking tactics.

Deschamps and his coaching staff rushed onto the field and embraced the players tightly.

Roy raised his arms in celebration, Pulso knelt down and kissed the grass affectionately, and Roma roared to the sky, releasing his passion.

This was a night for Monaco, as they created a miracle and lifted the long-awaited Champions League trophy!
Mourinho stood on the sidelines with his hands in his trench coat pockets.

His gaze slowly swept over the wildly celebrating Monaco players, over the Porto players kneeling and weeping, and finally settled on the glaring 3-1 on the scoreboard.

His lips twitched slightly, and a hint of resentment flashed in his eyes.

But soon, he took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and strode toward Deschamps.

Amidst a flurry of red and white ribbons, he maintained the composure of a professional coach, preparing to congratulate his opponents.

At that moment, he remembered every detail: the Monaco players' ecstasy, his own team's tears, and the Champions League trophy gleaming under the spotlight.

These images will become his motivation for coaching in the future.

Thierry Rolland's voice exploded at that moment.

His vocal cords trembled as if being torn apart, and a metallic clang erupted from his hoarse throat:

"Ladies and gentlemen! Please remember this moment—May 26, 2004, at the Veltins-Arena! Monaco! Monaco! This small team from the Mediterranean coast, this dark horse that eliminated Bayern Munich, Real Madrid, and Arsenal, this warrior that crawled back from the gates of hell, is now officially crowned the King of Europe!"

"An unbelievable season! They won the Ligue 1 title undefeated and now they've lifted the Champions League trophy! If they can defeat Paris Saint-Germain in the French Cup final in three days, this legendary team will be crowned an unprecedented treble winner in Ligue 1 history!"

"Look at these heroes who made history! 19-year-old Roy played with the magic of his feet, fooling all of Europe; Giuly was as precise as a scalpel on the right wing; Morientes proved how big a mistake Real Madrid made with 10 Champions League goals; and today's substitute winner, Pulso – this Croatian who was benched for an entire season, redeemed himself with the most lethal blow! This is football! This is why we love this sport! Mourinho's ironclad defense collapsed at the last moment! They fought to the last drop of blood, but tonight belongs to Monaco!"

"From a perfect group stage exit to a series of victories against top teams in the knockout stage; from Roy's self-crowned victory against Real Madrid to tonight's goal and assist, Monaco has proven in the most dramatic way that miracles can happen on the football field! This is a glorious night for French football! Since Marseille's victory in 1993, another French team has stood atop Europe!"

"Deschamps replicated his playing days of glory, Roy broke the record with 17 Champions League goals, and when 28-year-old Giuly lifted the trophy, he must have thought of the days and nights in the Lyon youth academy ten years ago. But remember, the real victory belongs to football itself—Porto, though defeated, are still honorable; they showed the world the tenacity of Portuguese football. Monaco's miracle tells us that in an era of money and big clubs, pure passion can still create legends!"

"Some longtime Monaco fans witnessed the team's relegation to Ligue 2 26 years ago, and today they've reached the pinnacle of European football! This is football!"

"Now, open your eyes wide—the red and white ribbons are ready, and the Champions League trophy is gleaming under the lights. Ladies and gentlemen, join me in witnessing: the 2003-2004 UEFA Champions League winner is—"

"AS Monaco!!!!"

You could hear tears in his eyes—not sobs, but each word was tinged with a damp tremor, like the salty spray of waves in the Mediterranean night wind.

As the cheers from the stadium swallowed his last murmur, he still kept his mouth open, as if to etch this historic moment forever onto his vocal cords.

(End of this chapter)