Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

The door to the away team's locker room was pushed open with a bang.

The players, panting heavily, squeezed into the room, their bodies reeking of a mixture of grass, mud, and sweat, and collapsed in rows on the benches. Team doctor Schmidt and the strength and conditioning coach hurried over with ice buckets and massaged the thighs of the starters to relax them.

Terzic strode to the tactics board, picked up the eraser and vigorously wiped away the first half's formation diagram, then turned to stare at the group of Hornets below.

"Three goals conceded in the first half! This defensive toughness is something even drunkards at Oktoberfest couldn't stop!" Terčić pulled out a red marker and drew several heavy circles in the middle of the whiteboard.

"The middle of the field is practically an empty street at 3 a.m.! If we don't shut down Bayern's high press, we'll be devoured in the second half!"

His gaze shifted to Brandt and Dahud, who were panting heavily in the corner.

"Julian, Mahmoud, go take a shower. You've exhausted yourselves in the first half, leave the rest to your teammates."

Immediately afterwards, Terzic's gaze fell on Bellingham, who was bending over to tie his shoelaces, and Witsel, who was stretching his calves next to him.

"Jude, Axel, change your jerseys and go straight on in the second half."

Seventeen-year-old England youngster Bellingham froze, then stood up abruptly. This was his first appearance on a stage of this caliber, El Clásico, since transferring to Dortmund.

"Ready to go, Boss!" Bellingham deliberately raised his voice, his thick Birmingham English revealing barely suppressed excitement.

Terčić turned around and quickly arranged the formation on the whiteboard. Three center-backs, five midfielders, with only Haaland and Reus up front as the two spearheads.

"Change formation! Switch to a 3-5-2 formation in the second half."

With that low shout, Terzic's marker precisely pierced the very center of the tactics board, firmly pressing the magnetic clasp representing number 10 onto the back waistline.

"Son," Telzic said, staring at his key player. "In the second half, you'll drop back. Play as a defensive midfielder and cut off the connection between Kimmich and Müller."

Sun Yang stood up, clutching a half-empty bottle of electrolyte solution, his gaze sweeping over the magnetic plate.

"It's not just about defense." Terčić strode over and slapped Sun Yang on the shoulder. "I'll give you absolute tactical privileges. From your own penalty area to Neuer's goal, you're in charge of the entire pitch. You can attack or retreat, decide when to play as an attacking midfielder and when to be a defensive midfielder and a butcher. Can your stamina handle it?"

Entrusting the entire offensive and defensive lifeline of El Clásico to a 20-year-old mixed-race midfielder is simply insane.

Sun Yang put the cap back on the bottle and tossed it precisely into the recycling bin.

"Leave it to me. They won't score another goal in the second half."

No sooner had he finished speaking than Haaland, sitting next to him, crushed the paper cup in his hand. The Viking roughly threw the shredded paper into the trash can with a roar.

"Three goals aren't enough to fill a tooth gap! Feed them all the goals in the second half, I'm going to devour Bayern's defense whole!"

In the home team's locker room, the air pressure was so low you could wring water out of it.

Bayern Munich coach Hansi Flick crossed his arms and glared at the four defenders sitting on the bench with a sharp look.

"You conceded a last-minute equalizer! Your defense was as shaky as a bunch of amateur old men!" Flick spoke rapidly, his German filled with rage. "They ripped you to shreds with a long-range shot from their number 10! What, didn't anyone have the legs to press you right in?"

Several world-class defenders all had their heads down.

Flick pointed to Davis, who was panting heavily next to the water dispenser.

"Alfonso, you'll be on the bench for the second half. That number 10 has completely messed up your rhythm; you're even having trouble sprinting in a straight line now."

Davis hung his head in frustration, rubbing his aching calves vigorously.

Flick's gaze shifted and landed on veteran Boateng.

"Jerome, you replace Davies. Go up there and engage in physical battles! Use your size to smash their attacking rhythm to pieces! Don't give Dortmund players any space to receive the ball."

He then pointed out the name of Spanish defensive midfielder Martinez.

Seventeen-year-old Musiala abruptly unzipped his training uniform and nodded repeatedly. Flick substituted two veterans who were already exhausted with fresh players, clearly intending to floor the gas pedal in the second half and crush Dortmund with sheer force.

Allianz Arena players' tunnel.

The long whistle of the second half echoed overhead.

Sun Yang walked at the back of the group, bending down to adjust the shin guard on his left leg. The moment he stepped out of the dark passage, a deafening roar from the south grandstand crashed down on him like a tsunami.

Huge red double-winged team crest banners tumbled wildly in the stands, while loudspeakers blared Bayern's signature battle cry.

Inside the center circle arc.

Haaland and Reus were stepping on the ball. Finally, referee Bibiana's whistle pierced the noise with a sharp blast.

Haaland flicked the ball back to Reus, who, without hesitation, passed it directly to Witsel behind the center circle.

At almost the same moment, Bayern's high-pressure pressing machine roared at full speed!

Their defense arrogantly pushed forward to the center circle. Lewandowski, Müller, and Coman, like three hungry wolves, charged straight at Dortmund's ball carrier, drawn by the scent of blood.

Witsel steadied himself, glanced at Bellingham making a run down the right flank, and delivered a low, ground pass to him.

Bellingham controlled the ball with his right foot.

This was the young Englishman's first touch of the ball at this intimidating home ground. Facing the suffocating high line looming ahead, the young player visibly hesitated, his pace slowing slightly.

He had just stopped the ball and was about to look up to find Haaland's run ahead.

In that half-second delay, Bayern's encirclement was completely sealed off.

Kimmich, like a pickup truck speeding at full speed, crashed into Bellingham from the side and rear, while Musiala on the left simultaneously cut off the return pass. Kimmich then slammed his thick shoulder into Bellingham's ribs.

"Welcome to El Clásico, rookie!"

The immense impact caused Bellingham to lose his balance and stumble to the side. Kimmich made a precise move, his right boot slicing cleanly across the grass as he swept the ball away.

After intercepting the ball, Kimmich did not slow down, and didn't even bother to look ahead. Relying on muscle memory, he directly made a through pass!

The ball skimmed the tips of the grass like a sharp blade, cutting straight through Dortmund's newly positioned midfield defense and heading straight for Müller at the edge of the penalty area.

Müller controlled the ball steadily just outside the right side of the penalty area.

Dortmund's center-back Akanji broke out in a cold sweat and hurriedly lowered his center of gravity to slide closer, blocking the inside cut-in route and trying to force Müller to the byline.

Müller cut the ball back with the inside of his right foot, his right shoulder dropped sharply, and he shifted all his weight onto the ball, assuming a realistic pose for a powerful inside cut and shot.

Before Akanji could even think, he instinctively stepped forward and stretched out his long legs to block the gun emplacement.

A feint, a real pass!

Müller's right foot flicked up like a cat's toe, catching the ball firmly at the bottom.

The ball deftly leaped over Akanji's head, its trajectory a strange downward arc, heading straight for the penalty area near the penalty spot.

There, Hummels and Lewandowski had already engaged in a fierce, bloody battle in the penalty area.

Hummels braced himself against Lewandowski's lower back with both arms, using his hands and feet to try and disrupt the Pole's balance during the jump.

But Lewandowski displayed the terrifying physique of a pure world-class striker! The Polish striker's legs were like two steel nails driven into the grass, and with his monstrous core strength, he forcefully pushed Hummels's heavy body away by half a body length.

Facing the descending ball, Lewandowski calmly raised his right foot, his instep like a sponge firmly holding the ball in place.

The ball obediently bounced off the outside of his left foot. In the half-second of landing, Lewandowski's shoulder and back muscles engaged completely, and his entire upper body began to twist terrifyingly to the right and backward!

Receive the ball, turn, and prepare to unleash a powerful shot! The movement is so fluid that there are no unnecessary pauses.

Just as the Polish player was about to unleash a powerful shot that would shatter the Dortmund goal, his right leg was fully extended.

A yellow-black afterimage, like a ghost, whistled and attacked along the grass!