Next match: Getafe CF.
Mid-table. Organized. Tough to break down.
The atmosphere in the stadium wasn't as electric as it had been during the Villarreal match.
Expectations had shifted. Fans were now expecting a win, not just hoping for one.
Laurence made a few adjustments.
Varane stepped in. Robertson took Grimaldo's place. Neymar remained on the field. Bony was at the forefront. Joel kept his spot. Quaresma took a breather.
Same setup, just a few different faces.
From the get-go, Tenerife looked composed.
Possession flowed smoothly. Players stuck to their zones, rotated when necessary, and always provided an option.
Getafe remained compact.
Two lines. Little space between them. Waiting for mistakes.
Tenerife didn't rush things early on.
They probed.
In the 12th minute, Neymar drifted wide, linked up with Robertson, but the cross got blocked.
In the 18th minute, Joel cut inside and took a shot from distance. Saved.
The breakthrough came from patience.
In the 24th minute.
Joel received the ball near the edge of the box after a quick exchange with Cancelo. He drove inside, just enough to draw a late challenge from the defender.
The official immediately blew his whistler for a penalty.
Bony picked up the ball and placed it carefully in front of the goalkeeper.
He waited for while after the whistler before taking two steps and finishing it in the right corner.
1–0.
The tone remained unchanged.
After the goal, Getafe pushed forward more.
They had to.
That opened up space behind them.
Tenerife didn't rush into it. They picked their moments.
Neymar carried the ball into wide areas, drawing defenders. Cancelo overlapped when necessary. Joel kept stretching the defense.
Casemiro and Kanté stayed disciplined.
No unnecessary forward runs or tackles.
The second half slowed down.
Possession became longer. Movements became more intentional. The tempo dropped a bit.
Getafe had one real chance.
A corner. A looping header.
Aragoneses reacted well, pushing it over.
That was about it. For the rest of the match, Tenerife was pushed back into their half, absorbing pressure.
Getafe tried everything they could but they couldn't get a threat to Aragoneses.
After additional four minutes, the official blew the whistle.
1-0 Tenerife.
----
Estádio da Luz, Lisbon
The stands surged in waves of red, scarves rising and falling in sync. The noise wasn't just loud—it was purposeful, almost like the crowd was in tune with the moment, ready to mold it. This wasn't merely a quarterfinal match; it was a declaration.
SL Benfica had seen what Tenerife did to Manchester United. Everyone had taken note.
Six goals over two legs. That kind of display doesn't go unnoticed.
It gets analyzed.
CD Tenerife stepped onto the field with less doubt than before, but with a heavier burden.
They were no longer the underdogs.
Players who once moved with ease now carried the weight of recognition.
Laurence Gonzales stood by the touchline, hands tucked in his coat pockets, surveying the scene before kickoff. He didn't appear tense, but there was a different kind of alertness about him.
He understood this would be unlike Old Trafford.
Surprises don't last long.
He stuck to the game plan.
3-4-3.
Koulibaly in the center. De Vrij was back, fully fit now, orchestrating the defense. Luna rounded out the trio. Cancelo and Grimaldo were wide, enjoying their usual freedom. Kanté and Casemiro held down the midfield.
Up front, Neymar was kept on the bench.
Quaresma took the right flank. Joel occupied the left. Bony led the line.
It was a familiar setup.
And therein lay the issue.
The first ten minutes felt routine.
Possession shifted back and forth. Tenerife attempted to build through the same channels that had worked in earlier rounds. Casemiro dropped deep, searching for angles. Kanté darted around in short bursts, always an option.
Then Laurence picked up on something.
Benfica weren't pressing high.
They were biding their time.
Their midfield formed a compact block, angled just right to steer the ball toward specific passes. It wasn't passive; it was strategic.
They were inviting the long ball.
Casemiro glanced up, spotted space behind the defensive line, and played it.
Joel took off.
And just like that, they found themselves facing a second line of defense.
Not a single defender stepped out. Two were already positioned deeper.
The run fizzled out before it even started.
Laurence felt his jaw tighten just a bit.
This wasn't just a coincidence.
It happened again.
Every time Tenerife tried to push forward, their efforts were stifled before they could even take shape.
Unlike United's high line, Benfica's defense was dropping back earlier, snuffing out space instead of challenging for it.
Cancelo made a run forward, looking to overlap and stretch the formation.
But Benfica's winger tracked him inside, not out wide.
They weren't just following the ball, they were shutting down the whole idea.
That was the key difference.
On the sidelines, Laurence stepped forward.
"Faster," he shouted.
But it wasn't about speed. It was all about timing.
And Benfica had that under control.
By the 25th minute, the momentum shifted.
A misplaced pass in midfield—nothing out of the ordinary.
But Grimaldo had already pushed too high.
Way too high in fact.
The space behind him opened up like a door.
Rafa Silva didn't think twice.
He sprinted into that space, received the pass perfectly, and surged forward before anyone could regain their shape. Koulibaly shifted over. Luna moved inward. De Vrij tried to hold the line.
The low cross came in quickly.
Gonçalo Ramos was already on the move.
He didn't need much space.
Just a tap in.
1-0
Laurence didn't show any outward reaction.
He remained still, but his hands clenched tightly for a moment.
It wasn't just the goal.
It was the way it happened.
He recognized that pattern. He had used it himself before.
Casemiro was holding onto the ball a bit longer than usual, looking for options that just weren't there. Kanté was still moving sharply, but even his recoveries felt more like reactions than proactive plays.
Joel started to drop deeper.
Quaresma stayed wide, patiently waiting.
Bony held his ground, but the passes coming his way were slower now.
The rhythm had vanished.
For a few minutes, the game was under the control of Benfica's structure.
Laurence took a few steps along the touchline, then paused again. He wasn't constantly shouting instructions. He was observing.
Looking for a break.
And it came from something simple.
A throw-in on the right side.
Cancelo received it, quickly turned inward, and sent a firm pass right to Joel's feet. This time, Joel didn't rush. He held the ball for just a moment before spinning.
That tiny delay changed the angle.
Quaresma noticed it.
He moved into the channel, receiving the pass in stride.
One defender stepped up.
Quaresma didn't slow down.
He shifted the ball across his body and slipped it through the defender's legs with a quick touch.
Space opened up at the edge of the box.
He didn't hesitate, shooting with the outside of his foot.
The strike curved beautifully, rising before dipping late, beating the keeper to the top corner.
1–1.
Quaresma didn't go wild with celebration.
He pointed upward briefly, then tapped the badge on his chest.
At the hour mark, Laurence made a change.
Neymar came on.
Joel went off.
The shape shifted.
3-4-1-2.
Quaresma dropped deeper, operating between the lines. Neymar moved alongside Bony, providing movement instead of staying fixed.
It gave Tenerife more variety.
But Benfica didn't lose their grip.
They adjusted once more.
The final thirty minutes turned into a test of discipline.
De Vrij made a crucial block, sliding in to stop a shot that seemed certain to score.
Aragoneses made two saves.
Tenerife had their moments- small openings, but nothing sustained.
Benfica closed space quickly, never allowing momentum to build.
The whistle came with the score level.
1–1, with Tenerife getting a crucial away goal.
Laurence didn't look satisfied.
He shook hands quickly, then walked toward the tunnel without lingering because he had seen it clearly now.
The system had been read.