44th minute of the first half.
"Wooooooahhhhhhh!"
A play crafted entirely by Ho-young from start to finish.
And an unbelievable finish.
The stadium was on the verge of chaos at the spectacular sight.
Some fans were so excited they threw away the chicken they had been eating.
Others even tried to leave the stands and rush onto the pitch.
The stadium authorities were prepared for such incidents, but unexpected disturbances broke out in several areas, causing complete disorder.
"Señorita!"
"Señorita woo!"
With alcohol in their system and emotions running high, some fans even took off their pants and shook their hips, while others cried as they made phone calls.
It was only the 45th minute of the first half, yet Real Madrid's supporters already looked as if they had secured the title.
With one heart and one voice, they roared at the top of their lungs.
"¡Vamos!"
"WHY!"
"¡Vamos!"
"WHY!"
"¡Vamos!"
"WHY!"
"Wooooooooooooo!"
Standing in front of the stands, Ho-young celebrated the goal with Higuaín, Alonso, and Cristiano Ronaldo.
"That's it!"
"What a shot. Brilliant job."
"Nice shooting. That was excellent."
"It was thanks to all of you. Thank you."
Although it was a solo goal, the others had moved well to create space and allow the shot to happen.
No one understood that better than Ho-young, who had orchestrated the entire play himself.
"That lunatic actually scored from there. Do you have a radar on your foot? You're insane, seriously. You're crazy. Stay crazy for another 45 minutes, got it?"
"Let's all go crazy together."
Ho-young pressed his forehead against Ramos' and burned with determination.
The first half ended there.
"My goodness."
Halftime.
Mourinho entered the manager's room briskly and clutched his head.
He opened his notebook with a blank expression.
It contained the technical team's first-half report.
'This is ridiculous.'
He could not believe it.
No, he did not want to believe it.
The first half had been nothing but Ho-young.
They had prepared so much, yet they had only shown something for the first 20 minutes.
He discussed tactics with the coaching staff who followed him in, but no clear solution emerged.
"But more than anything, the biggest problem is the players' morale."
"How's the atmosphere in the locker room?"
"Zanetti is trying to lift the mood by pushing the players, but they all look exhausted. Mentally."
"I see. I'll go."
The locker room he reached was, quite literally, a grim scene.
Captain Zanetti was shouting, pointing out the mistakes from the first half, while the others could not say a word.
They seemed to need time.
'I should go in after a moment.'
Mourinho valued the captain's role greatly, so he waited outside the door and gave Zanetti time.
He entered the locker room two minutes later.
"I'm not here to criticize you. I understand that you have worked hard enough. It's just that because of an absurd situation, you couldn't show what we trained for. So lift your heads and listen."
"Yes."
"Good. Do not think that we will lose. If we follow our plan, we can score three goals in 45 minutes. Don't rush. Play the football you want. If you are truly members of Inter, you must do that."
Mourinho stared at them without blinking.
"We go to the end. Crepi il lupo."
"Crepi il lupo!"
After finishing the tactical talk, Mourinho called one player aside.
"Marco."
"Yes."
It was the notorious centre-back Marco Materazzi, infamous for his brutal tackles.
"Be ready. I'll put you in when the time is right."
"Just leave it to me."
If they could not stop Ho-young anyway, it was better to use a different method.
That was Mourinho's final hidden card.
Whistle!
[Ho-young's eighth Champions League goal gives Real Madrid a 2-0 lead. The second half begins.]
"That's right. Once again, it's incredible. Ho-young is now level at the top with Bayern Munich's Ivica Olić and Barcelona's Lionel Messi. If things stay like this, he will win the Golden Shoe for the second consecutive season."
In the Champions League, if players are tied on goals, they share the award without considering playing time.
In other words, unless Diego Milito, currently fourth in the scoring charts, scored a hat-trick, Ho-young's Golden Boot was confirmed.
He could match Ruud van Nistelrooy's record from seven years ago of winning the top scorer award in two consecutive seasons.
Around the 60th minute of the second half.
"Milito passes back to Sneijder and makes a forward run. Inter are pushing their line up and going all-in offensively."
"That shows how urgent the situation is."
Cambiasso and Zanetti exchanged passes as they built from the back.
Taking advantage of a slight drop in Real Madrid's pressing, Sneijder received the ball and tried to dictate play like Ho-young.
But unlike the relaxed Ho-young, he had no composure.
As his mind grew impatient, his performance suffered.
'Damn it. We're running out of time.'
"Sneijder looks for space, but there aren't many options. Inter are moving forward, but it's disorganized."
"The forwards' movements are overlapping. Inter are rushing. They can't afford to be chasing the clock."
"That's true. But with the Champions League title on the line, the psychological pressure must be immense."
Before the match, experts had all said the same thing.
This final is not just a tactical battle between Scolari and Mourinho, but a showdown between Ho-young and Sneijder. The result will depend on how well the two playmakers perform. If either underperforms, his team will lose.
It was exactly as predicted.
Unlike Ho-young, Sneijder had produced nothing, and Inter were losing because of it.
They could not play like Inter usually did.
They needed to build patiently, but Real Madrid did not allow it.
There was no more time to hesitate.
'I have no choice. I just have to try.'
Instead of attempting a key pass, Sneijder simply distributed the ball forward.
"The ball goes wide. Samuel Eto'o receives it and cuts inside."
"At the same time, Goran Pandev makes a run from the left."
"The number of attackers in the box increases in an instant!"
The attack unfolded like that, but Real Madrid's defensive shape was already set.
It was sharp, but not truly threatening.
"Eto'o is blocked by Arbeloa."
"The ball rolls into the center of the box."
It seemed the rare attack would end there.
But then.
Tap.
Argentina's top finisher, Diego Milito.
Whenever he got a chance, he almost always converted it.
Even from a tight angle, he fired a sharp shot.
Unfortunately, Casillas' reaction speed was unreal, and it did not result in a goal.
Thud!
"Damn it!"
"The ball deflects off Casillas' foot and goes out. Corner kick for Inter. What a save."
"Not only that, Raúl Albiol organized the defense well. The defenders narrowed the shooting angle inside the box, helping Casillas produce that miraculous stop."
Since the second half began, Real Madrid had focused on defending, and the match had been dull.
Now, it finally looked like a proper final.
The spectacular flow of the game drew cheers from neutral fans.
"Sneijder prepares for the corner. They must make it count."
"That's right. They don't know when the next chance will come. Even Ho-young is fully tracking back to defend."
"Phew."
Sneijder focused completely as he prepared the corner.
It was a golden opportunity that had to be converted.
And this time, he felt confident.
'I can deliver it.'
Raúl Albiol was over 190 centimeters tall, and Pepe was strong in the air, but Inter had Diego Milito.
He was not exceptional at heading itself, but his incredible positional sense had produced many remarkable headed goals.
'I can do this.'
Yes, it was possible.
They had already exchanged signals.
He planned to curl it from outside to inside, deceiving the defenders and Casillas.
This was the moment.
Bang!
"The corner curls high toward the center of the goal!"
"Milito makes his move!"
Milito's outstanding positioning and finishing made defenders tremble.
Fifteen percent of his goals this season had come from headers.
'It's here.'
His eyes narrowed sharply.
He leaped with all his strength.
He successfully gained better position than Pepe.
However, the problem was that Sneijder's corner did not reach him.
Thud!
"Ho-young with the header!"
"The ball is cleared far forward. Xabi Alonso collects it immediately."
"Alonso circulates the ball safely."
A perfect defensive action.
Ho-young rose with solid jumping ability and cleared the ball before it could reach Milito.
With that single header, the danger vanished and Inter's chance was gone.
"Incredible. He moved as if he knew the trajectory of the ball and took a better position than Milito."
"Fantastic defensive positioning. Without Ho-young, that could have been dangerous."
It was a wonder play created by the synergy of judgment, anticipation, and excellent defensive positioning.
On top of that, his condition was exceptional today.
It was thanks to Guti's talent, Condition of the Day (U), which he had acquired at the end of La Liga.
There was no downside to having it.
On certain days, it boosted his condition dramatically without him even realizing it.
It did not cause inconsistency.
It simply added an extra edge to his existing ability.
Those talents were what had brought Inter to their knees today.
"Ha…"
Sneijder, having wasted a golden chance, lowered his head in frustration.
The match was not over yet, so he could not give up, but mentally he felt drained.
'Damn it. What is going on?'
Ho-young, who had been his teammate last year, had returned as an unimaginable monster.
He was not only attacking but also defending, pushing Inter into a corner.
And it was not as if he was lacking stamina.
In fact, his recent work rate was astonishing.
It felt almost surreal.
There seemed to be no way out of this predicament.
Then it happened.
[OUT 25. Walter Samuel]
[IN 23. Marco Materazzi]
As Inter made the substitution, a cold tension spread through the stadium.
(To be continued.)