Ninety minutes.
The score was still 1–0.
UEFA President Lennart Johansson and Bayern President Franz Beckenbauer left the VIP box and entered the elevator, preparing for the trophy ceremony.
The elevator doors closed.
At that exact moment, David Beckham stepped up to take a corner.
The ball sailed over the head of Manchester United goalkeeper Peter Schmeichel.
Schmeichel didn't challenge for it directly. Instead, he disrupted Bayern's defenders, preventing all five of them from jumping cleanly.
The ball struck one of Bayern's players and bounced toward Andy Cole. Cole twisted awkwardly and couldn't generate enough power on his header.
Thorsten Fink, who had replaced Matthäus, cleared it forcefully.
The clearance fell to Ryan Giggs near the edge of the box.
Giggs volleyed with his weaker right foot.
Missed.
Everything was slightly off.
No clean contact. No perfect execution. One deviation after another.
But the ball rolled toward substitute Teddy Sheringham.
Sheringham reacted instantly.
He half-turned and struck with his right foot without even looking at the goal — pure striker's instinct.
The ball skimmed low toward the far corner.
Oliver Kahn lunged, claws out—
Too far.
1–1!
Manchester United equalized!
Red flares erupted in the stands.
Ferguson spun around and punched Kai lightly in celebration.
"You're a fucking miracle worker!"
On Bayern's bench, Lothar Matthäus stared blankly toward the pitch.
Matthäus — Ballon d'Or winner. World Cup champion. German legend.
The only thing missing from his career?
A Champions League trophy.
He had lost a final before.
Now, history seemed ready to cut his cock off again.
"Should I have told Ottmar Hitzfeld I was tired?" Matthäus muttered, dread creeping into his chest.
He glanced toward Kai in the stands.
Was this some mysterious Eastern curse?
Footballers are superstitious creatures.
Some believe in African hexes.
Others whisper about ancient Eastern fate.
Right now, it felt real.
Kickoff resumed.
Manchester United pressed immediately.
Bayern were forced into a long clearance.
The ball fell to United.
Left-back Denis Irwin launched it forward.
Substitute Ole Gunnar Solskjær drifted left, controlled it, and tried to cross.
Blocked.
Corner kick.
Less than ninety seconds remained.
Solskjær jogged toward the flag to take it.
Every second mattered.
Then a voice exploded from the stands.
"No! David! Let David take it!"
Kai was screaming at Ferguson.
"David! Beckham must take this one!"
Ferguson didn't even hesitate anymore.
He stormed to the touchline.
"Ole! Into the box! Let David take it!"
Solskjær immediately obeyed, signaling Beckham across.
Beckham looked surprised.
He sprinted over, placed the ball carefully, inhaled—
And delivered.
United's players crowded the center.
But Beckham aimed near post.
Sheringham darted forward and flicked the ball on.
Time froze.
Solskjær reacted instinctively, stabbing out his right foot.
The ball rocketed into Bayern's net.
92:17.
Goal.
Silence—
Then absolute chaos.
Manchester United players sprinted toward the corner flag.
Schmeichel performed a front flip near midfield.
Red Devils fans screamed until their throats tore.
Bayern players collapsed to their knees, tears streaming.
After the restart, Bayern launched one desperate attack.
Cleared.
Three whistles.
Full time.
Bayern players lay face-down on the grass.
Manchester United erupted.
The bench flooded the pitch.
Ferguson took two steps—then turned.
"Kay! Get down here! Now!"
"Me?" Kai blinked.
United fans didn't give him time to think.
They practically carried him down from the stands.
Ferguson grabbed Kai and pulled him into the celebrations.
Reporters swarmed.
They dragged Solskjær aside for interviews.
Kai pushed in and grabbed Solskjær's arm.
"Don't waste this on interviews! You can talk anytime — but you only get this moment once."
"Celebrate now. Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
Solskjær paused.
He finally understood why he kept glancing at his teammates during interviews.
That pull in his chest.
"Sorry — later!" he said, rushing off.
He leapt onto Beckham's back in celebration.
No regrets.
Kai tried to follow—
Too late.
Reporters surrounded him.
Fuck.
You should've taken me with you.
Reporter: "Kai, you predicted the Treble. How?"
Kai sighed.
"I didn't 'know.' I just understand Manchester United."
Reporter: "Why tell Schmeichel to go up?"
Kai: "If I were on the pitch, no matter my position, I'd have gone up too. I believe Peter felt the same."
Reporter: "Why insist Beckham take the last corner?"
Kai didn't hesitate.
"Beckham this season is one of the best passers in the world."
"His face makes people underestimate him."
"He should finish top three in the Ballon d'Or."
"If it were up to me, I'd hand him the Ballon d'Or directly. He deserves everything."
Reporter: "And Solskjær's goal?"
Kai smiled faintly.
"If you've never seen it happen, you'd never dare imagine it."
Reporter: "That sounds profound."
"Then stop thinking," Kai replied. "Ferguson's free — go interview the real boss."
The reporters rushed away.
Soon, Ferguson's emotional voice echoed through the stadium.
"I can't believe it. This bloody football!"
"When I first heard someone say mid-season that we'd win the Champions League and the Treble, I didn't believe it."
"I searched for the source. It was Kai."
"When I saw him, I was disappointed."
"He's as handsome as David. And I don't trust handsome boys making big promises."
"Maybe he fooled some girls with that face — but not me."
"But at the Ballon d'Or ceremony, he changed my mind."
"He understands football."
"He has courage. A big heart. No fear."
"I must apologize to my players."
"When I told them we'd win the Treble, I was lying."
"I doubted us."
"I apologize to Sheringham and Solskjær."
"The best decision I made wasn't just substituting them."
"It was asking my assistant to invite Kai yesterday."
"Without him, maybe Schmeichel doesn't go up."
"Maybe David doesn't take the last corner."
"Maybe I don't even make those substitutions."
"This boy doesn't belong to Manchester United."
"But this championship — no, these three championships — belong to him."
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