The broadcast replayed the goal again and again. It was the goal that killed the match.
Only now did the commentators fully register that was Shane Carter's fourteenth goal of this Champions League campaign. If he scored again in the final, he would break the single-season record Messi had set just last year.
As for whether Shane could score in the final, hardly anyone doubted it. He was built for the biggest stages. The bigger the moment, the more unstoppable he became.
In the stands, Atlético Madrid fans roared, their voices crashing through the stadium. In the away section, and in front of screens around the world, Dortmund fans sat in silence. Hope was gone. Some slumped into their seats, jaws clenched, eyes reddening.
Amid the thunder of the Calderón, this corner alone felt frozen.
Until one Dortmund fan suddenly stood up and shouted: "Get up. The match isn't over."
The words spread. Fans wiped their eyes. They stood. They raised their arms and began to clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
"DORTMUND."
They roared with everything they had. Their voices cut through the noise, reaching the pitch.
Dortmund's players, heads lowered, slowly looked up. They turned toward the stands. Götze walked to the goal, picked up the ball, and carried it back. No one spoke. They simply turned and walked to their half.
Two goals down. Time almost gone. Hope was faint. But the match wasn't over. If the fans hadn't given up, how could they?
As Shane jogged back after celebrating, he saw it all. "A great opponent," he murmured.
In his heart, his respect for Dortmund deepened. This was a team worthy of being called his rival. The toughest challenge he had faced all season. And the greatest respect you could show an opponent was to give everything.
The final two minutes could only be described as brutal. Both of Dortmund's center-backs pushed forward, turning into makeshift strikers. A last, desperate assault.
Atlético, meanwhile, abandoned attack entirely. All they needed was to hold. Every player dropped back into the box.
Dortmund's approach became simple. Primitive. Long balls into the area. It was one of the oldest tactics in football. Over a century later, it still hadn't disappeared. When you needed sheer volume of attacks, nothing was more direct.
The ball flew again and again into Atlético's penalty area. Fans held their breath. Hearts in their throats.
But in the end, nothing came of it. As the final seconds ticked away, Dortmund launched one last long ball. Courtois came charging out, leapt high, and claimed it cleanly. Then he dropped to the ground, wrapping his body around the ball. This time, he wasn't letting it go.
The referee glanced at his watch. Ninety-five minutes. Enough. No reason to continue.
He blew the whistle. Three sharp blasts.
The match was over. The Calderón exploded once more.
"It's over."
"Congratulations to Atlético Madrid. They defeat Dortmund 4–2 at home, 5–3 on aggregate, and march into the Champions League final."
"Shane Carter scores twice and provides two assists. He has orchestrated a masterpiece."
"Fourteen goals in his debut Champions League season. He has equaled the all-time single-season record."
"One more match. Just one more. Can Shane break the record? Can Atlético make history and win the Champions League? We'll find out."
"Their opponent in the final, Bayern Munich. A familiar foe. Atlético beat them twice in the group stage. They hold a psychological edge."
The commentary booth roared with excitement.
On screen, the camera locked onto Shane. He moved through his teammates, high-fives and embraces, one after another. No captain's armband on his arm. But it was obvious to everyone he was the leader.
Even at just nineteen. To his teammates, he wasn't a teenager. He was the pillar. The heart of the team. If Gabi or Raúl García were absent, no one would question the armband going to him.
"Brilliant."
"The final. The final."
"Let's go."
Atlético's players shouted in joy. At the start of the season, no one had imagined this. Not even Shane. Last season, they had struggled in mid-table. Even qualifying for the Champions League had been a fight. And now? They were in the final.
The players embraced, then lined up arm in arm in front of the stands. They bowed. To the fans.
Because in football, the fans are everything. The game may be global and commercialized, clubs bought and sold. But at its core, teams belong to their supporters. Most clubs were born from communities, rooted in their cities. Whether rising to glory or falling to ruin, that bond endured. Even a fallen club could rise again, rebuilt from the lowest divisions, carried by loyal fans.
That was football's foundation.
At the Calderón, Dortmund's players had already left. What remained was celebration.
Atlético Madrid's night.
Read ahead with 70+ chapters now with daily updates!
@patreon.com/Authorizz