Growing Embers
After Ronaldinho's magnificent goal, the atmosphere in the stadium split sharply down the middle.
"Haah……"
"Is this actually real……?"
AC Milan's fans sighed and tried to deny reality, while—
"Ronnie!"
"Look over here!"
—Barcelona's fans roared the name of Ronaldinho, the man who had conjured the goal with an overhead kick.
And those who belonged to neither side—people who had simply come to watch a Champions League final—were just thrilled that a goal had gone in at all.
A Champions League final that stayed locked at 0–0 until a single late goal in the second half would have been a dull affair, so the neutrals had been hoping for plenty of goals. Ronaldinho scoring so early had answered that hope.
And because the goal had come so soon, everyone without a team to root for began to look forward to something special—an entertaining Champions League final.
"Oh? Nice start. Already a goal."
"Right? I was worried we'd go the full ninety without one. Looks like I fretted for nothing."
Once Ronaldinho's celebration had run its course, the match resumed.
From the restart, the AC Milan players put on a display of peak form as if the earlier tension had never existed, and they began to pin Barcelona back.
What? How did they suddenly get this good?
The first person to notice the change in AC Milan was Lee Junho.
Standing at the very tip of the attack as a striker, he could read the opponents' movements before anyone else, and something about them felt off.
"Whew… Did they just suddenly awaken or something?"
The next person after Lee Junho to catch AC Milan's shift was Barcelona's manager, Frank.
As Barcelona's coach he directed his players while continuously sweeping the pitch with his eyes, and because he was watching the match from a constant third-party vantage, he locked onto the change quickly.
"This is going to be tough."
Just as Frank was fretting, Barcelona lost the ball to AC Milan in a dangerous area during an attack of their own.
That, of course, could only lead to a counterattack.
"Ah."
The assistant coach watching alongside Manager Frank let out a groan.
The AC Milan counter that drew that groan was, naturally, a serious threat to Barcelona. AC Milan's starting lineup was no joke—built from the best players available, every bit as stacked as Barcelona's. If anything, Frank thought, Barcelona might even be at a disadvantage with the still-inexperienced Messi and Lee Junho in the side.
And even while Frank was thinking that, time refused to stop. The counter that had started near the penalty box surged to the halfway line in an instant.
With just two passes, AC Milan's attack had stabbed straight through Barcelona's defense, and Jorge had no choice but to decide.
Whether to shove the Kaká in front of him and take the yellow, or simply leave things as they were.
Shove him.
Naturally, Jorge couldn't choose the option of standing by and watching. He decided—he would shove Kaká.
No malice intended.
His conscience twitched a little, but Jorge had made up his mind. He moved his hand, planted it on Kaká's back, and shoved him right over.
Jorge's frame, already closing in on two meters, was not something Kaká could withstand.
Ah… fuck.
Kaká tried to hold his ground as best he could, but he couldn't, and he went down feeling the sheer unfairness of it.
"Urrrghhhhh!"
Outmatched in pure bulk, Kaká decided that if he was going down, he might as well make it look as agonizing as possible.
This could even be a red!
When Kaká fell, only a single defender had been left in front of Jorge, so if Kaká had broken through, he and the AC Milan teammates streaming forward could easily have finished it. So even as he pretended to writhe in pain, Kaká looked up at the referee with an expression full of expectation—but when he saw yellow come out of the referee's pocket, that look of hope flipped instantly into disappointment.
Caught in that swirl of frustration, Kaká stopped acting hurt, got to his feet, and went to argue with the referee.
"That was a red-card challenge!"
"No. I can't give a red for that."
Kaká refused to give up at the referee's firm reply and kept protesting.
"Anyone could see that situation warranted one."
Watching Kaká thrash about, the referee wore a peculiar expression.
"But weren't you in tremendous pain just a moment ago?"
Caught off guard by the referee's words, Kaká stammered. Seeing that, the referee realized Kaká had been acting and held out the same yellow card he had just shown Jorge.
"This is a warning for protesting my decision—and for diving."
Kaká felt wronged, but if he argued any further the yellow might turn into something red, so he had no choice but to stop.
Aargh! Seriously, referees are kings. Absolute kings!
Of course he couldn't actually say that out loud. He only spat the complaint inside his head as he turned away.
"Well done."
The one who spoke was AC Milan's legendary defender, Maldini.
"If you hadn't held back and lost your temper, you would have gotten a red card. You might have felt the satisfaction of saying your piece in the moment, but in the end, as time passed, you would only have regretted it."
Looking at Maldini, who had praised his restraint so calmly and logically, Kaká felt some of the heat drain out of his anger.
"Yeah. I've got to put up with this much."
Watching Kaká accept it, Maldini thought something else entirely.
It's only been ten minutes into the first half and he's already getting sent off? Absolutely not. No other team—only AC Milan has the right to climb to Champions League champion.
Maldini's interior was nothing like his exterior.
So Kaká had eaten a yellow, but since Jorge was the one who committed the foul, the match resumed with AC Milan's ball.
And because the foul had been near the halfway line rather than deeper, a cross was hard to get in and a shot was unthinkable. AC Milan wasted the attacking chance and had to settle for Jorge receiving a yellow card.
Whew… Still, since he got a yellow, he'll be more careful from now on.
Having tasted pure terror from a single duel, Kaká breathed a sigh of relief at Jorge's booking.
In any case the match kept flowing, and both Barcelona and AC Milan traded fierce blows in an all-out scrap.
Each side struck the woodwork once, and still no goal. The thirtieth minute of the first half arrived.
Desperate to win the Champions League, Maldini poured every ounce of fight into his body and stopped Lee Junho's shot with his face. The ball that bounced off Maldini's face fell to Andrea Pirlo.
Barcelona had committed heavy numbers forward for the attack, so they were always going to be vulnerable on the break. Knowing that, Andrea slipped past Messi, who was trying to cut him off, and tore up the pitch in an instant.
Messi, who had been saving his stamina for the attack, didn't chase Andrea down—and that decision produced a fatal result.
Kaká, Hernán Crespo, and Andriy Shevchenko all surged into the counter at once, hands raised for the ball.
Yes. Take it!
Having beaten Messi and driven all the way to the halfway line, Andrea didn't lay the ball back for Andriy to collect comfortably—he threaded it into the space ahead of where Andriy was running. The pass arrived in a flash, right into Andriy's stride.
Receiving a perfect ball, Andriy smiled.
Nice pass.
The smile vanished just as quickly, replaced by a hard, focused look as he faced the Puyol cutting across him and whipped in a cross. Andriy's delivery knifed into the perfect pocket between the defenders and the goalkeeper, and the Barcelona players could do nothing but watch. That was all Kaká needed as he crashed into the box—he got a touch.
The ball left Kaká's foot, rolled toward the unguarded net, and rippled the mesh.
Kaká's equalizer had gone in.
The moment Kaká's equalizer went in, it was AC Milan's fans who erupted and Barcelona's fans who sank into gloom.
But even that swing of mood didn't last long. The score had only just been leveled, and the match itself was still razor-tight, so neither set of supporters could afford to let the tension go.
"Please……"
"Please just win……"
And under the desperate prayers of both sets of fans, the match only grew fiercer.