Vs. FC Barcelona - 2
FC Barcelona, having conceded, was now ferociously piling pressure on Dortmund.
After scoring, Dortmund got absolutely destroyed by FC Barcelona, to put it crudely.
Like a dragon whose reverse scale had been touched, the enraged Barcelona pinned Dortmund back in their own half and started hammering away.
"Hoo... These guys play soccer like absolute shit. Fucking midgets."
Son Jinho couldn't help but let vulgarity slip out at the sight of the three idiots effortlessly shaking off Dortmund's pressure like twisting a child's wrist.
The possession stats between the two teams began to widen. Before long, it was a staggering 71-29.
Seizing control of the game, Barcelona battered Dortmund's goal relentlessly on the back of their overwhelming possession.
Dortmund was barely hanging on with full-team defense combined with reckless body-on-the-line blocks.
But as time wore on, cracks began to appear in Dortmund's defensive line.
A little more time, and they might concede.
Beep—!
Fortuitously for Dortmund, the referee's halftime whistle saved them right on cue.
Halftime.
The Dortmund locker room was filled only with the ragged breathing of exhausted players.
"I'm already proud of you all. So in the second half, just don't give up. Even if we concede, even if we fail—just keep fighting till the end."
Instead of issuing complex tactical instructions to his gasping players, Jurgen Klopp spent the entire halftime encouraging them.
Halftime ended, and the second half kicked off.
The second half was entirely FC Barcelona's domain.
Han Gyeowol, watching from the stands, stared at the pitch with reddened eyes.
There stood Son Jinho in a jersey that had lost its original color, caked in dirt and sweat.
Lionel Messi approached the weary Son Jinho, who adjusted his teammates' positions while lowering his stance to focus on defense.
Son Jinho fell comically to the ground, fooled by Messi's body feint.
But not a single Dortmund fan found it funny.
Son Jinho, who had tumbled, sprang right back up and chased after Messi.
"Shine, my little star Borussia."
"Light the way for us."
Moved by Son Jinho's unyielding struggle—falling dozens of times yet rising like a roly-poly toy to block Messi—the Dortmund fans broke into their anthem.
With the fans' cheers behind him, Son Jinho stuck right to Messi's back and anticipated the pass to Xavi Hernández, intercepting it a step ahead.
"Gino!!"
Dortmund's counterattack was on after a long drought.
Mimicking Messi with a body feint alone, Son Jinho shook off Andrés Iniesta and fired a forward pass into the space ahead of Robert Lewandowski slicing into Barcelona's backline.
Busquets stretched out a leg, but the pass just barely evaded it and reached Lewandowski.
Lewandowski grabbed the ball and charged into Barcelona's half. As he eyed the onrushing Victor Valdés and prepared to shoot—
Shwick—!
Lewandowski's shot was sadly blocked by Puyol's tackle.
"Aah—!" "It's okay!" "Heja! BVB! Heja! BVB!"
The home fans, clutching their heads in regret, applauded Dortmund's players encouragingly.
Dortmund's ensuing corner kick.
Marcel Schmelzer's cross was caught by Victor Valdés.
Barcelona built from the back once more, launching another attack.
What a fuckin' monster.
Son Jinho laughed involuntarily at Messi's dribble. He'd thought he'd blocked it, but when he came to, the ball had slipped between his legs, and Messi was sprinting away.
If Sánchez had stayed cooler, it would've been a goal.
As Roman Weidenfeller prepared a goal kick, I steadied my ragged breathing.
The game restarted with Dortmund's goal kick, but Barcelona's attack resumed almost immediately.
Messi's dribble shifted my center of gravity in an instant; my body hit the turf like I'd been shot with a tranquilizer dart.
I'm beat...
Truly, not a scrap of stamina left.
Blood tinged my nostrils, my legs trembled so badly I could barely walk, and my feet felt shackled, refusing to move.
Would anyone blame me if I just gave up now?
Yet I rose and ran.
No special reason. The final whistle hadn't blown yet. The crowd was still cheering.
So I ran. Head down, eyes on the ground, sprinting to Dortmund's penalty box.
As I entered the box, a cramp seized my left thigh, sending me rolling on the pitch.
From the ground, I propped up my torso, then crawled on all fours using my arms.
"Fuck! Gino! Don't push it!"
Jurgen Klopp, worried sick, roared from the touchline.
I ignored him and dragged myself to the box.
As I crawled into Dortmund's penalty area, Messi's pass went to Xavi.
Xavi glanced up, scanned quickly, and spotted Cesc Fàbregas breaking the line into the box.
Fàbregas shot as Weidenfeller charged out, vacating the goal.
The shot hit Weidenfeller's body and slowed.
The moment I saw the ball heading goalward, I hurled myself at it, face first.
Thankfully, I blocked it before it crossed the line. Hummels rushed in and cleared it out for a throw-in.
The ref stopped play as the ball went out. Dortmund's bench prepped a sub while the team doctor sprinted on.
They dragged it out under the guise of treatment, buying time for the players to recover a bit.
Once the stretcher arrived, I stood with the doctor's help.
"Hey! Son Jinho!!"
As I limped off supported by the doctor, Gyeowol's voice rang crystal clear in my ear.
"...You were the best—!!"
Her tear-choked praise, holding back sobs, brought an unwitting smile to my face.
Even the FC Barcelona away fans, inspired by his grit, applauded from their seats.
Dortmund's players glanced at their bench. There sat Son Jinho, thigh bandaged, getting an earful from Jurgen Klopp.
"Listen up. If we concede even one in the last 10 minutes, you're all jumping in the Rhine and drowning."
Sebastian Kehl, utterly spent and at his limit, panted it out.
The players nodded at their captain's words.
The 17-year-old boy's grit reignited the fire in Dortmund's fading hearts.
As full time neared, the entire team, including attackers, dropped deep into defense.
They poured every last drop of energy.
Weidenfeller's saves, shots hitting the woodwork by sheer luck.
And Dortmund's body-on-the-line blocks continued.
Full time approached.
Barcelona's final attack: Xavi's pass to Messi. Messi slalomed past three defenders into the box and unleashed a shot. Weidenfeller stretched and parried desperately.
In the goalmouth scramble, sub Ivan Perišić cleared it far.
And the referee's final whistle blew.
Dortmund : FC Barcelona
Possession: 21 : 79
Shots: 3 : 28
Score: 1 : 0
M.O.M: Son Jinho
It was a miraculous victory born of Dortmund's warriors' indomitable spirit against the world's strongest, FC Barcelona.
FC Barcelona manager Pep Guardiola appeared in the interview room.
"An unexpected result. Any regrets over the referee's decisions?"
Guardiola frowned at the question.
"No. None at all. Claiming bad reffing in a match like this insults football. This was clearly a triumph of Dortmund's will. I applaud their grit and hunger for victory."
Guardiola pointed to another reporter, who introduced himself lightly before asking.
"Was there a moment you sensed defeat?"
Recalling the young player's fiery play, Guardiola replied.
"86th minute of the second half. After Dortmund's No. 10 left exhausted, the momentum dipped—but they came alive again."
"One last question. You there, in the checkered shirt."
"You lost the first leg 1-0 to Dortmund. Confident of a turnaround in the second?"
A faint smile crossed Guardiola's lips at the question. With no need for qualifiers, he answered confidently.
"The next one's at the Camp Nou."