Something's wrong. Everything's wrong.

  Cristiano Ronaldo moved cautiously across the pitch, waiting for his teammates to create spad provide him with opportunities.

  Ferguson had told him before: Once you start moving, you won't be restricted by your oppos.

  And sure enough, i years, his goal tally had skyrocketed, even reag new career highs.

  But tonight—tonight felt different.

  In faot just tonight. Even in the first leg at the Stadio San Paolo, something had felt off.

  He couldn't quite expin it. The ball just wasn't ing off his foot the way it should. Every touch felt awkward, every movement out of sync.

  Tonight, he had frequently drifted to the wings, trying to increase his touches, attempting to create something through his movement. But it wasn't w.

  her in this mator in the first leg had Rooney or Park Ji-sung mao gain any real advantage over Napoli's defense.

  Park Ji-sung, known for his agility and speed, found no edge against Vargas. The Peruvian full-baot only matched him in movement but was also physically stronger. Park struggled to hold onto the ball, let alone make meaningful passes.

  Rooney, oher hand, hysically capable of holding off Lichtsteiner, even enjoying a slight advantage. But he had been dropping too deep. Without the necessary acceleration or dribbling ability, he couldn't drive forward once he received the ball.

  In the past, Rooney could trol possession, deliver long passes, and link up with his teammates. But iwo matches, Napoli had marked him tightly, denying him passing nes.

  As a result, Ronaldo had been forced to move wide to offer support.

  But every time he received the ball, Napoli's defenders were already on him, shutting him down before he could make an impact.

  This wasn't how he thrived.

  He didn't hese endless battles for possession, he he ce to attack the defense directly, to drive at goal.

  After the first leg, he had already raised the issue with Ferguson. He didn't feel fortable pying as a ter-forward.

  And this wasn't new. Ferguson had tested him in the role multiple times before, and each time Ronaldo had expressed his doubts.

  But Ferguson had insisted:

  "This is the best position for yht now!"

  Just thinking about it made Ronaldo feel a wave of frustration.

  As he saw United's midfield struggling to advahe ball, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He dropped back, raised his hand, and called for the pass.

  Receiving the ball, he immediately attempted to drive forward, only to be taken down by Thiago Motta's well-timed tackle. The referee awarded United a free kick from about 30 meters out.

  Without discussing with anyone, Ronaldo took the shot himself.

  But the ball sailed high over the crossbar.

  Two secutive matches as a ter-forward, something that had happened several times this season, but never in a moment as critical as the Champions League semi-finals.

  Ronaldo, desperate to push his team forward, found himself restricted instead.

  He had the ability. But o apply it.

  And that, more than anything, frustrated him.

  For the first time, he found himself regretting not leaving Maer U year.

  Ba 2006, after his infamous csh with Roo the World Cup in Germany, Ronaldo had bee a vilin in Engnd. At the time, he had wao leave for Real Madrid.

  Ferguson, however, had personally flown to Lisbon to vince him to stay, promising to build the team around him. His agent, Je Mendes, also felt the timing wasn't right.

  So, he stayed.

  Two years ter, he led Maer Uo Champions League glory, defehe Premier League title, and helped restore the club to its dominant status.

  That was when Real Madrid's president, Ramón Calderón, came knog again.

  Looking back, Ronaldo found Calderón ughable.

  At the time, he had made it clear: as long as Madrid could vince Maer Uo sell, he was ready to move.

  But what happened?

  Calderón never dared to enter iations. He backed down the moment United quoted a €100 million transfer fee. Instead of pushing for the deal, he froze and as a result, Brazilian forward Robinho left Madrid in anger.

  Later, Ferguson had e to him again, promising:

  "Give me one more year. If the offer is right, I'll let you go."

  Now, the fu part?

  Calderón was telling everyohat he and Ronaldo had some secret agreement in pce.

  Ridiculous.

  How could su agreeme? How would it even be enforced? Was it legally binding? Who would oversee it?

  And what if something ued happened? What then?

  If a force majeure cuse was included, would the tract even hold value?

  The ehing was nonsense, and it only served to agitate Ronaldo further.

  Especially now, now that the match itself was growing more frustrating.

  Beyond the frustration of his own struggles, he could sense something else: Napoli was gradually pushing forward.

  It was subtle, but noticeable.

  Every time they successfully defeheir defensive line inched further up the pitch.

  Now, nearly twenty minutes in, even when United had possession, Napoli's defensive block had crept well beyond their 30-meter line.

  And then, in one particur sequence, Ronaldhe danger.

  As Uried to build atack, the midfield once again struggled tress the ball.

  Reading the situation, Ronaldo immediately dropped deeper, motioning for a pass.

  Fletcher obliged, sending the ball his way.

  But David Luiz was right there, pressing into him the moment he received it.

  Ronaldo found himself outside Napoli's 30-meter area, back to goal.

  With no space to tured for a quick yoff, tapping the ball sideways to Fletcher.

  But Rakitic had anticipated it.

  The Croatian midfielder lunged forward, intercepting the pass with a slight defle off his leg.

  The ball still reached Fletcher, but his first touch was too heavy.

  Seeing the opportunity, Vargas abandoned Park Ji-sung and rushed in.

  Before Fletcher could recover, Vargas won the ball, immediately redireg it toward Thiago Motta.

  Fletcher tried to close him down, but Motta was stronger.

  Shielding the ball with his body, the Brazilian took a couple of quick teral touches before spotting an opening.

  Then, without hesitation.

  He sent the ball forward to Biglia, aiting in space.

  The Argentine midfielder stopped the ball with a smooth touch, turned, and sed the field. Without hesitation, he unched a long diagonal pass.

  The ball cut across the pitch, traveling from deep on Napoli's right side to the left wing iag third.

  Di Maria, already sprinting forward, timed his run perfectly to meet Biglia's pass.

  With a sharp first touch, he trolled the ball, theed a pass, just enough to shake off O'Shea, who lunged in to intercept.

  In an instant, Di Maria accelerated again, breaking past Maer United's right-bad surging down the fnk.

  For a brief moment, Old Trafford fell silent.

  "Napoli's quick terattack!"

  "Di Maria trols beautifully!"

  "Look at this attack, Maer United's defense is retreating fast, but Di Maria is even faster!"

  Ferdinand scrambled back, positioning himself on the left side of the penalty area, anticipating Di Maria's move as the Argentine drove into the box.

  But just as Di Maria reached the penalty area, he stopped suddenly, feinting as if he was about to cut inside.

  Ferdinand immediately reacted, shifting to block the move.

  Then—another sudde.

  Di Maria's movements were so precise, so deceptive, that Ferdinand fell for it pletely.

  In one fluid motion, Di Maria executed a sharp turn, dribbled to the bylih his left foot, and slipped past Ferdinand ihe box.

  The entire sequence was eerily simir to the goal from the first leg.

  Ferdinand lunged desperately, attempting a st-ditch tackle but he was too te.

  As Di Maria broke free, he lifted his head, taking a quice:

  Van der Sar was ing off his line.

  i was tightly marked, pinned between Vidid the goal, making it almost impossible to find a passing ne.

  Maer United's defense was world-css.

  Even in split-sed reas, they instinctively closed down the most dangerous threats.

  But Napoli's greatest strength wasn't just speed, it was the yers of their attack.

  Di Maria uood the situation immediately.

  He knew a direct pass to i was too risky.

  So, without hesitatio the ball back, delivering a perfeverted-triangle pass from the bylio the right side of the penalty spot.

  At that moment, i had surged forward, tangled between Vidi front and Evra behind.

  But Sanchez—who had initially been covered by Evra had smartly held back his run, finding space exactly where the ball arrived.

  The Chilean winger trolled the ball with his right foot, adjusted slightly, then unleashed a fierce first-time shot.

  The ball rocketed into the lht er of the goal, smming against the .

  "GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!"

  "21st mihe 21st minute!!"

  "A lightning-fast terattack from Napoli!"

  "Sahe Chilean winger has just put Napoli ahead against Maer United with a stunning finish!"

  On the sidelines, Gao Shen saw it unfold.

  The moment Di Maria's pass found Sanchez, he k was in.

  And when Sanchez fired the shot?

  Gao Shen exploded with emotion.

  "YES! YESSSSS!!"

  He jumped up, fists ched, r at the top of his lungs. His face was alight with passion, almost wild with excitement.

  He nearly charged onto the pitch, uo tain himself, only to be held back by Carlo and Zidane, who rushed in from both sides.

  They ed their arms around him, their faces just as ecstatic.

  "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"

  "That was incredible!"

  "Oh my God, we've tur around!"

  One by ohe assistant coaches flooded in, surrounding Gao Shen in celebration.

  On the field, Napoli's pyers sprioward Sanchez, piling onto him in jubition.

  "One-nil!"

  "Napoli now leads 2-1 on aggregate! They've turhe tie around!"

  "And what a performa has to be said, Napoli's defensive discipline and terattag execution have been outstanding tonight at Old Trafford."

  "They started with a structured defensive approach, but whetacked, they did so with precision. This was Napoli's third shot of the game and the most dangerous one. And they buried it."

  "Gao Shen has clearly learned from the first leg. Napoli has been more posed tonight, and their terattacks have been sharper, more targeted."

  After celebrating with his teammates, Sanchez and the Napoli pyers ran toward the toue, heading straight for the coag staff.

  High-fives. Hugs. Laughter.

  "Well done!"

  "Stay focused!"

  "We have the lead now, but keep your shape. Watch for United's response. Hold firm!"

  Gao Shen barked his instrus, his voice carrying above the roar of the crowd.

  The Napoli pyers already fully itted to their manager's tactiodded in agreement.

  Old Trafford erupted with boos as frustrated Maer United faed their anger.

  But Gao Shen wasn't paying attention to them.

  He hadn't expected Napoli to score so quickly off a terattack like this.

  And now, everything had ged.

  "We o adjust our approach!"

  Returning to the coag area, he turo Zidane and the others, his excitement still evident.

  "Football has no fixed form, just like battle. The key is adaptation."

  He grinned, his eyes full of fidence.

  "That's my coag philosophy."

  Then, as if speaking to an unseen observer, he added quietly.

  "Did you see that, Sir?"

  ***

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