CHAPTER 430: RONALDO’S HATTRICK (REPLAY)

"Although it may not be the best time, I believe our Manchester City is no worse than Real Madrid now."

That was Richard’s conclusion after Real Madrid scored their third goal, putting them one ahead of Manchester City.

"Haha, well, next year we can try again."

After shaking his head, Richard shared his thoughts with Marina about this defeat.

Originally, Richard believed that Madrid’s squad was still far from perfect. His reasoning went back to the case of Roberto Carlos. When Inter Milan sold him to Real Madrid, many assumed he would remain a struggling winger—his performances in that role at Inter had been inconsistent and underwhelming.

But what no one expected was that, at Madrid, he would be entrusted with the role of first-choice left-back. Almost immediately, he flourished. His form returned, his confidence soared, and he began the transformation into one of the most dynamic full-backs in the world—until the day he moved to Manchester City.

The timing for Manchester City to face Real Madrid was far from ideal. However, the reality is...

"What happened?" Richard asked, pleasantly surprised as the crowd erupted around him. Ronaldo had just scored again.

A hat-trick!

Ronaldo had just netted a hat-trick in his very first Champions League final.

He didn’t even see the goal at first—he had been deep in conversation with Marina Granovskaia. Thankfully, others around him quickly filled him in.

While the discussions continued in the stands, Martin O’Neill made a decisive gamble on the touchline. He noticed Real Madrid’s tactical changes and gestured firmly to his players. It wasn’t quite the extreme of parking the bus, but he knew that with Madrid now committing more men to defense, City’s flowing attacks would run into greater obstacles, lowering their effectiveness. A slight adjustment was necessary now that they were in the lead.

He immediately shifted from a 4-4-2 into a 3-5-2 with a few clever tweaks, and then made two decisive changes: Okocha replaced Pires to add balance on the flank, while Lampard came on for Pirlo to inject fresh energy and drive into midfield

The foundation was solid: Buffon in goal, with Cannavaro anchoring the back three, flanked by Zanetti and Thuram. Since Capdevila wasn’t as reliable defensively, he was pushed forward into a wing-back role.

In midfield, Lampard and Makelele were joined by the ever-versatile Zidane, who could both shield the defense and step further up when needed. Alongside Okocha, he provided protection for the slower back line while also drifting wide to cover the adventurous wing-backs, Capdevila and Zanetti. The idea wasn’t just tactical—it was psychological. By stacking more attacking options, O’Neill lifted morale, gave his side an offensive edge, and unified their mindset.

The players instantly understood the message.

A coach has one great taboo: to stand still in adversity is to surrender. Once you make changes, the outcome—win or lose—comes down to skill and fortune, but at least you’ve tried. And if you truly want a miracle, you must act to create the space for it to happen, not simply pray for one.

Manchester City’s earlier tactics were starting to run into difficulties. The most obvious problem was that Pirlo and Pires were struggling physically against players like Karembeu, Seedorf, and Redondo—who was shadowing them closely and limiting their influence on the game in the final minutes. However, just as the clock was about to run out, City’s tactical adjustments finally began to show results.

After receiving the ball, Lampard quickly fed it to Makélélé, who returned the pass with a single touch before playing it out to the left. From the wings, Capdevila took possession, exchanged a sharp give-and-go with Makélélé again before surged forward with pace, bulldozing past the midfield line.

Seedorf, who had been marking Zidane, suddenly noticed Capdevila charging forward just a few meters away. Abandoning Zidane, he broke his shape to chase the onrushing wing-back.

That was the opening Zidane needed. The moment Seedorf moved, Capdevila slipped the ball back to him. Zidane seized the gap instantly.

Raúl turned, desperate to intercept, but he was a step too late.

Capdevila didn’t wait—he kept running, demanding nothing, trusting Zidane’s vision. Sure enough, Zidane threaded the return pass right into his path, releasing him into open space.

Behind the play, Makélélé had already dropped deep alongside Cannavaro, shoring up the defense, while Zanetti had pushed high, disrupting both Madrid flanks.

Capdevila surged forward relentlessly. Karembeu darted across to stop him, but with perfect timing Capdevila slipped the ball across the edge of the penalty area to Ronaldo. The Alien burst down the flank.

Redondo tried to cut him off, stepping in to block the lane. But Ronaldo had already read him. With the ball under perfect control, he snapped his right foot around it in one fluid motion—outside to inside, the devastating Elastico.

Redondo bit on the first movement, lunging to his left, only to realize too late that the ball had already been whipped back across. The Amsterdam Arena rose with a gasp as danger suddenly ignited.

Ronaldo was dangerous, and every Madrid player knew it. As he drifted sideways, both Roberto Carlos and Sanchís chased after him. But what they didn’t realize was that an unexpected figure had slipped through their defensive line. Only when Ronaldo released the pass did they finally understand.

The ball directly broke through Real Madrid’s defense, and City’s players received the ball in the penalty area...Thuram!

The Madrid defenders froze, stunned, staring in disbelief at the player who had ghosted past them.

Thuram?

What the hell are you still doing up here?

A center-back charging into this position? He’s out of his mind!

Thuram burst into the box as Hierro rushed across to cut off his angle. Though he had a clear chance to shoot, he hesitated—afraid of wasting the opportunity.

With Salgado closing fast on his right, Thuram instead slid a calm pass into the narrow gap between Salgado and Sanchís.

The intended target was, of course, Larsson. And this season, beyond the success of the system itself, the second great tactical weapon had been the Ronaldo–Larsson partnership.

One a world-class phenomenon, the other a supremely intelligent forward—together they were exceptional individually and devastating as a pair. Every time City won possession, the plan was clear: get the ball into the feet, chest, or head of one of the two strikers. It wasn’t as crude as a classic little-man/big-man partnership, especially since Ronaldo was hardly weak in the air. Instead, his deft movement, dribbling, and immaculate close control paired perfectly with Larsson’s intelligence and timing.

Unmarked, Larsson let the ball roll casually between his legs. Canizares, Salgado, Redondo, and Hierro were all fooled— even Seedorf slipped as the deception unfolded.

And the one who received the ball?

Ronaldo. Unchallenged.

He pounced on it, rushing forward and preparing to shoot. This time, he was careful not to strike with too much force.

The memory of Zidane’s and Pirlo’s earlier shots—one rattling the post, the other smashing the crossbar—was still fresh in his mind. So he focused on precision. With a delicate touch, he guided the ball toward the far corner, the angle perfectly calculated to outwit Cañizares, who was now helpless.

Even as he leapt forward, fully stretched, it was too late. The ball slipped past him, unreachable. All the Madrid players could do was watch helplessly as it curled into the corner of the net.

"What a turnaround! This is madness! Manchester City equalize in a flash—and it’s Ronaldo who finds the back of the net! But the real shock? The assist came from none other than center-back Thuram! He started the move from deep in defense, charging forward like a man possessed, and linked up brilliantly with his teammates through a series of slick one-twos that tore Real Madrid’s backline apart!"

The stadium erupted in a strange, contradictory roar—half relief, half agony.

On one side, Madrid fans exhaled in unison, the sound like a single, ragged sigh escaping from fifty thousand throats. Some clutched their scarves to their mouths, others pressed palms together as though in prayer.

Across the stands, the Manchester City supporters responded with the opposite. They didn’t sit down, didn’t pause, didn’t even breathe properly. They exploded into chants, their voices raw and unrestrained, feeding off the surge of adrenaline that had carried them through every desperate attack. It wasn’t just cheering—it was defiance, a proclamation to Madrid and to the world: we’re still here!

"And don’t forget Henrik Larsson! That subtle dummy, letting the ball slip past his legs, completely froze the Madrid defense. It was as if time stopped—Helguera, Hierro, even Seedorf hesitated, caught off guard by the movement."

When Richard realized what had just unfolded, he burst into applause, unable to contain his excitement. Then he glanced at his watch.

91:43.

The scoreboard confirmed it: 3–3 on the night

Less than four minutes remained in regulation. If the game went into extra time, a full thirty minutes would be added, regardless of the circumstances.