The Champions League anthem faded, its majestic notes still echoing in the vast expanse of the Santiago Bernabéu. Leon stood on the hallowed green pitch, the blinding floodlights making the white jerseys of Real Madrid shimmer like ghosts.

The referee blew his whistle, and the match began.

From the very first minute, Real Madrid imposed an astonishing pace.

It was unlike anything Leon had ever experienced.

The ball moved with a dizzying speed, a white blur zipping between players.

Luka Modrić (Current: 89), despite his age, seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, his passes cutting through Inter's lines with surgical precision.

Leon's 'Vision' (95), his unique gift, was immediately overwhelmed.

It wasn't that it stopped working; it was that the sheer volume of data, the speed at which the shimmering icons appeared and disappeared, was too much to process.

Above Jude Bellingham (Current: 91), Leon saw a constant flurry of intelligent movement icons, quick pass icons, burst of acceleration icons.

Bellingham was everywhere, a powerful engine driving Real Madrid forward.

Then there was Vinicius Jr. (Current: 90).

Every time he received the ball, Leon's vision was bombarded with a chaotic cascade of blistering dribble icons, sharp turn icons, explosive acceleration icons.

Vinicius was a blur down the left wing, leaving defenders scrambling. Leon, remembering Stefan de Vrij's advice, tried to track back, to cover the space behind Federico Dimarco, but Vinicius was simply too fast, too elusive.

Leon felt like a student in the presence of masters. His own 'Current: 84' felt insignificant, like a bright but small light trying to compete with a galaxy of stars.

He tried to make his usual quick passes, to find space, but Real Madrid's players seemed to anticipate everything.

Their 'Cohesion' index, Leon noticed, burned even brighter than Copenhagen's, a blazing sun of unified movement and understanding.

Every Inter player was immediately closed down, every passing lane cut off.

Inter's defense was under constant, relentless pressure. Stefan de Vrij and Alessandro Bastoni threw themselves into tackles, blocking shots, but it felt like they were constantly bailing out a sinking ship. Handanović was forced into a series of crucial saves.

"Real Madrid are dictating the pace here!" the commentator's voice boomed, a hint of awe in his tone. "Inter are struggling to get out of their own half!"

Leon tried to contribute, to get on the ball, to create something.

He attempted a simple one-two with Lautaro Martínez, but a Real Madrid midfielder, Aurélien Tchouaméni (Current: 87), seemed to read his mind, intercepting the return pass with ease.

Leon's 'Blind Side Escape' skill, so effective against Fiorentina, felt useless here; there was no space to escape into, no moment to breathe.

The minutes crawled by, each one a grueling test of endurance. Inter were defending with all their might, but the pressure was building, relentless and suffocating.

Leon found himself chasing shadows, his lungs burning, his mind racing to keep up with the overwhelming amount of information his 'Vision' was feeding him.

Then, in the 28th minute, the inevitable happened.

The attack started with a swift counter from Real Madrid. Jude Bellingham picked up the ball deep in his own half.

Leon saw the long, diagonal pass icon above Jude's foot, aimed towards the right wing.

"Bellingham with the long ball!" the commentator exclaimed. "Pinpoint accuracy!"

The pass was perfect, landing at the feet of Rodrygo, who had drifted wide. Leon, playing on the left wing, was tracking back, trying to cover.

His 'Vision' showed him the *rapid dribble* icon above Rodrygo, followed by a cut inside icon.

Leon knew Rodrygo would try to take on Federico Dimarco (Current: 86).

Leon adjusted his position, aiming to cut off the passing lane to the center, anticipating Rodrygo's cut inside.

But in that split second, a tiny, almost imperceptible delay, his 'Vision' also showed him a faint overlap run icon from Dani Carvajal (Current: 85), the Real Madrid right-back, who was surging forward on the outside.

It was a fraction of a second, a moment of indecision.

Should he stick to Rodrygo, or cover Carvajal's run?

Leon's mind, overloaded with the sheer speed of Real Madrid's play, hesitated. He chose to prioritize Rodrygo's cut inside, a natural instinct for a winger.

Rodrygo, seeing Leon's slight shift, didn't cut inside. Instead, with a burst of acceleration, he played a quick one-two with Carvajal, who had indeed overlapped.

The ball was zipped back to Rodrygo inside the box, leaving Dimarco and Leon a step behind.

"Rodrygo! He's in!" the commentator's voice rose sharply.

"He's got space!"

Leon saw the *foot and a powerful shot* icon above Rodrygo. He knew it was coming. He lunged, a desperate attempt to block, but it was too late. Rodrygo, with the coolness of a seasoned veteran, unleashed a low, powerful shot.

BOOOOM!

The ball whistled past Handanović's outstretched dive.

The Bernabéu erupted in a thunderous roar of white! Real Madrid were 1-0 up!

"Rodrygo! He punishes Inter's mistake!" the commentator shouted, his voice filled with the excitement of the goal. "A brilliant piece of play, and Real Madrid take the lead!"

Leon stood for a moment, the roar of the crowd washing over him, feeling a cold, sinking sensation in his stomach. It was his fault. That split-second delay, that slight misjudgment, that overwhelming amount of data from his 'Vision' that he couldn't process fast enough.

A player of Rodrygo's caliber didn't need a big mistake; a small one was immediate punishment.

The rest of the half was a desperate struggle for Inter. They tried to push forward, but Real Madrid's midfield, led by the tireless Fede Valverde (Current: 88), stifled every attack. Leon felt a growing sense of helplessness, a feeling he hadn't experienced with such clarity before. He was the wonderkid, the one with the special 'Vision', but here, against these masters, he felt utterly outmatched.

The referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of the first half.

Leon walked towards the dressing room, his head bowed, the roar of the Bernabéu still ringing in his ears.

The feeling of helplessness dominated him, an unprecedented clarity that this was a level far beyond anything he had imagined.