CHAPTER 742: THE FINAL HE COULDN’T PLAY

The private jet touched down at Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas Airport just past 1:00 PM local time, completing the journey from Liverpool in approximately two and a half hours. As the aircraft taxied to a halt, the anticipation of the UEFA Champions League final loomed large.

Upon disembarking, Zachary and Kristin parted ways with the Liverpool executives, opting to explore Madrid on their own.

The executives expressed concern for Zachary’s security, but he reassured them, stating that his long-time bodyguard, Lorenzo, was already waiting for them. Indeed, Lorenzo stood just outside the VIP terminal, ready to accompany them through the city’s vibrant streets.

Their first stop after leaving the airport was the historic Plaza Mayor, a grand square steeped in history and surrounded by elegant arcades. They strolled through the bustling Puerta del Sol, the symbolic center of Madrid, where street performers entertained passersby.

At the Royal Palace, they marveled at the majestic architecture and the changing of the guard ceremony. A leisurely walk through El Retiro Park then offered a serene escape, with its manicured gardens and the tranquil lake reflecting the afternoon sun. They also visited the Prado Museum, home to masterpieces by Goya and Velázquez, immersing themselves in Spain’s rich artistic heritage.

Time passed swiftly, and as evening approached, Zachary and Kristin returned to their hotel, a luxurious establishment nestled in the heart of Madrid.

After ensuring Kristin was comfortably settled, Zachary made his way to Liverpool’s team camp. There, he reunited with his teammates, sharing words of encouragement and team solidarity. He wished them luck for the final, his presence a testament to his unwavering support, before departing to allow them to focus on their preparations.

By 7:00 PM, Zachary and Kristin sat down for an early dinner at a charming local restaurant, savoring traditional Spanish cuisine.

With the match tickets in hand, they then joined the Liverpool executive delegation, boarding a coach that would take them to the Estadio Metropolitano. The streets were alive with energy, throngs of fans clad in red and white lining the avenues, waving flags, and chanting anthems. The atmosphere was electric, a sea of passion and anticipation.

For Zachary, experiencing this from the sidelines was surreal. Accustomed to the tunnel vision focus of a player on match day, he now absorbed the spectacle with fresh eyes. The UEFA liaison guided them smoothly through the stadium’s VIP entrance, leading them to their seats with an unobstructed view of the pitch.

Shortly after, the noise around the stadium hit a crescendo as the opening ceremony commenced. Imagine Dragons took center stage, igniting the crowd with a dynamic medley of their hits: "Believer," "Thunder," "Radioactive," and "On Top of the World." Their performance, enhanced by pyrotechnics and a vibrant light show, captivated the audience and set an electrifying tone for the evening.

Eventually, as the final notes faded, the Ukrainian electric string quartet Asturia Girls delivered a stirring rendition of the UEFA Champions League Anthem. Their performance resonated throughout the stadium, heralding the arrival of the teams.

Players from both Liverpool and Tottenham Hotspurs soon emerged onto the pitch, greeted by a chorus of cheers.

Zachary’s gaze followed his teammates as they began their warm-ups. A mix of pride and longing stirred within him. He yearned to be on the field, contributing to the team’s efforts, but his recent injury made that impossible. Sensing his emotions, Kristin gently squeezed his hand, offering silent support. He responded with a faint smile, drawing strength from her presence.

His attention then shifted to the Tottenham squad. Familiar faces from his previous life like Harry Kane, Son Heung-min, Christian Eriksen, and Kieran Trippier were present. However, two players stood out: Kasongo and Thomas Partey. Both had been his teammates at Rosenborg, his first professional club. Seeing them in Tottenham’s lineup was unexpected and introduced an element of unpredictability to the match that was supposed to be a sure win for Liverpool, according to his previous life’s memories.

The teams quickly concluded their warm-ups and retreated to the dressing rooms. Shortly after, they returned in full kits, with Liverpool in their iconic red and Tottenham in pristine white. The pre-match formalities proceeded swiftly, and finally after a few more minutes, the referee’s whistle signaled the start of the UEFA Champions League final.

The match began at a blistering pace, the kind Zachary once thrived in. There were quick transitions, suffocating pressure, and every player hunting the ball like it owed them something on the field of play. From the moment the referee blew the whistle, Liverpool pressed high with relentless energy, their rhythm immediate and aggressive.

From the stands, Zachary could feel it. This was no slow build. They were going for the throat.

It wasn’t long before the pressure cracked something. Tottenham barely had time to string together a pass before Fabinho intercepted a loose touch in midfield. Seconds later, the ball ricocheted into the box and hit Sissoko’s arm. The referee didn’t hesitate. Whistle. Penalty.

Zachary’s pulse quickened as Mo Salah soon stood over the spot, calm as always as the stadium held its breath.

One step, then a clean strike was all it took. The ball rocketed into the top left corner.

1–0. Four minutes in.

Zachary shot to his feet with the rest of the Liverpool delegation. Kristin grabbed his arm, laughing in disbelief, but all Zachary could do was nod, his jaw tight. He was elated—but more than that, he was aching. Not from the injury. From the need to be out there. This should have been his night too.

Still, the early lead was what they needed.

Liverpool kept their foot on the gas. The midfield trio of Henderson, Wijnaldum, and Fabinho moved like a single unit, always strangling Tottenham’s build-up before it could reach the final third. Out wide, Trent and Robbo continuously stretched the pitch, hurling crosses into the box like artillery. Zachary leaned forward every time they charged as he could see the openings, the runs, the space no one else seemed to notice until it was already gone.

Chances came and went. Salah fired one just over. Firmino curled one inches wide. Van Dijk almost nodded one in off a corner. It felt like the second goal was coming. Zachary could feel it in his bones, but it never came.

At least, not yet.

By halftime, Liverpool were still ahead but not safe. And Zachary knew from experience how dangerous that was. One mistake could flip the whole match.

After the break, the tide shifted. Tottenham came out with renewed purpose. Son started drifting inside more often, Kane dropped deep to pull defenders out of shape, and Eriksen began orchestrating from midfield. For the first time, Liverpool looked unsettled.

But they didn’t fold.

Van Dijk barked orders like a general. Alisson claimed every cross like it was routine. Every time Tottenham threatened, Liverpool closed ranks. Zachary exhaled when Wijnaldum cleared a dangerous ball off the line in the 65th minute. That one had looked too close.

Then came the moment they needed to breathe again.

In the 76th minute, Robertson made a darting run down the left and cut back a low cross. The ball pinged around the box before Salah got a foot on it. There was then a deflection, then chaos before Firmino pounced.

Right foot. Back of the net.

2–0.

Zachary shot to his feet again, fists clenched. This was the margin they needed. Finally. He glanced over at Kristin. She smiled at him, her eyes shining with the same fire he felt in his chest.

But then... it unraveled a few minutes later.

Fabinho, usually so steady, misread a simple pass in the middle, and Thomas Partey, sharp as ever, picked his pocket. Zachary froze, sensing the danger. Partey had been his teammate at Rosenborg, and he knew that look. That instinct.

Without missing a beat, Partey fed Kasongo, another familiar face from Zachary’s past. And Kasongo (damn him...) pinged a perfect switch across the pitch to Son. Son took one touch, then threaded an inch-perfect through ball between the defenders.

Kane didn’t miss. He never did.

83rd minute. 2–1.

Now the stadium roared with a different sound. There was hope from the Spurs fans, and tension from the Liverpool end. The momentum had shifted. Zachary gritted his teeth as this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Thereafter, Tottenham pushed. It was attack after attack as they swarmed forward, desperate for the equalizer. Zachary clenched the armrest so tight his knuckles turned red. But he was also a bit hopeful as he knew this pattern of teams chasing a goal, leaving space behind. But could Liverpool punish them before it was too late?

Then, the dagger came.

A poorly taken Tottenham corner was cleared by Matip, and Henderson snapped up the loose ball. What followed was one pass to Salah, who spun and burst into open space like a man on fire. Mane joined the break, and eventually, Salah fed him.

Mane didn’t miss.

91st minute. 3–1.

The Liverpool bench exploded. The fans drowned out the world. The title was theirs.

Zachary didn’t move at first. He just watched, taking it all in, including the lights, the sound, the pure chaos of joy. Kristin touched his shoulder gently.

He nodded slowly.

The whistle soon blew, and it was over.