Bang!Kaká and Rakitić collided hard. Rakitić had just wanted to stretch his leg to reach the ball, but he saw Kaká use his long legs to hook the ball back first.
"Damn it!"
Rakitić immediately pressed close to him.
From midfield all the way to the byline, he worked together with his teammates to stop Kaká's cross.
Bang!The ball bounced off Rakitić's ankle and flew out for a corner.
Kaká got up from the ground, shaking his head helplessly.
He turned to look at Rakitić, who was also watching him cautiously.
Kaká muttered under his breath:
"As expected of a Croatian player, they're all the same!"
Croatian players were all extremely difficult to deal with.
It's not that every single one of them was technically gifted—rather, it was their "plaster-like" man-marking style: once they latched on, they never let go.
Suker was like that, Srna was the same, and now Rakitić was no different.
Defenders hate nothing more than this kind of relentless sticking.
Some players, after being beaten once or twice, or once the gap is too big to catch up, will slow down.
But Croatians? Never.
These guys just keep coming!
Still, Real Madrid won a corner.
"Corner for Real Madrid—Kaká will take it!"
Suker, Benzema and others were already at the edge of the box, and Ramos had also come up to contest the header.
"How are we running this?"
Ramos asked proactively.
Suker gestured briefly to arrange the runs and the order. Benzema and Ramos both nodded immediately.
As Kaká was about to deliver, Suker moved first, suddenly charging toward the near post.
This drew Sevilla's defenders to react.
But just as they moved with Suker, Benzema and Ramos suddenly sprang into action—one running toward the middle, the other to the far post.
"Mark your man!"
Right then, Sevilla's players realized Kaká hadn't crossed the ball at all, but instead passed to the oncoming Srna at the edge of the box.
"Short corner! Get to him!"
Sevilla's defenders shouted.
Srna trapped the ball near the right side of the penalty area and crossed it immediately.
This one didn't go to the near post—it arced toward the far post.
The ball curved through the air, dropping perfectly into the open space at the far side.
Sevilla's defensive shape was now completely disrupted.
Ramos leaped and powered in a header.
Whoosh!The ball hit the net!
"GOAL!!!! Ramos!!!"
"In the 17th minute, Real Madrid score from their very first corner, using a set-piece routine to take the lead!"
"The pre-cross runs and Srna's arrival completely broke Sevilla's defensive setup, and they get the goal!"
"After their sharp counterattacks, Real Madrid have now unveiled their set-piece weapon."
Gonzalez marveled: "This Real Madrid keep developing new offensive tools!"
"Beautiful!!"
"Hahaha! That's football!"
"Well done!"
The Madrid players laughed as they celebrated.
They'd been practicing this set-piece for a while, and the first time they used it in a match, it produced a goal—boosting their confidence hugely.
As the scorer, Ramos even ran over and kissed Srna's forehead so hard that Srna was startled.
"Ramos scores his second goal of the season, so excited that he gives the assisting Srna a forehead kiss!"
On the bench, Mourinho clapped with a smile.
He loved this feeling—watching his once-scattered parts come together, forming a smooth-running machine.
When all the components meshed perfectly, Real Madrid would explode in power.
"Our back line got broken up! We need to find a chance to counterattack!"
Sevilla weren't like other La Liga minnows.
Many weaker sides against Real Madrid would happily settle for a draw.
But Sevilla always aimed for victory.
They had beaten Real before, after all.
Still, this Real Madrid side was so strong that it made them wary—and so far, Sevilla had been on the back foot.
"Rakitić, use your ability to push forward!"
Rakitić—the number 10 of Sevilla!
In football, "10" meant the core player, so he got extra attention and expectation.
Sevilla had entrusted him with that number, and he felt he had to deliver.
But…He looked at his opponents.
How was he supposed to shine against these monsters?!
Rakitić was frustrated.
This Real Madrid weren't just any top club—they were the now-famous "Galácticos 2.0."
Compared to the flashy but unbalanced 1.0 version, this side had fame, flair, and power—fully deserving of the name.
Shut down Suker? Then Kaká would get you.
And could Suker even really be stopped?
Rakitić pursed his lips—defending had no future here. Against this Madrid, defense would only eventually be broken by their forwards.
So—attack it was!
"Give me the ball!"
When play resumed, Rakitić started demanding the ball.
His head was constantly swiveling, looking for passing options—but Madrid's defensive positioning was perfect, giving him nothing.
He had to shake off his marker each time before passing.
Even so, with his skillful footwork, he could still link Sevilla's midfield in their forward pushes.
"This kid…"
Suker grinned as he watched.
In his memory, back in Dinamo Zagreb, this was the same guy he'd once crushed so badly he cried—and now he was the core of a top-flight team.
Suker felt proud.
Whoosh!!
Suker suddenly accelerated toward Rakitić.
Just as Rakitić changed direction, Suker slid in hard—
Bang!Rakitić crashed to the ground.
"Don't let him dance around! Be decisive! Slide in! Just slide in!"
Suker got up, shouting to his teammates.
Madrid's players were surprised—except Ramos, whose eyes lit up.
"Ref! Ref!"
Rakitić raised his hand, shouting in protest.
"I didn't even get your foot—why are you yelling?" Suker said impatiently.
Rakitić glared: "You totally meant it!"
Suker shrugged: "Then slide me back!"
Rakitić gritted his teeth: "Just you wait!"
Five minutes later—
Bang!!
Rakitić slid in and flattened Suker.
Pleased, he got up and saw Suker on the ground looking disheveled, a smile tugging at his lips.
Revenge served immediately—no overnight grudges!
Beep!The sharp whistle blew.
The ref came over, glanced at Suker, then at Rakitić, frowned, and pulled out a yellow card.
"What?"
Rakitić was stunned. "I touched the ball first! Why a card?"
Suker slowly got up, brushed grass off his shirt, and watched Rakitić argue angrily before teammates covered his mouth and pulled him away.
Still young—so quick to blow up!
Mourinho pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.
A yellow card for that? Maybe the ref was… one of theirs?
It was a reasonable suspicion.
Faria, his assistant, grinned: "There's an unspoken rule in Spanish refereeing—they call fouls on Suker extra strictly." (LMAO)
"Star protection policy?" Mourinho understood instantly.
Every league had its star players to draw fans and attention—and they'd get some leniency and protection.
Faria shook his head: "Not just that—Suker is also a VIP for the Spanish tax office."
Mourinho suddenly got it.
"Then the yellow card makes sense!"
Halftime came—Sevilla had fought hard but were still trailing 1–0.
A bad spot for them—they needed changes for the second half.
As for Real Madrid…
Gonzalez grinned.
When Mourinho's team got a lead, they became very stable—reckless attacks were rare.
"Second half—start in defense!" Mourinho tapped the board. "First 10 minutes, press a little, then sub, then full defensive shape."
"Don't give them any chance to score!"
Sevilla also made adjustments—but their task was harder.
Down a goal, but still having to watch Madrid's counterattacks—it was tough.
The Sevilla coach kept stressing positioning and runs.
But Rakitić thought pure tactical positioning wasn't enough against Madrid.
On execution alone, Madrid were at least as good, if not better.
"Rakitić, how's your long shot?"
Kanouté asked.
"Not bad. Why?"
"You should try more of them," Kanouté smiled.
"Why?" Rakitić was puzzled.
"Because there's a chance you'll score a screamer. When we've beaten Madrid before, many were from such goals!"
A screamer?
Rakitić frowned.
More like a miracle goal, really.
Could luck-based shots work?
Seeing his doubt, Kanouté nodded firmly: "They really work!"
Rakitić smirked.
Fine then!
Though still annoyed, he silently prayed:"Tommy, bless me!"
Croatia's magic blade—Tomislav Dujmović—the miracle goal maker for the big occasions!
In the 78th minute, Kanouté's shot from close range smacked into Casillas's chest and rebounded out to the edge of the box.
Casillas, grimacing in pain, was just getting up when he saw Rakitić on the right side of the box smash the ball first-time.
The ball flew like a sword toward the far top corner of Madrid's goal.
Whoosh—it was in.
The Bernabéu fell silent.
Huh?Suker stared in disbelief.
Rakitić was also stunned.
Holy crap… did I just… score by pure luck?!
"Ohhhhh~~~~!!!! What a screamer!!!!"
"Ivan Rakitić!! The Croatian midfield star, Sevilla's new No.10—he's just equalized in the 78th minute with a stunning strike!"
"My god! This is unbelievable—Madrid's defense was only disorganized for a second, but Rakitić seized it and scored!"
"Real Madrid 1–1 Sevilla!"
On the bench, Mourinho shook his head.
This wasn't about poor defending—screamers like that are almost impossible to stop.
Who could've predicted Rakitić would volley from that angle, keep it down, and score?
By the 55th minute, Madrid had already subbed Benzema and Diarra, adding more defensive steel.
But Mourinho still had one move left.
"Take Alonso off. Bring on Albiol."
It was a surprising change—taking off Alonso meant losing their main distributor.
"What's Madrid's plan now without their outlet?" Gonzalez wondered.
Then he saw Kaká drop back into Alonso's role.
"Kaká as a holding midfielder?"
Gonzalez was stunned—and so were Madrid fans.
What was Mourinho doing? Could Kaká even play there?
The camera caught Mourinho chewing gum calmly, his expression unruffled.
Albiol came on and went straight to Kaká.
"Kaká, the boss says: on the counter, go straight to Suker. No transitional passes—just connect directly with him. Also, use any means you can think of to open the counter channels for Suker."
Kaká blinked and looked toward the bench.
Mourinho met his gaze and nodded lightly.
Kaká took a deep breath: "I understand."
Beep!!
The game restarted.
Kaká now sat deeper, able to touch the ball more often without heavy pressure.
He could also face the attacking direction, giving him a wider view of teammates' runs—and he could predict Suker's runs with near 100% accuracy.
It was a strange feeling—more than just chemistry, the connection was almost too perfect.
But because of it, Kaká felt he could feed Suker far more from here.
No one knew Suker better.
And that unique link gave them absolute understanding.
"Kaká's organizing the play well," Gonzalez said in surprise.
He'd always thought of Kaká as the "charge forward" type from his Milan days.
Even after toning that down a bit, he was still more of an attacking player.
Now, he was acting as the midfield conductor—many questioned Mourinho's decision, but so far it was working.
Kaká started switching play to the left, where Di María was.
Di María, talented and technically sound, could draw defenders away from Suker.
With about 10 minutes left, Kaká's goal was to open the channels for Suker.
First—stretch the defense laterally.
Through constant passes and switches, Kaká made Sevilla's shape less compact.
Suker, poised on the defensive line, could feel the once-tight formation loosening.
Next—stretch it vertically.
Kaká began receiving the ball with his back to goal higher up the pitch.
He noticed Sevilla's players loved to press immediately in those situations.
Habits are dangerous—impulsive actions can't be controlled by will.
Every time Kaká took it with his back to goal, they rushed him.
He didn't pass—he just used skill to turn away and then passed wide again.
"This…"
Gonzalez was almost speechless.
From a bird's-eye view, the once-dense Sevilla defense was now scattered thanks to Kaká's constant pulling and passing.
And when a compact defense scatters—gaps appear!
Kaká suddenly spun with a cut inside, scanning left and right.
On both flanks, Di María and Srna were sprinting forward—pulling Sevilla's full-backs wide and stretching the center-backs apart.
Kaká nudged the ball sideways, opened an angle, and used his instep to slide it forward—
The ball zipped between the two center-backs like a sudden blade slicing Sevilla's defense apart!
"He's cut them open!!! Kaká!! No~~~" Gonzalez's eyes widened: "Suker!!!—"
From an angled run, Suker burst through, beating the back line.
He caught up to the ball, went one-on-one with the keeper, and delicately chipped it over his head into the net.
90+1 minute.
Kaká's scalpel-like through ball had found Suker!Real Madrid 2–1 Sevilla!