"Tomorrow's the Champions League semifinal—Suker vs. Srna. Do you think Suker will make Srna cry too?"
In a café in Dortmund, Germany—
Rakitic sipped his coffee, full of anticipation.
Across from him, Mandzukic shrugged."Who knows? But Inter Milan this season is ridiculously strong. After all those tough battles, how much energy does Real Madrid have left?"
"This might be Suker's toughest match yet," Rakitic nodded in agreement.
"But seriously—your match yesterday was so dirty."
Rakitic complained.
Mandzukic retorted, "You guys weren't saints either. You lot kicked the hell out of me."
"You're always engaging in physical battles, what do you expect?"
"I need to score, don't I? How am I supposed to score without contact?"
"You think Suker scores through physical clashes? Zero technical finesse."
"I'm not that kind of forward!"
"Then who else should we foul? You're asking for it."
Mandzukic gritted his teeth."Believe me, I'll yell and have a whole bunch of Dortmund fans come beat you up."
Rakitic rolled his eyes."Calm down. I'm injured. You want me to miss the World Cup?"
Mandzukic sighed."The most important thing now is staying healthy. Honestly, I hope Suker, Srna, and Luka all get knocked out of the Champions League."
"If they hear you say that, they'll beat you up," Rakitic shrugged.
Mandzukic grinned."Vukojevic got injured yesterday—heard it's a mild thigh strain. That damn Pierre overdid it."
"That guy's too stubborn," Rakitic added angrily."If it were me, screw it—I'd just sit out."
"But he's not like that," Mandzukic shook his head."Let's just hope he recovers in time."
"He should make it," Rakitic said."Depends how well the injury heals."
Meanwhile, on the phone, Vukojevic was nervously listening to Suker's furious yelling.
"You're nuts! Let them batter you like that and you just accept it? I should've taken you out back then. Now look at you—thigh strain—how the hell are you gonna play in the World Cup?!"
He felt helpless.Despite being cautious, the pressure of playing the full season had finally caught up to him.
"It's not a serious injury. The medical center says I might recover in time for the World Cup."
"Bullshit! Don't think I don't know what a muscle strain is!"
"How about I take painkillers and play through it?"
"You crazy bastard...!"
Suker was fuming.Letting Vukojevic play under injections would be career suicide.Suker might be ruthless, but not that kind of ruthless.
He took a deep breath."I've got a private medical team—I'm sending them to you. I've also booked a full scan at Milan Medical Center. Get your ass over there tomorrow and get a complete check-up, understood?!"
Vukojevic nodded like a chick pecking rice.He wouldn't dare say no. If he did, Suker would beat him up.
Suker ended with a stern warning:"Rest and heal. Don't you dare think about injections. If I see that in your report, I'll send it straight to the national team."
"Come on, don't be like that..." Vukojevic laughed nervously.
"Don't be like that? You think we don't know you'd actually go play on injections? You damn..." Suker sighed."Whatever. Final warning—no injections. Got it?"
He hung up.
Next to him, Zoran fumed."Mendes, that bastard. Can't even take care of one player. Vukojevic is so stubborn, and Mendes isn't putting pressure on the club?"
Suker shook his head."That guy only has Ronaldo on his mind. Vukojevic? He doesn't care."
"There's still two months to go. He should recover," Suker said as he shook his head."Forget that now. I need to focus on tomorrow's game."
Tomorrow was the second leg of the Champions League semifinal—Real Madrid's do-or-die moment.
All preparations were done. They had given it everything.Now, it was all about the result.
Against a fully fit Inter Milan, Real Madrid was undoubtedly the underdog.
But even so, they had to fight.
Inter Milan had arrived in Madrid a day early.
Being so close to the 2010 World Cup, this Champions League match was attracting a lot of attention.
Especially with Shakira's Waka Waka sweeping the world, World Cup fever was building fast.
In the tournament's promotional MV, Suker had plenty of screen time—especially a key goal in the Euro final after an Italian penalty miss.The South African hosts wanted to use Suker's popularity to boost global hype for the World Cup.
They even sent officials to observe the match—hoping to learn from the Champions League for their own tournament operations.
Match Day — Evening
As the last sunlight disappeared, lights across Madrid lit up the city.
The Bernabéu, too, was ablaze.
Over 90,000 Madrid fans filled the stadium, roaring in support of their team.
Despite a turbulent season, Real had reached the semifinal stage.They had already beaten Barcelona twice this season—morale was high.
From the loudspeakers came the stadium DJ's booming voice:
"Let's welcome our captain—Casillas!!!"
"Center back—Ramos!!!"
"Center back—Pepe!!!"
"Midfield—Xabi Alonso!!!"
As each name was called, 90,000 fans shouted in unison.
But beneath the cheers, a hint of anxiety remained—until...
"And finally, our number 9, our top scorer..."
Suker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The stadium erupted.
Wearing the white kit, Suker walked out of the tunnel. He waved to the fans briefly, but his face was visibly tense.
On Inter Milan's bench, Mourinho watched him carefully.
Of all the players he'd ever coached, Suker wasn't the most muscular, but he had unmatched explosiveness and elite timing in physical duels.
Mourinho had studied Suker's style.
He didn't rely on brute strength—he knew how to time his contact perfectly, making him seem much more dominant in duels.
Combined with top-level burst, positioning, and finishing, Suker was dangerous anywhere in the box.
His shooting? Near-perfect in every area except free kicks. His dribbling? Sharp and powerful.
Mourinho shook his head—this wasn't the time to get distracted.Game on.
Starting Lineups:
Real Madrid (4-3-3):GK: CasillasDEF: Arbeloa, Pepe, Ramos, MarceloMID: Gago, Diarra, Xabi AlonsoFW: Higuaín, Suker, Benzema
Inter Milan (4-4-2):GK: Julio CesarDEF: Maicon, Samuel, Zanetti, SrnaMID: Motta, Lucio, Sneijder, CambiassoFW: Milito, Eto'o
During the handshakes, Suker and Srna briefly hugged, but said nothing—professionalism came first.
Warm-ups began. Suker bounced in place, testing his legs.Even his warm-up jumps were high.
Mourinho narrowed his eyes.Incredible—this guy had played nearly every game across three competitions, and he was still this fresh?
No big injuries, just one serious one in the Euros—but even that didn't derail him.
What a freak of nature.
But no matter how strong—he must be shut down.
Kickoff.
Suker and Benzema stood at the center circle.
"This is the 2009/10 UEFA Champions League semifinal second leg—Real Madrid hosting Inter Milan!"
"Real lost the first leg 0-1. This game is absolutely crucial. Can they beat Mourinho's Inter?"
BEEP!
The whistle blew.
Suker immediately kicked off and sprinted forward.
But Inter's defense quickly collapsed in on him.
Sneijder and Lucio closed him in from both sides. Lucio marked him tight.Zanetti and Samuel were only a few meters away.
Suker was boxed in completely.
"Damn these guys!" he cursed inwardly.
Long Ball from Alonso!
He sprinted to the drop zone, but as he took off, Zanetti body-blocked him.
That tiny delay let Julio Cesar head the ball clear.
Cesar smirked.He still remembered how many times Suker had scored against him.
But under Mourinho's new system?Not anymore.
Inter's zonal defense was tight. If one man can't stop Suker—use five.
Suker tried again in the 6th minute.
This time Alonso's pass avoided the keeper.
Suker outran Srna to get to it—but Srna pushed him toward the sideline.
Still, Suker managed to trap the ball.
He scanned the area—saw a tempting gap near the baseline.
But it was a trap. Zanetti was lurking.
Then he saw Higuaín dropping back.
Just as he was about to pass—Cambiasso moved.
Trap again!
Suker paused—hesitated.
Srna lunged.
TACKLE!
He cleanly knocked the ball away.
"Shit!" Suker cursed, shielding Srna as he chased back.
But Sneijder beat him to the ball, flicked it back, and tried to dribble.
Suker went flying in.
Slide tackle!
Got the ball—out for a throw-in.
No counter for Inter.
"Don't dribble!" Mourinho barked at Sneijder."Pass it forward—counter immediately!"
Sneijder wanted revenge against Real Madrid. He had something to prove.
Suker got up and looked at Srna—Srna grinned with icy teeth.
Everyone was glaring at him.
"This defensive intensity..."
Suker was feeling the pressure.
Two failed breakouts already—he needed a new approach.
"Go wide! Use the flanks!" he yelled to his teammates.
Madrid started shifting the ball wide.
Benzema paused, waited, then passed diagonally back.
Suker took off. Full speed.
Mourinho smiled.
Maicon raced inside—not to the ball—but to block Suker's cutting lane.
Again, Suker was forced wide.
He feinted repeatedly—Maicon stayed disciplined.
Inter's players rotated fast.Suker had no choice—outside touch, left-footed cross!
BOOM!
Zanetti headed it out.
"Counterattack!"
Cambiasso to Sneijder, Sneijder to Eto'o.
The African striker sprinted like a panther.
"Milito!"
Eto'o crossed—Milito lunged—shot!
Blocked by Casillas!
But Sneijder came for the rebound.
BOOM!
"Holy crap!!"
Suker shouted.
Ramos with a sliding goal-line clearance!