Real Madrid returned to the dressing room at halftime with the score still 0–0, yet the players were all in extremely high spirits.
They were all top professional players in European football, battle-hardened veterans who could naturally see exactly how the first half had gone—especially when it came to Barcelona's performance.
"Not to say anything, but if they hadn't kept fouling us, we'd have scored long ago in the first half."
"If you ask me, they're already starting to struggle. They're running out of gas."
"Isn't that normal? Think about it—Alves is almost thirty-two."
"We still have a pretty obvious advantage in midfield. If we push forward, scoring shouldn't be a problem."
"Yeah. Several times, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to go up, but..."
The discussion in the dressing room came to an abrupt halt, and everyone looked at Yang Yang in unison.
Throughout the first half, he had repeatedly reminded his teammates not to overcommit under any circumstances and to maintain a tight defense at the back.
It could be said that the midfielders and defenders had largely refrained from carrying the ball forward because of Yang Yang's restraint. Otherwise, given Real Madrid's attacking enthusiasm, they would have pushed forward long ago to settle things properly with Barcelona.
Seeing all his teammates looking at him, Yang Yang already knew what was on their minds.
He had played alongside everyone present for many years. Quite a few of them had reached their current status as world-class stars with him as a witness, or even with his personal help, so he understood each of their temperaments very well.
"Don't feel it's a pity. Judging from the final stages of the first half, Barcelona really did run into physical problems," Yang Yang said with a smile.
Like Real Madrid, Barcelona were