"I think we need to play more aggressively against Real Madrid."
At lunchtime, Manchester United's players chatted in the hotel conference room.
The atmosphere was slightly oppressive. Tang Ye knew he needed to step up at a time like this.
"Even though they made the final, I don't think they can compare to us."
Crunch!
After saying that, Tang Ye took a bite of an egg tart.
It tasted a little bad, so after one bite, he set it aside and returned his attention to the conversation.
"So you think we've already won?"
Haller sat across from Tang Ye.
"I wouldn't put it that way... What I mean is, if we play more aggressively, we'll have a better chance of winning. Didn't that Manchester Evening News or The Guardian reporter say we'd probably draw with Real Madrid in open play? That's just wishful thinking. We'll take them apart in open play."
"Haha!"
"Real Madrid aren't weak!"
Ousmane Dembélé stressed.
"They're not as strong as you think, Osman! You were awful when you played for Barcelona. Of course Real Madrid seemed terrifying to you back then."
Tang Ye immediately found the flaw in Dembélé's thinking.
Dembélé had been nothing but a slacker when he played for Barcelona. From a slacker's perspective, of course Real Madrid would look terrifying.
But Manchester United's Dembélé was no slacker now.
"Oh, you've got a point."
Dembélé gave Tang Ye a thumbs-up. "Looks like I might have a shot at winning a Ballon d'Or too."
Responding to Dembélé's thumbs-up, Tang Ye clenched his left hand into a fist and punched Dalot on the shoulder. "Weren't you nervous?"
"...A little."
"It's fine, it's fine. We've got this. Just play normally."
Tang Ye's words made Rodri laugh. "Why do you give me the feeling that you've won the