What?
Beckenbauer could no longer sit still. He rose to his feet, trembling as he stared at the pitch.
It was not as though he had never seen such a scene before.
But even he could not have created two goals in two consecutive minutes against so many Dortmund internationals.
The Football Emperor watched Number Seven on the pitch with a complicated expression.
This was what he had once hoped Müller would become, yet the one displaying such quality was Müller's opponent—a young player who had only just begun playing in a top-flight league.
Brilliant smiles, powerful camaraderie, the entire team tightly united.
This was practically the football of his dreams.
Back then, competing with the Mönchengladbach faction for influence had not been his intention, but the national team needed a unified mindset.
No wonder.
No wonder!
No wonder the media had been hyping up this team from northern Italy.
Beckenbauer saw something extraordinary in this Sampdoria side.
Several composed veterans, a majority of players in their prime, and young geniuses.
It truly made one look forward to the future.
After briefly standing, Franz Beckenbauer sat back down and applauded with a smile.
Schmidt complained with an unpleasant expression, "Shouldn't you be supporting Dortmund? It's our team, after all."
"Since they can't win, we might as well enjoy the match properly."
Beckenbauer said.
"You're blocking my view!"
Deibel shouted, clapping his hands.
Schulz could not help baring his teeth, pressing his tongue against them.
Fuck, I made one sliding tackle. How was I blocking his view?
Helmer gave Deibel a shove and tried to persuade him. "Say less. Nobody wanted this."
"You weren't the one fishing the ball out of the net."
Deibel said irritably.
Helmer silently rolled his eyes.
This guy's temper was stronger than his ability.
Seeing his teammates arguing, Müller's expression visibly darkened.
Captain Zorc noticed immediately.
Their talented attacking midfielder was the sort of player whose performance depended heavily on his mood. When something good happened, he was unstoppable on the pitch, but if the sky was gloomy, it rained, or some movie made him sad, it would immediately show in his game.
If the team wanted to mount a comeback, they still had to rely on Müller. Zorc hurried back to the penalty area to calm his teammates, telling them not to make Müller any more anxious.
The West German television commentators also fell silent.
Earlier, they had thought Lothar Matthäus and Brehme had been held back by their teammates in Italy. They had not expected Dejan Lu to give them a live lesson at the Westfalenstadion today.
Dortmund were title challengers, with several West German internationals in their lineup, while their only foreign player, McLeod, was a Scottish star.
And this lineup had been torn apart like this right from the opening?
"...We prepare for every match. We always defend our goal. We stand firm together and cheer for football. Dortmund, cheer for us. Dortmund, Dortmund, before any opponent, we will never lose courage or confidence. Cheer for football, Dortmund!"
You could defeat Dortmund, but it was difficult to conquer the Westfalenstadion.
Even though the entire Dortmund team was dejected, the passionate Dortmund anthem soon rang out through the stadium once more.
Its distinct rhythm conveyed boundless optimism, as though no difficulty could ever bring them down.
Zorc looked toward the stands and silently clenched his fist.
At that moment, he truly understood what it meant for football to be nothing without its fans.
"Pull yourselves together! Don't act like cowards!"
Zorc waved and shouted.
As a born-and-bred local, he had to step forward at a time like this.
Dejan Lu glanced toward Dortmund's half. This was the kind of opponent that made things interesting.
During his assignment abroad, Kumatani Gensuke had paid close attention to Dejan Lu's situation. Fortunately, Dejan Lu had handed over the manuscript before leaving, so he could watch the match without worry and send the piece back tomorrow.
Dortmund's technique was still there.
Because the style of their domestic players was too predictable, they had brought in Scottish international McLeod to work with Müller.
McLeod had clearly realized that they needed to draw Sampdoria out. After receiving the ball, he was in no hurry to send it forward.
Roberto Mancini was clearly getting impatient and charged straight at him.
Vialli shook his head and could only follow.
McLeod waited until the two were close before passing the ball back with one touch.
Schulz, who received it, immediately passed forward to Zorc.
After Zorc returned it once again, Kutowski charged up and launched a long ball.
The moment Pari saw that, he knew something was wrong.
The ball dropped directly toward the right flank.
After Müller received it, he tried to move toward the center. Pellegrini had only just shifted sideways when Müller changed direction and continued driving forward with the ball.
Both were sprinting at high speed, making it difficult to find an opportunity to adjust.
On the run, Müller unleashed a thunderous shot that struck Verchowod squarely in the chest and rebounded away. Frank Mill received the ball with his back to goal, only to be brought down from behind by Dossena.
Beep—
Free kick.
The sudden opportunity instantly ignited the Westfalenstadion.
McLeod immediately ran over to discuss how to take it with Müller.
As the referee's whistle sounded, McLeod ran over the ball. After his run-up, Müller swung his leg, and the ball skimmed over the top of the wall toward the bottom-left corner.
Pagliuca threw himself sideways immediately but still could not reach it. The ball struck the inside of the lower post and bounced into the net.
Boom—
Müller sprinted toward the touchline the instant he scored.
The entire Westfalenstadion was already boiling over.
They seemed to see a comeback unfolding before their eyes. Their Dortmund would never surrender.
"ANDY!!!"
"ANDY!!!"
"ANDY!!!"
Behind the barriers, Dortmund fans shook the fencing wildly, as though they could transmit their strength and excitement onto the pitch that way.
The West German television host also began shouting madly.
European competition was still an important honor in this era.
Although no team had ever retained the Cup Winners' Cup due to its format, the competition carried no small amount of prestige.
Sampdoria had reached the final last year, only to lose to Barcelona.
If Dortmund turned this match around, would that not mean they had the strength to win the title too?
Pezzotti walked to the sideline and asked, "Should we remind the boys? They're pushing up too far."
With a two-goal lead, they could have kept playing on the counterattack.
"It's fine. Let them play."
Boskov said as he looked at the figure on the pitch.
He believed a goal and an assist were only the beginning.
Dortmund's momentum had visibly risen.
The moment Sampdoria kicked off, Wegmann charged forward.
Roberto Mancini did not take him seriously at all. In his eyes, West German players were synonymous with poor technique. Mancini used his left foot to shift and cut past him.
But Zorc followed with a flying tackle, knocking the ball directly behind Mancini.
Fortunately, Dossena had charged up in advance and successfully collected it.
The players from both sides began a fierce physical battle in midfield. Dortmund clearly wanted to win the match another way.
Within just a few seconds, players from both teams went down several times, and possession constantly changed feet.
Pari rushed in for a fifty-fifty challenge, sending the ball flying into the opposing half.
Seeing this, Vialli flicked the ball toward the left with his head.
Zorc had just wanted to warn his teammates to be careful when he noticed that, apart from Vialli, only Dejan Lu was up front. There were five defenders around him on all sides, and McLeod was tracking back as well. Zorc relaxed.
Even Beckenbauer would not be able to do anything against such defending, right?
But the next second, his eyes widened.
After the ball bounced, Dejan Lu, who was charging forward alongside McLeod, had already swung back his left leg.
Was he crazy?
This was more than forty meters out.
Even if Deibel was not a top goalkeeper, there was no way he could let him score from that distance.
Bang—
The roar of bears and chant of dragons shook the rocky springs; deep forests and towering peaks trembled in alarm.
McLeod, tracking back, felt a sharp pain in his eardrums as he watched the ball rise from the ground.
Players and fans alike looked up at the ball. Under the gaze of tens of thousands, it began dropping rapidly as it reached the penalty area, brushed past Deibel's hand, and plunged straight into the net.
All was silent!
The West Germans had not expected that just as dawn had arrived, someone would immediately step forward and deal them another crushing blow.
In front of the television, Kumatani Gensuke finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now he did not have to worry about Dejan Lu making excuses to delay the manuscript after losing. He took out the kraft paper envelope Dejan Lu had left him, and his expression changed the moment he pulled out its contents.
Blank. Every page was blank. On the final page, a cute Pikachu was bowing, while a cartoon version of Dejan Lu lay in bed. Written above it in clumsy Japanese were the words: "Because author Dejan Lu has been injured, this issue is on hiatus. Please write to comfort Mr. Lu..."
Before you continue