Real Madrid's players were a little stunned. They'd conceded three goals in the first half, all scored by a youngster who had only just turned nineteen. It wasn't a good look for Real Madrid.
In the final five minutes of the first half, Real Madrid launched a furious assault on Barcelona's goal.
But after scoring three goals, the savvy Barcelona players knew Real Madrid would be desperate to score quickly before halftime and close the gap. So, once Messi had finished celebrating, he told everyone to fall back and defend as a unit.
Real Madrid's waves of attacks crashed against Barcelona's rock-solid defense, unable to get past them.
After a long-range shot from Karim Benzema, taken from thirty-five meters out, sailed into the stands, the referee blew the whistle to end the first half.
The first half was over.
Playing away from home, Barcelona went into the locker room leading Real Madrid 3–0, thanks to a hat trick from their superstar young talent, Li Mingyu.
Barcelona's locker room was small, but it had become a sea of celebration.
Every player was excitedly greeting Li Mingyu. Of course, their way of greeting him was to ruffle his hair and pat his back. Li Mingyu was so alert, though, that the players who wanted to kick him in the butt could only sheepishly pull their legs back.
Koeman came in, grinning from ear to ear. Seeing everyone in such high spirits, he reined in his own smile and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, this is no time to celebrate. We're at the Santiago Bernabeu Stadium, so don't let your guard down. Real Madrid will surely regroup during halftime. The second half is when the real battle begins."
The Barcelona players fell silent. The team had been on a winning streak lately, and Koeman's authority had grown accordingly. Everyone had become very well behaved around him.
Koeman was pleased with their response. He looked at Li Mingyu, his eyes brimming with delight, and said, "Li, you were outstanding in the first half!"
Li Mingyu had lost the swagger he'd shown on the pitch. He just grinned foolishly and rubbed his hair.
But Koeman's expression changed. "Still, how much longer can you keep going?"
Li Mingyu wanted to thump his chest and say he could take on ten men—or, no, that he could last the whole match. But everyone knew what his stamina had been like before. If he suddenly claimed he could play the full ninety minutes, it might invite unwanted attention.
Li Mingyu thought it over, then nodded. "Coach, I think I can last at least another thirty minutes."
Koeman nodded, clearly satisfied. "Good. I want you to keep putting pressure on Real Madrid's back line in the second half, so they won't dare push forward too recklessly."
Koeman looked around at everyone. "We'll make a few tactical adjustments in the second half. Our priority will be defense. Real Madrid will probably push everyone forward in the opening ten minutes, hoping to close the gap quickly. I want our back line to withstand the pressure. Don't let them pass the ball into the box too easily."
"Griezmann and Messi, you need to step up your interceptions in midfield. Busquets, focus on protecting the area around the top of the penalty arc. Pique, you need to take charge of the back line. Make sure everyone stays in sync!"
Finally, Koeman looked at Li Mingyu, hope in his eyes. "Your job in the second half is to attack. Even if they keep breaking through down your side, don't worry about it. Just hold your position in midfield. That alone will make Real Madrid's defenders think twice before crossing the halfway line!"
Li Mingyu nodded solemnly. "You can count on me, Coach!"
After Koeman finished speaking, he left the locker room with his assistant coach, leaving the players to discuss things among themselves.
Meanwhile, in the home locker room on the other side, Real Madrid had a space a thousand times more luxurious than the visitors' locker room.
Every player had his own locker, each with a huge poster of him in Real Madrid's white home kit, looking effortlessly cool.
But the atmosphere in the locker room was heavy.
Anyone would be miserable at halftime after their team had conceded three goals at home in the first half.
Zidane hadn't come in. He was near the door, discussing second-half tactics with his assistant coach.
Benzema broke the tense silence.
As the only reliable forward left on the team after Cristiano Ronaldo's departure, Benzema angrily flung his shin guards aside. "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? You let a nineteen-year-old kid dribble past you and score over and over. How many more goals are you planning to concede?"
Everything Benzema said was aimed at the defenders.
Benzema had scored plenty of goals and had seniority, but Real Madrid was a team with many factions.
As soon as he spoke, the defender Vazquez shot back sarcastically, "You've been talking for ages, but you didn't score in the first half either. You had so many chances—did you take any of them? You either got dispossessed or sent the ball flying over the goal. What gives you the right to criticize us?"
Benzema glared at him. "Your back line made those mistakes. Why should I take the blame for you? I didn't score? I'll score sooner or later in the second half. Can you honestly say you can stop that Chinese kid?"
Ramos, who had been silent until then, said coolly, "Benzema, focus on your own job. The back line is none of your business."
Benzema fell silent. He dared to talk back to Vazquez, but he would never dare pick a fight with Ramos.
Ramos wasn't just Real Madrid's captain; he was also the club's most senior veteran. No one dared cross him!
Benzema pursed his lips and turned away, saying no more.
Ramos looked at the defenders around him and said gravely, "Our defense really wasn't good enough in the first half. We didn't pay enough attention to Li, and he took advantage of it. I want everyone to stay sharp in the second half. Don't give that kid another chance to dribble past you!"
Ramos's expression turned sinister. "If he dares to act so cocky again, I won't mind teaching him a lesson he'll never forget!"
The Real Madrid players felt a chill run through them.
Ramos was a combination of angel and demon.
To Real Madrid, he was an angel.
But to every other team, he was more terrifying than the devil!
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