The Eve of Battle, Yet You Chose the Wrong Person

June 4, Cardiff, the capital of Wales.

With the echoes of the Manchester bombing still ringing in every Briton's ears, the government had raised the terrorism threat level to its highest, critical level.

As a result, it was no longer just police officers patrolling the streets. Soldiers had also been deployed for the first time to assist with security.

Camouflaged military vehicles were parked outside the ring road around the Millennium Stadium, while armed soldiers inspected bags at every security checkpoint.

Evenings in Wales in June should have been cool, but an indescribable tension hung in the air.

Yet it still could not stop the sea of red and white.

Cardiff Central railway station had been operating beyond capacity since noon.

Every train arriving from London, Manchester, and Liverpool spilled out nothing but fans the moment its doors opened.

Liverpool red and Real Madrid white converged at the station exit, like ice and lava, flowing along St Mary's Street toward the white single arch rising 109 meters into the sky.

The pubs along the street had moved their speakers outside, playing "You'll Never Walk Alone."

An elderly fan wearing a Gerrard jersey stood at a pub entrance, raising his beer to toast every red-clad figure who passed by.

Several Real Madrid fans had been pulled over by Liverpool supporters for photos. They had their arms around each other's shoulders, looking nothing like rivals on the eve of a great battle.

After turning the corner on St Mary's Street, Cardiff Millennium Stadium came into everyone's view.

The white single arch stretched across the sky, glowing a faint orange-red in the lingering light of the setting sun.

The stadium roof was closed. It was one of the rare roofed matches in UEFA Champions League final history, with the official reason naturally being