Starting With Real Madrid

"GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!"

"In the 24th minute, Napoli has scored the opening goal!"

"A crucial strike from Di María puts Napoli ahead!"

"One-nil!"

"Napoli's sudden acceleration in attack caught Barcelona completely off guard. Their high-tempo press overwhelmed Barcelona's fragile defense, and the Catalans simply couldn't handle the pressure."

"This is a troubling scenario for Guardiola. His midfield and frontline have struggled to break down Napoli's defense, while his backline is riddled with vulnerabilities that Napoli exploited with precision."

"Now, Guardiola faces a significant tactical dilemma."

…

When Di María's shot rolled across the line, Gao Shen leapt into the air with pure, unrestrained joy.

One-nil!

In a high-stakes match like the Champions League final, drawing first blood was a massive advantage.

"Yessss!"

Gao Shen let out an ecstatic yell, his laughter echoing across the technical area.

Zidane, Carlo, and the rest of the coaching staff rushed over, joining in the celebrations.

That entire attacking sequence had lasted less than three minutes. But Napoli's sudden change of pace had left Barcelona disoriented and exposed.

And that was no accident.

Napoli had maintained a consistent, measured tempo from the opening whistle, one Barcelona had grown accustomed to. Then, out of nowhere, they accelerated. The abrupt shift disrupted Barcelona's rhythm completely.

More importantly, Yaya Touré had been caught out of position. His failure to retreat left Busquets scrambling to cover in central defense, a task he wasn't prepared for. One mistake snowballed into another, and Napoli capitalized with clinical precision.

As his players jogged back toward midfield, Gao Shen strode to the sideline and called out instructions.

"Stay calm! Stay patient! Slow it down again!"

There was no need for Napoli to take unnecessary risks. Gao Shen wanted them to revert to the controlled tempo they'd started with.

At the same time, he made a few minor positional adjustments to address the vulnerabilities he'd observed during the goal-scoring sequence.

On his way back to the bench, he caught Zidane and Carlo exchanging relieved smiles.

"Relax, guys," Gao Shen said with a grin. "Didn't I tell you? I'm a professional when it comes to beating Barcelona!"

Zidane chuckled, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

Carlo smirked. "Arrogant as always."

Gao Shen laughed heartily. He had every right to feel confident.

Long before the match, he'd emphasized the importance of disrupting Barcelona's flow.

"Don't let them get into their rhythm," he'd said repeatedly.

Tonight, his players had executed that plan to perfection.

Barcelona's hallmark was their intricate passing and control, but without physical dominance, their midfield trio Xavi, Iniesta, and Busquets could be suffocated.

Napoli exploited that weakness relentlessly.

Yes, Barcelona's midfield was technically brilliant. Their passing was world-class. But football wasn't just about technical ability, physicality mattered, too. When opponents pressed aggressively and denied space, even the most gifted players could struggle.

Xavi was exceptional with the ball but less effective under intense pressure. Iniesta's grace and agility couldn't compensate for his lack of strength in physical duels. Busquets, while tactically intelligent, was slower on the turn.

And what about the attack?

Henry, though still dangerous, was past his prime. Eto'o was a poacher, not a dribbler. Messi was a magician, but his physique couldn't handle constant, close-quarters challenges.

Napoli's defensive approach forced Barcelona's wide players to drift toward the flanks. Essentially, Gao Shen had thrown down a tactical gauntlet:

"Welcome to Cross City."

But Barcelona didn't like to cross. Their entire attacking philosophy revolved around intricate central play. Without that, they were left resorting to hopeful deliveries from wide positions exactly what Napoli wanted.

Even Messi's positional shift to the middle hadn't helped. Napoli's defensive lines compacted immediately whenever he dropped deep.

Barcelona's fallback plan was to rely on their full-backs.

But tonight, that option was limited.

Puyol was stationed at left-back, with Sylvinho benched. As a natural center-back, Puyol rarely ventured forward. Alves, meanwhile, tried pushing high from the right, but Napoli's goal had exploited the space left behind.

It was all part of the plan.

Napoli's entire tactical blueprint revolved around dismantling Barcelona's rhythm.

Ordinarily, Barcelona dictated matches with methodical, lateral passing until they found an opening. When the moment was right, they'd accelerate to devastating effect.

Tonight, Barcelona kept trying to pass the ball around, looking for their usual moment to accelerate.

But every time they tried, they found they simply couldn't.

Either a Napoli player committed a tactical foul to break the rhythm, or the ball was intercepted, or at the very least, Barcelona's players were physically jostled and thrown off their stride.

By the time they attempted to speed up, Napoli's defensive lines were already set, turning the game back into a static positional battle.

This calculated disruption struck Barcelona's Achilles' heel, leaving them disoriented and ineffective.

Their strengths, ball control, quick passing, and dictating tempo had been neutralized at the most critical moments.

And the worst part?

Napoli's fouls were textbook Serie A.

The players always operated within the boundaries of Howard Webb's lenient interpretation of physical contact. As a Premier League referee, Webb allowed more robust challenges, and Napoli exploited that perfectly.

Barcelona found themselves trapped in a tactical stranglehold.

…

"What's the next step?" Zidane asked, his voice laced with excitement.

The Frenchman glanced at Gao Shen, whose calm expression suggested he already had the game figured out. Zidane could almost feel the Champions League trophy beckoning from the sidelines.

If Napoli won tonight, this would be Zidane's first Champions League title since transitioning into coaching.

Even as an assistant coach, the achievement would be a significant boost to his burgeoning coaching career.

Gao Shen didn't immediately respond. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the opposite technical area, where Guardiola stood near the touchline.

Though Guardiola maintained a calm exterior, Gao Shen knew better. He could sense the internal turmoil brewing beneath that stoic facade.

"What do you think Pep is thinking right now?" Gao Shen asked with a sly smile.

Zidane followed Gao Shen's gaze toward Guardiola. He hesitated, then shook his head.

"How would I know?"

Gao Shen chuckled, suddenly recalling a joke from his past life:

"Guardiola once spent €400 million to build a tactical 'nuclear bomb' for the Champions League only to lose 1–0 to Tuchel in the final."

The Emperor of Overthinking.

"I'm waiting for him to change his formation," Gao Shen said, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

Zidane froze.

"What? Guardiola change his formation? In the Champions League final? No way."

Carlo and the others also turned toward Gao Shen, equally bewildered.

Barcelona's 4-3-3 formation was fundamental to their identity. Everyone knew it was non-negotiable.

"You're right," Gao Shen said, nodding. "Barcelona's 4-3-3 is their core identity. And everyone knows that. Including Guardiola."

"But that's exactly why he'll change it."

His assistant coaches exchanged uncertain glances.

"Pep hates predictability," Gao Shen continued. "He knows people have figured out his system. The closer the game, the more he worries about being outmaneuvered. So, when the pressure mounts, he tries to innovate on the spot."

"Even in a Champions League final?" Zidane asked skeptically.

"Especially in a Champions League final," Gao Shen replied with a grin.

He shook his head and sighed. "Honestly, I was a bit disappointed with Barcelona's opening tactics tonight. I expected something more… creative."

"But don't worry. Just wait. The moment Guardiola tweaks his formation, the trophy is ours."

Zidane, Carlo, and Lucas were still trying to wrap their heads around Gao Shen's logic.

If Guardiola had made it this far with his tactics, why change now?

But then realization dawned.

If Barcelona was already playing their best possible game, any tactical shift would only weaken them. Changing the formation mid-match would make them less stable, not more.

So, yes.

If Guardiola changed the formation, Napoli would have the upper hand.

Zidane leaned back, rubbing his chin. "So… we should hope Guardiola changes his tactics?"

"Exactly," Gao Shen said, giving a thumbs-up. "And knowing Pep, he won't be able to resist."

…

On the other sideline, Guardiola stood rigid, his mind racing.

He felt exposed, as though Gao Shen had stripped him bare and left him standing, vulnerable, for the entire footballing world to see.

Gao Shen knew him too well.

If someone asked Guardiola to name the person who understood his football best, he wouldn't say Cruyff. Nor his mentor Begiristain. Not even Vilanova.

It was Gao Shen.

Their time together in Naples had forged an almost telepathic understanding.

Guardiola had absorbed countless tactical insights from Gao Shen, concepts that later defined his coaching philosophy. But the downside was that Gao Shen now knew his playbook almost as well as he did.

From the first whistle tonight, Napoli had been one step ahead.

Barcelona might dominate possession, but what was possession without penetration?

Xavi and Iniesta kept retreating to collect the ball. Messi was dropping deeper and deeper to escape Napoli's suffocating midfield block. Even Busquets was being forced to slide into the backline to help circulate the ball.

This wasn't control. This was containment.

Guardiola felt trapped.

His players were executing the system he'd drilled into them, yet Napoli's pressing nullified every advantage they'd worked to build.

If they kept this up, they'd lose. He was sure of it.

And then that voice started whispering in his head.

Change it.

Subvert everything.

But how?

Messi, Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, Barcelona's core quartet. If he removed one of them, it would certainly disrupt Napoli's structure.

Or destroy his own.

Substituting one of those players wouldn't be tactical innovation; it would be tactical suicide.

His brain spun through endless permutations. Each new scenario left him more disoriented than the last.

Then, as if to stop the spiraling thoughts, he turned to his assistant.

"Tito," Guardiola said abruptly. "We need to make a substitution at halftime."

Vilanova blinked, startled.

"A substitution? Who are we taking off?"

Guardiola said nothing.

He didn't know.

All he knew was that something had to change.