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From the moment the referee's whistle pierced the air, both managers exchanged a brief glance before taking their positions on the touchline.
The battle had begun.
Playing at home, Atlético Madrid delivered an immediate warning to their cross-town rivals.
Second minute.
André dropped into midfield to receive the ball, back to goal. Behind him, Real Madrid's iron-clad defensive midfielder Casemiro pressed tight, shoulder to shoulder, trying to muscle him off the ball.
It didn't work.
André used his physical strength to hold off the Brazilian, completed a smooth turn, and sprayed a long diagonal pass toward Griezmann, who had timed his run perfectly to beat the offside trap. The Frenchman was through on goal—
His shot clipped the side netting.
On the Real Madrid bench, Solari felt cold sweat prickle his skin. Though he would never admit it publicly, he knew in that moment that he had misjudged André completely. The way the kid had controlled the ball despite Casemiro's tight marking, the ease of the turn, the quality of the pass... it all pointed to something undeniable.
André wasn't just physically gifted. He possessed genuine technique, composure beyond his years, and vision that most strikers twice his age would envy.
A tinge of regret crept into Solari's chest. Not just for failing to keep this talent at Real Madrid—but for nearly destroying a genius through his own stubborn misjudgement back at Castilla.
On the opposite touchline, Simeone shook his head as Griezmann's shot went wide. So close.
The Atlético faithful had barely finished lamenting the miss when another attack flowed forward.
Once again, André dropped deep. This movement had become Atlético's most potent weapon over the past weeks of training and matches. When André operated between the lines, his influence on the game multiplied. Even Griezmann, the team's original creative fulcrum, had silently accepted this new reality.
Casemiro tracked André's movement, refusing to let him out of his sight. When Saúl completed a steal in the midfield transition zone, André immediately began drifting toward the ball. Casemiro stuck to him like glue.
This time, André didn't wait for the pass to arrive. He moved toward it, with Casemiro pressed against his back, preparing to tackle the moment the ball arrived.
What happened next made the Brazilian deeply uncomfortable.
As the ball approached, André used his body and acceleration to reach it a step ahead. His right foot flicked the ball up to knee height. In the same motion, he turned—and as he did, his left heel executed a "scorpion tail" flick, lofting the ball over both their heads.
By the time it landed behind them, Casemiro was still mid-turn. André had already accelerated away, leaving the defensive midfielder grasping at air.
The home supporters erupted in appreciation. That piece of skill had been filthy.
Having bypassed Casemiro, André drove forward directly. He spotted Modrić and Ramos preparing to double-team him, so from the half-space, he suddenly laid a square pass toward the edge of the penalty area.
Saúl, who had surged forward from deep, met it first time.
The strike was beautiful—power and placement both perfect. But the ball cannoned off the inside of the post and bounced away to safety.
Saúl clutched his head in disbelief. He'd already been preparing to celebrate.
Atlético's opening attacks had been genuinely threatening. But miss your chances, and you pay the price.
Tenth minute.
Modrić collected the ball outside the area and unleashed a speculative long-range effort. Oblak was equal to it, parrying the shot away—but only as far as a corner.
Real Madrid's first set-piece of the match.
Kroos stood over the ball. His delivery was inch-perfect, curving toward Ramos at the centre of the six-yard box. The captain won his aerial duel against Godín, getting first contact on the header—but Giménez, providing cover, got a partial block.
The ball deflected left, where Casemiro was lurking. The Brazilian threw himself into an overhead kick, acrobatic and instinctive.
The net rippled.
0-1.
In the eleventh minute, Real Madrid had taken the lead through Casemiro. A corner, a scramble, a piece of brilliance from nowhere.
Simeone stood frozen on the touchline. One moment his team had been creating chance after chance. The next, they were behind. The shift in momentum had happened so fast he could barely process it.
Across the pitch, Solari pumped his fists with unbridled joy. This goal represented hope—hope for victory, hope to close the gap in the title race.
In the stands, the home supporters' encouraging cheers transformed instantly into a collective groan as the ball crossed the line. But within seconds, the noise swelled again—louder than before. The Atlético club anthem began rising from the home sections, voices uniting in defiance.
This was also the fastest goal Atlético Madrid had conceded since moving to the Wanda Metropolitano.
After the restart, Simeone barked instructions at his players, gesturing for calm. One goal was nothing. If they executed the plan, the deficit would be erased.
But misfortunes never come singly.
Vinícius Júnior collected the ball on the flank. The Brazilian teenager cut inside sharply, dancing past Arias like the full-back wasn't there, and burst into the penalty area.
Giménez launched into a sliding tackle.
He got the man, not the ball.
Vinícius went down.
The referee's arm shot up immediately. He reached into his pocket and produced a straight red card.
Giménez was sent off.
The Atlético players surrounded the official, protesting furiously. But even as they argued, the stadium's big screens were replaying the challenge from multiple angles. The contact was clear. The foul was undeniable.
The red card, though—that was harsh. Very harsh. But the referee wasn't changing his mind, no matter how much Simeone raged at the fourth official.
Penalty to Real Madrid. And Atlético down to ten men.
Ramos stepped up to the spot. Cool as ever, he waited for Oblak to commit, then rolled the ball into the bottom right corner with a subtle change of rhythm.
0-2.
Twenty-nine minutes played. Real Madrid had a two-goal lead away from home. And Atlético were down to ten men for the remaining hour-plus.
For the home supporters, despair was beginning to creep in.
For Simeone, the real battle was only just beginning.
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