"Has your little 'inner universe' exploded or what? Why's everyone fighting so hard? Damn! Still fighting? Again?"
The Manchester United players charged forward as if injected with adrenaline—each one surging fiercely.
One player pushing hard is one thing, but the entire team? That's a different story.
Serie A's pace is naturally slower, with lengthy probing phases—no comparison to the Premier League's intensity.
But now, these guys are forcing up the tempo with relentless pressing, driving the match into a rhythm they're comfortable with, then striking hard.
Milan kept retreating, trying to form a numbers advantage.
Yet Manchester United's mobility was outstanding—look at Giggs, practically rejuvenated, sprinting like a youngster.
Suker couldn't help but admire this period—the resilience and fiery spirit Manchester United showed.
Maybe this was Ferguson's 'Red Devils Spirit.'
But no matter what spirit it is—break it all!
Don't even think about stopping me from winning the Champions League!
Suker barely controlled the ball with his foot. Due to Pirlo facing fierce pressure, his pass lacked precision.
Just as Suker settled the ball, Giggs rushed forward to challenge.
But Giggs was too hasty—thinking Suker couldn't keep balance. Yet despite his unstable footing, Suker executed a dribbling move, staggering but managing to slip past.
Suker's body leaned forward and fell, but he pushed up hard with both hands, then fiercely dragged the ball forward, bursting along the flank like a hurricane.
"Suker! Sprint!! Milan's counterattack is on!!"
Aldo Serena shouted loudly.
Suker sprinted down the sideline with blazing speed, blasting past midfield and charging toward the danger zone.
"Don't let him get past!"
Modrić shouted, rushing after him.
O'Shea blocked Suker near the sideline, waiting for backup.
Modrić was closing in fast; Suker had no time to hesitate and tried a sideways drag to force O'Shea into making a move.
But O'Shea stubbornly refused to commit, stepping back slightly and maintaining tight marking.
Suker saw Modrić nearly on him and tried to surge past from the side.
Just as Suker was about to explode forward, a pair of feet suddenly appeared in front, kicking the ball deep into the box.
Suker jumped in surprise.
"Damn! You're serious!"
He turned to see Modrić rising from the ground, eyes burning with determination.
"I'm going to the Champions League final!"
Suker was momentarily stunned, then grimly said, "Keep dreaming!"
He shook his head and sprinted back to his own half.
"Manchester United's attack has become even fiercer, but time in the first half is running out. Can they find another chance?"
Their jerseys were soaked and clinging uncomfortably, but no one cared—their full attention was on the match.
Both sides displayed extraordinary intensity, fighting fiercely.
Beep!
The whistle blew.
The referee called a foul on Gattuso, who received a yellow card.
"Bad luck!"
Suker muttered.
But this foul was a warning sign—Milan's defense was under immense pressure, forcing even Gattuso to foul.
Who wants a yellow card?
Manchester United's pressure was just too overwhelming—like a new breed unleashed.
Wasn't this supposed to be Milan's rainy night to slaughter the Red Devils?
Why did it feel like the Red Devils were slaughtering Milan instead?
"Hold steady! Hold steady!"
Nesta shouted loudly.
He knew well how heavy the defensive burden was now.
And it was partly due to poor form—if it were before, they wouldn't be so battered.
Their forwards had scored twice to take the lead; this situation should not have happened on their back line.
"Get your spirit back!" Nesta yelled again.
Maldini wasn't on the pitch, so Nesta as captain had to steady the situation.
Modrić and Ronaldo stood at the free-kick spot, whispering strategy.
After Milan built the wall carefully, tension mounted.
The referee signaled the free kick.
Ronaldo dashed forward first.
"Don't jump!"
Suker shouted.
He noticed Ronaldo's feet weren't on tiptoe—so Ronaldo wasn't taking the kick.
Sure enough, Modrić seized the moment and struck.
"Jump!"
The wall leapt up suddenly.
The ball curled strongly, brushing Kaká's hair, speeding sharply toward the near post.
Dida rushed but couldn't save it.
The ball slid into the corner of the net.
44th minute—the last moments of the first half.
Modrić's free kick leveled the score once more.
"Goal!! Luka Modrić!!"
"An exquisite free kick! At the brink of defeat, Manchester United's Modrić equalizes!"
"Yes! Milan equalized twice in the first leg, but Manchester United has done the same here at San Siro—and now they want the win."
"Luka Modrić shows the world that Croatia's talent isn't just Suker—there's also this genius midfielder!"
"44 minutes: Manchester United 2, Milan 2. The score is back to square one!"
United players celebrated joyously, relieved as the pressure lifted with this precious goal.
For Milan, it was urgent to find another goal—they couldn't afford to lose the home advantage.
With the score tied, the final minute saw both sides easing off.
They decided to save their strength for the second half.
At halftime, players retreated to the locker rooms.
"We're playing well. Keep pushing and defending together, and we can fight for the win! Fight for the Champions League final!"
Giggs was full of spirit.
Though physically tired, his heart was elated.
This goal embodied the Red Devils spirit, a collective effort.
"Be careful in the second half!"
Modrić gasped, speaking up:
"Not to be a downer, but Suker will be even more terrifying in the second half. We're running low on stamina, but he seems endless. He'll keep battering our defense, which will be a huge pressure. Most critical are the first 10 minutes of the second half—don't let them score first!"
Everyone exchanged looks.
Ferguson suddenly spoke:
"Luka's right. Our data confirms it. The second half is when Suker really unleashes. So don't relax just because we've equalized. The real challenge is coming."
"Focus more on defense in the second half. We must survive Suker's explosion. Even if we don't score, we can't let Suker score—understand?"
"Understood!"
Everyone shouted in agreement.
On the other side, Suker swallowed a banana and jumped up from the bench.
"Fully recharged!"
Kaká teased, "You recover too fast!"
Suker replied, "Young blood absorbs quickly!"
Everyone gave him a speechless look.
Ancelotti instructed, "Use the left wing more in the second half. Let Suker attack the defense, especially focusing the first 10 minutes around him."
"Don't worry! I'll smash through their defense!"
Suker clenched his fist tightly.
After rinsing his mouth, Kaká looked at Suker:
"Manchester United's exhaustion is big. Their midfield probably can't run much longer."
"No! They can run!" Suker immediately denied.
He thought Kaká underestimated Modrić's stamina.
Suker knew—Modrić was a pure endurance machine.
"Modrić can still run?"
Kaká asked in surprise.
His own energy was nearly drained.
Suker joked: "He can play through extra time and penalties. Believe it or not."
Kaká grinned: "Are all Croatians that tireless?"
Suker shrugged: "No choice. The slow ones are already buried."
Everyone: "."
"Anyway, I'll push harder in the second half. You guys follow up properly. Manchester United will adjust, but we can't rush. Attack while securing possession, avoid injuries, and no more cards. Let's finish in regulation time—don't forget, we have the final against Liverpool!"
At the mention of Liverpool, the Milan players' eyes widened.
Their fighting spirit surged.
"Liverpool really lights a fire under us," Suker muttered quietly.