The ball once again came to Suker's feet, and Busquets quietly followed up once more.
He wanted to use the same trick again—drive his knee into Suker's joint.
At that moment, Suker lowered his body slightly.
With his legs bent, Suker used his backside to hold Busquets behind him, not allowing him to jab his knee into his joint.
At the same time, Suker feinted a turn to the right. Once Busquets shifted his weight, Suker immediately twisted to the left.
Busquets followed again, but Suker suddenly pushed the ball forward, pulling away and spinning around with the ball.
Busquets hurriedly stretched out his leg—
Suker flicked the ball in a different direction.
"Time for the splits!"
Whoosh!
Busquets did the splits and fell to the ground, while Suker successfully shook him off.
"Oh~~~ Suker's feints completely threw Busquets off rhythm, leaving him sprawled on the turf. Suker's now charging toward Barcelona's penalty area!"
Seeing Suker coming, Barcelona's defenders in the box were on high alert.
After drawing enough attention, Suker passed the ball to Benzema.
Benzema held off Puyol, ready to switch the play sideways—but suddenly, the pressure behind him eased.
His center of gravity tilted forward; he tried to pass, but only managed to poke the ball weakly with his toe.
Seeing this, Kaka immediately rushed toward the ball.
At the same time, Xavi also sprinted in.
Just as they reached it, Xavi slid in.
Bang!
Kaka was taken down. Xavi's tackle grazed Kaka's calf and sent him tumbling.
Beep!!
The whistle blew again, and the referee decisively showed Xavi a yellow card.
At that moment, tempers flared once more—players from both sides began shoving each other.
Suker ignored the chaos and ran straight to Kaka.
He saw Kaka clutching his calf.
"Ouch!"
A thin streak of blood was visible on Kaka's sock. Suker glanced—it was just a scrape, nothing serious.
"Medic!"
He raised his hand immediately.
The team doctor ran in with the first-aid kit. After a quick check, they helped Kaka off the pitch.
"Just a scrape. Quick bandage and a fresh sock, and he's good to go!"
Mourinho nodded and asked Kaka:
"Can you keep going?"
"Of course!"
Kaka's reply was firm.
Meanwhile, as Kaka was treated on the sideline, the match grew even more intense.
Messi got the ball and dribbled past defenders.
He wanted to capitalize on Kaka's absence and find a scoring chance.
Messi's form had finally returned to normal in this match, slicing into Real Madrid's defense with sharp runs.
One drop of the shoulder left Khedira behind—
But as Messi tried to burst forward again, Khedira rushed back, using his arm to push Messi down.
"Nice one!"
Suker shouted.
He shouted mostly because he saw Ramos charging in with his elbow ready.
If Khedira hadn't gotten there first, Ramos would have nailed Messi hard.
Whether Messi got injured didn't matter—what mattered was that Ramos could have been sent off.
"Calm down! You're here to play football, not start a fight. If you get sent off, how the hell do we play?"
Suker glared at Ramos:
"Use your head! Pepe's already on a yellow. If you get booked too, our defense is finished!"
Hearing this, Ramos cooled off slightly.
"Got it."
Though still annoyed, he understood the situation.
"If anyone's going to take a card, let the midfielders or fullbacks do it! You keep your tackles clean!"
As Suker said this, he caught Pepe cursing and about to rush in.
"Get the hell back here!"
Suker never imagined he'd one day exhaust himself breaking up fights instead of starting them.
Too many hotheads on the team—Pepe was bad enough, now Ramos too!
Back at Milan, Nesta and Stam were both hard men, but they weren't brainless brawlers.
Serie A defenders were all crafty veterans—if the situation wasn't right, they'd hold back.
Unlike these two rash youngsters—once they lost their temper, the brain went offline.
On the sideline, Mourinho crossed his arms, frowning deeply.
"This isn't good."
Assistant coach Faria also frowned:
"Pepe's early yellow has Barcelona targeting his side. Marcelo and Alonso are having to drop back more, leaving Di María isolated against the press."
Faria bit his lip:
"Should we make a change?"
Mourinho shook his head—every substitution was precious, especially in the second half.
With the match only at 20 minutes and still 0–0, Madrid could still hold on.
"Stabilize the situation. Just make it to halftime. Also, have Kaka drop deeper to help Di María, and Suker too."
Madrid adjusted quickly. With Suker and Kaka helping in midfield, they managed to steady things and withstand Barcelona's furious attacks.
Even when Barça blocked passing lanes, Suker and Kaka's skill let them wriggle free and find an outlet.
Still, Madrid were pinned in their own half.
Guardiola stroked his chin.
"Trying to reinforce midfield to get to halftime, huh?" he smiled. "Then let's—"
Before he could finish, Suker slipped through a triple-team with nimble footwork.
Guardiola's heart jolted.
Suker suddenly pushed the ball forward—
"Karim!!"
Benzema sprinted toward it.
Puyol trailed half a step behind—practically a one-on-one chance.
"Oh my! Suker's escaped the triple team and found Benzema. Can he…"
Bang!!
Benzema shot—but from a tight angle, it thudded into Valdés' chest.
The ball flew out for a corner.
"Benzema missed the chance!"
Suker gritted his teeth in frustration—this guy was far from the cold-blooded finisher he'd become years later.
"Do we keep pressing?"
Barcelona's assistant coach asked.
Guardiola wanted to say yes, but the image of Suker beating three men flashed in his mind.
That wasn't his only dangerous run.
If they pressed too high and Suker broke through again, he could score single-handedly.
Guardiola wouldn't risk it—
"Hold back for now."
Suker was clearly in the zone.
If Barça kept pressing, they might get punished.
Mourinho, on the other hand, clenched his fist in satisfaction—Barça had been scared off from pressing higher.
Still, they kept pressuring Pepe's side whenever possible.
For now, Madrid had bought themselves time.
"You piece of s***!"
"Shut the f*** up!!"
"Come on, you bug!"
"Bet you can't get past me!"
This wasn't the stands—it was on the pitch.
Many times in football, players seem to be "talking," but they're really trading insults, trying to provoke.
Under such intense duels and trash talk, tempers flare—and the first to lose control suffers.
Suker was no stranger to foul-mouthed exchanges; he enjoyed goading Barça players into mistakes—ideally a red card.
So far, he'd only drawn one yellow.
By the 30th minute, the tension was at breaking point. Even Guardiola and Mourinho were yelling at each other from the sidelines.
On the pitch, it was tit-for-tat tackling—"you foul me, I foul you back."
Then in the 36th minute, during a clearance, Di María tackled Iniesta, sending both ball and man tumbling over the sideline.
Iniesta rolled off the pitch—
BOOM!!
The powder keg exploded.
"F*** you!"
Piqué charged in, going straight for Di María.
Ramos got there first, blocking Piqué—both were ready to throw down.
Suker ran over and shoved Piqué to the ground.
Puyol rushed up, chest-bumping Suker with his hands behind his back.
Suker slapped him across the face.
Seeing their captain struck, Barça's players swarmed Suker.
Suker's teammates—Srna, Kaka, Benzema—shielded him, while Suker pointed and shouted abuse like a one-man verbal army.
The referee quickly blew his whistle, separating both sides, and booked Suker.
Suker didn't complain—he immediately went to help Srna restrain Pepe.
The booking was intentional—his defensive duties weren't heavy. If Ramos had gone in first, he might have been surrounded, and a yellow might not have been enough to save him.
"Thirty minutes in, seven yellows, three flare-ups—the match is a powder keg!"
Commentator González summed it up.
Even Suker admitted he felt the urge to just brawl, but reason prevailed—winning was the priority.
The next ten minutes saw more fouls but no major fights, letting the match continue.
Halftime: 0–0.
"Damn, we spent the whole first half just talking trash!"
Suker drank some water to soothe his throat.
Everyone else drank ice water to cool down.
Eight yellows had been shown—four for Barça (Xavi, Piqué, Busquets, Pedro) and five for Madrid (Suker, Pepe, Ramos, Khedira, Benzema).
Ramos's yellow was unlucky—Messi ran into his elbow while Ramos was off balance, but the ref judged it dangerous.
Madrid's locker room was full of grass-stained, dirty shirts.
"Good!" Mourinho said loudly. "In the first half, you showed Madrid's resilience. You didn't back down—you fought. I'm proud of you!"
Heads lifted with pride.
"But we can't win like this. Second half—Pepe rests, Carvalho comes in."
Pepe didn't want to come off—he wanted to keep hitting Barça—but Mourinho's eyes brooked no argument.
"We'll switch to 4-4-2. Kaka drops to midfield with Di María on the wing. Kaka will focus on distribution. Suker and Benzema up front—Suker leads the line."
This was unusual—normally Benzema stayed high while Suker linked play, but no one questioned Mourinho's tactics.
"Our pressing isn't about winning the ball high—it's about disrupting their rhythm and forcing them to play forward under pressure. Once they enter our half, that's when we win it and counter fast."
Mourinho had seen that Barça's passing was too stable to reliably dispossess them high up.
Second half: Barça unchanged, Madrid swapped Carvalho for Pepe—too many defensive yellows, and both center-backs booked was too risky.
Benzema exhaled:
"We survived the first half."
Suker:
"Now we need to score before Guardiola reacts."
"If we run hard enough, they won't react in time."
"Don't underestimate his tactical sense."
Barça prepared to kick off.
Suker took a deep breath:
"Time to sprint."
Benzema nodded firmly.
Beep!The second half began.
Suker and Benzema immediately charged forward, relentlessly pressing.
Guardiola frowned—something felt off.
"Hold midfield, get the ball to Xavi!"
Barça's crisp passing worked it to Xavi.
"Nice!" Xavi called. "Feels easier than before—"
A roar interrupted him—
"Easier, my ass!"
Bang! Suker slammed into Xavi, who still managed to pass to Iniesta.
Benzema rushed him—Iniesta nutmegged him and changed direction.
"Pass quick! Suker's coming!"
Iniesta instinctively sent it to Messi.
Suker and Benzema were just a step too late.
With the ball in Madrid's half, Suker stopped chasing, while Benzema kept sprinting after it.