Chapter 88: The blade’s edge
El Derbi Madrileno, the Madrid derby...
It was one of the fiercest derby football games in the world.
The crushing weight of history was behind every match, every clash.
The two clubs met in Lisbon for the 2014 UEFA Champions League final, making it the first time two clubs from the same city played in the final.
After facing off a second time in the 2016 UEFA Champions League final in Milan, with Real Madrid winning as they had two years earlier, they also met in the 2018 UEFA Super Cup, again the first time two clubs from the same city met in that event; and unlike the first two clashes, it was won by Atletico.
The Madrid derby was here again, and after 90 minutes of throwing punches at each other, fulltime was over.
The scoreboard glowed 2–2. Ninety minutes gone, nothing settled. The Riyadh night pressed heavy over King Fahd Stadium.
Players hunched with hands on their knees. Muscles screamed, and lungs heaved as extra time loomed, cruel and merciless.
This was no semifinal anymore, this was a war of attrition.
And then, the first half of extra time started.
FWEEE!
The ball rolled again, slower now, but every touch sparked tension.
Unlike the early stages of this game, after running for 90 minutes, most of the players of both sides were tired.
They didn’t have the energy to sprint again. And it was in these gritty moments when technique shines most, where mentality becomes the difference maker.
The only question was, whose mentality would prevail tonight?
Real Madrid tried to summon composure. Bellingham held the midfield like Atlas, chest rising and falling, calling passes with a wave.
Valverde, legs trembling, still locked his side of the midfield from wanton penetration and he still found the energy to charge sixty meters with the ball, snapping a cross into the box.
Mbappé lunged but Lenglet’s thigh deflected it away.
On the counter, Atlético smelled blood.
Griezmann drifted deeper, almost as a midfielder now, pulling strings. He clipped a disguised ball wide for Alvarez, who drove at Alexander Arnold. Trent backpedaled, timing the block perfectly, conceding only a corner.
The corner spun viciously.
Rüdiger, who came in for Eder Militao for extra time climbed highest, clearing with authority.
But each clearance from Real Madrid drew Diego Simeone’s arms higher, clapping and roaring. "Más, más!"
Madrid answered with flickers.
In the 98th minute, Vinícius received the ball and still managing to draw upon energy reserves, he tore inside and cut onto his right foot, curling one towards goal.
But standing tall again, Jan Oblak flew sideways, fingertips brushing it past the post as the Brazilian groaned in frustration.
The stadium gasped.
Alonso punched the air, demanding more from his team.
It was gritty and nervy now than ever before.
Atleti returned fire. Just a few minutes later, Angel Correa wriggled free at the top of the box and stung Courtois’ gloves with a rocket. The Belgian spilled slightly, then smothered.
Despite their tired legs, the intensity on the pitch was still cutthroat.
The half ended with bodies colliding in midfield as Valverde and Giovanni Simeone went shoulder to shoulder, both collapsing in exhaustion, both grinning grimly as they rose.
They had a little rest. And shortly after, the second half of extra time started.
Flickers of fatigue turned to embers of desperation as the game wore on. The pitch looked bigger now, each sprint a mountain.
Legs were heavy and full of lead, but pushing on by sheer willpower, these players kept on chasing the ball though not as effectively as before.
Valverde no longer pressed with the same ferocity. Rodrygo’s legs betrayed him, touches heavy. Bellingham’s magic dulled.
Noting all of this and also preparing for the potential penalty shootout, Xabi Alonso barked substitutions as he brought on fresh legs, but even fresh legs wilted under Atleti’s relentless grind.
And Diego Simeone? He thrived under the cutthroat pressure.
Maybe thrive was not the right word, he prowled like a mad man on heat.
He prowled the technical area like a general sensing surrender, hair slicked with sweat, black suit stained, voice raw.
"Vamos! Todos! One more!" He roared at his players, voice cracked.
Madrid pushed again, desperate to kill it before penalties.
Bellingham ghosted between lines in the 110th minute and flicked wide to Vinícius, who squared for Mbappé.
The Frenchman struck first time, but it was blocked by Lenglet’s sliding chest. Lenglet rolled over, slapped the grass, and roared to the heavens.
Oblak screamed encouragement, clapping savagely.
Time bled away slowly... 115th, 116th, 117th minute.
Every clearance was cheered like a goal by Atleti fans; every Madrid touch trembled with anxiety.
Then it came in the 119th minute.
Madrid pressed high, too high.
Alexander-Arnold, exhausted, overcommitted, leaving acres behind him. Giovanni Simeone pounced, snapping a pass into Correa.
Correa turned on the half, slicing a perfect ball through the gap.
Antoinne Griezmann sprinted clear, with only Huijsen chasing, and Thibaut Courtois charged off his line.
But Griezmann, ice in his veins, squared instead.
And there was Julian Alvarez... alone, empty net.
Bam!
Tap-in.
For a heartbeat, there was silence, then...
GOAL!!!!!
119th minute!
The red and white end of the stadium exploded like dynamite.
Fans screamed, shirts ripped off, flags waved in madness. Diego Simeone ripped his suit’s tie off as he sprinted down the touchline, coat flying, fists pounding the air. His roar was primal and full of euphoria.
Julian Alvarez slid on his knees, screaming until his lungs burned, teammates piling over him in a mountain of ecstasy.
Madrid’s players froze.
Rüdiger bent over, collapsing on the ground. Bellingham stared at the turf, lips trembling. Kylian Mbappé cursed the sky.
FWEEE!
The game restarted.
The final minute was agony.
Madrid hurled one last wave as players surged forward, throwing crosses, long balls, and desperate flicks. Oblak punched, Lenglet cleared, and Robin Le Normand crunched one final tackle on Vinícius.
FWEEEEEE!
The whistle pierced the air.
[FULL-TIME (AET): Real Madrid 2-3 Atletico Madrid]
Madrid eliminated, Atleti triumphant.
The aftermath was immediate as the pitch became a painting of contrasts. Atleti players wept, collapsed, and prayed. Griezmann hugged his coach, Diego Simeone, both laughing and crying.
Madrid? They trudged away, faces pale as ghosts. Xabi Alonso clapped his players on, but even his eyes were hollow.
Spanish media exploded instantly...
"Atleti stuns Madrid!"
"Simeone’s soldiers march to the Supercopa final."
"Barcelona vs Atlético — the final we never saw coming."
And in Riyadh, under the floodlights, Samuel Moses watched from afar.
The final would be his battlefield now.