Rise of a Football God-Chapter 459: UEFA Champions League Final; PSG vs Barcelona [3]

10 minutes, 0-0…

Tonight's UEFA Champions League final was one predicted to be one of the best in the history of the competition of both teams played to their strength, and within just 10 minutes, both clubs were already showing what they could do.

It was intense, end to end.

From minutes 11 to 20? It was blood and fire on the pitch.

The final was no longer a match, it was a storm, and the Allianz Arena was the sea where the 2 sailing ships braved the storm for supremacy.

It was controlled insanity on the pitch, tactical poetry scribbled in ink and flame as PSG and Barcelona embodied the different footballing philosophies of their coaches, Hansi Flick and Luis Enrique ball embodied in full display.

Barca surged forward with almost reckless ambition, pushing their full-backs high. Alejandro Balde especially became a dagger down the left, overlapping Raphinha and tormenting Hakimi, the PSG right back.

In midfield, Gavi was everywhere, combining with Sam to devastating effect as they pressed with their endless energy and stamina, jumping into duels, biting ankles, and screaming orders like 2 captains commanding the Barca ship.

Sam? The Catalan King especially was playing like a man possessed.

But PSG absorbed it all like a coiled spring. And then in the 14th minute of the game, they struck.

GOAL!

PSG: 1-0. Desire Doue.

It came out of nowhere; sudden, unexpected.

It started with Vitinha winning a scrappy ball in midfield and slipping it to Dembele in the right channel. The Frenchman feinted once, twice, before playing a filthy reverse ball behind Balde.

Having switched positions with Kvaratskhelia, Desire Doue, the young PSG prodigy was already in full sprint, slicing into space like a missile.

He didn't slow down.

One touch to calm the ball, one glance at Ter Stegen, then…

POW!

A rising bullet to the near post, smashing into the roof of the net before anyone could move.

1-0 PSG.

The Alliance Arena exploded in noise.

Desire Doue slid on his knees toward the corner, his face an expression of joy and passion as he spread his arms with emotion.

The Paris end detonated.

But FC Barcelona didn't panic. Not yet.

If there was something that FC Barcelona already established this season and last season, it was that FC Barcelona under Hansi Flick almost always scored. And in a final? It was almost a guarantee that they would get their own goal.

Hansi Flick stood on the edge of his technical area, clapping calmly, eyes burning. He barked instructions, but he didn't change a thing.

And that trust… it paid off almost immediately.

The response? It came in the 17th minute.

Gavi robbed Fabian Ruiz with a crunching tackle and instantly fed Pedri. One look up, and the elegant midfielder saw Sam peeling between the lines in a blur.

Bam!

A perfect thread through the defense, splitting it open like a hot knife through butter. Gasps erupted around the Allianz Arena.

The PSG defense was not about to allow an easy goal though.

Sam?

He let the ball run, dummied Marquinhos, then backheeled the ball into the path of Lamine Yamal sprinting along his blindside.

Yamal struck the ball first time at goal.

Goal? No.

Yamal struck too clean, too early. Donnarumma pulled off an instinctive save, a massive left glove tipping it wide. The stadium roared in disbelief.

In the 19th minute, chaos again.

PSG countered after a misplaced Barca pass. Kvaratskhelia found Dembele, who danced past Pau Cubarsi this time. He shot low, but Ter Stegen parried. The rebound fell to Desire Doue, again.

Doue's follow-up strike smashed the side netting.

"Ohhh…!" Gasps rang around the stadium.

The match had no midfield. Just war, just battle lines redrawn every thirty seconds. The crowd could barely breathe. Every attack looked like a goal.

It was not football.

It was war with rules.

After a brief period of PSG domination, from minutes 21 to 30, more Barca players finally stepped up in a retaliatory display.

If the first 20 minutes were a knife fight in a phone booth, the next 10 were chess with grenades.

PSG, high on adrenaline from Doue's opener, pushed. They wanted blood. They wanted the second.

The front trio of Kvaratskhelia, Desire Doue, and Dembele were unstoppable.

They tore at the flanks like wolves, frequently changing position, dragging Barcelona's defense into a stretched, frantic shape.

Hakimi overlapped with menace. Vitinha floated dangerously at the edge of the final third.

But Hansi Flick's side didn't collapse under the pressure. Rather, they coiled tighter. Quicker touches, shorter distances. Gavi and Pedri in midfield were starting to feel the pulse of the match in their boots.

And in the 24th minute, it came.

GOAL!

Just like PSG's goal, it came suddenly; unexpected.

And who else but the King, Samuel Moses?

It started innocently. A throw-in, deep in PSG's half. Balde took it short to Raphinha who danced between two defenders and nutmegged Hakimi so casually it might've been illegal.

He rolled it into the center where Pedri had ghosted between lines.

And then… art.

Pedri opened his hips, but he didn't take a touch; he just sent a slicing diagonal ball through the center channel.

Gavi dummied, leaving the ball to arrive at Sam's feet like fate.

Bzzz!

One touch, like a touch of the divine.

A turn, and then…

BANG!

A thunderclap of a strike; low, clinical, kissing off the inside of the post and in. Donnarumma moved, but it didn't matter.

1-1.

"COME ON!!!" Gavi screamed with passion, jumping excitedly.

Sam didn't celebrate with a roar though. He just stood there, arms raised slightly, calm and cold, like a hitman admiring clean work.

Then…

BOOM!

The Barca end erupted, blue and red flags flailing like wild fire. Gavi grabbed Sam and screamed in his face. Pedri pumped a fist toward the dugout. Lamine Yamal jumped on Sam's back, celebrating with passion.

Hansi Flick didn't flinch. He just clapped once, slowly, like a man who expected this exact script.

It was a brutal game.