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Rabiot reached the byline and curled a cross toward the center of the penalty area.

Cristiano Ronaldo attacked it.

Maguire appeared to possess every physical advantage. He was taller, broader, and nearly half a body heavier than the Portuguese forward.

Cristiano still rose above him.

His timing was perfect. He remained suspended long enough to direct a powerful header toward the corner.

De Gea reacted instantly and pushed it away.

"RONALDO RISES—DE GEA DENIES HIM!" Peter Drury exclaimed. "Cristiano climbs above a defender built like a fortress, but Manchester United's goalkeeper refuses to surrender!"

Gary Neville stared at the replay.

"How has he won that header? Maguire is enormous!"

Jim Beglin smiled.

"Jumping is not only about height. Cristiano begins his run earlier, attacks the ball with greater momentum, and reaches the highest point at exactly the right moment."

"Maguire is bigger. Ronaldo is better in the air."

Cristiano waved one hand in frustration.

Juventus's attacking structure had gradually become almost entirely dependent upon him. If he found space and finished well, they scored.

If he did not, the entire attack often became harmless possession around the edge of the penalty area.

Tonight, however, Cristiano felt sharp.

His concentration had narrowed until the surrounding noise seemed distant. His body felt warm and responsive, his touches were clean, and every movement came naturally.

He was in form.

If Juventus continued creating chances, he believed the goal would arrive eventually.

Cristiano glanced toward Manchester United's number 7.

Ling appeared equally dangerous.

The difference was that Ling rarely experienced prolonged periods of poor form anymore. From the beginning of the season until now, his scoring had barely slowed.

He had just scored six goals against Barcelona in one match.

During all Cristiano's years at Real Madrid, even he had never inflicted that kind of individual punishment upon Barça.

Tonight might therefore be decided by a very simple question.

Which number 7 would score more?

...

Juventus won a corner from De Gea's save.

Pjanić delivered toward the near post, but the cross travelled too close to goal.

De Gea stepped forward and caught it cleanly.

He did not wait.

The goalkeeper launched a powerful throw toward Matić, who flicked the ball into Grealish's path.

Grealish turned with his first touch and carried it beyond Cuadrado.

"Manchester United are away!"

United's left winger accelerated down the open flank.

Cuadrado turned and chased desperately.

Grealish glanced toward the penalty area.

Ling had begun his run but was not yet sprinting at full speed.

That hesitation carried a message.

He wanted the defender to believe the danger had not fully developed.

Grealish understood.

He stopped sharply.

Cuadrado's momentum carried him another step forward, forcing him to stumble while trying to recover.

Grealish shifted the ball onto his right foot and whipped a fierce cross toward the center.

The Allianz Stadium gasped.

Ling launched himself into the air.

Bonucci looked upward and saw the red shirt climbing above him until it seemed to block the floodlights.

The Italian attempted to regain position.

There was nothing he could do.

Ling tightened his core while airborne, folded slightly at the waist, and produced a second surge of power before directing his forehead through the ball.

BOOM!

The header flew toward goal.

Szczęsny stretched his left arm as far as possible.

His fingertips reached it.

For one hopeful instant, the goalkeeper believed he had done enough.

Then the force of the shot bent his fingers backward.

The ball struck the inside of the post and ricocheted into the net.

0–1.

Peter Drury roared.

"LING RISES OVER TURIN!"

"Bonucci beneath him, Szczęsny reaching for him, Juventus pleading for resistance—and Manchester United's number 7 has climbed beyond them all!"

"Cristiano Ronaldo threatened with the header at one end."

"Jeremy Ling has answered with one at the other!"

"THE PRESENT RECORD-HOLDER WATCHES THE MAN CHASING EVERY RECORD STRIKE FIRST!"

Beglin focused on the mechanics of the finish.

"The leap is remarkable, but the second movement in the air is what creates the power."

"Ling does not merely meet the cross. He tightens his body and drives through it while still airborne."

"Szczęsny gets a strong hand to the ball. It simply carries too much force."

Neville dragged out a triumphant cry of "GOAL!" until his voice nearly disappeared.

Juventus had once represented one of his greatest footballing nightmares. He remembered the intimidation inside the tunnel, the feeling that United's players looked smaller beside them, and matches in which merely surviving seemed like an achievement.

Now Ling had risen above their defense as though Juventus were just another opponent.

Cristiano Ronaldo was there.

Pogba was there.

De Ligt, Bonucci, and Szczęsny were there.

None had prevented the goal.

For several seconds, the home crowd fell silent.

Then the away section erupted.

United supporters raised their scarves and celebrated beneath the scoreboard.

Ling sprinted toward them, both fists clenched, his face flushed as he roared.

Since entering Carrington as a teenager, he had heard the same name repeatedly.

Cristiano Ronaldo.

The finest Manchester United number 7 of the modern era.

The standard for every ambitious academy player who followed.

Ling had never denied that Cristiano's story inspired him. Nor had he hidden the greater ambition beneath that admiration.

He wanted to become the best footballer in the world.

That meant eventually surpassing the players who had defined the era before him.

He had already defeated Messi and Barcelona.

Cristiano and Juventus stood next.

...

Cristiano watched the replay on the stadium screen.

Ling's jumping technique looked uncomfortably familiar.

The approach.

The timing.

The way he elevated above a taller defender.

It resembled the aerial technique Cristiano had spent years perfecting.

The difference came at the highest point.

Ling had generated another burst of force by folding his body in mid-air. At thirty-five, Cristiano could no longer reproduce that movement with the same explosiveness.

Had he generated similar power on his earlier header, even De Gea's touch might not have prevented the goal.

There was no value in imagining it.

Szczęsny sat briefly inside his goal and rubbed his lower back. In stretching to maximum height, he had landed awkwardly, and pain still pulsed near his tailbone.

Cristiano quickly regained his focus.

"It's one goal," he shouted.

He gathered the nearest Juventus players and pointed toward his temple.

"Forget it. We have the quality to score."

"Keep finding me."

There lay one of the clearest differences between Cristiano and Messi.

It was not merely their technical style.

Cristiano refused to remain silent during adversity. Even when his words changed nothing, he demanded a reaction.

Pogba nodded firmly.

The Frenchman's intensity often depended upon emotion. During ordinary matches, he could appear relaxed to the point of carelessness.

Give him a personal reason to win, and he became a very different player.

Tonight, he had several.

...

Mourinho threw both fists upward.

"YES!"

For a moment, his expression lost its usual control. The muscles around his jaw tightened, and the pressure of the entire campaign appeared in his celebration.

Three consecutive Champions League titles.

No team had achieved it since the competition adopted its modern format.

Real Madrid had come within one match of doing so before United destroyed their dream in Kyiv.

Madrid had never fully recovered.

Now Mourinho's team stood on the same road toward history.

The pressure was immense.

Age had not softened his hunger. If anything, the possibility of achieving something unprecedented had made him feel as fiercely competitive as he had during his earliest years as a manager.

Faria celebrated beside the bench, embracing substitutes and staff members.

On the opposite touchline, Sarri crushed an unlit cigarette between his fingers until tobacco scattered across his palm.

He raised the remains toward his nose and inhaled deeply.

The familiar scent helped settle his thoughts.

United had solved the weakness that once existed on their flanks by adding disciplined wide players.

Grealish tracked back relentlessly, while Mahrez's positioning made it difficult for Juventus to push both full-backs forward without risk.

Their 4-3-3 created another possible target.

If Juventus pushed Pogba, Pjanić, and Bentancur higher together, they could crowd United's central midfield and prevent easy progression. That might isolate Ling from the players behind him.

The plan required quicker passing.

Pogba could not be allowed to receive, pause, and search for the perfect option while United reorganized.

Juventus had to move the ball into Cristiano's zone before Kanté and Matić closed every route.

Create space for number 7.

Give him repeated chances.

That remained their best path back into the match.

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