Wanda Metropolitano Stadium.
Amid the deafening noise rolling down from the stands, both teams completed their pre-match warm-ups and returned through the tunnel to their dressing rooms.
Inside the Manchester United dressing room, Mourinho stood in front of the tactics board.
"I won't go into too much detail," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Tonight, I only want to focus on the midfield and the defensive shape."
His marker tapped against the board.
"N'Golo can't play, which means we're going to face enormous pressure on both flanks. City will target those spaces. They'll try to isolate us, use individual quality, and drag our midfield out of position."
Mourinho turned back to the players.
"So the key to winning this match is defence. We cannot play open, attacking football against Manchester City the way we have before. Not tonight. If we do, we lose."
His gaze sharpened.
"Tonight, our main weapon is the defensive counterattack."
Then he looked directly at Ling.
"Ling, even you need to drop back and defend. Help the team survive City's early pressure. Hold them off at least until the second half. That's when we make our move."
"I understand," Ling said with a nod.
Fortunately, the Champions League final was being played at night.
There would be no brutal sun draining his legs like the FA Cup final at Wembley, and as long as the temperature stayed reasonable, stamina should not become the same kind of problem.
Mourinho paused, then looked around the dressing room.
"Before last season's Champions League final, I spoke to you about honour, belief, history, all of that. Tonight, I won't say much about those things."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Because we have already come this far. We have already been through enough together. There were moments when I thought we would fall. Against Liverpool, I truly believed we were finished. But in the end..."
He shook his head and did not continue.
"So I know this already. Your desire to win is stronger than anyone else's."
Mourinho stepped back from the board.
"Now go out there and prove it."
Seeing the faint curve at the corner of Mourinho's mouth, Ling could not help but smile.
The boss had not given them a fiery speech, but somehow, the effect was just as powerful.
Even Ling, with the mind of someone far older than his face suggested, felt his blood beginning to heat.
His teammates were almost certainly even more fired up.
He bent down, tightened his laces, stood, and stamped both feet against the floor.
"No matter what happens," Ling said, his voice carrying across the room, "make sure we leave with no regrets."
Then he raised his head.
"Let's go."
His words echoed through the dressing room.
McTominay, De Gea, Maguire, Matic, and the others stood one after another, placing their right hands together in the middle.
"Let's go!"
The shout thundered through the room.
Determination burned in every pair of eyes. As Mourinho had said, they were only one step from the finish line.
No one would turn back now.
Even if they had to crawl, they would crawl across it.
That was the mindset of Manchester United tonight!
...
Meanwhile, inside the Manchester City dressing room, Guardiola walked out and closed the door behind him.
No one outside knew exactly what Vincent Kompany said to his teammates.
But more than ten minutes later, when the City players emerged, there was fire in their eyes.
...
Player tunnel.
The atmosphere between the two teams was strangely calm.
There was no pushing, no insults, no theatrical hostility.
But everyone knew the truth.
Once the whistle blew, calm would vanish.
There could only be one champion, and both teams wanted the same trophy. After that, it would come down to quality, discipline, suffering, and the will to keep moving when the legs began to burn.
That was football.
Then the Champions League anthem began to play.
The Wanda Metropolitano was swallowed by dazzling lights and fireworks, bright enough to split open Madrid's quiet night sky.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
"Welcome to the 2018-19 UEFA Champions League final!"
The host stood at the centre of the stage, voice booming through the stadium.
After a brief introduction, the opening ceremony began.
This year, there were not too many unnecessary frills.
The performance was direct, loud, and built for spectacle. Imagine Dragons' explosive sound shook every corner of the ground, driving the atmosphere higher and higher until the stadium felt close to bursting.
But the most breathtaking sight was still the four stands.
Red smoke curled upward. Giant tifos unfurled. Flags snapped in the night air.
The Manchester United supporters had turned their section into a piece of Old Trafford.
"Manchester United!"
"Manchester United!"
Their chants rose with the thunder of drums, shaking the Wanda Metropolitano so violently that the concrete itself seemed to tremble.
As the music reached its climax, Ling listened for a while, then leaned slightly toward Matic.
"Does it feel like the song is hinting that we're about to bring in a new era?"
Matic: "..."
This guy really could connect anything to himself.
Still, when you thought about it, red versus blue, old order versus new order, Manchester United chasing the sextuple...
It did almost make sense.
Soon, led by the referee team, both sides walked out of the tunnel.
Whoosh!
The stadium erupted.
As they passed the Champions League trophy, Ling reached out and touched it.
Maguire nearly had a heart attack!
He knew the old football superstition all too well: touch the trophy before the match, and you lose the final!
Ling glanced at him and smiled.
"You know I touched it last season too, right?"
Maguire froze for half a second.
"Then it's fine!"
The panic disappeared instantly.
He turned around with excitement written all over his face, looking left and right like a kid stepping into a theme park for the first time.
The Champions League final.
How many players spent their entire careers without ever standing on this stage? Yet here he was, still early in his own career, walking into the biggest club match in world football.
"Talent is only the entry ticket to meet me," Maguire suddenly sighed, putting on an exaggeratedly profound expression.
Clearly, he had learned that line from somewhere.
Ling looked at him.
"I'll give that an 8.5."
Maguire brightened. "That high?"
"Yeah," Ling said. "The other 1.5 is me being too speechless to continue scoring."
Not long after, the two teams lined up.
The camera glided past each player, lingering longest on Jeremy Ling.
At this point, he was arguably the biggest star on either side.
Last season's Champions League final had already been hailed as a classic by countless fans.
A hat-trick, repeated equalisers, a penalty shootout — any one of those elements would have been enough to ignite a final.
Put them all together, and even a football film would have struggled to match the drama.
At this stage, the most famous young player in the world was Jeremy Ling.
Not even the newly crowned World Cup winner Mbappé could quite match him.
Ligue 1 simply did not have the same global reach as the Premier League, and Ling's performances on the biggest stages had pushed him into a different level of visibility.
After the formalities — handshakes, exchanging pennants, choosing ends — the Manchester United players gathered near the touchline for their team photo.
Meanwhile, in commentary booths around the stadium, familiar voices prepared to call the biggest match of the season.
And for the official global English broadcast, Peter Drury and Jim Beglin sat high above the pitch, looking down on a sea of red and blue.
"Good evening from Madrid," Peter began, his voice rising over the vast noise of the Wanda Metropolitano. "This is the 2018-19 UEFA Champions League final, and for the fifth time this season, Manchester United and Manchester City stand opposite one another. One city, two powers, one European crown."
Jim added, "It's a huge night, Peter. United are chasing something almost impossible, while City are desperate to end this run of defeats against their neighbours. The tactical battle will be fascinating, but with the emotion around this one, control will be just as important as quality."
"The team sheets are in," Peter continued. "Manchester United wear red tonight, and Mourinho sets them up in a 4-2-3-1."
"Goalkeeper: David de Gea."
"Defence: Aaron Wan-Bissaka, Harry Maguire, David Luiz, Luke Shaw."
"Midfield: Nemanja Matic and Scott McTominay sit deeper, with Paul Pogba ahead of them."
"Wide support comes from Riyad Mahrez and Marcus Rashford."
"And leading the line, wearing the captain's armband and the famous number 7: Jeremy Ling."
Jim noted, "The big absence is Kanté. Without him, United lose a huge amount of coverage in midfield, which explains the more balanced 4-2-3-1. Mourinho knows they can't just trade attacks with City tonight. They'll have to defend properly, stay compact, and wait for moments to counter."
Peter said, "And now to Manchester City, where Guardiola has given us something very interesting indeed."
Jim let out a small laugh. "That's one way to put it."
"City line up in what looks like a 3-2-2-3," Peter announced. "In goal: Ederson."
"The back three: Aymeric Laporte, Nicolás Otamendi, and Kyle Walker."
"Ahead of them, John Stones steps into midfield alongside İlkay Gündoğan."
"Kevin De Bruyne and David Silva operate between the lines."
"And across the front: Bernardo Silva, Sergio Agüero, and Leroy Sané."
Jim said, "Guardiola has never been afraid to take a risk in a major game, and this is another one. Stones stepping into midfield is the key detail. It gives City another body in the middle, helps them control possession, and could make it harder for United to break through the first wave."
Peter replied, "But the question, as always with these bold ideas, is whether it survives contact with the final itself."